Chapter 4
Tied in a blanket from head to toe, Sharon was dizzy from the changes of direction on the long night march. The heavy wool was stifling and scratchy. Innumerable small insects bit her. The pressure in her bladder increased with every step of the pack animal that carried her. She heard the different treads of camels and horses. It seemed time and again that the sun must be rising outside her sweltering cocoon, but the sweaty, filthy, parasite-infested blanket stayed just as hot as when she'd first been rolled into it. She was giddy, with sheets of strange color swimming behind her closed eyelids and sensations in her feet that ranged from balloon-like lightness to lead-heavy numbness. The cords that held her face-down on the swaying camel cut off her circulation. For a long time in the middle of the march, she couldn't even feel her hands.
Sharon was too limp to move when the journey finally ended. She let Gamal and the others roll her out of the blanket. Ben had apparently left during the night. She tried to focus her eyes in the gray of the pre-dawn, but she saw no one and nothing she recognized except for Gamal. When he and another Arab yanked her to her feet, Sharon dragged behind them like a dead woman. Her feet scraped along the pebbly ground all the way to the low, flapping tent. The men dropped her and she overheard mumbled fragments of Arabic. She caught only "ransom", "information", and "alive" . . . and an ominous feminine laugh.
"Water," Sharon croaked, "I need water." She turned her head and saw two veiled faces. The impassive dark eyes flicked over her body, lingering on the paleness between her shoulders and her thighs. The mistral still blew, lifting the women's heavy robes, pressing the light cloth of the veils against their faces. Without answering her, the women half-carried Sharon further into the tent.
One of the women held a ceramic jar of water over Sharon's face. The girl turned her head up and opened her mouth. With deliberate stinginess, the woman poured a few drops onto Sharon's upturned face, then a few more. "Please," Sharon asked as the jar disappeared, "Please, some more water?"
The woman shook her head. The second woman, her veil pressed tight against her face, re-entered Sharon's vision, carrying a smooth round branch, perhaps four feet long. She knelt at Sharon's feet and lashed the girl's ankles to the bar. Sharon would have resisted, but her muscles felt as weak as gruel.
Her feet were spread nearly to full extension. The woman who had tied her legs open had a long, fine-carved nose and high cheekbones under the veil. The shifting pressure of the wind kept threatening to reveal more of her face. Her chin was slim, but her mouth was unknown. Her long, black hair hung behind her, caugh t back with a single strand of hide. Her eyes, like the eyes of the other woman, were rimmed with rings of kohl, and tiny flecks of the blackish powder had fallen onto her veil.
The other woman looked heavier and older. She untied Sharon's wrists, then relashed them to another stick. Her veil revealed even less than did the smaller girl's. She moved slowly, as if she weren't quite awake. Both women joined to drag the spread-eagled Sharon to the back edge of the tent.
They flipped the cloth up, and the first peek of sun slanted in. The light shined straight into Sharon's eyes. A man walked among the small cluster of tents and called the Arabs to prayer.
The women disappeared. Sharon closed her eyes. The reddish, dusty dawn sky hurt her eyes. The temperature of her face rose gradually. The sun climbed with grim slowness, heating more of her face, then more again. The shadow of the hill between Sharon and the sunrise drew back like a blanket. She felt the line of increasing warmth slide down her throat to her shoulders, then to the tops of her breasts. By the time her nipples were in full sunlight sweat had popped out on her skin.
It was a strange and uncomfortable feeling. Sharon's belly and legs were still in shadow, but the sweat covered all of her. The sand under her had cooled during the night, so her back and buttocks were chilly while the upper half of her torso baked. The constant sigh of the wind cut her off from all other sounds. Sharon felt totally alone, as if she were in a glass bubble on the desert. The oppressive loneliness made her shiver as much as the cold, and the heat of the May sunrise crept down her body.
The flapping of the tent was a desolate sound. All the world was heat, chill, and the irregular noise of hides and cloth in a constant hot wind. The line of the sunrise moved until only her legs were still in shadow. Her naked body glistened with sweat. Sharon closed her lips to keep from licking them.
