by Ryder Stacy
“No!” screamed Killov, his hand covering the four inch long bright red slash that ran from his eye to below his ear. “Don’t kill him. That’s what he wants. We will have our fun later. First psychological torture then the pain. Give him the drug,” Killov ordered. A KGB man walked over to Rock and jabbed him with a needle he described mysteriously as an aphrodisiac. For what purpose Rockson couldn’t imagine. Though he quickly felt his loins burning with a strange intensity.
The KGB officers took Rock back to his cell and left him there chained up again after slapping him around for a while. Rock sat on the floor again quite satisfied with himself. He was still alive and he had given Killov a scar he would never get rid of—something to remember Rock by long after he was gone. He wondered what they meant by psychological and what the injection had to do with it. He heard the voices of guards outside his cell and then the sound of a female voice in the cell next to his. The guards went into her cell and pulled back the sheet that separated the two prisoners. Then they left. And Rock knew what they meant by psychological torture. For there in the next cell, illuminated in the dim slip of the moonlight from the narrow window overhead, was the most beautiful woman Rockson had ever seen.
The milky rays of the moon bathed her long golden tresses, this lovely ample daughter of America, barely out of her teens. Silky flesh raised on milk and butter and honey, with upturned erect nipples, that lithe turn to her thighs, that flushed rosy-cheeked face. Rock felt his loins swell and throb with desire. Desire that would have been overwhelming anyway, but now with the powerful aphrodisiac injected into his bloodstream, it was unbearable. Desire turned to torture.
The most beautiful girl he had ever seen and she was stark naked, perfectly proportioned with crystal green eyes. He stared at her and she looked shyly back.
“My name is Kim,” she said softly. “You’re Ted Rockson. I heard the guards talking about you. I—I—’ve heard so much about you. Every American has. I—I—don’t know what to say.” She looked down at her naked body, hands and feet chained to the wall.
“Well, I must confess, it’s not a usual introduction. Please don’t feel embarrassed. The Reds want to play with our minds.”
“Are you seriously hurt?” she asked with concern, looking at the gash on the side of his head, from which blood dripped slowly. Rock shook his head no. He felt a pain in his left rib cage. The Reds must have really worked him over. He didn’t remember it. He was shackled by the hands to a chain about six feet long. He rose and was able to nearly reach the bars separating the two of them, the chains stopping him about six inches away.
“I’m afraid we meet at an inopportune moment,” Rock said, looking through the thick steel bars. “How did they get you?”
“I was with my father, Mr. Rockson,” the vision of beauty said nervously. “Michael Langford and we—”
“The Michael Langford?” Rockson gasped. “Every freefighter knows of his endeavors to politically organize America. Why I met him myself about three years ago. A great man. Is he—” Rock suddenly had the chilling vision of perhaps the most important man in America being tortured by the Reds.
“No, he escaped. We were in the mountains heading from Casperville to Fantown. My father is in the process of organizing a Re-Constitutional Convention to elect a congress and a president so that the Free Cities can evolve politically as well as militarily. We were attacked by a KGB Commando Death Squad. My father and his men managed to shoot their way out but I fell off my damned hybrid and when I came to, I was—here.” She began crying softly, obviously ashamed of showing her fear but unable to hold back the tears.
“Don’t cry, sweet woman,” Rock said, touched by her vulnerability as well as her beauty, though he couldn’t offer her a reason not to.
“They plan to use me tomorrow. The officers are going to—” She couldn’t finish but the intention was clear. Rockson groaned inwardly. He could feel his anger rising by the second.
“I’ve heard that you bring luck, Rockson, wherever you go. Maybe my fate is not sealed yet.”
“I’m afraid my luck—except meeting you—has fallen off as of late,” Rock said, holding up his manacled hands.
She looked at him from the other end of her cell about ten feet away where she stood stretched to her full five foot two inches, her legs spread apart, feet chained. Her expression was strange, curious, fearful, and—something else. “Rockson—I—I am a virgin. They will—I didn’t want it to be this way. I may be dead by tomorrow night, but first they will rape me, many of them.” She looked down at the cold floor barely able to continue. But her own desires were stronger than her feminine shyness. She raised her head again and this time her eyes were bold, flaming. “I want you!” She said directly. “To make love to me.”
