Message-ID: <19734eli$9902060449@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: kellis Subject: {Kellis} "Hidden Journal: Meshir Rescue" (MFf/FMM Violence) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; charset=US-ASCII Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: Hidden Journal: Meshir Rescue NOTICE: The following file is one of an ongoing series, transcriptions of files decrypted from the hidden journal of Harrison Everett Stone. For a summary of their provenance see the initial file, D910412.ZEN, included in the release, "Hidden Journal: First Files." --Kellis. Copyright 1999 File D9104172.ZEN Who hasn't dreamed of a warm pool full of naked girls? I played in one today and must testify that the dreams don't do it justice! Nothing compares to pliant, slick forms all around you, pressing close, teasing, vying to linger longest on your dick. I had the only one of those among a dozen bodies, and it was the center of attention for hands and mouths, even under water. I broke the Meshir rule, which was the cause of my only disappointment -- not that I complained! With all the splashing, shouting and good-natured fumbling, no one guessed it was about to happen. The girl who tasted the first squirt recognized it -- , is a good question, given their rule! -- popped her head up and pushed the others away from me. I was left to string my seed freely into the water, which is a most unsatisfactory conclusion; a dick expects gentle pressure at such a moment. So many hands were holding my hands that the best I could do, pressure wise, was to thrust against the slick bodies. Which is an interesting point that I missed in the excitement but can contemplate with cool head here at my camp desk. That water, supplied according to Constance from natural hot springs, was damn close to body temperature. Presumably spermatozoa might live several minutes in that environment, and hairy little cunts were pressing close all around me. These girls were nubile, all but Estri -- at least they had some tit and pubic hair. The interesting point is this: was a pool full of dilute semen their whole objective? The girl who almost won the prize had shouted something that shut them all up momentarily. They stood almost still for several seconds, pressing close all around me, smiling at each other. I wish I could remember whether or not their hands were all under water. If so they were likely holding cunt lips apart. I wouldn't put it past them. That idea is for sure the most flattering one I ever had! But what if I fathered a dozen babies this afternoon? Never happen! Sure, I've heard that girls can be caught while using their mother's bath water. And laughed because it's a lot easier to believe they got slipped a concentrated dose when the mothers weren't looking. Good excuse, though. Still ... * * * * I was late because somebody else beat me to the unlogged jeep. Stupidly I never considered that! Fortunately he returned it in midafternoon. Downs grinned at the retreating back and winked at me. "Had her rag on." In this place it's probably the literal truth. Wasn't too surprised that no one greeted me when I parked the jeep under the overhang. Was tempted to blow its horn. Instead I started walking slowly into the cave, following as best I remembered the twisty route of yesterday. The light was almost gone, along with my confidence, when I heard the slap of feet running toward me. A small naked figure rounded the next bend. She and her sisters know these passages from a lifetime's use, obviously, to run them in the dark. She leapt upon me, enwrapping me with arms and legs, breathing, "Hah-ree!" It was Estri, of course. She kissed me with open mouth, squeezing me with all her strength. I guess it's improper to kiss a virgin tongue-to-tongue, even if she is your "wife." To the best of my knowledge I've never done it to another. Well, maybe Beth Toller, when I was fifteen, but beg to doubt she was virgin. She knew only too well where to find a dick! When we broke, Estri said between pants, "I lovv you, Hah-ree." "I love you, too, Sweetness. No one will ever top that welcome!" We kissed again. Then she got down from me, backed up a step and said something in ritualistic Meshir sing-song, probably the same words she and Melki had rendered in like circumstances yesterday. "I'm glad to come back," I told her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Have you been studying English?" Her chin came up at the last word and she smiled brightly, words spilling in a soprano rush, "One, two, thdree, fodr, fivve, sevvven, eight, six, ten. How you do! Whedre is loo? When can eat? Take you seat." I had to smile. "Sounds like a good start." "I lovv you, Hah-ree, all yearss that come." Why hadn't Constance taught her to say "forever?" More charm? A literal translation? I asked distinctly, "Where is Melki?" "Melki no come." That news was unsurprisingly tolerable. "Constance?" She clasped my hand. "Take Constanssse." Two turns later we were in pitch darkness but she led me onward without hesitation. I observed dryly, "You must be part cat." "Padr' cat?" "To see in the dark." "Dardk?" She trilled most Rs, could probably sound like a Scotsman without trying. "Dark is no