Guinea Pigs

by Peter Marriner

  General Bha Duong swam into view as if in answer to her wails. Hands thrust her in that direction.

  “Go! General, finish what you want!” The pressure of her desire allowed Jacqueline no time for reflection. With little mewling cries she gathered her shaky limbs beneath her, and crawled towards the shadowy male figure, back arched like an animal in pain, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. She needed him. He was hard and strong. She needed what a man could give! She blundered against his legs and clutched blindly. This man, any man!

  The thick fingers of the renegade grabbed her by the hair, lifting her tear-wet face level with his crotch. She saw and identified what she needed with a desperate groan. She settled on her knees quivering with the intensity of her emotions as a naked penis, half stiffened, thick as a club, dangled before her eyes.

  “You must work for what you want!” Bha Duong chided inexorably. “Get it up!” Terror and arousal alike had combined to prepare the young woman for this cue. With hardly a moment’s hesitation, consumed by her need, impelled to propitiate and to coax, she put her soft mouth to his half erected organ, encircled the rearing fleshy knob with her lips and began assiduously to tongue and suck him. The General hissed in triumph, his eyes slitted, enjoying this succulent form of revenge as he looked down upon his hapless captive, who had been reduced to the abject necessity of arousing him solely in order to effect her own rape.

  Beyond the windows there now showed a vivid glare. In the distance the main buildings were evidently ablaze, their light creating weird leaping reflections on the walls of the lounge and playing tricks with the strained postures of the man and woman in the centre of the floor.

  “I congratulate you!” Gripping Jacqueline tightly, the General gasped in elation, looking over her head at the row of three grinning men and then to those others who formed a lewdly admiring audience. “An excellent cock-sucker!” It was only with an effort that he dragged Jacqueline off him, leaving her panting and mewling in anxious propitiation. “Nearly as good as a professional!” he assured his clinging victim. His penis was in massive erection, glistening with her saliva from hairy root to purple tip.

  “You shall have this now to put where you really want it!” He turned and, drawing Jacqueline with him, cast himself full length on the black leather couch that the Ravens used for a spare bed. “Come! Ride me! Good and hard eh!” He gestured to where his rampant cock rose stiffly from his loins and Jacqueline responded as if mesmerised. It stood like a knotted column. Her blue eyes were fixed glassily upon its rearing length, the lips that had created that tumescence still parted, her chin glistening with the same saliva. Her slim figure turned red gold by the distant fire light, she scrambled up on top of his prostrate form, responding more to the brutal lure of his erection than in obedience to his words. She straddled the man’s lap on all fours, shapely thighs splayed wide, soft belly hollowed so that her dark pubic tuft bulged as a furry pad between arching tendons. Teeth clenched upon her lower lip, she manoeuvred hastily, whimpering a little with the effort of keeping her desire in check. The General grinned at her eagerness. His great cock bounced like a live thing as she reached a hand to grasp it beneath her belly.

  With distracted expression and sobbing breath Jacqueline lowered herself determinedly upon him, slim hand wedding-ringed, guiding the alien cock home between her straining thighs. Squealing a little, she got its fat knob firmly lodged with a little jiggle of her hips. Shuddering, she let herself go, allowing her own weight to sink her slowly inch by inch onto its shaft, lubricated for her by her own saliva. She took its full length into herself until she sank with a gasp of triumph, belly to belly, squatting on the General’s thighs, head tossed, body arched, firmly impaled.

  Only for a few seconds did she find relief in being so solidly occupied. A brief squeal of ecstatic satisfaction died into a groan as the returning urgency of mind and body forced her on and impelled her into motion. Like a girl on a pony, rising and falling in the saddle, she obeyed the General’s original exhortation and began to ride her solid impalement, wailing and gasping, surging up and down, bolt upright, teeth gritted, hair flying and breasts bouncing.

