Zealously he attacked the bud with lips tongue and even teeth, the way he had been taught, hearing her delighted hiss and girlish giggle above him. Soon she was wailing with pleasure her ample flesh enveloping him shaking as if to threaten an avalanche. He was almost the victim of his own success, for in her ecstasy of lust Madame closed her great thighs and squeezed. With his head trapped between the great masses he was forced to prise the fold apart from below, sufficiently enough to prevent him being overlaid and smothered. His head swam but he kept working with his mouth and nose buried against her pubis, hard at work, made skilful by demanding teachers in this erotic art.
Thankfully the avalanche occurred, the thighs fell apart and David could breathe easily again. He rejoiced too soon, for it had been deliberate. He was given only time enough to recover his breath and then enfolded again mercilessly. He lapped and tongued desperately in the intervals of freedom, conscious of provoking overwhelming reflexes but hoping each time to bring her to orgasm and himself to release before the next. Bringing his hands round unreproved by his mistress, he clutched convulsively at her ample hips and Madame squirmed and gasped in delight as she felt his diligent tongue probe and flicker like a wet flame in the warm mushy depths. Her ponderous thighs wavered in ecstatic indecision, now flung wide to reveal all, now clamping the bobbing head tightly between them.
“Stick it in hard! Mmmm... That’s it! Mmmm... Stir it up, boy!” The thought of what she could do with this obedience, fully adjusted by her satellites for any lack of expertise. Heggrah meanwhile amused herself by giving David reminders of her presence, the dreaded tawse lightly smacking his tight buttocks as they waggled to and fro in his efforts to do justice to his task.
Suddenly Madame let out a hiss, curving over David’s bent head, her breasts toppling forward. She grabbed both his ears and clung to the hard-pressed boy as if she feared that he might yet rebel.
“Ahhh...go on...yesss...go on!” she urged savagely. “That’s it... harder... harder!” Half suffocated by softly bulging flesh, David strove blindly to obey, to tongue and tongue with only brief gasps between, conscious of the urgent need to please. Above him, the brothel mistress eventually ceased her savage exhortations, her normally tight-lipped mouth writhing slackly, and her face dark with lust.
“Ahhh...boy... I’m nearly...” Her huge bulk quivered slowly, her breasts wobbled ponderously. “Ahhh...uhhh...!” Suddenly her thighs fell apart and she yanked David’s head out of her lap, just before the hapless youth could begin a desperate bid for air. “Aaaah...!” She heaved mountainously upwards in triumph, leaving David panting upon all fours at her feet.
“You have done well, Heggrah! The Colonel and I will need a well trained retinue to accompany us to our desert refuge when the time comes!”
Chapter Fifteen
A few miles from the town a fishing village clustered about a small lagoon behind a sandbar. On its outskirts amid a sandy wasteland stood the modern school building, empty and unused since the war began, but a favourite haunt of idle youth. Before it a few unremarkable shaven-headed boys in loose knee-length gowns were kicking a football in desultory fashion, paying little attention to a bent old woman in black creeping slowly closer to the side of the building as she collected dried dung for her fire. Their eyes instead were upon a man approaching from the village in leisurely fashion, past the line of fishing boats drawn up upon the shore. He spoke to the boys who abandoned the football and clustered about him, laughing. The man looked hastily about him. The old crone had gone. He produced a small sack and allowed the boys to sample the contents. Chewing appreciatively, they followed him to the entrance, one of them gesturing him to follow. The man and his sack disappeared inside followed by all but one of the boys who remained on guard.