light." "No light," she repeated. "Soon light." This was after four days of instruction, probably only minutes in fact, plus listening to my conversations with Constance. This is a brilliant child. Even in the dark. Another turn revealed a dim glow in the passage ahead, stronger after a second turn. Here we came to another recessed alcove, a "bed cave," interior concealed behind a hanging curtain. Estri stopped with her knee on the sill and regarded me over her shoulder. "Wait hedre. Constanssse come." Already her English skill was approaching Rejik's. She was motionless, awaiting my response. Long hair curled around her beautiful little face, reflecting the distant light. I gestured for her to proceed and followed her inside, confident of finding candles. They were present on a back ledge, just as my first bed cave, along with thick padding and numerous blankets, all smelling of wool that has been wet before and not dry cleaned since -- probably true of most woolens in the Mideast! When I had fixed the lit candle to the ledge, the child grasped the lapels of my field jacket. "Too hot, huss-ban'," she declared. "Too hot," I agreed. Off came the jacket, the fatigue shirt and even the T-shirt, but when she reached my belt I caught her hand. "What is this?" I asked, pointing to her hand with my other one. She cocked an eyebrow at me and answered uncertainly, "Hand?" I took hold of a finger. "And this?" "Fingedr." "Very good." We went on to name other body parts. Constance had done well. Estri missed only the navel, which I found a bit odd; was always exposed! And she confused knee and elbow. She knew "trock," when I put my hand on the wall, but not "wall." We practiced other nouns: blanket, cave, ledge, candle, fire -- which last led to adjectives such as hot, opposite, cold. She listened intently, her attention span at least as long as mine, her memory excellent. We made sentences. She verified the names of all my articles of clothing and then demanded clearly for me to take them all off. I stared at her, reluctant to comply. Alone with an eleven year old! I had thoroughly fucked a probable eleven year old in Vietnam when the madam palmed her off as older, and let Daisy's twelve year-old niece blow me when I awoke to find her well started. Estri was eager as they had been. Obviously the three girls had a big chunk of common experience despite the wild disparity of environments. They had all been exposed to unrestrained sexuality, where womanhood in Estri's and the Vietnamese case was demonstrated by seducing men. Daisy's niece was probably just curious. The fact is that Estri is a bright and lovely child, oddly innocent despite her thorough exposure to male anatomy, and as I had again verified only yesterday, still very much . If she had not been virgin, well ... The Vietnamese child was not, and I fucked her until she squeaked. But I won't be the one who "ruins" Estri. Which brings up the $64,000 question. Do I want somebody else to do it? No, I can't agree to that, either. Estri deserves ! But the largest issue of her life must somehow be made greater than the choice of instrument to take her virginity. In the meantime she removed my boots and socks and opened my britches. She snapped me back to immediacy by fishing out my shriveled dick, grinning up at me in satisfaction and declaring, "My penisss!" A contralto chuckle sounded to my left. "How charming!" "Hello, Constance," I responded to the face grinning past the lifted curtain. "A bright afternoon to you, Harry." "Bright is right!" I disengaged myself, swinging the girl to my side. "This young lady can speak English." "She's made a beginning," the woman admitted. "And Latin. You've named the genitals in Latin. 'Pudendum,' indeed! Why didn't you teach her for elbow?" "It wouldn't help. She confuses elbow and knee, because in Meshir the word for elbow is one syllable whilst knee is two. I had the same problem when I was young." Her grin widened. "Latin or not, she had her objective in hand." "She surprised me," I grumbled. "Well, come on in. Join the party. Where's Melki, as if I didn't know?" "She waited, Harry, but you didn't come." "Impatient youth, eh?" "As you surmise, impatient visitors. You can change that with just a few words, you know." "I know. That is, I guess. I don't utter such words lightly." "As you wish. In the meantime I have a proposition for you." "Instead of a proposal?" I countered. "What's that, American humor?" "Weren't we just discussing -- Skip it. You're right. What's your proposition?" "Finish undressing. Leave your stuff here, even your wristwatch this time. Let's go have a bath." "I had one -- a shower, that is -- just before I came up here." "Did you! But did you have company?" "Company in a shower? Or does that mean something else in British?" "I mean a bath with friends -- very close friends." "Madam, I would be honored to bathe with my honorary wives." "Harrying again, Harry? In this case I offer you a bath with a dozen eager girls who appreciate your gifts to the Meshir." "A dozen --" "In a pool lit by a box of your candles and warmed by Ahriman's hot springs." I grinned crookedly at her. "How could a man refuse?" She nodded, grinning smugly. "Was there ever