Adult-FanFiction.org : Anime

Urotsuki-dojo. A Fistful of Tentacles	By : Nickamano Category: +S to Z > Urotsuki-doji Views: 1276 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Urotsukidoji, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
2.
The two demons were a week down in Mexico. And they were finally right where they wanted to be. The best situation, the best disguises, surrounded by females of their choosing and many other forms of amusement which hadn’t initially been considered.
It had all sprung from Father Camcho’s knowledge. Issieki had allowed the Priest to continue with his religious duties while the demon within kept watch and learned. He used the spunk-spiked communion wine to influence and take over those who came to his church. The Protestant Anglo type priest who shared the church had his own non-Catholic equipment, so Father Camcho was able to keep his influence purely occupying the Mexican side of the town.
Thanks to the tainted wine, allowing his influence and control, he now had three females providing him sexual services on tap, and plenty more prospective females waiting in the wings. He had kept on with Mrs Quintero, and had also drawn to him two younger females, Miss Bianca Villa Rivera and Miss Santana Rodriguez, both barely out of adolescence. One sexually active, though secretly, the other untouched, at least inside, until Father Camcho got his hungry hands on her.
Both girls were currently enamoured with one ‘El Sobredemonio’, a rebel leader from just south of the border. He was apparently a revolutionary and visionary of some local renown. And to the girls he was so powerful and sexy. A true lover of Mexico and its people. A very impressive male specimen.
In fact, once he had heard of the name, he learned plenty more. Firstly, through the knowledge of his living disguise, and then by talking to others in the Mexican community which he had learned many of who were involved with a kind of south of the border supply system in this very town.
Recognising a possible and promising opportunity for fun and frolics, he learned of the main players, which actually had included Father Camcho himself.
Apparently, money was donated to the cause through the church and then distributed to specific villagers, those who were able to travel to other towns as part of their jobs. In the other towns they made purchases, usually in small amounts. Weapons and ammunition as well as other supplies. Everything purchased was returned to the border town to be shipped down to El Sobre’s stronghold up in the mountains nearby. It was for use against the building crackdowns of the Federal Mexican police and military forces under the command of the always corrupt and elitist government. An amusing plan started to germinate in Issieki’s mind and he decided on a little trip north.
He took along Miss Rivera and Miss Rodriguez. Partially to help him to present his plan more fully, and partially for entertainment on the journey. Using a two-team horse and wagon, they arrived at the Chisholm cattle ranch at sunset. It wasn’t very far at all, barely an hour’s ride from the town. Issieki hadn’t realised, not having paid attention when he had left and found his way south to the town.
He shoved open the front door, which was partially blocked by a bale of hay. The living room was a mess. Displaced furniture shoved this way and that, while the centre of the chamber had been transformed into an unruly nest. The air was stifling and rank with the aromas of sex and sweat. The male in the centre resembled a putrid mess of mangled human and Makai body parts.
And they weren’t all him. There was female in there with him, partially absorbed and partly sticking out of the congealed mass. At the same time, another female was suspended up in their air and spread-eagled upside down by her limbs. That seemed to be the mother, gripped in four of Dokuhebiki’s writhing, flicking tentacles. More tentacles, phallic tipped of course, were thrusting sedately in and out of her body, there were multiple in each of her orifices. Two encircling a large pair of breasts, squeezing them so they were dark with trapped blood. Two more were stuffed between her wide spread lips, pumping back and forth. Her inverted face was a mask of slobber.
Five were thrusting away between her wide spread thighs and buttocks. Issieki couldn’t tell at first if the mother was being made to take three of those tentacles in her cunt or up her ass. Though a second’s analysis revealed that his brood brother was doubling up in both front and back doors and alternating the fifth phallus between the two holes stretching one orifice and then the other. Her vocal response was weak due to fatigue and of course muffled but still reflective how much painful stretching her new master was subjecting her to.
“Brother, welcome. How are you progressing?” Dokuhebiki sang. “As you can see, mine situation is nothing less than great.”
The Makai’s speech was a slow and slurred. Though his intoxication was due to lust rather than more chemical forms of narcotic.
“Things have progressed very well for me too, as a matter of fact.” Issieki replied. “Though I don’t have the privacy you’re enjoying, or the freedom that goes with it. I do have numbers to make up for it… and fresh opportunities… Which is why I’m here.”
“Come join us, I can lend you a hole or two. And I see you have brought lovely morsels… to share, I hope?”
“Of course, let that older one of yours have a little rest and take your pick of these two. We can chat as we fuck them together.”
Issieki pushed the two Mexican girls forward while Dokuhebiki lowered Sharon Chisholm onto the closest mattress, the tentacles came out of her with loud, slow suctioning squelches, as a deep, exhausted, whimpering groan slid out of her. She flopped on the mattress, lying limp, boneless, drooling. Her bloodshot eyes had rolled up into their sockets. Issieki watched her with interest for a minute. He might at least have a chew on those tits a little later.