Out of sight around the back, attracted by a series of resounding smacks and plaintive yelps, the old woman was clambering slowly up the steps of a metal fire stair until she was high enough to peer through a broken blind in one of a row of high windows. Below in a neglected gymnasium, littered with spilled papers, empty cans and bottles, two boys were playing table tennis. The place of the net was taken by the upper half of a boy, stretched shaven-head foremost, athwart the table, where the little ball sprang and flew back and forth across his body. His shabby gown was up around his ears and his bare plump bottom was poised over the edge of the table, where a fourth boy with his own gown pulled up about his hips was vigorously engaged in buggering him. The rest were milling about, looking on and devouring the contents of the sack at the same time. The man who had contributed the sack was also watching, one hand clapped to the front of his gown, the other gripping another of the shaven-headed boys by the arm. At just that moment he swung about, dragging the evidently reluctant boy along with him, heading urgently towards a room at the rear where through an open door, the corner of a mattress showed on the tiled floor. Clucking angrily to herself, the old woman hobbled back to earth and set off towards the village.
As night fell, the school building stood dark and unlit under the stars, except where a chink of yellow light showed through the broken blind. Towards it from the village advanced a shuffling black-clad crowd, only visible as a darker block in the general darkness. Feet almost silent in the soft dust, they whispered together in angry and excited tones as they enveloped the entrance and then poured in down an interior corridor following the muffled sound of youthful male voices raised in a goading rhythmic chant.
The bursting of the leaders through swing doors and into yellow lantern light, caused the cessation of the sound in an instant and the rising screech of feminine outrage that succeeded was accompanied by the sound of crashing furniture, a sudden darkness, and a startled rush of feet going in the opposite direction.
Despite the darkness however, the shrilly indignant first-comers had time before the lantern went out to lay determined hands upon the principal culprits.
Surrounded by an audience of urgently encouraging boys of all ages, two naked slender figures had been caught in an act of shocking indecency atop the table tennis table, intimately interlocked in the 69 sexual combination. Two boyish gowns lay in crumpled heaps beside them and their heads gleamed close-shaved in the fashion of the other young males, but stark naked as they were, their startled coming apart at the abrupt flight of their audience, exposed figures definitely not boyish, the one on top dangling a pair of extended young breasts, the thighs open to the application of her mouth, only fair fluff on a plump mound and a reddened, glistening wet vaginal slot. Twin teenage girls undeniably, and too white-skinned to be from any village family. As if in further confirmation, their bare bottoms exhibited at the moment of discovery identified them, daubed irregularly in green paint by a hand unaccustomed to Roman lettering, as AMI and BEKI.
The black clad female mob returned to the village in much noisier fashion than they had left it. Heading the feverishly excited infuriated throng their two naked captives stumbled and skipped, encouraged along by the leading viragos with frequent applications of the stick, half strangled by the impromptu halters about their slender necks. Men and boys were only vaguely in evidence, lurking round corners and peering from doorways at the naked figures, now in all but stature and shaven skulls totally unlike the boyish appearance that been their disguise.
Behind them two figures, one bigger than the other, flitted in the darkness from the rear of the school building dragging between them a limp figure, naked and pale-skinned with wrists and ankles bound and a dark bag concealing the features. Following the ululating females at a discreet distance, they went no further than the looming bulk of one of the drawn-up boats. Male genitals flopped loosely from a dark pubic triangle as they hoisted their human burden and levered it over the vessel’s side. For a while they busied themselves intermittently out of sight, then presently slid down the side unencumbered and set off after the disappeared females.
When the green turbans of two religious policem
en appeared bobbing through the excited mob, they were only able to prevail due to dissent among the females about the proper place to hang their victims. Gripped firmly by the two flailing policemen under the direction of an elderly mullah with red scratch marks down his face and his white turban knocked awry, the trembling twin girls were led into the village police station. The bulk of the women were obliged to remain outside where they continued to chant and howl, but a small deputation, all that could crowd in, attended to give evidence and ensure these devilish corruptors of the young were dealt with. Seated behind a desk, the mullah adjusted his turban, averting his eyes from twin female nakedness, not boyish at all except in stature and hairlessness, until their captors reluctantly delivered up the two shabby male gowns they had brought as evidence and the pair were made more decent. Amy and Rebecca, half throttled and wholly terrified of their captors, tried to establish their status as helpless prisoners of the boy gang, but were unable to make themselves understood.