a chance you might?" The events described now happened yesterday, the 28th. I'm finally calm enough to write them legibly. The cosine function update tested clean at Fellavi and needed to be installed at Advance Camp Two. I told Shelton I'd do it. He looked at me quizzically. "You've sure changed!" "Changed? How?" "The first two weeks you never budged from this Quonset. Now ... What is it that pulls you out of Fellavi so much lately?" "Great scenery," I said, shrugging. He grunted enviously. "Yeah. Hills and cleavage." "You mean valleys. I'll be back before dark, unless there's a problem." It was then 08:00. I intended to dash over the pass, make a quick installation and perfunctory test, and climb back up to Meshir before noon, confident that Constance would feed me, among other things. A two or three hour afternoon interlude would be very pleasant, especially since I hadn't seen my "wives" since Sunday. This time I could even use a logged jeep. In Vietnam I had learned how to fudge timestamps plausibly on vehicle logs. By now it was second nature. At 09:30 I rolled through the gate at AC2. The update had passed all the test cases by 10:30. The major who runs AC2 is a nut for Western novels: cowboys, rustlers and Indians. He has a Quonset stuffed with nearly every Western paperback since Zane Grey. I let the signals duty sergeant believe I was going to spend an hour or two in the major's library, which I have done before, and headed off the reservation through the unmanned back gate. Its barrier would stop a vehicle only when backed by men with machine guns. Curious that the Air Force doesn't guard it better, but thievery is not a problem, which speaks well for the basic honesty of the Iranian people. All I had to do was lift the long striped poll down from its hook, drive through and put the poll back in place. Half a mile along, the ditch that passes for a path merges with the road to Fellavi. That road rides the tops of ridges for the first few miles, often switching back and forth but always climbing higher. At the true mountainside it becomes most often a ledge blasted from the slope. Some of the curves are so narrow that two jeeps can't pass. If they could, the curves are so sharp that drivers can't see each other until they close within fifty feet. You negotiate such a curve a ten m.p.h. in low or second gear. Slowly rounding one, I came suddenly upon a row of large stones, each about twice the size of a man's head, set across the road, too close together for the jeep to pass. Needless to say, this impediment had been absent earlier. A chill went through me. A jeep has high clearance. It seemed to me that it might ride over the smallest stone, if I could approach it such that it lay between wheel and differential. I eased forward toward it, further rounding the curve. Two men dashed in front of me, appearing from behind a rock projection. A third ran between me and the hillside, covering my retreat. All three were armed with Soviet AK-47s, only too familiar from Vietnam, which they leveled upon me. Curved ammunition clips dangled from all three weapons. I could see that the nearer one had been switched to full automatic mode. A pistol was in the holster behind the seat, but to go for it would obviously be suicide. I've often thought that the time to foil a kidnapping is during the assault phase. The fallacy of that idea was suddenly apparent. My enemy had planned this event. I was caught unprepared. At that moment it seemed smarter and braver to surrender and hope to manufacture an escape at a time when he was less well prepared. I stopped the jeep, shifted into neutral and pulled up the emergency brake. Then I raised my hands. The two in front came around to the driver's side, motioning with their weapons for me to get out. I did so, stepping back when I reached the ground, hoping they meant only to steal the jeep. But, no, they meant to steal me, also. While one covered me beyond leaping range, the other slung his weapon, pulled my hands one at the time behind my back and tied my wrists with a fabric cord, jerking the bindings tight. He shoved me back into the jeep, nearly tripping me up, this time into a back seat. He followed me into the adjacent seat, the muzzle of his weapon against my side. The other two delayed long enough to roll their stones off the roadway before swarming into the front seats. The new driver ground the gears, released the clutch and lurched forward, on around the curve. My companion noticed the pistol hanging in its holster on the back of the driver's seat. He grinned and spoke gutturally. A responding bark from the right front seat caused his eyes to widen and lip to curl in disappointment. Obviously command rode in the right front. At the first spot wide enough the driver turned the jeep around with a lot of backing and filing and charged back down the road. He drove maniacally, skidding on many of the curves, in one case with rear wheel right on the edge of the cliff, a thousand foot drop to the winding river visible below my right shoulder. Involuntarily I screamed, "Slow down, you damned fool!" My rear seat companion immediately sank the stock of his rifle into my belly. I saw it coming in time to