Sun-browned arms and legs contrasted starkly with the pale pink of her breasts and belly. Drops of fluid gathered on her breasts and trickled down the smooth, mounds. The tiny rivulets tickled like a stream of ants. Gradually, even her thighs and shins felt the sun's heat. Sharon felt the rare moisture of her body dripping away. Water is more important than food or money or blood in the desert, and the young girl imagined she could count the hours of her life dribbling away in drops of sweat. The sun baked through her eyelids, a streak of red crawling higher with the minutes.
First her throat felt the drying, then her breasts. A gust of wind crossed her body, burning her sweat off like the breath of a forge. The chill where sweat had moistened the sand under her shoulders made her nipples contract. The points stood, the aureoles wrinkled and fell again, and the tight, dry pain of sunburn on her breasts twinged along her nerves. Sharon took a long, deep breath. The few minutes of full sun on her naked bosom made the motion of her ribs painful. She moaned.
Her skin was tightening like wet leather on a stove. Sharon felt it most on the undersides of her tits and the inside of her thighs. The sun slanted directly at those points, falling full and hot, baking her with ultraviolet. The raw, scalped zone at the top of her pussy stung when sweat dribbled across it. As soon as Sharon thought she was used to it, the crawling tautness of her burning skin pulled at the raw zone again and salt stung her.
Her mind was wandering. Sharon opened her eyes and looked straight up. The edge of the tent extended above her. If she could stand the baking sun for a few hours, she would be in shadow again. She glanced toward her feet to estimate the time. The sun was less than a quarter of the way from the horizon to the tent edge. Craning her neck, Sharon saw that her belly was turning deeper pink. Her head fell back again. She welcomed the eerie hallucinations that began to play behind her closed eyelids. One of the miserably hot days in late summer in Chicago came to her. She was taking a streetcar to the lake. A strange man looked at her and smiled. She hung on to the strap, her swimsuit and towel clenched in her hand. She'd left home with friends, but they'd disappeared. Sharon didn't feel afraid until the man stood up. He towered over her, seven feet tall at least. He took her hand and put it in his mouth. Her bladder let go in terror. Sharon pulled away, but he still bit her hand . . .
Shamed and disgusted, Sharon felt her piss burning the tops of her thighs. The river of urine flowed on and on. She tried to stop, but the flood overpowered her. Hot, stinging piss puddled under her and wet her buttocks stickily. It filled the crevices between the grains of sand and made her asscheeks itch. "No, no," she moaned, tossing her head from side to side.
The slimmer of the two Arab women stood over her, a bucket in one hand, a stick in the other. She'd held Sharon's hand down with the stick and poured warm, rancid-smelling grease from the bucket over it. She stared down at the captive girl, her eyes and posture impassive. "We need the guns," she said in Arabic. "You may bake here in filth if you do not tell us."
Sharon tried to move her buttocks off the pool of itohy, sandy piss. "I do not know where the guns are," she said. "Please, some more water?"
"She brings," the woman said, nodding to Sharon's other side.
The heavy-set woman carried a jug wrapped in cloth. Sharon opened her mouth wide, stretching forward for the water. The woman knelt and tipped the jug.
"AIEEEEE!! ! " The water in the jug was just short of boiling. It scalded over her breasts, her throat, her belly in a cascade of agonizing pain. The sun had already heated and singed her skin to painful red, and now the water amplified the hurt a hundred times. Even Sharon's pinkish nipples had darkened with the sunburn. Now the flaccid tips wobbled from side to side as the water beat them down into her tits. "Please! God, please!" Sharon begged.
The slimmer woman knelt beside Sharon. "You have been with some of our men, but they could not make you tell. You must tell us." She gathered a handful of sand and dribbled it along Sharon's belly, then around the still-wet slopes of her breasts.
Every grain felt like a needle probing the scalded nerves of Sharon's torso. The woman took another handful and dashed it forcefully onto Sharon's lower belly. Particles struck the girl's labia, sticking in the sweat and urine and the overflow from the water jug. "I've told you . . . I've told everyone . . . I don't know!"
"Your father, the diseased offspring of a miss-mated dog and a syphilitic camel, is the military commander of your farm. You must know. The infidel who shares man's work and woman's would tell his daughter. If a Jew has not the manhood to conceive a son, he tells all to his daughter." The heavier of the two women knelt at Sharon's other side and began rubbing the sand in circles on her belly.
