Guinea Pigs

by Peter Marriner

  “You get it where I want it!” The man winked at his fellows. “You better like it! Get arse right up!” Big hard hands threw Jacqueline forwards onto her face, rearing her hindquarters up on high to receive the huge cock head, prodding where his finger had preceded it. She tried to resist it, making propitiatory moans, begging for something nearer her desire, but only incurring rougher treatment, his fingers digging into soft curves, forcing her bottom rounds apart, reawakening the throbbing weals that laced them.

  “Beg for it!” the brute teased her, nudging her with the solidity she so much wanted. Stewing in her drug induced dilemma, torn between the desire to be thrust into and fear of where it was aimed, she fell back upon mental aids. Such was her plight she would grasp at any sort of sexual usage.

  Even the remembrance of the punishment she had been given was capable of rousing a buzz of excitement, satisfying some submerged masochism. Even the humiliation of having to beg for such abuse inspired a half-ashamed wriggle. Performing like this before such an audience only added to that effect.

  “Yes... Yes,” she panted. “Give it to me... Push it up me.”

  “In asshole?” he insisted.

  “Yes... Yes,” she groaned, unable to think clearly. “Push... Push... Hard!”

  From where Roger crouched awkwardly, thighs apart, swollen penis lolling impotently, it seemed that Jacqueline was doing her best to invite buggery, grovelling before the man who had won her, thrusting her round bottom higher for his convenience. The drug had left Roger’s own brain so inflamed by lust that what he saw and heard made him incapable of reason. He had seen and heard Jacqueline being fucked and still begging for more, his mind circled that idea obsessively. While part of him remained horrified at its reactions, his body reacted with arousal. His cock was as stiff and tumescent as that now being used upon her. His limbs quivered with a desire to ram his home as the other was being rammed home in the only suitable goal in sight.

  Separated from her by the palisade of legs he heard his wife give voice to her lust and, unable to help himself, jerked and ground the links of his chain fruitlessly.

  Jacqueline had taken the full length of the other man’s cock, clutching at the unyielding black leather of the couch, bracing herself against the thrust and feeling as if she was liable to split in two. The rim of her anus seemed to pulse around the thick stem and his intruded length to burn inside her like a fiery brand. Yet for the moment, as by her reaction she acknowledged, there were compensations in the pain of the abuse. Like that instilled in her by the belt it seemed to advance her just a bit towards orgasm. From behind her, her latest abuser was even sending her sensations to a new level as he began to drive in and out of her distended pink-rimmed anus. Slowly at first for lack of lubricant, then slipping two fingers into the wet slot below and using the secretions of her vagina to slick his cock for the opening he had chosen.

  Alternately grunting and bellowing, he drove in and out, faster and faster. Jerked to and fro by his surges, Jacqueline responded with shrill gasping cries, now excited by any sort of action, even pain. Together they made a hideous cacophony more like animals fighting than humans copulating. Unnoticed in the shadows, Roger lunged and strove tirelessly, attempting to find some means of reaching the place of action. Unnoticed, for the whole room was now loud with panting, grunting and groaning, and not only from the actual performers.

  Once again, Jacqueline was oblivious to all but the man shafting her. He was stroking fast, in and out, but she was failing to keep pace. She knew instinctively that he wasn’t going to last long enough. Panicking, she slid one hand slyly beneath her, where she hoped no one would see what she was about. Surreptitiously her fingers worked in unison with his brutal thrusts and her wails soon rose above the sound of his grunting, as their diverse efforts met and mingled. Hope sprang within her as she felt the first stirrings of release deep in her belly. Her own efforts, his brutal buggering of her behind, the rasping male thighs beneath hers, large hands on her wealed rump, all came together in multiplied sensation.

  Mental gymnastics added to the effect; the compelling mastery over her of the drug, even forced Jacqueline to turn her own humiliation into cause for excitement. Some of that excitement was transferred to the brute behind her; together they gave voice, masculine bass and feminine shrilling, bellowing and squealing. The man crashed down upon Jacqueline’s arching body at last, like a collapsing wave which flattened her onto the couch, with her abuser wallowing and blowing like a walrus on top of her. Slowly he levered himself off, his shrinking cock unplugging itself with a dangling thread of white cum breaking back into the crease of Jacqueline’s finger-reddened bottom cheeks as the vacated hole slowly regained its proper size.