  The General’s followers were avid spectators of the show. Jacqueline was aware of them drawing closer but endeavoured to shut her mind to extraneous matters, losing herself in her own physical world. Beneath her surging body their commander lay as still as if lying in state, an iron will forcing Jacqueline to provide all the action, making herself a spectacle for their entertainment. In her frantic desire for sexual release she only worked harder, plunging up and down the long intrusion as if working a pump shaft, twisting and writhing her hips like a belly dancer in the effort to get ever more sensation.

  “Ride it! Isn’t this what you wanted?” His voice goaded her, acting upon her confused mind like a whip to a mare, inciting her to wilder efforts. Her hair was plastered to her neck and cheeks and she was panting hard, breasts heaving. The General himself, showed signs of the effect she was having. His red-lit face distorted, with teeth showing, looked more devilish than ever “Just a bitch on heat!” he jeered and Jacqueline squealed without restraint as hard hands slapped and bounced her swinging breasts. Somehow, punishment seemed appropriate and served to distract her mind from the ever-deepening ache in her belly.

  “Yes... Yes... I ...” She groaned, hardly knowing what it was she was assenting to, acknowledging her shame at being the centre of attention for all these leering men, but finding that the shame only heightened the excitement. Her cries grew ever more frenzied and soon even the thought of being forced and punished became part of the stimulus which fuelled her lust. “I can’t... help it... can’t stop... it... Have to... do ...it!”

  How long she spent thus frantically impaled, she never could have told; enough that she was convinced that only in this way could she obtain the relief she needed. Excited almost beyond endurance, she rode her impalement as if her life depended upon it, uttering broken cries of lustful desire, becoming oblivious of all about her.

  Stumbling and panting through the darkness outside, Roger Raven was coming to the rescue of his young wife. As yet he hardly knew what he might find. Behind him the burning buildings of the US Centre for Regional Security lit his progress well enough to confirm that the attackers had indeed passed this way. Those bungalows and staff quarters he passed were wrecked or burning. Dead bodies lay here and there; some of the uniformed attackers, mostly those of his colleagues, in various states of undress, shot down before they could report to their posts.

  Somewhere in the distance behind him, bursts of automatic fire showed that some of the Marine guards still held out on the perimeter and occupied the attention of the enemy. It was only that circumstance which had permitted Roger and a few colleagues to escape the burning buildings and only luck that he alone seemed to have survived the last minute hail of bullets as they ran for the cover of the surrounding trees. Crawling through the undergrowth, he had evaded further enemy attention and, dodging from tree to tree in the semi-darkness, had headed for the long lines of wooden bungalows and temporary accommodation huts that housed the Centre’s staff, hoping to find his wife.

  The initial murderous purpose of the invaders once satisfied, they seemed to have swept on past. At least nobody challenged Roger as he ran forward, breathless, suddenly conscious that long hours behind a desk had left him out of condition. The Ravens’ assigned bungalow was the last in one of the rows, which gave him continued hope. It was also the only one that seemed undamaged and possibly still occupied. A square of light was cast upon the lawn from an un-curtained window. Roger gave a hoarse cry at the sight, increasing his stride, but only a few paces had him stumbling over something in his path. It was a woman’s body, nearly naked, with legs out-flung. He knelt aghast, recognizing his wife’s friend Rachel still in her nightdress, shot at close range.

  Still crouching Roger looked up with a start as a s
hadow briefly passed across the lighted square. Someone was still there at any rate. Wildly he sprang up and ran forward, clutching his emptied gun like a talisman. At the rear veranda he steadied himself enough to think of slipping off his shoes before creeping onward with trembling haste. Another body lay upon the boards of the veranda. He saw with a wave of relief that mitigated the shock, that it was the body of their Thai houseboy. The screen door into the house was right at his hand; it swung open to his touch. Inside all was dark, but he knew by the shadow that whoever was present must be in the front room. Groping in the blackness, he found the door to the passage, pushed it open and saw immediately ahead of him a vertical strip of light where the lounge door stood slightly ajar.

  Every faculty of his was concentrated upon that line of light as he crept towards it down the dark passage. Sounds came muted from beyond the door that made his mind whirl and quickened his steps, the rhythmic creak of maltreated springs and a steady male grunting, counter-pointed by an equally repetitive female squeal. It was all too obvious in what manner the invader’s attention was engrossed, and Roger knew what he might expect, even as he came level with the gap in the door. Yet the reality was so disconcerting that for one fatal unguarded moment it caught him at a loss.

