The ringleader reached out and squeezed Mara’s breasts, so brutally that she gasped with pain. She tried to resist but strong hands grabbed hold of her arms and twisted them round behind her back, rendering her helpless.
Surely someone would come and see what was happening – help her, raise the alarm? But, of course, they’d got one of their mates outside, keeping watch . . .
Events were moving so fast that Mara’s mind was in a turmoil. It felt almost as if everything was happening not to her but to somebody else. Brutal fingers bruised her flesh as they ripped off her leather jacket and blouse and squeezed, harder and harder, into her soft breasts – claw-like fingers, tearing her fabric and baring her fragile flesh. The hand was forcing itself between her thighs and sliding upwards, oh so insidiously, towards her crack.
There were grunts of malevolent delight as the hand reached her groin and her assailant realised that this little slut was already naked underneath her skirt, just ready for the taking. Ready? She was begging for it . . .
Strong arms lifted her feet from the ground and – in spite of her struggles – Mara found herself lying spreadeagled on the dirty floor, the chill of the damp tiles working its way through her flesh and into her very soul. Hands held her down; a filthy handkerchief was thrust into her mouth to silence her cries; and overwhelming strength forced her thighs apart, baring her cunt for the assault which she knew must come.
The fat gendarme had his prick out and he was showing it to her, making sure she got a really good look. There – didn’t she think it was a lovely one? Well, she would soon find out how good it felt to have it up her cunt, and maybe one or two other places as well . . .
He flung his enormous bulk on top of her and she was powerless to resist him, for her thighs were held fast. His friends were egging him on with hoarse whispers of encouragement and in seconds he was inside her, his fat prick tearing into her softness, his foul breath moistening her cheek.
She tried to dissociate herself from what was happening but in spite of her revulsion she could feel a treacherous warmth spreading through her loins with every stroke of the invading cock. No! He mustn’t excite her, he mustn’t . . . She wouldn’t let him!
Just as she had given up hope of rescue, the door to the toilets burst open and the inert body of a young man crashed in through the doorway and fell to the floor, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Confused and distressed though she was, Mara recognised him instantly as one of the men who had been standing at the urinals.
A massive shape filled the doorway: a broad-shouldered man in US Airforce uniform and the blue beret of the United Nations.
‘Pardon the intrusion, ma’am,’ said the US Captain, touching his cap respectfully. ‘But I just gotta sort out this scum for ya.’
So saying, he launched into the three bewildered gendarmes, who were no match for him, their flabby, drink-sodden bodies falling in swift, almost silent succession under the Captain’s fists.
His job done, the Captain helped Mara to her feet, offering her his jacket to cover her nakedness.
‘Are you all right, ma’am?’
‘Yes . . . I think so. Thank you, you were very kind . . .’
‘Why, it’s all in a day’s work, ma’am.’ He kicked one of the inert bodies sprawled untidily on the dirty floor, its head lolling in the drainage channel underneath the urinals. ‘Now, if you’ll just wait here, I’ll get someone to take these scum away and I’ll ask one of the waitresses to come and tidy you up a bit.’ He turned to go, but Mara put her hand on his arm, and smiled up at him.
‘Don’t leave me, please. I’m OK, honestly I am. And, besides, I haven’t thanked you properly for what you did just then, Captain . . .?’
‘Steve Wanamaker, ma’am. At your service.’
Seeing the quizzical look on his face, Mara smiled and stretched up on tiptoe to kiss him full on the lips. The force of his desire was like a furnace within him. He was a good-looking, all-American boy, in a hick sort of way: straw-blond hair and open features, broad shoulders and a tight backside . . . and that nice fat bulge in his uniform trousers . . .
‘You’d like to fuck me, wouldn’t you, Captain Wanamaker?’
He blushed crimson. ‘I . . .’
‘It’s OK, Captain – you can take the fifth amendment on that one. But I’d say, judging from that beautiful hardness I can feel in your pants, that you’re just about bursting for a fuck. And here I am, naked in front of you, and I haven’t even offered myself to you yet: what an ungrateful girl you must think I am! After he’s killed the dragon, the white knight always gets the girl.’