On top of the sunburn, the scalding, and the ripped-raw scalping of her love mound, the sand felt like coals burning into her skin. Sharon tensed. She worked legs, arms, and belly around trying to stop the gritty rolling of sand on her belly. The other woman covered Sharon's breast with her hands and rolled the mounds in slow, lascivious circles.
Up and down, left and right, pressing and kneading, the women ground sand into Sharon's fevered flesh. Sharon tried desperately to keep from crying out, but a few seconds of the slow torture started her sobbing. Her piteous whimpers were worse than a lost puppy's.
Shame added to the pain. Other women, foreign, savage, nomadic Arab women, were touching her breasts and her belly. The hand of the heavy woman slithered grossly into the gapped-open zone of her pussy and ground sand into the tender, abused flesh. With a sense of utter loss, Sharon felt her clitty stand up under the abrasion. Her nipples erected. The pain focused on the three hot spots.
The pressure of the roving hands increased, but not the speed. The female torturers crooned soft sounds as they ran their hands in languid circles. Sharon's skin moved under their pressing hands. Her breasts flattened into masses of overheated pain. The whole of each mound ached. A strange, lewd pressure built up in her bosom. Sharon twisted her shoulders. Her feelings mixed. The pain made her want to get back, but the increasing pleasure made her want the erotic pressures to increase.
And the hand moving around, over, across her labia worked harder. Sharon's pussy began to lubricate. The thick, clear cream in her vagina made her flesh even gluier. Sharp edged grains of sand found the oval opening of her cunt-mouth and abraded the sensuous flesh. The little pellet of her clitoris felt spears of pain attacking with every motion. Each move toward the side, or up, or down, sent another hot quiver of pleasure and pain to her brain. The whole erect come trigger was surrounded with random grains of sand. The grit felt big as boulders around the sensual nubbin, caught between the folds of her inner cuntlips and the hot spike.
The woman rubbing her cunt spoke again. "Tell us, tell us where they are stored," she said breathily. Her tone was halfway between a lullaby and the panting of arousal. She grabbed another fistful of sand and applied it directly to the raw patch where Gamal had ripped out Sharon's pussy fuzz.
It was like ground glass against her skin. The fatty pad over her pubic bone did nothing to cushion the steady grinding of the sand. Her skin became inflamed, but the mound was irrevocably connected to her labia. Every motion at the top of her scalped mons moved her cuntlips back and forth on her grit-covered clitty. More juice flowed from the mouth of her vagina. Sharon felt her hips starting to move in the unmistakable rolling of lust.
The women saw it too. They commented in whispers that Sharon couldn't bother to translate. The one who was manipulating Sharon's cunt wiped her hand on her robes. She stuffed a finger, then two more, into Sharon's pussy. They were dry and hard, but Sharon's pussy opened for them. Sharon's moans went higher in pitch. She rolled her hips lustily. The woman moved her other hand to the top of Sharon's slit and squeezed.
The sand around her clit put pinpoints of pressure all around the little organ. Sharon felt her feelings accelerate. With a whimper of need, she moved faster. Her clitty was sending lewd heat through her whole body. Sharon twisted her shoulders.
The slim woman dug her fingers cruelly into Sharon's tits. Her hand moved in hard, coarse circles. The grinding sand under her palms lacerated Sharon's nipples until the hot little spikes felt bloody. Sharon babbled for more.
The women worked harder at her pussy and her tits. The older woman took her hand from the top of Sharon's cunt and slipped it under her own robes. The younger woman hiked up her robes and moved to straddle Sharon's chest.
Sharon squealed with frustration and rage when the hands left her tits "Don't stop now, dammit!" She thrust her hips up at the cunt-banger.
A flash of pain and heat shot through her left breast. Sharon watched, open-mouthed, as the younger woman wiped the sand off her tit. With a single swift motion, she squatted over Sharon's breast and grabbed the mound with both hands. The raw, sunburned skin shrieked with agonizing lances of pain when fingernails dug into the sides. Sharon felt the deep furrows grow and dig into her. She twisted away, then offered her tit again. She stared at the dark ravine between the Arab woman's asscheeks, the tuft of black hair at the base, the gray ring of her rectum. With a shock that made her lust jump to a blaze of heat, she realized what the woman was going to do.