  Before him on the couch, instantly recognised, were his wife and Bha Duong, both naked but in positions reversed from any that he had expected. Jacqueline half turned towards him, her face flushed with an expression of frenzied lust, was bestriding her compliant partner in the act of plunging herself vigorously upon his up-reared penis.

  In that very instant of shocked recognition Roger was felled from behind. His brief moment of mental confusion had left him an easy target for the lurking sentry who had followed him in the dark. The door he had intended to crash open with a kick now swung only slowly enough to admit his toppling body as it subsided into the room, with the sound of his wife’s lust-distorted squeals still fresh in his ears. The sentry completed the job by dragging his body triumphantly into view.

  “Ahhh... So... Give... him... a dose... too!” Bha Duong grunted between Jacqueline’s un-regarding thrusts, craning briefly to recognise the hapless figure of her husband delivered into his hands. “Fasten him... to something... By the time... he... comes to... he’ll want to... to join in.” Then he too forgot the new prisoner, no longer able to maintain his pose of indifference to Jacqueline’s efforts and responding now with an enthusiasm of his own.

  Roger Raven came back to consciousness, bound and gagged, lying on the floor of the lounge in the shadows beyond the circle of lamplight. Knowing nothing of the injected drug, he attributed the fog in his brain and the ache in his loins alike to the effects of the blow that had felled him. Still, it seemed strange to find his penis in full erection.

  Remembering his original purpose with a groan, he tried to struggle up, only to find himself chained, with his wrists behind him, to one leg of a heavy sideboard. In the room a steadily repeated squealing seemed suddenly familiar. Painfully he focused his attention on what lay before him, beyond the dark pillars that resolved into the legs of several men standing with their backs to him. Through the legs he could see what engrossed their owners’ attention. It was his wife from whom the noises emanated. Jacqueline was engaged in frantic copulation, still as he had first discovered her, mounted astride her partner General Bha Duong. Not in the same condition however, for while Roger had lain unconscious, Jacqueline had ridden her demonic captor to one orgasm and herself to two, so that the session which her husband was witnessing was the second and the result of her efforts to suck and tease the General back into rigidity, so that he might still continue to serve her unremitting, unsatiated need.

  Bewildered, Roger could only look on with tumultuous feelings as his wife, frantic and evidently uncaring of her audience, rode her male partner to another climax. Sometimes she lifted so high that he could see Bha Duong’s red and glistening stem almost emerge from its clasping sheath and see how she reached with a wail of alarm, lest it escape her. In turn the General clutched her bottom with hands like dark claws to draw her back down and Roger heard the man groan in ecstasy as Jacqueline rammed down, tight body arched, glistening with sweat, shuddering and gasping as both of them, dominator and victim, burst into simultaneous orgasm.

  “Too bad you miss first part of show!” The nearest man turned and kicked Roger painfully. “But you get to see plenty yet!” Roused to sudden rage, Roger lunged at his tormentor, only to collapse ignominiously in a sitting position as the chain brought him up short. “Don’t get upset! Is not plenty done in US, swapping wife?”

  Bha Duong having rolled Jacqueline unceremoniously off him and onto the couch came over to inspect his other captive. His sagging cock, impressive even in this state and still wet from the young wife’s excesses, dangled before her husband’s eyes.

  “Your own turn will come! It’s only matter of time!” At his feet, Roger ground his teeth into his gag in fury and despair, but his own erection was more urgent than ever and he could not keep his eyes off the naked figure of his wife nor his mind from dwelling on the lewd performance she had just given.

  Jacqueline was in a similar state of confusion. She had hitherto been blind to all things extraneous to her lust, even to her husband’s involuntary entrance. In the briefly lucid interval that succeeded orgasm, she had struggled up onto hands and knees on the black couch. Her thighs, however, were firmly pressed together in the effort to contain her lust and she got no further. Through a haze of fallen hair, head hanging, she caught sight of Roger among her disregarded audience.