Dokuhebiki reached up, grabbed a tentacle-full of the long gleaming straight black hair of Miss Rodriguez, pulling her down into his lap. Taking a seat by the roaring fire, opposite his brother, Issieki snapped his fingers, bringing the other Mexican girl to his side. The dumb female Miss Rivera came over and knelt obediently beside him. She reached over to pull open his trousers and started to gently manhandle his human phallus. Issieki allowed her some agency for the time being, while he looked over the half-transmogrified form of his brood brother.
“Who’s that you’ve got in you? You absorbing her permanently?”
“The daughter Amanda, it was her horse you took off on. She’s really tight and tastes soooo sweet. I’ll keep her going for as long as I can, the pleasure she provides is pretty fucking sweet. So, I should be able to get a few decades out of her at least. Plus, I still have her mother to play with on the outside. She ain’t half bad either. Can certainly take some stretching out that one. And she’s got a great set of tits on her.”
“Seems like you already fucked her into oblivion. I’ll be sure to try her out, but only once she’s back with us.”
“Fair enough. Now then, let see what we can do with this delightful little piece.”
“Great, and I can fill you in on my great new plan while we enjoy ourselves.”
“You have a great new plan? Sounds good, let’s hear it!”
The plan led them, a couple of days later, to ride two supply laden wagons with a couple of armed tough guys for back up and appearances, due south across the border. The tough guys were Sheriff Carl Hughes and Roland Mag, a stockily built Gunsmith’s apprentice. They also brought along Sharon Chisholm, Miss Rivera and Miss Rodriguez, and also another eight human females, aged between fifteen and thirty-five, selected from among the townsfolk and hurriedly spunk-indoctrinated.
Though he also had an innocent wander around the town and picked out four white women, who the two Makai paid a visit to overnight, agreeably anointing each with their seed. Issieki had been able to slip into the dreams of the school teacher, Siobhan O’Rourke, so he mated and indoctrinated her without waking her at all. On the other hand, the Sheriff’s daughter, Penelope Hughes, he took great pleasure in terrorising, though he was also able to break down the barriers between the Realms enough, with the use of his own sexual energy, to divert her screams and crying out into the Demon Realm, so no one but Issieki and Penelope heard a thing while he ravaged her for four solid hours, filled her until she was bloated with his potent seed and then carried her off to the waiting caravan.
Dokuhebiki had selected Linn and Marita Salonen, after he had murdered their parents. They were beautiful twins, though not identical. The Dutch or Scandinavian sisters gave him a lot of pleasure before, finally satisfied, he marched them away to the wagons.
The journey took them five days, a number of the Mexicans knew the name of the location they were headed for; a small town in the mountains of the southern edge of the Municipality of Buenaventura, but they did not know the trails to take.
They travelled into Juarez and had to ask. They were sent the wrong way a couple of times. Took the wrong trail a couple of times, ending up closer to Juan Aldama, on the wrong side of Chihuahua. However, eventually they discovered the right trail and accurate directions took them across and upward to the mountainside town of Abismo De Pérez.
The Town was at the top of a steep path that was barely wide enough for their lone wagon, in fact Camcho had the women climb down and walk behind the singular wagon as they ascended the steep path, essentially leading them up the south-eastern side of, Camcho assumed, Mount Pérez.
As though some ancient giant had taken an axe to the mountain there was a ‘L’ shaped section cut out of the side, an almost vertical slice and a horizontal slice. The flat area housed the village. It was unfair to call it a town. The only building more than single story was the church, which was to the rear of the cluster of buildings, perhaps the first to be constructed. The rest of the town was sectioned around a central crossroads with the Church at its head, creating four segments, all of random shapes and sizes. In the centre of the crossroads sat a large well.
Issieki brought the wagon up to a halt by the well and disembarked, the collection of Mexican females had leaped back into the rear on finding the path flattening out. Though now it had come to a complete stop they climbed down again, taking a dormant position at the side of the wagon, awaiting their leader.
The second wagon had transferred its share of the supplies onto Camcho’s just before they had parted at the bottom of the mountain trail. Then Dokuhebiki, his shotgun rider, the white women and the Sheriff had turned around and taken an easterly trail toward La Cuidad de Chihuahua where a certain Federal Colonel resided.
Father Camcho stood patiently with Bianca Rivera, Santana Rodriguez and the four Mexican females he had brought along. Maria Lopez had replaced the pregnant Maria Quinteros. She was a similar age, mature and attractive, and with even more of an hourglass figure. There was also Dani Gomez, a stunning looking fifteen-year-old maiden, Luna Expósito, nineteen, attractive and slender. Lopes was also another lavish admirer of El Sobre. And finally, Isabella Merced, a fierce warrior woman. Thirty years of age, of which the last seventeen had been filled with nothing but rage against any and all Federal soldiers. Some of whom had murdered her entire family and gangraped her before leaving her for dead inside her burning home. Only she hadn’t died and the flame of vengeance that had been lit that day had sustained her ever since.
“Would someone tell El Sobre that Father Camcho has brought wagon of supplies for the revolution, plus a number of volunteers to swell his… erm, ranks.”