“I—I—” Rock stuttered over and over, tongue-tied for perhaps the first time in his life. “It’s not that I wouldn’t love to. Don’t get me wrong, but we’re not exactly in the best setup to . . .”
“I have my own secrets,” she said. “Watch!” She squirmed in her chains, pulling her feet and hands this way and that, wriggling her extremities like writhing snakes. Slowly, ever so slowly, she began pulling free from the shackles. First her right foot came free, popping out suddenly. She looked across at Rockson who stared in absolute amazement. Kim smiled and continued to move her hands this way and that, first fitting the upper part of the wrist, then the blade of the hand through. Within two minutes she was free. She looked at Rockson and started toward him.
She walked right up to the bars of his cell so her body was about eight inches away from his. He felt the ice-hard erection swelling under his zipper as her fingers traced down his waist to the clasp of his pants. Rockson pulled himself as far forward as he could, holding his manacled hands behind his back and stretching the lower portion of his body as far forward as he could. She opened the zipper with trembling fingers and the engorged member burst forth. She kneeled down in the other cell, her rising nipples pressed tight against the cold steel of the bars. She reached her head through the eight inch wide spaces between the bars, and with her marshmallow soft lips engulfed his manhood. She moaned with innocent erotic delight.
“They never thought of this, Rockson,” Kim said, taking the stiff pole from between her moist lips. “The Reds thought only to prevent you from reaching me—their women never want it—they have lost their sex drive generations ago and are mere chattel for the men’s pleasure.”
“Come to me,” Rockson said, his eyes melting at her smooth perfect body. She pressed forward and rubbed her breasts against his waist and then his organ, so large and stiff. She swooned with the power of her desire for this man as she felt her burning hot sex wet and ready for him.
“Do it,” she said. “Please Rockson, put it in.” She gripped her hands around the bars and put her legs up on the cross bar about three feet above the ground. She pressed the wet lips of her moist furry triangle forward until it met the swollen head of Rockson’s manhood. She was wet, very wet, and she pushed her hips forward, spasmodically reaching for him. Tomorrow she would be dead, she thought. And my life, my love, all my body is for this man tonight.
“Do it, get it . . . in!” she pleaded. Rockson guided the probing staff in by moving his hips. She reached down with her hands and put the head between the opened petals of pink flesh. “It’s . . . hard . . . it hurts.” A single tear fell down each of her alabaster cheeks. He pushed with all his might to penetrate her, and she gasped and rolled her eyes heavenwards as the organ moved suddenly, cleanly into her. She waited a second, getting used to the newness of it all. Then she began moving, slowly at first, up and down on the long shaft, then with increasing vigor and jerking motions, holding onto his hips, her nipples squashed against the firm bars. It slid in and out in stronger and stronger pumps, filling her stomach. She moved on him like a knife cutting into deep velvet, like a girl/woman who has realized her dreams at last.
“Rock—oh—Rock,” she groaned again and again. “It
’s so good . . . it’s . . .”
“Don’t talk,” he said, “they’ll hear us. But I know it’s the same for me.”
They were reaching that peak called orgasm—a series of quivers were the first signs from her; the relentless buildup of a bull-like sperm, of a Hoover Dam about to burst, sent shudders through his tortured body. Then they came. Like a tidal wave, simultaneously gasping out, and heaving in jerks of ecstasy.
At last they both subsided and he slipped out from her as she choked off a groan of loss. “I love you . . . can I say that, Ted Rockson? Can I say it for just this night?” He stood up looking at this beautiful creature before him.
“Always,” he said as softly as he had ever spoken in his life. “Always—because I love you too, Kim.”
“Tomorrow when they come they’ll find a woman. A woman who has already known love. They can do what they want with me now—I don’t care.”
He looked at her with tears in his eyes. Because he did care. Suddenly he cared terribly what was going to happen. He couldn’t let her die. Which meant he had to save himself as well, no matter what the odds. Rockson had seen perfect beauty and it made him feel half crazy.