  What had he seen? What had he heard her say? Already, despite her latest orgasm, she felt the familiar tide of lust rising to sweep her away again. What could she do? She wanted more... All over again... No end to it... She must have it... again! In a last attempt at lucid thought she tried to beg her husband for help, but her mind couldn’t form coherent sentences. The words came out jumbled and confused.

  “Fuck... See... Roger... Me... General... Fuck... Me.” And then, as if sticking on the word, she repeated plaintively. “Fuck me... Fuck... Ohhh... Fuck me.”

  Between her thighs the tide surged, hot urges that made her squirm and grind her hips on hands and knees before all those men, striving to subdue her lust but only feeding it. For a few hopeless moments Jacqueline tried to resist the torment, then she humped herself up, uncertainly, like an animal performing an unfamiliar trick that it dimly hopes will serve to earn a reward, thrusting her hind-parts upwards, thighs splayed wide. Cool air made her heated crevices feel as if they were giving a gaping invitation. Her mind had clamped tight upon a vision of male cocks all round her, her husband only one among them.

  For a few moments she remained like that, her bushy pubis and reddened vagina displayed to the half circle of smirking men. None of them seemed willing to do anything, not even Roger on whom she had fixed her hopes. Sobbing audibly, she slid one hand back. Slim fingers creeping towards her yawning slot she hesitated guiltily, for several broad red stripes from the General’s belt across her backside reminded her she was not to try that way out. Instead, the fingers spread open the glistening red lips of her quim and she waggled her uplifted bottom in as deliberate an invitation as she could effect.

  Her only reward was an explosion of male laughter. She was so blatantly begging for one of them to come and fuck her.

  As helpless as his wife and now in the throes of drug induced lust himself, Roger hung from his restraining chain, slack jawed, with his stiffened penis dangling on his thighs, hopelessly devouring every soft moan and lascivious incoherence with which Jacqueline strove to tempt any available male to try to satisfy her. The brutes made her wait and Roger saw her turn towards her audience at last, flushed and wild eyed, mewling in frustration to see them enjoyably occupied, drawing cards from a greasy pack to settle who would have her first.

  The winner approached her, shedding his clothe
s so that, when he reached the couch, he was naked too, lean and sinewy, his skin the colour of old ivory in the lamplight. A large hard hand clapped to Jacqueline’s reared rump, stilled its gyrations instantly. She let her relief express itself audibly open mouthed, almost hooting as a thick knuckled middle finger thrust deep into her wet slit. The drawer of the high card worked his digit to and fro with an audible squelch, while Jacqueline cooed encouragement, only to cry out in disappointment as it slipped free and its tip ran upwards to the pucker of her anus, leaving a sticky snail’s trail in the soft crevice of her bottom.

  She squirmed uneasily under the hard splay of the man’s hand as his finger prodded that tight opening. Slippery from her well-lubricated slot, the finger wormed almost as easily into the tighter clinging rim of her anus. She hissed sharply as it prised her open, tossing her hips impatiently at this cheat and then, finding the pain a distraction, wriggled harder instead, feeling like a tightly wound spring which almost anything sexual would now snap.

  “She hot! So hot she pull cock off!” the thug guffawed for his companions’ benefit. Jacqueline hardly heard him. She was busy trying to squeeze the thick finger, swivelling her plump hips around its intrusion in an effort to distract herself from the lack of anything better.

  “Ask me for it!” the brute hissed insistently. Jacqueline was wriggling on his finger like a hooked fish, mouth agape. But it was only a distraction not a solution. Hopefully she turned her head.

  “Please... please... fuck me,” she begged shamelessly. His finger withdrew with a quick plop. Jacqueline greeted the withdrawal with eagerness born of miscomprehension. Tossing her head to cast an appealing glance over her shoulder at her lucky winner, she saw him clamber up onto the couch behind her. His flat features crumpled into a mask of lust and his fist clasped about the root of an excitingly massive erection that reared its purplish head above the naked curve of her rump.