brace. I kept my wind but I was certain of large bruise. Not so large as the one I'd get if we went off the cliff. But that was only probable; the rifle butt was certain. I obeyed the implied order. The commander often craned his neck to look under the windshield edge, encouraging me to hope for the thing he seemed to fear, a reconnaissance aircraft in the sky. But a glance behind us dashed my hopes. The rains had long since scoured the rocks of the dust particles with which our speed would otherwise have beclouded the air. We soon reached a fork I'd never taken. Off we went into unknown territory, swinging further around the mountain away from the river. Twice more we turned left. Suddenly the road plunged into a ... tunnel, I thought at first, except that the jeep slowed rapidly. It was another cave, very like the one I'd recently studied near the mountaintop. We pulled up and stopped behind another vehicle, painted a rich brown color now streaked with dust but still strikingly different from Air Force blue. A small red star was prominent on the rear panel. It had to be a Soviet jeep. My existing chill was suddenly chillier. The commander barked again and my three captors got out of the vehicle. He stood beside his open door for a moment, looking at me thoughtfully as he slung rifle on shoulder. I stared into blue eyes under light brown hair stuffed into a tan fatigue hat. His field jacket, britches and boots were the same color but free of markings. He was clean shaven, about my height and build, with a holstered pistol at his belt. This, I decided, was a Russian soldier. "Why are you out of uniform?" he asked curiously. His accent was East European. Of course. I raised my eyebrows. "Why are you?" He grinned humorlessly. "Because I'm a spy. You, too?" "We don't wear uniforms off base," I explained, realizing I'd already made my first mistake. "Don't you!" His grin vanished. "Name, rank and serial number." "Harry Stone, Major." Major is the nominal rank -- I should say rank -- of a civilian contractor. I tacked on my army serial number minus the alphabetic prefix that would've shown I was no officer, if he knew some things. He took a notebook from his pocket and flipped several pages. His eyes lit. "Harry Stone!" he repeated. He grinned. "But hardly a major." So he knew some other things. "Mr. Harrison Stone, you are my prisoner. Get out of the jeep." As I clambered over the side, a surprisingly hard task without hands, I asked, "Who's prisoner am I?" He cocked an ironic eyebrow. "I'm sure you know that already, Mr. Stone. Go with Thevik. He has accommodations prepared for you. We'll talk again later." He snapped an order. One of the other two, presumably Thevik, clutched my elbow and shoved me toward the back of the cave. The corridor bent to the right, where it formed a narrow cavern beyond which the walls closed in impenetrably. Large boulders studded the floor. One of them formed a tapering pillar about a foot wide at its waist high top. Thevik turned me about and backed me up to that one while forcing my bound hands high behind me. I didn't know what he intended. I didn't care. Applying the tactic of aiding the enemy's thrust, I bent forward, raising even further the wrists gripped in his hands, and lashed out with the heel of my boot. I had kicked blindly and only approximately, but the boot caught his hip a solid blow. I went over on my shoulder in reaction. Against the wall he slammed, mouth open in shock. He slid down the smooth rock while I scrambled back to my feet. Ba-Ba-Bam! A three-shot burst flashed in the gloom, deafening me. Rock chips stung my cheek. The commander stood in the bend, his AK-47 swinging to level on me, gray smoke swirling from its muzzle, clearly visible in the backlighting. I froze. Motion in the corner of my eye turned my head to let me see the fallen man recover his footing, grimacing, one hand pressing his hip. He leaned toward me, fist cocked. Ba-Bam! The commander's rifle spoke again. Didn't the man believe in ricochets? Streaks of flame passed between me and my would-be assailant. Thevik turned his head, eyes wide, to the shooter. The cocked fist relaxed. The commander gestured impatiently with his weapon. The subordinate recaptured my hands and again forced me backward to the waist-high pillar. Under the commander's rifle my resistance was finished. I let Thevik trip me up while holding my hands high. I fell heavily into a seated position, back against the pillar, arms around it behind me. I was pinned in place but ... Soon as my captors turned their backs it would be trivially easy to work my feet under me, rise off the pillar and possibly run away, even if my wrists were still bound. Thevik had thought of that, too, I soon discovered. He took up a coil of rope, tied my boots together and ran the line around another boulder in front of me, stretching my legs out straight. No footwork would be allowed. He took a moment to sneer at me, then bent behind to inspect my wrists. My hands were growing numb, but I felt him twist them, presumably to find slack in the bindings. He rose, looked at the commander and said something. I'm sure no one heard his words, not even himself. My ears were singing a high note of