It took a few minutes but they soon found themselves surrounded by a small group of peasants. Though poor and often rangy in appearance, they were all armed to the teeth, holstered pistols on their belts, bandoliers stuffed with rifle cartridges, almost every one carried a knife. And a slung bolt action rifle, though some possessed twenty-year-old lever-actions long arms.
Camcho, with four rifles pointed at him was patted down and then so were the women. The peasant soldiers took a lot more time and effort as they made sure of exactly what the six beautiful women had under their blouses and skirts. Camcho watched with a calmness, smiled benevolently throughout.
Finally assured they were unarmed, two of the men, shouldering their rifles but drawing revolvers from their belts, waved the Priest and his volunteers forward. They were marched as a tight group toward a wide, low sandstone building in the closer of the two quadrants on their right.
The entryway was blocked by planks of wood. It had started life as a proper door but the heat and wind appeared to have warped the panels enough to leave gaps, between each plank. So, on the inside was a large canvas curtain to provide additional insulation. Inside the place was a tavern. Grimy whitewashed sandstone, a couple of square tables each with three or four chairs, and a bar. There was an archway leading to a kitchen area beyond and there was the smell of some kind of stew wafting through into the barroom. For windows and ventilation there were square holes in the walls, almost a horizontal line two thirds the height of the wall, encompassing three of the four sides.
There was a man behind the bar opposite the entrance, watching them with a double-barrelled shotgun. The barrels weren’t levelled directly at them but it was deliberately, plainly visible. There was only a single patron. Issieki loosening his hold on his six females a little, resulted in believable reactions of fear but it was quickly drowned out by three of them making excited gasps and giggling as they took in the lone patron.
He was a younger man, perhaps thirty but looked younger. He was short and stocky but handsome with large, sharp and intelligent eyes. He possessed an air of confidence about him, even though he sat with his back to them at the bar looking their way from over his broad shoulder. He wore a bandana over his brow though waves of gleaming back hair hung down over it and around the sides of his angular face. Thick brows framed those piercing brown eyes while, beneath a small flattened nose, a thick wide moustache concealed his lips, other than the point-edged moustache, he was clean shaven, revealing a strong chin and allowing his appearance of youth to somewhat shine through.
He wore simple garb, linen shirt and trousers, boots. A sombrero covered much of his shoulders and back, suspended from his neck by its chin strap. There was a cartridge belt around his waist with a holster. Though on closer glance it proved to be an unusual looking holster, made of wood with a hinged top and an angled metal base.
It had been Bianca, Santana and Maria Lopez making little soft gushing noises of allure and attraction to the young man who could only be the rebel leader.
Issieki saw it at once, as the young man glancing across the line of women. The way their eyes seemed to light up in his presence, the way their enticing, jutting busts rose and fell more quickly. They desired him, hungered for him. And he enjoyed it, the attention, the promise. He looked from female to female with an enigmatic little smile. He appeared to like every single one of them. He finally turned his attention on Camcho.
“My lieutenants are taking stock of your generous gift, Father Camcho. And you say these delightful ladies are to join my ranks as Soldaderas?”
“They are volunteers to the cause, Señor Sobre, what position you choose to put them in is entire up to you.”
“Indeed. I will have to give it some thought on how they might best serve me… and the cause.”
“Each of them has dedicated herself to you, Señor. They are yours to command however you see fit.”
“And you Father? What desire of yours brings you all this way?”
“Merely a moment of your time… in private, Señor.”
The young rebel commander couldn’t help but frown.
“I am as loyal as any of your other compadres, Señor. Your men have already checked me over and declared me free of weapons. You have that interesting pistol on your hip…”
El Sobre gave a little shrug and then slid off his stool.
“Very well. Come through this way. The pantry should suffice.”
<><><>
Dokuhebiki lay in the back of his wagon. The Sheriff had the reins while Mr Mag rode shotgun, it left him alone and uninterrupted with five human females. The journey northwest to Chihuahua city would take the rest of the day. The Makai had reverted to his full human disguise. Amanda, inside him, had been absorbed enough not to distend or bloat his human frame noticeably though he was taller and fatter than Jock Chisholm had been. Of course, no one but him would know that.
As he was out in the open, on the trail, he kept to a single human cock, though made it bigger and thicker than Jock’s natural six inches. He shared the ten inches around the females, using each of them in turn but swapping between them without ever climaxing. He was enjoying the power and superiority of giving each of them a thunderclap of a climax then leaving her moaning and quivering on the baseboard while he pulled the next in line over to him to use her body like it was an inanimate plaything.
When he did finally climax, he dumped the whole quarter gallon of the stuff into young Penelope, filling her from vulva to cervix. Then pulling out and allowing a couple of the thick, protracted streamers to anoint her torso, small perky breasts and basting her face. He ended up stuffing his still squirting hose into her slack mouth, pushing it all the way in while she let out muffled squeals. Her struggles were in vain while he unleashed gout after hot gout into her gullet and erupting straight into her stomach, until it was filled and distended, making her belly bulge visibly. Before she could vomit the curdling mess back up, he made each one of his other females lock her lips onto Penny’s, tongue kissing her lewdly. While they were excitedly engaged, he leaned over the prone Penny and used his halfway wilted cock to pound its weight on her belly until her stomach reacted and she voided its heady white contents out through her mouth. He kept them on a carousel, while Penny jetted his steaming spunk from her mouth again and again, sharing his tribute with each girl and woman, the demon making each of them take a mouthful and more from poor battered Penny.
