Chapter 11
Buchanan had been forced to walk back to Herrera's car and, trying to ignore the bloody, lifeless body, take out the stuffed briefcase. It took him a long while, but he found it. There were three men named Edmunto, Gaston, and Caballo. And there was a cabin up in the hills, at the old mine where several of Buchanan's employees had once worked.
Rifle in one hand and evidence in the other, he hurried back to the dead man's house and telephoned David Brooks.
Brooks answered excitedly, hoping that this was the long-awaited call from the kidnapers.
"Brooks? This is George Buchanan. Herrera's dead. The-what? Never mind. Just take my word for it, he's dead. He's been paying three jokers named, ahh . . . Edmunto, Gaston, and Caballo to do his dirty work. A bit of killing, a bit of rape-and they've used the cabin of the old Anaconda mine, up in the San Juanito hills, know where that is? Um-now my bet is that there's where those three are right now- and I'd bet money they've got your wife there.
Brooks! Yeah, well-oh, shut up and listen a minute, Christ, it isn't as if the Princess were a virgin, like my Amy! Listen, Mister Ambassador, sir, I'm gonna go up there, and I mean right now, with a rifle, and you're invited. Now. Either that, or . . . forget it. I'll take care of those three!"
Buchanan jammed down the phone, stuck the papers in his pocket, gripped his rifle tightly, and set out for the abandoned mine. He didn't give a damn if David Brooks came along or not. Son of a bitch was probably waiting for the fucking State Department to tell him what to do!
It had all been so incredibly lovely, both of them fucking her and then feeling both of them jerk, hearing them groan in pure pleasure, and feeling their cocks jerk inside her body as they pumped their semen into her willing holes!
Now, what she overheard made her knees go weak and was like the slamming of a fist into the pit of her stomach.
The two men were in the other room, drinking wine or something. They thought she was asleep on the semen- and sweat-smelling bed. Caballo had nailed a single wide plank across the window. But she was not asleep, and she was even more shocked by Caballo's words when she remembered the sweetness with which he had sucked and tongued her slit.
"-but now I think poor Gaston was right! They may have Herrera. He may well make a bargain with them, they'll go light on him if he turns us in!" the big man was saying. "No, no, Edmunto, I say we cut off Claudine's tits like we did Morgana's and get out of here- muy pronto!"
She heard the sound of a hand slapping the table, in exasperation.
"No, idiot!" Edmunto countered angrily. "She is our safety! She is the Princess-the wife of the American ambassador, not just a peasant whore we can use and destroy, or that the police would ignore if they really wanted us! Think. Caballo! Claudine is our safety! We will escape, we will leave the country-and we will use her as a shield and a hostage!"
"She will merely slow us down," Caballo said, disgruntled.
"Have some more wine, amigo, and think about it," Edmunto urged. "For heaven's sake -think!"
In the other room, the shivering captive took his advice. She thought, working her mind furiously.
She had to mollify Caballo. She had to get killing her out of his mind. She had to She sighed, tightening her lips. Yes. She knew how to do it, too. Just yesterday she wouldn't have been able to do it. But now, now she knew how, and she also knew that she could!
It was he who came in to gaze at her, hungrily, and she had arranged herself so that the soles of her feet pointed at the door. Gazing at him along the length of her naked body, smiling, she moved her legs well apart. She held out her arms.
"My big macho lover! Come and fuck me again!"
"A man cannot fuck all day! A man can do only so much with his tool, bitch!"
She wiggled, then slid her hands over her breasts, making them wiggle enticingly, tugging upward at the nipples to let him see the sexy stretching of the pink buds.
"Then come here," she said, "and let me ride you as I did last night! That way you need only rest, my superman!"
He glanced down at the front of his trousers. "That is of no use," he told her, glancing rather slyly back into the other room, "when the tool is not high like a bar of iron."
She sat up, bent her knees to flash him an even better look at her naked, open pussy, and then swung her legs over to the floor. Sitting there on the edge of the bed, she extended a hand in his direction while she smiled at him. Her voice was very soft.
"Then come here, great cocksman, and let me see if my mouth and tongue can't make a bar of iron of your darling cock, so that you can stick me with it!"
Again he glanced into the other room. Then he returned his gaze to her-and she pursed her lips in a kiss, gazing at his fly, and showed him the wiggly tip of her tongue.