She stroked his cheek playfully, and pulled his face down to hers so that she could whisper in his ear.
‘Let me suck you off, Captain. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it . . . I’m very good with my mouth!’
Before he had a chance to reply or attempt to pull away from her, Mara was on her knees before him, gently tugging down his zip and feeling inside for the warm hardness she so needed. She needed to touch him, kiss him, fuck with him; to feel his warmth melting her terror and exorcising the memory of her ordeal.
His penis was reassuringly stiff and throbbing with life. Wanamaker stroked her hair and moaned quietly as she pulled it out of his pants and began to run the tip of her tongue along the shaft, very, very lightly at first and then more boldly, as he relaxed and submitted himself to her tender ministrations.
He tasted good: salty and clean and wholesome on her tongue. The prick of an all-American, clean-living country boy. Surely licking such a lively, wholesome prick must be good for the body and the soul . . .? Mara sucked on the Captain’s prick and felt the life and warmth flooding back into her body. Yes, there it was: the warmth gathering in her belly, swelling her clitoris, hardening her nipples, sending the juices rushing to lubricate her cunt.
Wanamaker’s balls were large and heavy in her hands, and she wondered how much beautiful, white, frothing spunk it took to swell them so wonderfully, to make them hang so pendulous and firm, like golden mangoes on some tropical tree.
She stroked her finger gently over the puckered flesh and felt the curly blond hairs erect at her touch.
‘Don’t stop . . .’ he sighed and spurted into Mara’s mouth. She swallowed his gift with gratitude, as a dying man who finds a life-giving spring in the heart of the desert wastes.
Opening his eyes, the Captain looked down at Mara and returned her smile, the tension draining from his face.
‘Wanna have some more fun, honey?’
She grinned broadly, and nodded.
He placed Mara’s right hand on his shaft, arranging her fingers just how he liked them, and showed her how to wank him back into beautiful stiffness. Mara realised for the first time that his prick was golden, lightly tanned. So, like her, the Captain enjoyed baring his most intimate parts to the summer sunshine . . .
Pushing open the door of one of the cubicles, the Captain sat down on the toilet seat and beckoned to Mara to follow him inside. He took hold of her hips and turned her round, so that she had her back to him, then guided her down as she lowered herself onto his straining penis.
It felt so good to fuck like this, hands gripping the wooden doorposts of the cubicle, pushing down hard on the unseen lover’s penis, feeling his hardness burying itself deep inside her belly and then raising herself a little – careful, don’t let him slip away – and waiting that agonised split second before plunging down again to swallow him up once more.
The Captain’s hand crept round the front of Mara’s thigh, worked its way through the thicket of her glossy pubic curls, and felt for her clitoris, parting the fat, juicy lips of her cunt and burrowing inside, into the hot, wet depths of her, until at last his fingers found the mount of exquisite joy and she felt the power of pleasure come crashing down upon her, like breakers on a Californian beach.
He poured his second tribute into her cunt and they stayed there, locked together, for a little while, until they regained their breath a
nd the mists of passion cleared away.
‘Honey,’ gasped the Captain, helping Mara to her feet, ‘you sure are dynamite. And if there’s anything I can ever do to help you . . . you just say and, honey, you got it!’
Mara sighed.
‘I wish I could stay with you,’ she replied. ‘But I have to go. I have a long way to go and someone’s life depends on my getting there. Someone I really care about.’
‘Where you goin’, honey? Maybe I can help get you part of the way? I know a lot of guys with a lot of planes . . .’
‘Hungary, I’m afraid.’
‘Well, whaddya know?’ The Captain’s smile broadened, and he scratched his head in amiable disbelief. ‘Just so happens, me and the guys are flying off to Budapest tomorrow morning – got a little job to do for the UN. Wanna come along? We could have a real good time . . .’
The jeep carried them quickly across the tarmac to the airfield, where the plane was waiting – a big, old troop transport with massive cargo doors.