For the post climatic Makai, it proved such an awe-inspiring performance that he almost grew hard again.
By the time they were riding into Chihuahua, all the girl’s stomachs were mildly bloated with demon cum other than young Penny’s which was all but back to normal. Of course, his seed would be absorbed into them quickly enough.
They pulled into the shadows of a low wooden building on the outskirts of the town and Jock looked around the circle of his females, trying to decide which The Federal Colonel Culebra would like best. He quickly realised that he couldn’t decide without more knowledge of the man. So instead, he sent them out, all seven of his slaves with instructions to find out the Colonel’s taste in women.
While they were all gone, he freed the horses from the wagon and led them over to a near-by stable where he sold them. Of course, he was unable to get much for them but he didn’t need much and settled on the offered price without bothering to barter.
The wagon was empty apart from a satchel of dried food and a couple of canteens of water, a few pillows and blankets, arranged into another makeshift nest, but its canvas cowl still provided cover from the sun and even a little protection from the cold of night. It was at least a roof over their heads for the day or maybe two they would be without a more permanent shelter.
However, as he returned to the wagon, he could smell someone in the back, could hear someone rummaging through the fabrics of the nest. And it was a human, not just some animal searching for a meal.
He threw back the flap and caught the human red headed. It was a male child, prepubescent. He had seen perhaps six or seven summers. He tried to scarper, but the disguised demon grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, lifted his crying, struggling form right off his feet. And climbed down from the back of the wagon. The child was struggling, kicking and cursing in rapid-fire Spanish. However, to a demon like Dokuhebiki, the boy proved no more strenuous than carrying an apple. Jock Chisholm only knew a little Spanish but it was enough.
“¿Esta tu Madre y Padre?”
“¡Allí! Bájame!”
He didn’t put the boy down until he was inside the small single storey house he had pointed out. White washed sandstone walls, rugs on the floor over terracotta tiles. There was a woman in the place standing over a stove, but she had heard her son making a commotion and was half twisted about. Perhaps wondering what new trouble her boy had found for himself.
Jock deposited the boy down on the floor and raised his hands hoping it came across as a peaceful gesture. Of course, the woman stared at him, aghast and concerned. Perhaps for what her son had been doing as well as what trouble this gringo intruder might cause for her.
She looked him up and down, taking in the power within his bulging muscular form, there was a bloat to him, as though he worked hard but liked his foot and his beer. Then she noted the holster at his belt. She also noticed the way his eyes roamed her body and she found herself putting her arms under her chin, clasped together, her forearms surreptitiously concealing her bosom, she had been sweating over the heat of the stove and the sweat had seeped into the linen of her blouse, caking it incidentally yet obscenely to her breasts.
By the time he left the small house the son would be dead, the body stuffed into the hollow of the bread-making oven, the corpse roasting slowly down to bone and ash. Though first he had fucked the mother. He had stripped off his soiled, off-white shirt, revealing a stark musculature. Two tentacles developed, growing out from his back, sweeping around toward her. One was phallic tipped, the other just an extremity. The woman’s reaction, the shaking, the tears and mouthed prayers, had all been great.
The tentacle extremity had encircled the boy, pinning his arms to his sides and lifting him clear of the floor so he had no purchase and no way of freeing himself. Not that he ever could. Dokuhebiki had thrust the bulbous tip into the boy’s mouth as a gag. He had tried biting but it was like a new-born gumming a parent’s finger, no jaw strength, nothing hard enough to cut.
The capture and suspension of the boy also had the expected sedating effect on his mother. She cooperated when Dokuhebiki sneaked his phallic tentacle under her skirts. She continued quietly sobbing and shivering uncontrollably but she didn’t try to run or fight him off. She didn’t even move, obediently spreading her legs for him. The phallic tip found her cunt. She wasn’t wearing underwear. Before penetrating her, it pressed up against her vulva, rubbing itself and vibrating against her lips and her clitoris. Despite her terror, her cunt started to lubricate. Then he penetrated her driving in deep, slamming into her cervix.
Immediately she squealed in pain, both hands desperately grabbing the tentacle length emerging from between her knees, though she was unable to close her hands around its girth. However, within only a couple of heartbeats that pain had blossomed into unadulterated pleasure, as the tentacle’s own secretions started to seep out and react with her flesh, sparking delightful euphoria inside her.
The demon approached her while his tentacle was thrusting away, slowly yet always hard and deep. She was sweating and moaning, her eyes squeezed shut, mouth open wide. He casually grasped the collar of her blouse, flicked at a couple of buttons and then peeled the garment open and tugged it down around her waist. Staring at her exposed breasts, sagging but offering a reasonable handful each. He grabbed one of her hands and pried it from the phallic tentacle, shifting it instead to the crotch of his trousers and the human proportioned cock within. Her hands remained in place squeezing and rubbing. Dokuhebiki leaned in and pressed his mouth onto hers, penetrated her with his tongue, while his hands cupped and squeezed her breasts.