No man could have resisted that invitation.
Caballo moved swiftly to the bed, opening his pants as he walked-quietly, she noticed. Was Edmunto drowsing? Coming up to stand before her, Caballo dropped his pants and stepped out of them. His flaccid tool dangled there before her eyes. It looked gentle this way, and vulnerable.
He wants to cut off my breasts, she thought. I'd like to bite off that damned horse cock of his!
But she didn't. She reached out to cup his balls, raising them and the long thick stem, and she bent her head to lick it. It twitched and she heard his little gasp. She smiled, secretly, with her blond head bent over his crotch.
Then she bent her head still more to fill her mouth with his flaccid flesh.
Her hands remained busy, manipulating his hairy, throbbing scrotal flesh and making the eggs inside roll around while she moved her head slowly back and forth, thumping his belly with her forehead while she used her mouth to draw the slack flesh of his cock backward and forward in the wet hollow of her face.
She sucked. She played with his balls. She licked the crown of his meat, the long flexible shaft, the little wrinkles behind the helmet. She worked hard to get him up, without appearing to. Her heart pounded.
I'll give him good reason to keep me alive, she thought, and she reminded herself that this unpleasant experience would serve her and David well: she was practicing, for him!
Besides ... it wasn't all that unpleasant, not at all, if she hadn't overheard what the owner of this thickening weapon of flesh had said about her!
She did it well, and Caballo was a lusty man who was far from immune to the beautiful blond head bent over his groin while that sweet mouth and tongue worked over his relaxed tool.
The tantalizing fervor of her mouth soon brought his cock springing up into quivering life.
It started coming out of her mouth, pushing her back as it grew inside her head. More and more of its spittle-shiny length appeared before her widely rounded lips-and then he grinned and reached down and grabbed her head.
"Uglkkk!"
He gagged her, ramming his big new erection into her face, bouncing the fat plumlike head off the back of her throat and making it convulse in retching spasms.
It wasn't just the length of his cock, the hugely rounded head trying to force itself down her throat. There was more: the girth of his mighty organ. Her mouth was terribly strained. Her lips were forced wider than they'd ever been. She felt the painful strain in her jaws. She felt the pressure of her lachrymal glands and knew she was leaking slow tears, just from that pressure. She was sure he felt her teeth, and that frightened her. But-what could she do? She was afraid to thrust him back, at the same time withdrawing her head. She had set out to win him. He wanted to kill her. He wanted to-to cut off her tits. Just the thought of that filled her with horror and made her shiver.
She had to take this vicious, obscene probing. She could not afford to anger him, or even come close.
She wished she could talk. She wanted to remind him that she couldn't suck with her mouth forced open this way. She felt like a crocodile in a Tarzan movie.
The big bastard smiled down at her, clutching her face and driving into its painfully straining wetness and warmness as if it were a particularly tight cunt he was skewering. Even so, with his cock's crown probing her throat and making her lurch and fight desperately to keep from vomiting, his balls were inches away from her chin.
He had a lot more cock.
If he shoves the rest of it in, she thought, it will go down my throat and I will die. Oh, my God-maybe this is the way he's chosen to kill me.
"You see," he said suddenly, "there is a disadvantage to having a cock like this. It's a damned horse cock. That's why they call me Caballo. No woman can suck me properly." His massive chest heaved in a sigh. "Well, hold your mouth as wide as you can while I pull it out. Otherwise it'll scrape on your teeth."
She held her mouth as wide as she could while he pulled it out. The knob caught at her teeth just the same, and she saw him wince as she did; she was cracking her jaws to open even wider. Tears streamed.
Then his huge plug popped free and she was gasping and swallowing and sniffing, panting for breath. She got over it as fast as she could, then slipped her hands up under his balls and looked with sweet submission up into his face.
"I'd rather have this big thing in my body," she said, "but I could suck on the tip and slide my hand up and down it if you want-like this."
She lodged half the huge glans in her mouth, sealed her lips around it, and sucked it with all her might. At the same time she fondled his nuts with her left hand and slid her right up and down, up and down the long thick shaft.
"No," he said, and pulled his cock free. Then he reached down, slid his fingers into her armpits with this thumbs gouging her tits, and lifted her to her feet. She thought he meant to kiss her. He didn't. His hands moved quickly down her sides and around, roaming her brash-ly jutting buttocks. Then he clutched the very tops of her thighs, just at the bases of the satiny cheeks of her arched ass.