  Her enforced partner staggered away from the couch, amid the congratulations or perhaps the jibes of his comrades. Presently the General stood over her again, his half-resurrected penis waggling before her face.

  “You liked it that way, didn’t you, Jacqueline?” He examined her curiously as if she were an animal that had just demonstrated unexpected capabilities. Jacqueline flinched guiltily, the cheeks of her bottom tightening in fright, thinking he might have seen her using the forbidden fingers, fearing another session with the belt, yet finding that carried confusing associations with the sexual release that she had just achieved. She was possessed by several such confusing ideas, fear, lust, guilt, shame. She knew well enough that her present remission would not endure, that she would shortly be as desperate again to have it thrusting within her.

  “Let’s see what this can do for you!” The General slid onto the end of the couch before Jacqueline, lifting her head up by her tangled hair to face him. “You would like this in the proper place? So suck it stiff again and you will have it!” Suddenly her brain seemed to clear of its fog. She saw her way at last. Her difficulty was resolved. It was not her fault. These men were naturally masters of her. She was absolved of blame. She must take whatever they were pleased to give her. She must identify with all the female victims down the ages. She must abase herself to secure what she needed from them.

  Her lips parted without reserve and she readily engulfed the big purplish knob, her tongue slithering under its hot heaviness, so that it jerked like a living thing. She trapped it and teased it, running her tongue down the thick shaft and back again, nibbling at the soft skin with little white teeth, moving her head in circling sweeps that sent her soft hair tumbling and brushing across the man’s thighs. She licked round and round his cock like a child with a lollipop, took in its resurgent length and sucked it like a stick of seaside rock.

  The idea of having this forced upon her, of being made to please her abuser, monopolised her brain. She fantasised on the circumstances of her subjection, making believe she was a slave in a harem, a whore in a harbour brothel. She became so wrapped in her fantasy that she tried to express it in words, gurgling round the gagging solidity.

  Bha Duong bent to listen curiously, already surprised by her sudden enthusiasm. Several times he pulled her almost free until she became more or less coherent. Her mind, rationalising her drug driven needs, gave verbal expression to her excited fantasies. They dwelt upon wickedness and punishment, her broken words exposing her altered state to the General’s more alert mind. She was hardly surprised therefore by the crack of the belt landing across her wriggling behind. It tied in with her excitement, the hot sting seeming to spread inwards between her thighs with gratifying speed. She gobbled and snorted more dutifully than ever.

  Fantasies blossomed in her brain. She was a servant girl found guilty of deceit... She was a runaway slave being punished... She was a captured spy being tortured.

  The fantasy of being flogged and raped wildly excited her but it also made her need the cock she was licking to be thrust into different place. She tried to make it known, but the belt cracked hard, making her squeal, driving her forward into the General’s lap. He seemed to be
in a hurry, too. He began to force the pace, thrusting into her until she almost choked, his balls bouncing on her chin as he filled her. Jacqueline had no way to protest. She tried to quicken her own arousal, but the man beat her to it. He let the flood burst with a sudden groan of ecstasy, ramming into the back of her throat and holding her to it by the hair, so that his sperm welled into what little space was left unoccupied, and she was forced to gulp it down, swallowing slippery, musty, male cum without reserve. The volume of his ejaculation was lessened very little by this being a repetition, but despite her efforts the oozing cock shrank inexorably in her mouth, until it slipped slackly from her lips, even though she sucked it to the last inch.

  She was now bereft of even that promise of relief and with her renewed desire barely alleviated by the pain of her thrashing after all. She clutched at Bha Duong’s tunic, trying to detain him as he hurriedly left her. He was already issuing orders that galvanised his men into a flurry of activity. Scouts or sentries had been coming in to report, now some men were spilling oil fuel about the place to prepare it for firing while others were sent to contact and ready the gang’s transport. He had no further time to spare for Jacqueline whom he left mewling and abandoned on the couch.