protest; so must have been the others. Gunfire in a small cavern is about as noisy as it can get. The commander gestured with his rifle, and the two of them went out around the bend, leaving me to enjoy the monotone. The pillar , meaning that my arms were forced apart around it. To distract me from the pain in ears, wrists and shoulders -- try that position a few minutes if you think shoulders won't complain! -- I reviewed what I'd noticed about my captors. The commander wore a uniform from which all insignia had been removed. Even the buttons were plain brown plastic. Not so the other two. They sported Iranian common: dirty gray jackets, smudged black britches and typical waxed felt slippers. They were both heavily bearded. Both had coal black hair and the typical watery brown eyes. One, Thevik, was tall and lean; the other was short and pudgy. ! How like Rejik's name: the same suffix. I concluded that these two were locals, native Iranians at least, in the hire of a KGB officer who as good as admitted it. The notebook in which he'd found my name implied a leak in U.S. Air Force information security. And why not? If could bribe any enlisted man, why not the KGB with a superpower's resources? Captain Smith had warned us how quickly and permanently we might be snatched over the Soviet border, only fifty miles away, if the Russians learned we were here. It seemed pretty obvious that I had foolishly exposed myself and was now caught in those exact circumstances. I cursed myself mentally for a pussy-blinded fool -- then came up short. If I'd never left the installer's Quonset, as Shelton had implied, I would have avoided exposure but also never met Estri and Constance, never learned the Meshir setup, never flown balloons above the sacred flame, never sported in a pool of superwilling girls. The man who always plays it safe may live a long time. But what does he live ? And this game wasn't over yet. Arms and shoulders were growing numb, too. It seemed an hour since I'd felt my hands, long enough at least for the ringing in my ears to cease. The light filtering around the bend had gradually grown brighter. Suddenly it darkened in the shadow of the commander. He strolled into the cavern, leaned his rifle against the wall and bent to inspect my bindings. I pointed out, "I'll be a lot less valuable to your bosses with no hands." He did something behind me. He could've cut one off without me knowing. He reappeared and sat on a boulder nearby, commenting, "You made a mistake, you know." "I've made many mistakes," I admitted. "In particular when you kicked Thevik. I saw the nature of it. That was . A man with your training must remain tightly bound." "?" I repeated. He shrugged. "You may have another name for it. By whatever name it is just as deadly." He smiled in his humorless way. "Isn't there an English poem, how a rose by any other name would smell as sweet?" "So I'm the prisoner of an educated man," I admitted. "Then you probably know: how long can tissue remain bloodless and still survive?" He studied me expressionlessly, at last remarking, "Longer at lower temperature. Your hands are quite cold." "Will you at least say how long we'll stay here? What are you waiting for?" "Darkness." "Which is several hours away." "Yes. Have you been circumcised?" I stared at him. He shrugged. "I can find out easily enough." I took a breath. "No." "Good. So many Westerners have been." "It's not practiced in the Soviet Union?" "Only by Jews. Thevik claims you're a Jew. That is the other effect of your mistake." "I'm not religious at all." "Indeed! A rich American who agrees with Karl Marx?" "Hardly." "Would you care to debate with me? It might distract you from your dying hands." For the first time I saw a twinkle in his eyes. What I wanted to debate was the quality of his ancestry. Do such insults carry the same weight with Russians? I closed my eyes to prevent him seeing the success of his ploy. He said, "I have a radio schedule to meet. It's difficult because of the extreme low power I must use here under the ear of your oh-so-sensitive cryogenic receivers. Thevik and Ork will attend you for the next hour. You should understand that they are only mercenaries: escaped thieves due to lose their forearms, men of no honor. I've told them that if they kill you, I'll do the same to them, but Ork has made butt of Thevik, claiming an American Jew has induced him to waddle like a woman. So Thevik wants to kill you anyway. Perhaps he won't if you don't provoke him. I hope you aren't lying about circumcision." I raised my head. "Will you tell your bosses of my capture?" "If Thevik doesn't kill you first." He grinned. "It would embarrass me if he did so afterwards." "I'd hate for you to be embarrassed." "Good. Remember that." He rose and left the cavern purposefully. In a moment his two assistants sauntered around the bend. They came and stood on either side of me. Ork, the pudgy one I had not kicked, laid his rifle aside, bent and undid my belt and britches front. He put his hand inside my shorts, jerking them forward and down. Thevik craned his neck as Ork's free hand darted into my groin, lifted my dick and skinned it back. His fingers were cold. He said something to