He lifted her. His fingers dug in and she grunted. Her body slithered up his, her breasts catching on his chest, being pulled downward and forced to slide upward through the mat of hair. One side at a time, he flipped his hands forward along her thighs until she was seated in the air with her thighs cradled in his hands.
Instinctively, she gripped his big barrel of a body with her legs.
He smiled. "That's good," he said. "That's the way. Now in it goes-I'm going in you so deep this time your snatch'll rip!"
He raised her more, then lowered her a bit. She felt the heavy, broad helmet like head of his ponderous prick nudging her outer cuntal lips. They parted, slightly.
"Reach down and guide it in," Caballo told her.
"It-it's in," she said tremorously. He grinned, nodded, and let her drop, several inches.
"Uh," she gasped, then, "Ump!"
Her cunt ran straight down his cock. The inflexible ramming horn filled her up, stretched out her hair-rimmed slit and the inner furrow of her hot belly until she was spread all around it and felt strained with cock.
"Ha-have I ... got it all?"
He smiled-and shook his head. He lowered her another inch. The weight of her body forced another inch of thick dick up her vagina. She groaned and clutched him with tensing calves and gripping fingers, locked behind his big bull neck.
Then he fell forward onto the bed with her and she screamed.
The slick head of his unyielding bone imbedded itself deeper into her with a ramming lunge, snuggled itself against the spongy neck of her uterus as he strained to push ever deeper into the liquid satin of her pussy and his great, heavy body squashed her into the bed.
She felt the tremendous pressure deep inside her; a firm, fat cock head trying to force itself up her uterine tunnel!
It was impossible. It hurt. She had too much cock in her.
Pain welled-and with it the rising sensation of excitement, exhilaration.
It was pain, and she both needed it and loved it.
He slid it halfway out, rammed it back, then again, and again. Her cunt flared into an inferno of pain and rapture. She groaned and squirmed beneath him. She moaned under him, thrashing her body sinuously beneath his, pushing strongly up at him while whipping herself from side to side. He gave her more freedom of motion by propping himself on his elbows. His toes pushed against the floor.
Her naked ass hissed over the sheet it rumpled. The raw, smooth flesh of her cunt clasped and pulled like a heartbeat around his thick, hot meat.
Then he robbed her of movement again, bracketing her tightly with his big arms as he reached beneath her to grasp her buttocks. He pulled her up, and again his glans banged into her cervix. She grunted and flailed her head on the bed.
Her eyes bulged and she gasped loudly when he forced a finger up her asshole without any sort of preamble. Again, it hurt. Desperately her long tight anal channel flowered around the intruder to accept it without pain. She succeeded. Her ass took his thick finger just as her cunt accepted his thick cock, willingly, lovingly.
She accepted the dual probing with squeals and sighs of joy and pure ecstasy.
She felt herself rushing up toward the soaring heights of rapture and knew she was being aided by his roughness with her, the sensation of rape in the way he had entered her, both fore and aft. She hunched, deeply fucking herself and loving every moment of it.
His cock poled in and out of her cunt.
His finger slithered in and out of her asshole and rubbed its walls against his plunging prick.
He thrust into both receptive channels as deeply as he could, his body smacking hers. Their stomachs slapped and ground together, sliding slickly in their own sweat. He ground his chest down into the twin balls of hers, crushing the perky nipples that poked fiercely up into him.
She was almost there, almost making it, when he came, and what seemed to be gallons of hot juices flowed into her in jerking, spurting ejaculations of his liquid seed.
She flopped loosely beneath him, sobbing. She hadn't come. She wanted to, so badly. And she had been so close. It was just-it was just that he had thought only of himself, he had worked too hard and come too fast. And . . . and perhaps . . . perhaps he hadn't demeaned her quite enough, given her quite enough of the illusion of forcible rape, hadn't give her quite enough . . . pain.
He propped himself above her and grinned, then made her jerk and gasp when he grabbed a softly bulging tit in each big strong hand.
"I didn't hurt you enough, did I?" he asked, and she nearly sobbed aloud, realizing that this man who had kidnaped and mistreated and raped her knew more about her than her own husband! All these years of marriage, these years of . . . waste!