Sixteen
They were awakened by the sound of guards in the middle of the night. Two KGB men with the skulls smiling hideously on their sleeves. They came for Kim and seemed quite disturbed that she was no longer in her chains. They looked at Rockson, who stared coldly back, then opened her cell.
“Where the hell are you taking her?” he yelled out, struggling against his chains although the motions were absurdly futile.
“You’ll have your fun soon enough, Rockson,” one of the officers said, grabbing Kim by the breasts and squeezing the nipples hard. “See, this is what we’re going to do, scum.” Kim closed her eyes in pain but didn’t utter a word. She wouldn’t give the bastards the pleasure of seeing her squirm.
Rockson felt insane with fury. The veins stood out in his neck like taut ropes. “Let her go, you fucking bastards. Let her go.” The guards pulled Kim away, grabbing at her ass and breasts, trying to humiliate her. “We’ll have fun with her,” one of the officers said to the other. “She’s a hot fuck.” He looked over his back at Rockson who stared out with the rage of one possessed by demons.
Rock stared after the departing woman he loved and pulled against the chains with every bit of mutant strength he possessed. Nothing! Not even Ted Rockson could snap inch thick steel chains.
He paced back and forth in the six foot area he could move in, furiously trying to figure some way out. Suddenly two more guards appeared at the bars. His break. No matter what, he would escape. The guards opened the door and trained their submachine guns on him. “Out, scum!” one of them said, his black boots shiny as a silver dollar. They led him out and down the corridor. Where was Kim? Every door they passed Rockson tried to sense her, to use his slight ESP powers to feel her presence. He couldn’t. As they turned a corner two bodies were stacked against the wall.
“We caught them trying to get away this morning,” one of the guards said, turning to Rockson. “Friends of yours?” Rock looked closely as they drew close. The Doomsday Warrior could scarcely believe his eyes. He did know them. Lying on the floor were the bloody bodies of Dennis Chapin and Dean Keppel, two of Century City’s infiltration experts. Why had they come here to Pavlov City? Poor bastards! Their guts were spilling out from their dissected abdomens. Rock saw something else as well: their F-2 issue boots. He hadn’t been able to wear them into the city because of his disguise, but Rock knew that the boots had several special devices built into the heel by Dr. Shecter’s Special Weapons Section.
“Please,” Rockson said, stopping near the bodies. “They’re men from my city, could I just say a brief prayer over them? It’s their religion.” The guards looked at each other. The taller one said, “Oh let him—he’s chained. Besides I want to see if God answers these American’s prayers.” The guard laughed contemptuously. “Will your fictitious God bring down a bolt of lightning?” He continued, now feeling he was needling Rockson by mocking his dead.
The, Reds laughed and pushed Rock to his knees next to the mangled corpses. Rock began chanting and moving his hands over the dead men, and, as he did so, he managed to turn and snag the heel of Chapin’s left boot. He pulled it quickly into the palm, shielding it from the view of the sneering KGB guards with his back. He pushed the switch that opened the hidden clasp and the heel revealed two small capsules: a small explosive device and a mini gas shell. He broke the seal on the gas and threw it behind him, holding his breath tightly. He waited, continuing to look at the bodies for about six seconds until he heard the two guards hit the floor behind him. Rock held his breath until the last wisp of gas vanished. He took the keys from the guard’s sidepocket and opened his cuffs, rubbing his wrists. It felt good to be free. He lifted the machine pistols from the Red guards and quickly stripped one of them, taking his uniform. Not a bad fit. The black leather garment clung to his body and the dark sunglasses would hide his features. He made a formidable KGB Blackshirt.
He heard a sound coming from down the corridor and hid in the frame of a doorway. An older KGB officer rounded the corner and Rock threw a hand over his mouth and dragged him into the shadows. He slammed the muzzle of the machine pistol into the man’s spine.
“Where’s the girl?” he said pulling the crook of his arm tightly around the Red’s throat.
“The who?” the officer said weakly, trying to breathe through Rockson’s grip.
“Don’t play games with me, mister. I have nothing to lose. Once more I ask you where’s the girl? This time you die.” He pushed the gun hard against the man’s spine. The officer winced in pain. It felt like his back was about to be snapped in two.