Thevik, who grunted and turned away. Ork reached deeper and pinched my balls, sending a stab of agony into my belly. I gasped inadvertently. He chuckled. I refused to look at him but in the corner of my eye I could discern the grin under his beard. He licked his lips. Thevik spoke in a sneering tone and Ork released me as if he'd been stung. I don't know what Thevik had said, though I could guess. Whatever it may have been, I was very grateful. Helpless in the hands of unrestrained enemies has got to be a man's worst predicament. And a woman's, I suppose. Ork took up his rifle and hooked the front sight guard under the waistband of my shorts. He jerked hard enough to pull them out from under my buttocks. The opened britches followed, exposing me completely. The shockingly cold rifle muzzle lifted my testicles and roweled them painfully. Fortunately he held the weapon with bayonet receiver turned down; otherwise I'm sure it would have cut me. The weapon's selector was on full automatic, I saw, with safety off. He could blow away my manhood with the twitch of his finger. Thevik wanted to kill me, according to the commander. Presumably Ork was only playing. When Thevik said something in a tone of disgust and turned his back, Ork snarled a reply. I had opened my mouth to breathe deeper, remembering that excess oxygen can mitigate pain. Now Ork raised the muzzle and jammed it into my mouth, striking teeth painfully. I'm lucky no incisor was knocked out. He rattled the steel back and forth, mainly striking the harder set molars, cracking off a filling, as I discovered later. Talk about noisy! The bayonet receiver cut into my tongue and in addition to gun oil I tasted blood, though not enough to be worrisome. He paused and spoke again to Thevik, a taunting quality in his voice. Thevik argued in reply. His own rifle twitched towards us. He didn't quite raise it. I imagined that Ork in typical boyish bravado had offered to kill me and that Thevik reminded him of the commander's promise -- while considering a first shot. I was pretty confident that if Thevik shot Ork, the latter would blow out the back of my head by reflex. Perhaps Thevik realized it, too. He said something in a conciliatory tone and turned partly away. Ork laughed. But he did finally remove his god damned rifle from my mouth. I was daring to breath easier when Ork made a peculiar gurgling sound and suddenly straightened up to level his rifle behind me. Thevik turned back curiously. His eyes widened and his own weapon came up, also pointing behind me. Both men froze. I detected a peculiar tangy, sweet -- and familiar -- odor. A slim, naked woman walked past me straight to Thevik, buttocks swaying in the unequivocally female way, hands held open and away from her sides. The odor was that of the cologne I had given Melki and Estri half a week ago. My mouth fell open. Could this actually be Melki? How'd she get here? That question also occurred to Thevik. She closed on him, weaving a narrow waist past his rifle, and languorously raised her arms to encircle his neck. He spoke sharply but bent his head to her, rifle sagging from its pistol grip as his other hand cupped a female buttock. Ork scuttled out of my vision toward the back of the cavern. I wondered if she was kissing Thevik but decided from the head misalignment that she only nuzzled his beard. Her hands came down and fumbled at his waist. For the first time I noticed a wide scrape high on her back, slightly oozing blood. Other scrapes, marked by whiter skin, were apparent on hips and heels. Clearly Ork had made only a cursory inspection. In seconds he was back, barking a short sentence and laying his rifle down. Thevik had simply let his own fall to the floor with a clatter, causing me to wince. It's a poor way to treat automatic weapons. That Melki -- assuming it was Melki; I'd yet to see her face -- intended to seduce them was obvious. Her deft hands had dropped Thevik's britches upon his slippers in no time. She bent head and shoulders beneath his coattails, hiking her butt purposefully in the direction of Ork, legs together, pubic lips presented in rear exposure, their vertical line perfectly enclosed in the feminine thigh gap. Ork's britches were already sagging. He waddled close behind her, hand fumbling with himself. I was nearly without feeling in my arms. But not quite completely. Something behind me was disturbing them, something that twitched them rhythmically up and down. It had to be someone with a knife, sawing on my lashings. Another girl? Tuanti, perhaps? Surely they hadn't let come here! I could only grit my teeth -- discovering the broken filling -- and watch the spectacle before me. Ork had trouble with his penetration until he resorted to the original lubricant. As a teenager I had also used spit for that purpose, on a girl bent over a fender and claiming to be scared to death -- a fair summary of the present girl's attitude? Soon Ork's hands gripped Melki's hips while his belly pounded her relentlessly. Her arms were around the taller's buttocks. He had fallen back against the wall, head bent, hands holding his shirttails back so that he could watch the face bobbing in his groin. Both men were well and truly engrossed. My