‘Keep your head down and keep real quiet till we’re in the air, hun,’ whispered Steve, making sure the blanket was completely covering Mara, who was curled up on the seat beside him. ‘Don’t want the Colonel finding out about you, do we? Leastways, not just yet.’
The sergeant signalled to him to drive on, and he steered the jeep up the ramp and into the cavernous belly of the plane. Mara heard a loud clang as the cargo doors closed behind them, and knew she was on her way.
Once they were airborne, Wanamaker came to fetch her from the jeep, pulling aside the blanket. She blinked in the sudden light.
‘It’s OK, honey, you can come out now,’ whispered Wanamaker. ‘Put on this battledress and follow me. You can ride the rest of this trip with the guys – they won’t tell on you, don’t you worry none.’
She stepped out of her blouse and skirt and put on the camouflage overalls and steel helmet which the Captain offered her, tucking her hair up on top of her head. As a disguise it was pretty unconvincing but with a bit of luck it would get her past the guards who patrolled the cargo deck.
The ‘guys’ were twenty or so paratroopers with crew cuts and all-American-hero physiques, sitting in two rows against the rough, curving fuselage. This was hardly a luxury air cruise and entertainment was limited; so they gave Mara an enthusiastic welcome.
‘Well, well, what we got here?’
‘Geez – what a great fanny!’
‘ . . . and what incredible tits! Come here, honey, gotta real nice present for you . . .’
Mara watched in amused disbelief as a huge black sergeant grinned broadly at her and unzipped his flying suit, pulling out the most enormous penis she had ever seen. Her pulse quickened as she gazed, fascinated, at the hardening flesh, smooth and black and glossy as a ripe aubergine, its bright purplish tip glistening with slippery juice.
She walked towards him, a little unsteadily, and the plane hit an air pocket, throwing her into the lap of one of the youngest of the soldiers – a mousy lad of no more than eighteen who blushed crimson as his hands filled with Mara’s luscious flesh.
His comrades were cheering and stamping.
‘Shut it, you jerks!’ hissed Captain Wanamaker. ‘You want the Colonel to hear? Listen, whatever you and Miss Fleming wanna get up to . . . making your own entertainment, let’s say . . . well, that’s OK by me. But keep it quiet, or we’ll all be court-martialled. And no rough stuff. No roughing up the dame – she’s a good friend of mine. Understand?’
A murmur of agreement passed round the plane. The lad had taken advantage of the diversion to explore the unscheduled gift in his lap a little more fully. His hands were trembling as they roved up from Mara’s hips to her flat belly, her tiny nipped-in waist and then higher still, to the gravity-defying fullness of her delectable breasts.
Mara made no attempt to escape or wriggle free from his grasp. After all, where would she go? To the Colonel? She could just imagine what his reaction would be. And, anyway, there was something deliciously seductive about travelling on a plane with twenty sex-hungry soldiers and wondering if there would be time for them all to fuck her . . .
‘Go on, for Chrissake!’ hissed a young soldier opposite Mara. ‘She’s beggin’ for it, Burstein! If you don’t know what to do to her, there’s plenty here who do!’
As though suddenly realising the threat to his unexpected prize, the lad began to fumble with the zip on Mara’s all-in-one flying suit. It was stiff, and took for ever before it finally yielded and slid down to her groin, revealing her complete nakedness underneath.
A gasp ran round the cabin as the lad’s hand slipped in through the gap and met warm, naked, female flesh for the first time in its life.
Galvanised by the touch, he began to rip at Mara’s clothes, pulling the flying suit down over her shoulders and baring more and more of her wonderful flesh. He pushed her to her feet, so that he could pull the suit down over her hips and thighs, until at last she stepped out of it and stood naked before him.
‘I’m cold, soldier,’ she was surprised to hear herself whisper. ‘I’m shivering. Can you warm me up?’
Immediately, it seemed that hands were upon her from every angle, pawing at her, pulling her down into their midst. She was drowning, drowning in a sea of hands and fingers and lascivious tongues that ran across her quivering flesh, raising goose-bumps not of cold but of expectancy.