  Caught halfway to release, and still enmeshed by the drug, she tried to formulate a plea for relief, hardly able to think coherently amid her fantasies.

  “P-please... ahh... whip... ahh... f-fuck... ahh... please.” Laughing, the General jerked his thumb to where Roger threshed and groaned, his huge erection distending the crotch of his pants where a damp patch showed the extent of his reaction.

  “Let her have him! Get his pants off! Show her the cock!” The General’s men quickly got Roger stripped, though having to cut his under-shorts away to free his swollen cock.

  “Get her over here! Roll him on his back!” They threw Jacqueline roughly off the couch and onto her hands and knees, propelling her that way with a kick in the required direction. Her husband was rolled over onto his back, his body glistening with sweat, his wrists and ankles awkwardly tied beneath him with his knees doubled, so that he was arched painfully upwards. His thickly veined cock rose wavering and unstable out of a bush of wiry brown hair, rock hard, monstrously swollen, and mottled red and purple. Jacqueline didn’t attempt to meet his eyes, Roger hardly recognised his wife so intent were they both upon one thing.

  “Fuck him! Good cock!” The men laughed. Jacqueline needed no encouragement and Roger groaned excitedly at the mere words. Wild-eyed and gasping, she squatted hurriedly over him, just as she had done an hour or so earlier over Bha Duong, fumbled beneath her to steady the massive erection, and then rammed herself down recklessly, impaling herself upon it as if it were a stake. Roger howled like a dog at the ungentle treatment. Jacqueline responded with an unsteady squeal in place of apology, but her sex-sleeve still drove downwards, as rapidly as if it had teeth and was gobbling him to the last inch.

  Together their voices made a duet of pain and ecstasy, wordless but expressive. As their loins met, Jacqueline slumped forward, clutching at her hapless partner with nails that dug deep into naked flesh. Without wasting time upon words, she began to fuck him hard, their customary roles perforce reversed. Chained and immobilised in the bottom position, Roger was incapable of doing much to assist. He arched desperately beneath his wife, forced to rely upon her to do the work for both of them. Jacqueline, nothing loath, humped her helpless partner with a fury that fed both their fires. Ruthlessly she drove her slender body up and down on his throbbing stem, hips twisting and swivelling, belly slapping into belly, until their combined sweat made both naked bodies slippery slick. They panted and snorted together like runaway pumping engines. A conflagration seemed to have built between them. To Jacqueline the flesh she rode seemed a pillar of fire; to Roger she seemed to scorch him like a flame, riding him as ruthlessly as a jockey in sight of the winning post.

  They had forgotten where they were, oblivious to their shifting audience; leering men passing to and fro, the General watching with sly amusement in between issuing his orders. Roger was concentrated solely upon his need for relief from the demands of the drug. Jacqueline clinging to him forgot who it was that she was partnering, only conscious that she still had a fresh male cock to fuck her to orgasm. Underneath, Roger grunted and groaned, bucked and jerked. On top of him, Jacqueline plunged and twisted, panting and sobbing. Instinctively they matched one another’s rhythm. They became faster and jerkier, both building and boiling towards the craved-for climax, both surging and withdrawing in united effort, Roger with stronger muscles, Jacqueline with greater scope for swoop and drive above him. Neither of them spared the other one an inch, both giving vent to desperate sounds of encouragement, Roger’s were garbled by his well chewed gag, Jacqueline’s by confusion with her drug inspired fantasies.

  At last they reached orgasm more or less simultaneously. Roger arched upwards with a muffled bellow of effort. Jacqueline splayed herself across his body, clutching him as if afraid he would escape, emitting a long wailing ululation. Both voices gradually subsided into groans and gasps as their owners reached satiation, rolling entwined together amid the legs of their captors, with Roger’s chain restraining them both. Still clutching one another the exhausted couple shuddered at last into relative silence and lay trembling, too spent to move.