shoulders creaked. Someone had actually forced my hands apart! Pain shot through elbows and shoulders as I stealthily bent arms and hands in front of me. Something impeded my right arm. A small, brown hand was trying to close my fingers over the handle of a thinly ground short dagger. My fingers and hand resembled gray lumps of clay and could have felt no less if they were, but the muscles that control the four fingers are fortunately in the forearms. I was able to grasp the knife even without a usable thumb, though I'd have to watch that I didn't drop it inadvertently. Indeed the brown hand belonged to Estri! Her eyes, looking over my shoulder, were huge above a proud smile. Horrified, I jerked my head back. In her bright way she understood and disappeared behind me. I applied the dagger to the lashings on my boots, noticing but ignoring cuts on my wrists, just beginning to bleed, where the child had sliced their bindings. The boot rope was resistant hemp but should have soon parted under the sharp blade -- except that my uncooperative fingers immediately dropped the knife. I was reaching for it when a male voice shouted gruffly. The commander had entered the cavern. He marched, grimacing, toward the little orgy, shouting another command. Ork ignored the voice except to plunge his hips even faster. Thevik, face muscles drawn tight unmistakably in the nearness of orgasm, extended one arm, hand splayed, to ward off his commander. I saw it coming but was helpless to interfere. God, this is hard to write! The KGB officer whipped out his pistol and blew Melki's brains out. (Excuse me. I have to take a break.) Thevik fell down the wall, eyes large as marbles. The girl's body jerked back, knocking Ork onto his ass, collapsing atop him. Thevik's hand had fallen on the pistol grip of his rifle. He screamed something, audible despite my reconcussed ears. The commander's pistol turned towards him as he jerked the rifle up. Clearly the commander had not expected it, else he would've fired immediately. As it was both weapons roared almost together. Another set of brains decorated the wall, but Thevik had gotten off two shots of his own. Both men flopped backwards, Thevik against the wall, the commander stretched over a large boulder. I'm not alone in making mistakes. Ork flung off the writhing female, ignoring the fountaining blood, and snatched up his own rifle. Again two weapons spoke together. The commander's accuracy had slipped a bit. His bullet entered Ork's mouth in poetic justice before scattering yellow gobbets behind him, some of them into my face. Ork had triggered a three-round burst, at least one of which ricocheted, knocking chips loose all over the cavern. But at least one round connected, throwing the commander off his perch. He struck the wall and rolled back heavily to the floor. Estri darted around me, took up the knife and began to saw on my boot lashings. A few of Ork's bloody gobbets were stuck to her shoulder. My estimate of the blade's sharpness must have been in error. She made very slow progress against the hemp. I reached to take the knife back but motion beyond her caught my eye. The commander rolled slightly toward us, his chest a bloody mass, and raised the hand still holding the pistol. The barrel wavered but was still steady enough. I shouted with all my strength, "Don't kill her!" Estri looked back at me, mouth falling open, then followed my gaze across the room. Her body seemed to shrink into itself. I caught her shoulder, probably squeezing too hard, and forced her gently behind me, away from the shifting pistol. As I released her she slipped the knife into my hand, again closing my fingers around the handle. The Russian gestured with the pistol: Come here. I held up one finger of my left hand and tackled the rope savagely with my right. At last the knife bit; I discovered the dagger blade to be quite sharp on one side but dull as my pocketknife on the other. In seconds my boots were free. I swung my feet under me, but pain shot through all my joints. The best I could do was crawl toward him on knees and elbows. My britches ended up around my boots. As I approached he released the pistol, letting it slide among the pebbles, and gestured toward his mouth. I bent toward him, avoiding the blood, and lowered my ear. He said distinctly, intelligible despite the ringing in my ears, "So Aladdin does exist!" I looked into twinkling blue eyes. A line of blood suddenly streaked from the corner of his mouth. His lips were moving again; hastily I lowered my ear. "To think he was only a rich American after all!" This time the twinkle was gone. His eyes stared glassily past me as his last breath fluttered out, pushing a bubble of blood. Was Aladdin ever rescued by women? I can't remember but resolve to look it up when I get home. I got to my feet, tugging on my britches. Estri's strong little arms helped me get them back in place. I stood over the remains of Melki. Her body was twitching horribly. I've seen it before when the brain is destroyed suddenly, but only in reality; it's too horrible for movies, even X-rated. I turned her over to be sure. The other side of her head was a bloody mess entangled with long hair and interspersed