The wet, hot, fleshy feeling of the Arab's twat covering the end of her nipple drove Sharon crazy. She bucked and twisted, hungering for more sensation in her own pussy. The woman's hands forced Sharon's firm tit into the gaping center of her pussy, smearing juice and cuntal hairs all over the mound. The slick, wet warmth was like a huge toothless mouth kissing and nuzzling at her breast. Sharon writhed lasciviously under her, trying to force her whole breast up into the woman's cunt.
But her titty was far too big. Sharon focused all her feelings in her tit. She felt a rigid bump at the underside of her tit, and the hard arch of the woman's pubic bone just beyond it. Sharon arched her back, trying to cover the whole zone around the woman's clit with her breast. Her nipple was centered in the sucking grasp of the Arab's cunthole, and the meaty pink flesh seemed ready to gnaw her titty-tip off.
Sharon didn't care. The fantastic lewdness of the Arab's pussy slathered across the whole aching mound of her titty. It inflamed her imagination as much as it aroused her pussy. She wondered if there were any way for the other woman to squat down and take her other tit. Sharon wanted hot, slick pussy flesh to smear all over her body. She wished she could drown in the marvelous wetness of cunt flesh. She wanted to curl into a ball and push her tits into her own cunt. Sharon worked her hips and shoulders in a frenzy.
The heavyset woman was hidden behind the robes of the titty fucker. Sharon couldn't see what she did, but she could feel it. Only one hand moved on her pussy, but it moved fast, hot, and well. At least three fingers were jammed into Sharon's vagina. A thumb or a fingertip moved her clit around in hot circles. The woman's hand was working back and forth, in and out, in the same rhythm as Sharon's churning hips. Juice flooded out of Sharon's hole, greasing the Arab's hand. Enough cunt cream gushed to wash sand off her labia, but not from around her clit. The sharp stabs of grit around the erect little organ added incredible heat to the muscle-puckering chills of her cuntal tension. Sharon didn't know if her pussy would go off from the pain around her clit or the full, hard-thrusting motions in her cunt. She rolled and writhed, ignoring the wet sand under her ass and the sweaty slickness that covered her body. Her mouth was dry, but every inch of the rest of her body was wet.
Even the sun didn't bother her. The shifting shadows of the Arab women kept much of it off of her, but the rays that struck her only added heat to the juicy hunger that covered her whole torso. Sharon felt the greasy warmth of the pussy on her tit widen and contract. She knew by the faster motions of the Arab on her chest that the other woman was nearing orgasm. With a groan of anticipation, Sharon tried to hurry her own reaction
The hand left her cunt! Sharon wailed with loss. She ached to feel it back in her, to have those fingers scraping juice from her cuntwalls, to have that thumb raking sandy pain and slick ecstasy across her clit. Sharon bounced up and down, hungry, needful, aching for the sensations to resume.
With a stab, something stiff and hard and long ripped into her cunt. It was bone-dry, nothing like the juice-greased fingers that had twisted so much heat into her cunt. Sharon shuddered and held stone-still for an instant, then the stick in her cunt moved.
It plunged up, higher than fingers could reach, higher even than the ravaging penetrations of Ben cock. She felt it move up and down, levering the tight ring of her cuntmuscle toward her ass, then up to her clitty. It moved in and out, stretching her tube. The end was out of touch, up high in the numb, nerveless zone where only the pressure on other organs told her she was stuffed full. Sharon felt the entry and the withdrawal with a moan of satisfaction. At last another object was in her starved cunt.
Her whole body felt as wet as her cunt now. The slippery sweat that greased her belly spread all over her. Her feet were wet. Her arms were soaked. Even her throat gleamed with drops of perspiration.
And the juice that gushed from the cunt on her tit covered her whole bosom. It was slipperier than sweat, hotter and thicker and creamy. Sharon reveled in .the feeling of soft feminine flesh sliding unctuously around on her breasts. She felt the thighs, the buttocks, the smooth, slick inner cuntal valley sliding lustily around on her breast and shoulder. If her arms had been free, she would have reached up to hug the Arab woman to her. Sharon wanted to move her from one tit to the other.