  Sniggering cruelly, their captors seized them where they lay and tied them just as they had finished up, noosed neck to neck, with a double turn of rope about their waists keeping them intimately combined. Both were spread-eagled widely, Jacqueline’s wrists and ankles lashed to the corresponding limbs of her husband, so that they lay immobilised as a human sandwich in the corner of their lounge, Roger on his back on the tiled floor and Jacqueline face down on top of him. The bungalow was now quiet. Most of the men had taken up their weapons and equipment and departed. The lamp had been extinguished and the fires outside had died down. The humiliated pair on the floor gave only an occasional dispirited groan, a faint pale glimmer showing where their naked bodies lay.

  The men who came for the captives loomed like a troop of evil shadows as they closed in and stooped one to each corner, laying hold of the splayed pair by their bound extremities. With a grunting heave they hoisted husband and wife together by the arms and legs. One of them, grabbing Roger by the hair, led the way as they staggered clumsily with their whimpering double burden, laughing and cursing, out of the front door and into the warm darkness of the night. No one appeared to question their progress. Behind them, the bungalow burst into flames and by its light they negotiated the demolished perimeter fence skirted a smoking crater and hurried down a straggling street of ramshackle shop-houses and cheap bars that adjoined the base. Here in the distance at the far end of the street, closer to the main gate, was light and noise where several buildings were on fire and a yelling mob was engaged in looting the premises of unfortunate traders, while frightened refugees flitted to and fro through the smoke and the drizzle of charred paper fragments, clutching wailing children or rescued bundles.

  The furtive gang of armed men, bearing their own bizarre bundle, didn’t venture to far into public sight. Unobserved in the darkness, the only people moving with a sure purpose, they hurried into an alleyway between two buildings. Parked in the darkness with a sentry at the mouth of the alley they found a military-style truck though anonymous with its lack of badges. Its engine was running and General Bha Duong was leaning from the cab to urge them aboard.

  The truck drove fast for a long time without a halt over smooth tarmac, but then was reduced to bumping and lurching over bad tracks, its engine labouring most of the time up steep gradients for hour after hour. When at last it lurched to a final stop, it was well into the day and the air was already heavy with damp heat. It was quiet once the engine had cut out and the damp rotting smell of tropical rain forest replaced that of diesel fuel and sweating male bodies as the truck’s tailboard came down with a crash. The
men in the back leapt down, relaxed and casual as if this was a safe and familiar rendezvous. Ungentle hands dragged the stiff and battered pair of captives from where they had lain all this time, underfoot on the floor of the truck.

  Thrown to and fro in the dark through all the endless jolting drive, the helplessly conjoined husband and wife had found themselves more than once repossessed by drug-induced erotomania. Roger, still comparatively fresh, had stiffened into Jacqueline and she, despite the fading of her drug-acquired capacity for multiple orgasms was forced to do her best to accommodate him. Still in this enforced embrace, they were dragged out into the light at the open tail of the truck and heaved over it, with less ceremony than a bundle of dirty laundry. With mutual cries of fear and shame they landed hard, Roger underneath on his back in the muddy wheel ruts. Breath temporarily knocked out of them, they lay sprawling helplessly in the road as their captors crowded round. Jacqueline, quickest to recover, let out a whimper of fright as she heard the cruel anticipatory tone of their laughter.

  The General himself kicked Roger precisely with the toe of his boot, producing from him too, the reaction of a disheartened groan.

  “Still alive and still with a hard on!” He used the toe of his boot again, this time upon Jacqueline. “This one is still wriggling too!” he commented, when she yelped and made a desperate effort to squirm free of her husband’s slackened penis. “An excellent pair of guinea pigs! I’m glad I thought of bringing them!”

  He turned to the rest of the grinning men. “Part these two love-birds carefully and load them up separately. They are laboratory specimens for Madame. Handle them with care. If they arrive damaged in any way she will not be best pleased with you!”

  With this apparently sufficient threat, he walked away and his men set to, with much ribald comment, to separate Roger and Jacqueline. The captive pair themselves were too stiff and exhausted to give much trouble, but a swash of water from a bucket had to be used to free them, so firmly were they stuck together by the dried up residues of Jacqueline’s several different users.