Another minute later and she was down on the floor on her hands and knees. Her skirts tossed up over her back exposing broad, pale buttocks. The demon knelt behind her, tentacle still thrusting rapidly in and out of her cunt while his newly unveiled human cock was jutting from his trousers and about to slide up into the woman’s anus.
“Does your husband take you in the ass, woman?”
“Yes… It is sinful and it hurts. I try not to allow him, but he beats me until I give in.”
“Good man…”
“He hurts me more when he does it. I think he likes that.”
“How often?”
“Once, twice a week.”
“Good man.”
He asked her more questions about her sex life as he doubly penetrated her and started fucking her through orgasm after orgasm. Though to allow her to think enough to respond to his interrogation, he kept his fluids and his screwing pace subdued.
He learned of her age when she was first taken by a man, learned of the two occasions her husband had loaned her out to others to pay off a gambling debt. He learned of the time soldiers from the Garrison had visited her and she had been made to pleasure each of the five of them numerous times over the course of three hours. She had been desperate to have them leave before her husband’s return, fearful that he would blame her for the assaults, call her a whore and beat her. She had deliberately burned the pork they were to be having for their supper that night, in order to disguise the smell of sex pervading the house. He had beaten her for that instead, and then, despite her soreness he had dragged her to bed and punished her by fucking each of her holes, that night and again the following morning, unconcerned over her pleas for mercy or her sobbing.
The story had brought on the Makai’s orgasm and he had liberally and aggressively filled both her holes simultaneously with his seed, tossing her mind into the inferno of sanity-breaking sexual ecstasy.
Once her body had absorbed his spill, he had pulled out, nonchalantly finished off the boy and got rid of his body. This mother would be the first Mexican under the demon’s influence.
He gave her instructions before leaving her; to seduce her husband on his return from his job, whatever it was, and pass on the Makai’s influence through their fucking. Of course, with the aftermath of her stories and the oft-present desire for sadism, Dokuhebiki had put the instruction into the woman to tease her husband and then to play hard to get, to rebuke his advances once he had fully embraced the lust she had instigated. He wanted her husband to lose his temper and force all that built up desire onto her with a frustration-fuelled aggression. And from what he understood from the woman’s confessions, he was no gentle lover to begin with.
The seven slaves of Dokuhebiki returned after nightfall with a number of stories. And some personal experiences of rape and assault.
The Sheriff came back with a bullet in his gut, however the semen inside his system had refused to allow him to collapse and die. He had limped back, half his fist stuffed into the wound to keep him on his feet. However, Dokuhebiki judged he wouldn’t last very much longer. Even his power would not work on dead flesh not that the demon cared much. Now they were where he wanted to be, there were any number of armed men he could recruit as a bodyguard. Though, again, it wouldn’t be long at all before he wouldn’t need any kind of bodyguard.
Two of them both came back with the same story, that the Colonel had ordered a village to the south to be completely emptied of its occupants the men and elderly killed and all the women brought back to his stronghold here in the town. The belief was that the village was suspected of harbouring Zapatistas so the place was razed as a lesson to other villages. The women he lined up. Those too old or ugly or too young, he had shot on sight. Of the others he had chosen five he found most attractive and kept hold of them. The rest he had passed over to his men. Unfortunately, both accounts came from third parties, neither of whom had been present at the time and could tell them nothing of those five women the Colonel had chosen for himself.
Another of the group came back with a first-hand account from one of the Federal officers who had been on another village raid that the Colonel had been directly involved in. The villagers, probably Zapata’s rebels, had given his men a hard time and it had been a protracted battle before the village was taken. The village elder had surrendered begging for the lives of the survivors, essentially the village’s women and children. However, the Colonel, supposedly enraged by the hard work his men had been forced to put in, had ordered the village elder’s daughter and grandchild brought forward. He had pushed the middle-aged daughter into the hands of three of his Lieutenants while the grandchild he had taken himself. Both women had been repeatedly raped and beaten before the Elder as a horrifying punishment. Afterwards the Colonel had them all killed, the women first and then the Elder once everyone else had been massacred. However, again other than ‘grandchild’ suggesting someone younger and fresher rather than older and more sexually experienced, there were no further clues as to the type of woman the Colonel was interested in.
They got a little more when Roland Mag returned, dragging an old man by the actual scruff of the neck, over to their wagon. He was a peasant, in his fifties by the lined face and receding grey hair. His eyes rheumy and unfocussed, perhaps due to wine.
“Tell my master your tale, my friend.”
“Can I have something to drink?”
“You can fuck any of these women, any way you want in the back of the wagon, once you have told me whatever it is you have to tell me.”
“Really?!”
The old man gaped, his bulging eyes roving over the line of females behind the tubby white rancher.
“You can pick and choose later. Tell me what you have to tell me.”
“El Colonel took my granddaughter. He held her for three weeks. And then she was no more. She disappeared. She was not returned to me or my son. And my son was not even part of the Revolution he was a simple farmer.”
“Tell me about your granddaughter, Señor. How old was she when she was taken by El Colonel?”