But the Arab woman was working toward a frenzy. Her cunt was floating. The scratchy curls of her cunt-hair were soaked to the softness. The slippery inner slices of her cuntlips slithered on Sharon's tits like a wet snake on a glass plate. She sped up, shimmying like a belly dancer. Her hips moved back and forth, thrusting forward, then sliding back. She wiggled from side to side, throwing a lusty circle of heat around the whole throbbing mass of Sharon's tit. Her buttocks tensed and relaxed, flexing faster with every lusty motion of her hips. She ground the full, firm mass of Sharon's tit against the girl's ribs, then grabbed the mashed-out overflow of feminine flesh with her hands and stuffed it up the front of her cunt crack.
Sharon delighted in feeling the hot button of the clit against the underside of her tit. She -liked it nearly as much as the now-wet stick that slipped to and fro in her cunt. The Arab on her chest moved to the side, swaying in an excess and lust, and Sharon found out the cause of the lewd motions of the cunt plunger.
The other woman, her fleshy asscheeks rippling like loose sails, had plunged her end of the three-foot stick into her own cunt. The hairy slices of her cuntlips enfolded the stick like a bearded mouth on a cigar. The heavyset woman moved her ass back and forth, her cuntal grip supplying the drive that moved the stick back and forth, in and out of Sharon's cunt. Tied together by the long makeshift dildo, both Sharon and the fat woman approached climax.
The swaying shoulders of the other Arab cut off Sharon's view. She retained the image in her mind. The picture of those luxurious asscheeks rippling, the long stick jutting, the meaty flaps of cuntlips milking, made the excitement flare higher and higher in her cunt. She worked harder, throwing her hips upward. The stick levered toward her asshole, prodding her innards toward the front of her belly. Sharon fell back down again, and the stick slipped out. The drag of her cunt ring on the wood tugged her labia away from her clit. Thrills shot up her spine. She wailed like a banshee, begging in English, "Fuck! Oh, God, fuck! You crazy cunts!" Sharon flung herself into the wetly meshing actions of the trio like a madwoman.
She twisted. Her breast mashed against the thin Arab's cunt. She bucked. The stick reamed deep into her pussy and rebounded from the depths of the fat Arab's twat. Sharon screamed, and the Arabs chanted back at her. She pounded her bound feet against the sand. The woman on her chest bounced.
The titty fucking Arab had both hands locked on Sharon's breast. She stretched it away from Sharon's chest, then mashed it down again. The fat woman reached behind her to steady the stick. Sharon caught a glimpse of the heavyset Arab, one hand buried in the top of her black muff, the other wound around the stick. The pounding cadence of the dildo increased. Sharon felt herself ready to go off.
With a slam, the stick hit bottom in her cunt. Sharon tried to scream, but her voice was gone. She lay on her back. Her ass arched a foot off the ground. The Arab woman on her tit was kicking her heels under Sharon, beating against her back like a cowboy on a bronc. The fat woman drove herself back and forth on the stick that linked their cunts. Sharon let the first huge wave of release shoot through her.
The Arab woman fell off her chest. The fatter Arab fell to her knees. Sharon bucked and swiveled, forcing the stick to ream circles in her cunt. The iced flames of orgasm ripped through every part of her body. Sharon somehow flung herself into the air, jerking like a beached fish. The thin woman's cunt covered Sharon's face. Sharon sucked at the juicy mass of twat flesh automatically. Her pussy was collapsing on itself, sucking at the stick, and Sharon sucked reflexively at the wet, aromatic wad of the woman's cuntlips.
The stick slipped out of her cunt, but Sharon's body went on. She could feel nothing but the incredible rising heat of her come pulses. They racked her, flashing outward from her clitty like rockets. Sharon smothered in the thin woman's pussy, gargling desperately at cream and flesh and matted black hair. With a single last groan of ecstasy, the thin Arab woman fell away from Sharon's sucking mouth. Sharon lay still, stunned by her actions even as more waves of coming swept along her nerves. She closed her eyes. I'll hurt in a minute, she thought, and her mind dove into the blessed blankness of abandoned sensuality.