‘I’ll tell. Don’t kill me, Rockson,” the chalky-faced major said. “She’s in room three seventy-one. Next floor up at the other end.”
“Thanks,” Rock said sincerely and slammed the man as hard as he could in the side of the head with the butt of the pistol. The man slammed down to the floor, out for hours if not forever.
Rock headed toward the elevator, trying to turn his head down as he passed a guard stationed by the lobby doors of the ten running elevator cars. The guard barely noticed, glancing up mindlessly and then looking down again at a dirty magazine imported from Moscow hidden behind a rule and regulations book of the Red Army. Rock still didn’t quite understand the mix of KGB and regular Red Army troops. Apparently Killov had taken over, yet he permitted many Red Army officers and guards to roam and work the fortress. They’re all scared, Rockson decided. When the KGB comes knocking they knuckle under. Killov’s got them all under his spell of fear. The man was creating his own legend—of death and destruction.
Rock emerged on the third floor and quickly found the direction to the room. There! Three seventy-one. On the other side he could hear gruff male laughter. They were already playing with her. God help every man in there, Rock thought grimly as he opened the door and burst inside, a pistol held forward in each hand.
Kim was in the center of the room, naked and trussed up on a wooden X, her hands and legs tied wide apart. But nothing had happened yet, Rock could see instantly, beyond verbal humiliation. She was fully conscious, unmarked, and defiant. Six men stood around her, two beginning to unbuckle their pants. One, an officer with a black eyepatch over his right eye, turned.
“So, Yuri,” he said, thinking he recognized the officer behind the dark sunglasses, “you couldn’t stay away, heh.” His expression changed suddenly from a sneer to terror. “You! You!” he croaked, backing slowly away.
“Yeah me, fellows. I thought I’d join you, too. Show you how an American does it.” He flipped the machine pistols onto automatic and pulled the triggers back on both of them. He sprayed death in front of him and to the left where the six were grouped together, laughing a moment before in the male bravado. The twin hails of slugs ripped across the six like laser beams ripping at their stomachs and leaving
a bloody trail of intestine and blood which poured out onto the red-and-black checkered floor. They slid down into their own red blood and lay there unmoving.
Rock ran past the mangled red things that had been men and cut Kim’s bonds. She put her hands over her breasts, ashamed and shivering slightly in the cold. Rock stripped off the clothes of one of the dead men and slipped the two large uniform over her slim firm body.
“We’ve got one chance in hell, Kim. You’ve got to do everything I say instantly, without question. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll get out of here.”
“I will, Rock,” Kim said, wiping away a few salty tears and standing straight up. “Trust me,” she added softly, smiling at the sight of Rock’s handsome face and powerful, muscled body right in front of her. She threw her arms around his chest, gripping him with all her strength. “Do you realize we’ve never even held each other?” She laughed and kissed his neck. He squeezed her tightly, feeling more in love with this young female every second. There was something about her. She was so direct and honest like Rockson himself. And loving . . . and beautiful. He had never felt some of the emotions that were going through him. Rona had always been very special to him and extremely attractive. Their sexual encounters had always been highly pleasurable. And yet . . . There was something between them that was different, something chemical, something electrical, like magnets pulling each other closer.
“I love you,” he said, kissing her hair that smelled like the sweetest fruit.
“And I y—” There was a sudden commotion outside in the hallway. He ripped her away from him, throwing her to the floor as a stream of submachine-gun bullets neatly scissored their way through the glass partition of the door. Rock waited until he heard voices nervously telling each other in Russian to go in and check. He took out the other pellet he had taken from the dead freefighter’s heel—a small explosive charge and set the timer for three seconds. Rock heaved it through the shattered shards of glass still hanging on the door and dove on top of Kim. The explosion rattled the walls deafening the two Americans for a few seconds. Before the roar of death had finished echoing down the halls of the mindbreaking building, Rock was heading through the splintered door dragging Kim behind him. The hallway outside was a butcher shop of blood and splattered guts. Not a man remained alive in the group who had come to get him. Jesus Christ! Shecter’s little toys were getting more and more powerful. Kim almost vomited as she slipped on what looked like a spine covered with a slushy red slime.