with whitish streaks. The heart had stopped at last, ending the geyser of blood that had splashed over Ork and on the wall beside her. I stood, wringing my hands together, forcing the circulation to return. The face below me was Melki's and so was the birthmark on the hip. The mouth was open. Instead of blood Thevik's semen lolled on chin and cheek. I clutched Estri against me, meaning to turn her face away, but the child calmly extended her thumb and closed the staring eyes. Only then did she look up at me with the largest eyes I think I've ever seen in a human face. Something splashed on her cheek. Water. From somewhere. Snapping my head around, I briefly examined the three men. Their condition was beyond question. Ork had pissed all over his own shirt, another common result of sudden death. Thevik lay still, dick dangling, his last bit of ejaculate glittering in the tip. I hadn't seen others. Surely the gunfire would have brought them, if any, but I took up Thevik's rifle in hands pierced by a thousand needles and crept cautiously around the bend, Estri on my heels. The two vehicles sat where I'd last seen them. The outer cavern was empty of anything else. I walked outside and looked up and down the road. Nothing. Blue sky, sun nearly at the zenith. My wristwatch indicated 13:47. Estri stood, shivering a little, just inside the cave, watching me. I looked into the Soviet jeep and found the commander's greatcoat. The officer's shoulderboards had been removed. Estri's eyes lit when I wrapped it around her, though it dragged the ground behind. I said slowly, forming my words carefully, "How did you come here?" Of course I had already guessed it. She led me past the bodies. Melki's had mercifully stilled at last. In the back of the second cavern the rock closed down to an oval hole about fifteen inches across. I could hardly believe Estri had passed it. Surely the cross-section of Melki's buttocks was larger, the width of her shoulders greater! "From here?" I demanded. She thrust out her chin positively and pointed with one finger cocked in the delightful manner of young girls. "Hedre!" might possibly go back up it, but certainly not I! In any case I was not about to let her out of my sight. "Come with me, Estri," I said, turning on my heel. She followed willingly. At the Soviet vehicle I paused long enough to throw an extra banana clip in my jacket pocket before bundling Estri into the blue jeep beside me and Thevik's rifle. I was resolved that anyone who tried to stop me again would have a shoot-out on his hands. But I saw no one except Estri on the entire trip up to the Meshir cavern. At each fork I bore right and soon came out on the remembered road. Stopping the jeep at that intersection, I reached under the seat. Its captors had not thought to check there. The box of candy bars was still present. I took out a Butterfinger, broke it and gave half to Estri. She watched me peel the paper back. When I took a byte, she was hardly a second behind me. Bliss spread on her face as she chewed. "Oh, Hah-ree!" she breathed. She bent and kissed the back of my hand where it rested on the gear-shift knob. She paused as she rose, eyes widening at the blob of chocolate she'd left on my hand. Down she went again to lick it off, which of course only widened it. She turned apprehensive eyes to me. I chuckled, sucked my mouth dry, raised the hand and licked it clean myself. Her eyes twinkled. "Lovv tongue, Huss-ban'!" At least her mind was off the tragedy, I thought, letting out the clutch and rolling up the road. I was wrong. After awhile she tugged on my sleeve. I leaned close to hear her piping voice over the grinding gears and the residual ringing in my ears. She asked, "You lovv Melki, Huss-ban'?" Not really. I'd secretly thought of her as a two-timer. Memory of that choked me up. Not many two-timers will put life on the line as Melki had done. I took a very deep breath, dashed a bit of dust from my eyes and declared, "I loved her very much." "Melki lovv you, too." "I know." Constance's point, that a Meshir girl will devote herself heart and soul to the one who favors her with a kiss, was only too well demonstrated. God, I felt cheap! "Estri lovv you, too, all yearss that come." "I know you do, you little sweetheart. And I love you!" I had to stop the jeep and take her into my arms. She kissed me. No woman has ever kissed me warmer or sweeter. All right, I'll admit it once. We broke down and cried together. She bawled raggedly like the child she is, whose whole world has been tumbled upside down by playboy Harry Stone. My own breath became somewhat irregular. Crying, weeping, bawling, whatever you call it, is an odd behavior pattern. The emotion is one of the most powerful, but how does a waterfall in the eyes and jerky breathing further it? What could those actions possibly accomplish? Curiously, when I had wiped both our faces on my coat sleeves and put the jeep into motion again, I felt better. Estri returned to her candy and the smile it engendered. And I felt something else. A resolve was hardening in my heart, one for whose achievement I was willing to expend everything I've accumulated. -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----