“Only seventeen. Still really just a child. A beautiful child, like her mother. And like hers, my dearly departed.”
“Was she slender like a child or more filled out like a woman?”
“What sort of question is that, Señor?”
“The sort of question you will answer, Señor.”
With a look from Jock Chisholm, Roland Mag casually drew the revolver from his belt holster, it was a big long barrelled Colt. He brought it into the old man’s vision. His thumb hooked the hammer spur but didn’t cock the gun. Not yet.
“She was skinny in height, small but very pretty, lovely skin, long black hair.”
“No tits or ass?”
“I did not pay attention to such things. My Granddaughter. Like I said she was skinny, slender.”
“Thank you, Señor. You may pick any one of these females, take her into the back of the wagon. Do whatever you want.”
The old man grinned hungrily, his watery eyes suddenly little solar flares. He looked along the line of women, his eyes zig-zagging up and down, assessing their shapeliness beneath the clothing. However, before he shuffled forward to make his choice, the bloated looking American Rancher stepped in front of him and pointed to the youngest female of the group.
“Not her, I require her. Penny Hughes, come here. Come with me.”
Silently the young blonde stepped out of the line and started off after Jock. Without another word, he led her away to a building, directly behind where they had stopped the wagon. Glancing behind him, he noted the old man had picked the pale skinned and red-haired Siobhan O’Rourke to take into the wagon.
He walked Penny Hughes into the house of his first Mexican slaves. The husband and wife were sitting at their dining table, in silence. The two of them calmly shredding golden-brown roasted meat from the bone onto a large plate in the middle of the table. They sipped from cups of wine to unconcernedly wash down the flesh of their child. Ignoring them, Jock walked Penny past them and into their bedroom.
“Strip off your clothing young Penny.” He said.
He had his own stripping to do as well. He started with his pistol belt, his boots and then his clothing. He paused a moment looking up and down at Penelope Hughes’ taut little figure. She had no breasts to speak of, small high mounds with barely any shudder, yet topped by thick brown-pink nipples that seemed proportionally larger than the breasts they capped.
Pale fleshed, she was slender in build though she did possess a degree of lean muscle through her limbs, and a hint of the muscles of her flat stomach. She was apparently a young talent at the breaking in of wild horses, Jock’s vague memories informed him, hence the physique. He bade her turn around and actually groaned at the perfection of her shapely buttocks. They were small and well formed but rounded by a layer of fat that jutted the pale crescents out behind her, they remained taut, perky and pliant.
“Perfect.” The demon hissed, his erection throbbing once more.
Then Dokuhebiki slashed at his own naked flesh-covering, tearing the disguise of Jock Chisholm from his bloated demonic form. Stepping out of the flesh sack, he considered his body shape, seeing how the absorption was still only partially complete. He was out of time. With a sigh of regret, he split his own pliable form asunder and kicked out the remains that had once been Amanda Chisholm onto the rug. Though slick from head to foot as though with oil, she looked about the same. Perhaps parts of her were wasted away and perhaps a little smaller, as though gravity had been compressing her from every direction at once. However, without his Makai body to sustain her, the teenager died almost immediately, only an unconscious whimpering moan exiting her strained, distended gullet. Then came her death rattle. And then nothing.
The demon turned to the other girl and grinned. This was going to be a whole different kind of fun. He phased himself out of the material element of the Realm and then slipped inside Penelope Hughes; rearranging his own pliable form inside her, to fit her properly before he phased back into the human realm fully and took her on as a fresh disguise.
<><><>
“¡Ohhh… El Sobre, Oh! ¡Sí, El Sobre, sí! ¡Más fuerte, Señor, más fuerte!”
The Rebel leader felt glorious. He had so much pussy on tap, so many pretty girls throwing themselves at his feet all with unadulterated adoration. And best of all, when he demanded it, they were all too willing to strip naked and spread their legs for him, or even spread the soft cheeks of their bottoms.
And any who weren’t he could make them do it anyway… who would they complain to? Their fathers? Brothers? Husbands? Their men were all part of his army and all under his orders. Any with a grudge against him wouldn’t dare go against him, even if they felt like it. And most would tell their female family members to hold their tongues and put up with it. That it was their duty to serve the cause, La Revolución any way they could. And if that meant relieving El Sobre of his daily stress by taking his cum, then they should be doing so without complaint.
It was perhaps the best part of being a leader of the revolution. Of course, there was the glory and the victories, and the exhilaration of battle. Of winning and the relief as they escaped the clutches of bastard the Federals. All in service to improving things for the people the working-class backbone of their beloved country. All that went without saying. However, truly best of all was the power. The power over life and death, the power over others. And the power to fuck whoever he wanted to whenever he wanted to. He could look at a woman or a girl and snap his fingers and she would be found in his quarters or his tent or where ever he wished to find her. Even right then and there, dropping to her knees on the road if he desired it. She would either be all too grateful to serve their beloved El Sobre or she would be there under duress whatever worked. A threat to their man, or their brother or father, to be put into a ‘forlorn hope’ suicidal frontline assault unit. Some men even wanted to join a forlorn hope squad, death in glory, but their women? They never wanted such things and often would be on their knees begging for their men. It was perfect.