"N . . . no," she moaned, averting her head.
He squeezed. "Tell me to, then."
She couldn't get the words out. She swallowed with a gulp and felt tears at the corners of her eyes, stinging. She tried again. "H-hur . . . hurt me."
He fingered and pawed and squeezed her nipples until they were enormous red extensions, puffy and fat and flushed with engorging blood. Then she lay there in fear and fascination and growing pain, while he wound a piece of thread around the very base of each nipple-and knotted it there, pulling and pulling.
"Ah-oh, oh-annnnnnggghhhhh-ah, ah- HURTS!"
"Yes," he said, "that's what you asked for!" Then he produced the rope with which they had tied her earlier, and he rolled her over. Her pursed, violently swollen and forcibly fattened nipples sent pain surging through her when they came in contact with the sheet. It felt like sandpaper.
He tied her wrists behind her, passing the rope twice around her and making sure it cut into her belly before he knotted it again. It was so tight that it constricted her breathing and was a constant stricture around her small stomach.
Then he rolled her over. She lay there, helplessly bound and with her thread-bound nipples lumping up redly, obscenely, while he rose and gazed down at her. She shivered. He went to the door, glanced into the other room, stepped quietly in, and returned. With the whip.
He began whipping her tits.
Pain like heated needles assaulted her and she moaned loudly.
The whip rose and fell, curled and cracked. Her mouth and eyes were wide with shock and terror and pain. Sweat oozed from her skin and trickled from her armpits and whiplashed breasts, the chill-sweat of horror and fear and pain.
The whip rose and fell. She felt it, fiery hot on her naked, totally defenseless tits. With terrified eyes, her vision dimmed with pain, she watched him draw back the leather strap and snap it forward. Fresh pain sizzled into her. Its length fell across both her breasts; its tip snapped the swelling right hemisphere viciously. She screeched, moaning and writhing.
She saw it now, the glassy look in his eyes.
It was lust, but of a different kind from that which he had slaked in her vaginal deeps. Blood lust. She remembered what she had heard him say to the other man: "I say we cut off Claudine's tits like we did Morgana's. . . ."
That, she realized deep inside a brain staggered and numbed with pain and horror and terrible fear, was what he was going to do.
He was going to keep on whipping her until the rising red welts burst and blood oozed and then flowed in streams and then in rivers and her defenseless tits were red globe shapes of bleeding horror!
She began to scream, shrieking, screeching at the very limit of her lungs. She had one chance. She screeched.
There was another horror involved, too. He struck again, and the whip burned like a laser across her jiggling, red-striped breasts-and her cunt felt like it had been pumped full of boiling water. Her belly knotted up even as she screamed. Her throat spewed out awful shrieks until it ached rawly-and she came.
Her whipped breasts bounced and rippled, her belly quivered. And then the luxuriant liquids of her orgasm came flowing out. The power of her climax hurled her into an orgiastic delirium that made her hunch her body upward to meet the whip's lash in midflight, seeking its harsh leather caress, its welts, the blood she knew would soon come. . . .
There was a roaring wind through her head, up and down the tormented hallways of her brain, and her eyes seemed to see through a red mist. She saw Caballo jerk and look at the door into the other room; heard voices, as if from far, far away, saw Caballo's face and lips twisting as he cursed and railed at the other man, saw him brandish the whip, and squat, and come up with his trousers, heard the faraway voices again, saw him drop his pants and saw that now there was a knife in his hand, saw him start toward the doorway.
She heard a sound like a ruler slapped down hard on a tabletop.
Caballo stopped his forward movement with a jerk. He looked totally surprised; astonished. He started forward again. There were two more of the sharp, slapping-cracking noises.
Caballo lurched, half-turned, and she saw the dark spots, one on his chest and two in his hairy belly. Bullet holes. Then he fell. Knife and whip handle clattered to the floor along with the heavy thump-bumping of his inert body.
Then Edmunto was walking into the room, a pistol in his hand. He stood over Caballo, gazing down at him. He looked at Claudine and she stared back, petrified, unable even to speak. Her whipped breasts felt as if they had been stuffed with tinder and set alight.