They had seen what lay below in the school basement, a dusty airless place full of rusty pipes and long silent machinery, lit only by the open door at the top of the stairs through which was cast a long shaft of desert sunlight. A grey metal desktop was positioned in the dusty shaft of light upon which they saw their father once more, but lying stripped naked and spread-eagled to the corners of the heavy desk by ropes from his wrists and ankles. Face upward he had no eyes for the huddle of shaven-headed bare-legged teenagers about the doorway, obscuring amongst them two gagged and horrified daughters. His eyes were fixed instead upon an arrangement of ropes and pulleys that dangled from a large pipe running across the ceiling. At the lower end was a hook attached to a leather strap around the base of his scrotum.
Two of the gang had gone down to him and were holding the lines from the pulleys. At a sign from Zahd they threw their youthful muscles into hauling down upon them. At first, Tom Seaton’s groans were muted by his gag, but soon rose to a tortured scream as his loins rose, hoisted off the slab by the strap encircled scrotum, his cock and balls like a bunch of grotesque fleshy vegetables, his stretched flesh taking more and more of his weight. Slowly he was hoist past the point at which his arching body could relieve the strain, with only his shoulders and heels still touching the metal. Zahd glanced at the shrinking girls being forced to watch, and spoke a few words. One of the two, grinning upwards, left off hauling to stoop over Tom’s straining loins. Using his fingers and tongue he began to work upon the swollen glossy knob that topped the empurpled penis. Great racking groans and gasps emerged from the paternal throat, yet that portion of his flesh that supported him seemed to enlarge, standing erect like a blood-engorged totem pole. Zahd’s lips curled cruelly. He showed the sobbing daughters a short bamboo cane and then, trotting down the stairs, deliberately made a horizontal cut across their father’s white belly just where the pubic hair began to sprout in a bush. Tom reacted to the cut with a wild bellow despite his gag, his haunches jerking and the suspending cord twanging at every jerk, evoking renewed anguish. The twins gargled with desperate expressiveness, no longer attempting to resist the groping hands in the press about them. As the general recognition of their surrender was transmitted below, Zahd made a gesture and Tom collapsed with a thud and a long groan as the ropes were let fly.
Questioned by the mullah, the few boys who had been rounded up blustered in evident self-justification as if nothing like this had happened. The only word the twins recognised, the name of their principal captor seemed to be on everyone’s lips in varying tones, Zahd! So there was an excited hubbub when the ringleader of their youthful captors appeared at last, pushing in, ignoring the scowling faces of the women and the exasperated frown of the mullah, his face a picture of innocence. He was accompanied by a short barrel-chested man with a greying black beard who might have been his father and another, a fat man wearing a military uniform with several stars on the shoulders, who was received with respect by the mullah and grumbling resentment by the women. Zahd backed by the others of the gang now spoke at length pointing fingers at the girls who were clearly being accused of being something other than innocent victims. With a few words into interrogator’s ear the fat officer leant over and laid a pair of passports on the table before him. While Amy and Rebecca struggled to understand whether this was good or ill, the mullah raised his eyes from studying the water-stained booklets and with a curt gesture directed the girls to be removed without further questions. Thankfully they assumed that at least they had been identified.
Confined in a dirty ill-smelling cell the girls could make no impression upon the grim-faced, black-robed, cane-wielding females left in charge of them. The only food they got came via one of the younger boys, reluctantly admitted by their gaolers to deliver a couple of loaves of greyish-looking bread. The arrival of a formal trial seemed more hopeful. They were taken back to the school gymnasium apparently as being the scene of their offences. Outside the inevitable mob of black-shrouded females had gathered, some of them clutching young children. The policemen hustled the prisoners past as if nervous of abuse, but the muttering women pressed in behind despite them to form a critical audience. Inside the gymnasium the rubbish had been roughly cleared into a corner. Seated behind a small desk, the same elderly mullah with the scratched face questioned the twins this time, with one of the chorus of women apparently the schoolteacher since she had been loudly and indignantly pointing at various damage, reluctantly acting as translator, who as if to distance herself from the immorality of unbelievers, hectored the prisoners angrily at every turn.
