Fortunes of war by styxx

Fortunes of warPacked earth crunched beneath her hands and knees. Her torn and ravaged body shuddered and continued to leak the cumulative essences of hers and the horse’s sexual organs. She stayed quite still, head hanging down and reeling, waiting for recovery; the strength to return enough so that she could once again stand, once again look up and study the faces of the crowd.

Her lover was being led away by his halter. The animal had no more interest in her now that he had fulfilled his need. All that remained of the grey stallion was the semen that trickled from between her ruined lips and the puddle that formed on the floor to soak into the bare earth. His discarded cock ring had rolled to the edge of the arena and rested against the low barrier between her and the audience.

After what seemed forever, Giselle raised her head and slowly observed the crowd that circled the ring of earth where she had been the primary performer. Hushed as they were, she could still hear their murmuring; she could almost hear them express the incredulity of what they had witnessed. Their collective silence was deafening in its solidity. Blank faces stared back at her, some concern was shown as if to wonder how it might have felt to have so much of the beast inside her, forcing her body to accept his massive cock and then the copious seed. Mostly though, it was shock that registered on the men and women who had paid so much to be entertained.

A flunky brought Giselle a towel and a plain shift to wear so that her nakedness could be cleaned and covered. What did it matter? These strangers had seen Giselle in minute detail, they had watched as she went through the repertoire for the evening. Her skin was of no concern to them now. Neither was her well being, other than to see she survived the onslaught.

The rain started with a copper coin that landed with a small puff of dusty earth in front of her. Then a steady stream of silver coins and bills followed, fluttering like ticker tape or drops of silver rain. Giselle was to get her money after all. She would be able to buy her freedom and get back to the states. She collected her accolades and tributes clutching it all to her chest and running to the exit of the makeshift theatre. The crowd cheered when she stood, it was probably in disbelief that a human body could actually come through a fucking as she had.

Later that night, Giselle had time to reflect on her recent fortunes and misfortunes. She, and part of her company, had been captured by enemy soldiers while out on a recon sortie. Her Sergeant had warned them all that capture was going to cost their lives, rescue would not be possible and Uncle Sam would deny all knowledge of their existence. It was an acceptable risk and just part of the job. Intelligence, even in modern warfare, was paramount and someone had to get it. Giselle and three others had been picked and had been unlucky to have been discovered, despite their extensive special training. She had not seen or heard of the others since her capture. She didn’t believe they were alive. She was free now, liberated from the enemy and going back to the US of A at last.

She lay in her cot, looking up at the mosquitoes that ringed the single hurricane lamp that was her only source of heat and light. She had eaten sparingly, not wanting to fill her stomach after the pounding she had taken. Light-headedness was the result. Her mind played back the scenes of her captivity, providing first hand visual images that played, non-stop behind her eyes.

The Charlies treatment of her had been rough. From her capture and joke trial, Giselle had had to submit to countless rapings. Many men had violated her body, using her, as a receptacle for their filthy cum; getting fucked in her arse, cunt or mouth had become such a commonplace event, and her mind had shut it all away. But, a small voice always held faith that she would, one day, get away from the little yellow men. That voice prayed that she would be able to remain disease free while her throat accepted yet another wad of Charlie dribble or her anus accommodated a filthy cock. She had been either very lucky not to have contracted something or had developed immunity to the disease making micro-organisms. Either way, apart from the almost constant dysentery, she had stayed healthy, no thanks to her captors.

She remembered the first rape. Three officers had dragged her out of the bamboo cage she had been forced to squat in. It was day two of her capture and Giselle had lost her sense of bearings. Half starved, totally naked and weak from little water, she was hardly aware of them pulling her out of the prison. The officers gave her water and sat her in a folding chair opposite the door and facing the imperious, silent stares of the three men. The cool water revived her a little, enough for her to observe the radio equipment and maps that covered the only other piece of furniture.

A sharp slap to her cheek shocked her into attention. Her hands were grasped and tied behind her through the wooden slats of the chair. They began shouting at her, firing questions and pacing around her, but she understood nothing of their interrogation. Giselle had not had time to learn the local language. She could read some of the hieroglyphs that formed their written words, but the spoken word had eluded her apart from the usual good morning, thank yous and so on. The interrogation soon became farcical. She repeated her name, rank and number again and again, even when a twig switch was lashed across her bare breasts or back. Giselle could not have given them any information, even if she wanted to or knew anything, they simply could not understand her or she them. The three men raped her in turn, egging each other on. They all ejaculated in her mouth and slapped her for spitting their seed out. This was the first of many attempts to get her to talk.

Inevitably, she would be stripped of any clothing she had found, fingered and fucked by the three of them. At first her mind screamed out at the violations, but after a few days, she became accustomed to the rhythm of their sessions and hardly felt their degrading attempts at screwing her. The only time her brain recoiled during this period was when the General fucked her anally and then forced his cock in her mouth to finish. The smell of him and her made her wretch and throw up all over his genitals. She nearly died from the beating he administered.

After two weeks, she was unceremoniously dragged from the cage and forced to march for several days, only stopping for meals and drink breaks. Beyond the point of exhaustion, she arrived in a new camp and was thrown into a rush hut and chained to a link in the floor. Her body and mind gave up at that point. She later found out that she had slept, semi-comatose, for three whole days.

The interrogations at the new camp took on a new slant; the officers spoke English and had specific questions about the usual things, numbers of troops, movement, deployment and infrastructure. Giselle held out for a while, but a combination of drugs and beatings broke her in the end. She had nothing to tell them that they didn’t already know. She was given over to the soldiers for entertainment.

Giselle suffered hundreds of rapes during the next few months. As many as thirty of the little shit eaters would take advantage of her every day. The muscles of her anus became slack from the constant abuse; she learned to control her bowels from a place much further inside than normal. Semen swallowing lost its horror and her cunt hardly responded to the ministrations of fingers, cocks or bottles. Her periods ceased. But, still that little voice kept her sane and Giselle just knew she would survive.

Eventually, the Viet Cong broke camp and departed, melting into the jungle as if they had never been there. Giselle was left with the poor peasants who had suffered almost as much as she during their occupation. These people had been the recipients of sever treatment. Their recent captors were little better than the officers of the Khmer-rouge who killed for no more reason than a casual glance.

Giselle began making plans for the long trek back to friendly territory. It took time to accumulate the bear necessities for an extended hike through hostile jungle. At last, her meagre possessions were gathered and Giselle was ready to go. Fate had plans for her though.

The head villager sold her. He sold her with out telling her, to a Turk called Sake, who travelled unmolested through the territories of hostile and friendly camps, taking with him, his travelling circus of freaks and horrors of the war. Burned and disfigured children, amputees and curios formed his retinue, all of whom had to perform or be left to starve. Both sides looked forward to his visits and welcomed him into their midst. Giselle was worth two goats.

The first two weeks hadn’t been bad. Giselle was left to fend for the less able bodied. Feed and cloth them, look after their needs and generally recuperate from her ordeals. She found that regular meals had started to fill her emaciated body out with flesh. Her pallor returned and she became quite fit again. Sake, the Turk Circus boss, had noticed her return to health and set his mind to appraising her worth and usefulness. His limited English was only a little barrier when he explained that she would have to earn her keep. He was singularly unimpressed when she told him about the needs of the others. His dismissive reply was that if they died or whatever, he could just replace them, wasn’t as if there was any shortage of human carnage around. She became the troupes whore. When they stopped at a village, a tent would be erected slightly separate from the main one. Giselle was to entertain a never-ending stream of visitors, both male and female. Her reward was a continued existence.