Edmunto bent, straightened up with Caballo's knife in hand, set a knee on the bed, and bent over the helplessly bound blond. Speechless with fear, she watched the knife approach her flaming breasts. Then she felt its steel touch. It was cold, icy cold against flesh turned burning hot by a dozen lashes of the leather whip.
Carefully, Edmunto sliced through the thread knotted about her nipples-and slung the knife aside. It clattered to the floor.
She was almost fainting in relief. Only the surging new pain, that of circulation returning into her nipples, kept her conscious.
"The big stupid bastard wanted to kill you, Princess," Edmunto said quietly. "Stupid, stupid." He turned her over. "You're my ticket out of the country! Ah, yes-he tied you well. I think we'll just leave your wrists like that."
He tugged at her, pulled her off the bed and onto her feet. Just the slight drop of her breasts to their normal position when she stood, only a matter of millimeters, was an agony. Her legs failed to do their job. They turned to jelly and she fell heavily, with her bound hands useless to break her fall. She hurt her elbow. Glancing over, she saw that she was about four feet away from Caballo's body.
"Looks like you bastards are doing a nice job of wiping each other out," a voice said, from the doorway.
She and Edmunto jerked their heads door-ward simultaneously, to see George Buchanan standing there with a rifle in his hands. It was pointed at Edmunto, but it appeared to be loosely held.
"I killed Herrera," Buchanan said, with pride. "Then I came after you three rapists.
But there's one dead outside the front door, and there's another-boy." He shook his head.
Edmunto dropped to his knees, as if in supplication-and fired.
Buchanan's rifle roared, then roared again. He was staggering, his face wearing that same idiotically surprised look as Caballo's had.
From his knees, Edmunto squeezed another shot from his wavering pistol. The rifle caranged again. Buchanan banged back against the door jamb. His eyes were staring, unseeingly. He slid down the wall. The rifle clattered loudly on the floor. His buttocks hit the floor and his head tilted loosely forward. He looked as though he were sitting there asleep. "Except that his eyes were open.
Edmunto rolled over on his side, kicked, and was still.
Claudine Brooks lay there shivering and trying to remain conscious. Many minutes passed. Then she tried to move. It hurt. Her wrists were very tightly bound, and the rope ran twice around her middle, and that hurt even more. She moaned. Her leg hurt, too, and she discovered that Edmunto's left leg lay across it. It was a dead weight.
"Help," she said, in a voice so weak she hardly heard it herself.
Help? Who'll help me? I've got to get up, and get out of here. I'm tired, and I'm naked, but I've got to get up and walk anyhow. I have to keep walking until I find someone. Or someone finds me.
She thought about that. Someone finding her. Naked, with whip-reddened, jiggling swinging naked tits, with her blond hair dirty and stringing loosely down over her shoulders and back and one breast, with Caballo's cum oozing in a tickling little trickle out of her red-lipped, much-ravaged pussy.
She sighed. Well, that might have been just too much for me a day or two ago-is that all it's been? It seems like centuries! But not any more. Not-any-more! No, I can handle it; who gives a damn? And if it's a man who finds me first, maybe I'll just ask him how he'd like a nice blow job or a good fuck!
That strange, un-princess-like thought touched off another realization in her-she was hot!
"Good God," she muttered, glancing around the room. "I'm hot! All this horror and death- and my body feels like a fire, banked with a few ashes but still smoldering and ready to flare at a second's notice, at the slightest chance or opportunity!"
She giggled. There was a rising hysteria in her voice. Then the giggle rose until it became a small cry, and then it died. Her eyes were huge, staring fixedly at Caballo. He was moving. He was not dead. His head rolled. His eyes fixed on hers.
She had never seen eyes like those. They were full of venom, full of hatred. He hated her! He was in pain, his comrades were dead and he was surely dying-and he connected her with all of it. She was the cause of their dissension and their leader's downfall and theirs.
She saw him glance around, saw him spot the knife that Edmunto had tossed aside to fall onto the floor.
Claudine watched Caballo wince as he made the effort. She saw his fingers clutch, flex spasmodically, then close around the knife.
She saw him squeeze it tightly in his hand, as if lovingly. Then his eyes met hers again. Hate seemed to radiate out from those staring dark eyes.
Then, obviously in pain and with tremendous effort, an inch at a time, he began dragging himself and that terrible knife across the floor toward her. His eyes left her face only to gloat over her naked breasts.