They been kidnapped? Pirates! There were no such things! Where was this family they professed to be with? A father held captive? Nonsense! They were the only foreigners who had been here! They were infiltrators. A humiliating list of sexual acts with men and boys with which they were accused was then read out. If they were forced, why had they not made an appeal when they were alone with men? They claimed they had been beaten? The bruising displayed by two obviously delicate backsides was due to nothing more than the natural indignation of the ladies who captured them.
Out of the bewildering diatribe and half-coherent abuse emerged another accusation. “They say enemy send you to give men and boys disease. Make women have no babies!”
The following day the actual trial took place, seeming at first to be no more than some mere formality. The twins were taken back once more to the school and the same room where they had been interrogated. Three old men sat behind the table this time and read out sentences at length from a paper.
The two prisoners had just begun to grasp that this was a formal judgement, when there came an interruption. There had been a good deal of noise outside. The usual crowd of black-clad women came pushing into the courtroom, gesturing and clamouring, in their flapping black robes. Shrieking and howling, they harangued the old men who vainly tried to subdue them. The woman interpreter emerged from their ranks and joined in, screaming at the girls.
“What you know about plot to give disease to young men, eh?” The invading women shook their fists and screamed too, their hysteria undiminished by the stammering tearful denials of the twins. At last the vengeful women seemed finally mollified and lapsed one by one into grudging acquiescence. Some sort of order was restored, and what seemed to be an altered version of the sentence hastily read out. No one translated any of it for the accused pair, so they were none the wiser that to quieten the threatening presence of the female mob, the sentence upon them had been made immediate. The still noisily chattering crowd of black- clad women had retreated to line the walls of the gymnasium forming a deep fringe around three sides, men and boys clustered further back about the doors.
Amy was first to be placed with her face to the wall bars, between two uprights in the centre of the remaining vacant side. She was made to extend her arms at full stretch and they were fastened to the bars like that, with leather straps. By this time she had guessed not only what was to happen to her but that an
outcry would be useless. Only the blank wall was before her. She craned her neck in an effort to look over her shoulder as she heard the scuff of sandals from behind. The hem of the boyish gown, her sole garment, was lifted and thrown up over her head leaving her rear view fully exposed to the crowd from her shoulders downwards. She felt her skin goose-pimpled in the sudden chill. Her bottom, she remembered suddenly, still displayed the letters of her name. She heard some woman read it for them and the rest repeat it accompanied by a wave of jeering giggles. Tautly fastened she could do no more than squeeze the two globes tightly together in dreadful anticipation.
Kneeling in agitation, at a little distance behind, Rebecca could clearly see what was to come to Amy as the policeman walked forward swinging a long bamboo cane, but the swish of the cane sufficed for a perfectly audible warning to her sister.
It ended in a crack that echoed to the rafters and Amy sent arching forward and upward on her toes, her mouth opening in a sharp exhalation. The audience quivered and hissed vengefully, dark eyes glittering. A bright red line had appeared running from hip to hip across the upper half of the English girl’s white rump. Her breasts squashed upwards between the horizontal bars. She never came back down off her toes either, for the cane came down fast and hard thereafter in swift repeated cracks. Not until the third stroke did Amy get back breath enough to shriek but once begun she replied with regular responses to every cracking impact.
The fascinated female audience, having ululated approvingly at her satisfactory reaction, began counting the allotted strokes. The sisters had no understanding of the numbers and in any case, neither had any idea how many they were to get. It would obviously be more painful than the bat. Every so often the policeman with the cane would pause and let it sink, so that the girl’s would anticipate an end, only to find that it was merely to rest the flogger’s arm and it would be resumed once more.
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