She was lying on the floor of the plane now, the rumbling of the engines transmitting itself to her through the vibrations of the fuselage beneath her. She began to vibrate to its own, secret rhythms. The young soldier was standing over her, his penis naked and stiff in his trembling palm. And his comrades were urging him on, goading him: ‘Take her, son’; ‘Give it to her, boy’; ‘Show her what a real man can do . . .’; ‘Ain’t you never fucked no woman before, son . . .?’
She closed her eyes, and concentrated only on the sensations. Teeth were nibbling gently at her nipples, teasing them into pleasured wakefulness; fingers were exploring her body; a tongue glanced briefly across her throbbing clitoris, making her gasp with sudden pleasure, stolen away. She was no more than a bundle of intense sensations, at the mercy of each one of a thousand different stimuli.
The penis entered her smoothly and without violence, as though to confirm that it was the most natural thing in the world for a penis to thrust into a vagina. This was no poisonous serpent, intent on spitting its deadly venom into her, it was a gentle fountain of pleasure, and she was a rose-garden of delight, waiting for the scented waters to fall upon her and make her blossom into glorious life.
They fucked and the boy – being so young – came quickly to the summit of his pleasure, collapsing onto her belly and lying there, moaning, until someone picked him up and took his place. They fucked once more and Mara came to orgasm again, hardly noticing as one man climaxed in her vagina and climbed off, to be replaced by yet another.
At last she opened her eyes and found that she was looking up into the face of the black sergeant who had been the first to acknowledge her charms so graphically.
‘I bin waitin’ a long, long time for this, sweetness,’ he murmured and entered her with a single, sharp thrust that overwhelmed her senses and sent waves of delight washing over her. ‘Maybe I’m gonna die tonight,’ he whispered in her ear, ‘and maybe I ain’t. But I reckon I’ll be happy either way.’
His hugeness stretched her to capacity and Mara thanked her lucky stars that her cunt was already well-greased with the semen of those who had gone before. As it was, his immense size caused her some pain. He fucked with strength and stamina, holding back his ejaculation long enough to bring Mara to the peak of pleasure once, twice, three times. And as she came for the final time, he pumped his load of semen into her, to join the abundance of juice which was already flooding out of her martyred cunt.
The black sergeant kissed the tips of her breasts lingeringly before sliding his still-hard penis out of her. She watched him walk away with a strange wistfulness, a
sweet regret. Afterwards, her worshippers cleaned her up and kissed her and shared their food and drink with her, before giving her a fresh set of clothes.
‘Here, take this. You’re gonna need it, honey.’
The Captain handed her a khaki bundle. It looked like a rucksack. Mara looked at him questioningly.
‘No need to look so scared – it’s only a parachute, sweetheart. Better put it on right now. The jump’s in ten minutes and you sure as hell ain’t gonna get down in one piece without it.’
It was then that the horrible truth dawned.
The clear, cold air rushed past her so fast that she scarcely had time to be afraid. All her thoughts were filled with the memory of what she had been told to do: count, release the chute, spread her arms to keep the canopy steady, curl up when you see the ground rushing up . . . don’t panic!
She landed with a heavy thud which winded her, but she was otherwise unhurt. She staggered to her feet, not quite believing that she had actually jumped – or rather been pushed – out of a plane and that she had really and truly made it in one piece to the ground.
The jump site was an open patch of ground in the wooded hills near Budapest, a crudely marked X in a small clearing. They were lucky to hit it so accurately. Mara shivered as she looked at the sharp tops of the trees and mused what might have happened if she had been just a little off-course. As soon as they had checked that Mara was safe and sound, Wanamaker and his men picked up their rifles, shouldered their packs and headed off into the forests. She never did find out what their mission was . . .
She checked the rucksack they had given her and was relieved to find her clothes, passport, student card and – most important of all – the box, all safe and undamaged.
The first thing to do was to get dressed and get rid of the parachute – no point in inviting a whole load of awkward questions – and then she must head into Budapest, to try and find out where the box had come from. It seemed like an impossible task – a search for the proverbial needle in a haystack.
The Phallus of Osiris Page 21