This particular piece, bent over a table had needed no coercion. She was a young and bright idealist, one of those happy to reward El Sobre in any way she could. She took it gladly even though, when he had spread her cheeks and thrust into her ass, it was with no more lubrication than the saliva from when he had fucked her face a few seconds earlier. And she had squealed in pain and wept, but she had not begged for mercy or tried to stop him. And all too soon the fire in her blood had ignited and she had started to enjoy herself too. Not that he cared about such things.
Afterward, once he was done with her, he might make her one of his Soldaderas. Either giving her to one of his officers as a companion or just have her join the ranks. She would spend her time fighting the enemy when she wasn’t being a sexual pleasure giver to her fellow soldiers of the rebellion. She would be anyone’s and everyone’s.
And if she was captured alive, then she would become the enemy’s, taking cock for the Federal army rather than her own people. Either way her life would be the same.
He had even come across a tiny number of Soldaderas who had been forced to swap sides and be used by men, three even four times. Once even five times, being captured twice over and escaping back to her the side of the revolutionaries. Each time she came back to her own ranks she was beaten and gangraped as punishment for entertaining the cocks of the enemy, before being allowed back into the rank and file to fight again for the rebellion. It all gave El Sobre a thrill to think of it. Though he thought he remembered her name being among the lists of the dead a week earlier.
This woman right now, taking him in her ass, was Conchita he thought, or Consuela, or… could it have even been Maria? It didn’t matter. Her hot guts were clutching fist tight around his tingling cock and their mingled sweat was making her bottom delightfully slippery against his pumping abdominals.
Over the last week, he had enjoyed the influx of new blood, donated by the demon presently occupying him body. El Sobre understood that the demon had lessened the effect of its seed within the females so they were all but free again, though remaining all but unaware of what was going on. He had welcomed them with loving arms and no less than three of them had thrown themselves at him instantly.
What had their names been? Bianca, one of the many Maria’s, and a Santana? That sounded about right. He had tested their loyalty to the cause by taking all three of them into his bed that very same night and thoroughly enjoying their tongues and their holes for as long as he had stamina and his balls to produce seed for them. And, given the demon occupying him, he had plenty of both to go around. He had felt like a god.
They had done everything, with more or less degrees of enthusiasm but they had done it all. Licking and sucking each other, taking his big thick cock wherever he wanted to put it, even when they wept and whimpered in pain, they did not refuse him, merely suffered exquisitely for his pleasure. They even delved into his anus with fingers and tongues when he demanded it. It had been a day and night to remember.
This one… Marie? He had forgotten again. Mary? Maria? This one, this set of holes. Was quivering delightfully underneath him.
“Hurt me if you wish, Señor! I can take it!”
She was squealing, her throat still sounding raw and rough, from when he had reamed her earlier.
“I will gladly suffer for you Señor! Hurt me more, if you wish!”
“I am grateful, Señorita. Or is it Señora?”
“With you El Sobre, I am nothing. Tres agujeros.”
Three holes. It made him laugh and feel even more aroused at the same time. A woman who knew her place!
“Your sacrifice is welcome woman! Take my seed!”
He grabbed her plaited pig tails and yanked her up right then grabbed her around the throat and on the top of her head and pushed her fiercely down to her knees before him. She had the acumen to spin herself around to face him as she was forced down on her knees before the great El Sobre. With devotion, she opened her mouth for his big filthy cock. And he saw her expression, the momentary marvel that it was so much larger than the last time she had slid her lips around it.
Consuela Lopez had known ‘El Sobre’ before he had risen through the ranks to his current lofty position, due to his quick thinking and natural skill with military strategy. Back then he had been a lowly guerrilla, part of a force who had invaded her village looking for conscripts to the cause and they had taken the men and a number of the women at gunpoint. Many of the women volunteering in order to stay with their men for protection.
She had been the village elder’s daughter and therefore had not been married yet. There had been no one her father had deemed worthy of his beautiful child. Ordering Consuela into hiding, her father had then gone out and tried to stop the ransacking of his village and the, as he saw it, enslavement of his people.
He had been beaten, declared a traitor and was to be executed when Consuela had burst from her hiding place begging mercy for her father. The guerrilla captain had ordered her to be punished in her father’s place and she had been raped by the seven senior soldiers and then forced to join the other members of the village.
She had been pressed into service under Antonio Raúl Guillermo, who at the time had been little more than a boy, a quick-witted and intelligent boy, with a lot of passion for both killing and women, but still a boy. So, she had spent three nights fucking and sucking him, mending his clothes, cleaning his rifle, cooking for him. And then at some point another guerrilla Esteban Jorge Sánchez, a bigger nastier, crueller man, who Antonio at the time was unable to argue with had taken Consuela off Guillermo.
Guillermo was now ‘El Sobre’ while Sánchez had been murdered a week later. Consuela herself had managed to escape the rebel force and somehow found her way back to her village.
She had found it burned to the ground. By the Federal army, according to accounts of other nearby villages. She had found her father’s body, shot and stabbed along with a handful of the old and infirm who had also been killed. She had buried them all singlehandedly. And then she had taken up the role of the true Soldadera; taking up a rifle, rather than the cock, and the washing and cooking duties of male soldiers.
She had taken to the mountains, worrying the enemy lines as a guerrilla. And yet over the weeks and months, she kept hearing the name El Sobre; of his victories and prowess in battle. And she became impressed and enamoured at the thought of him. And then she had seen him from a distance, the man she had known as Guillermo, seen the handsome confidant and man he had become and had felt even more impressed by El Sobre.
He didn’t seem to know her or remember her but she was glad to slake his lusts with her body when he demanded it, glad to make him smile and make him cum. But yes, he had certainly grown since she had last lain under him or had her head in his lap. His cock was now so big, that she could barely get it into her mouth. Consuela pushed herself onto it, fighting to ignore its taste and smell, lapping side to side at the underside of his swollen head.
He panted and groaned out his pleasure, his hands closed again on the back of her head, holding her steady as he shoved forward with his hips. The crown crashed into the back of her mouth, making her gag. His hands tightened on her plaited hair and he hammered again, she tried to flatten her tongue and straighten her throat as much as his grip would allow. His cock popped into her throat. She tried to straighten the sheath a little more as he forced his way deeper, groaning loudly and then cursing colourfully in Spanish.
Consuela grabbed his weighty balls gently in one hand and reached around behind it with the other, feeling between his buttocks. She used her long idle finger, stroking and probing and then abruptly penetrating his anus, eagerly thrusting her finger in deep while she fervently massaged his balls. He tensed, his sphincter gripping her finger tight and he cried out his voice cracking, going high. He almost lost balance, slapping his hands down onto the tabletop.
After that all it took was a single backward jerk and forward stab into her throat before, with yet another hoarse cry, his thick seed began spraying, hot and pressurised. Each climatic burst was so prolonged that, to Consuela, it almost felt like he was pissing into her mouth. Which was something else she had been forced to contend with more times than she cared to consider and not only by El Sobre.
He pulled backward into her mouth, still spraying long spurts of his seed, blasting her tongue, filling her mouth in less than a second. It came so thick and heavy that even before she could swallow, it was splattering from her nose.
She couldn’t breathe, her throat was filled so she was unable to inhale and her nose was blocked by thick near scalding seed. She finally had to concede defeat and fell back from his erection. Her head down, great thick ropes of his cum drooping from her lips and her nostrils. Though at last, she could breathe again. His orgasm remained in full flow. It was unbelievable. Just ridiculous. And she felt the hot streamers slapping down onto her head, weighting down her plaits, actually slapping her on the back like thick wet whipcracks.
Gasping, she threw her head back and a blast spattered right across her eyes. Luckily, they were squeezed shut. She felt three more ripping hot ropes, heavy impacts onto her chest and breasts. Then they were hitting the floor, making a noise like someone tossing goblet of wine onto the tiles from a great height. There was a prolonged spray, then a series of drips, and then nothing. Nothing but El Sobre, panting, groaning and laughing in the afterglow of his climax.
Consuela scooped the steaming viscous fluid from her eyes and nostrils and then looked down at herself. She was a mess, plastered thickly with pearlescent greyish stuff the consistency of watery porridge. And the stench of it smelled like pure masculinity. It made her feel sexually desirous all over again, like some kind of sexual opiate.
“If you need more, go and offer yourself to my officers.” He panted, still mostly lost in the afterglow. “They’ll know what to do with you.”
Consuela couldn’t think of anything better right at that moment.
“I hope you survive them, woman, I might want you again sometime. You certainly have talent.”
She barely took in his words. Heading for the door she picked up her discarded blouse and tried to wipe the worst of his tribute from her body. She didn’t have much success.
<><><>
The village of Agua Del Sueco was a small and poor place with a low defensive wall that had been in need of repair fifty years earlier. It was well known as a place where guerrillas would run to and hide in, where they could get food, rest and shelter. It was part of the reason most of the fighting age men and women were still living there and had not been pressed into El Sobre’s ranks. They provided a supporting duty to the guerrillas. In some ways, especially as they were not in the mountainous region and able to hide from the Federal forces, was much more difficult.
That was the very reason Colonel Culebra had chosen this village to assault.
He hadn’t required his artillery or his two score of light Cavalry, though the latter were present on top of a nearby hill, overlooking the valley that housed the village. Their job to kill any man seen to escape the walls of the village and to take alive any woman or girl who managed to slip past the infantry assault force.
The infantry had been divided into thirds. The first were set up in overwatch positions, shooting their bolt action rifles and repeaters at any man taking rooftop positions inside the village and also aiming at the north and south entrances in the surrounding walls. The second and third formed advancing invasion squads who were to enter the village and go house to house, killing and capturing as per their Colonel’s specifications.
What was most unusual was that for once, Colonel Culebra himself was leading the assault squad.
The Colonel laughed as his men ran from building to building, chasing out men and shooting them down as they tried to escape, or dragging out the women and quick marching behind them, pressing the captives forward and up against the outer wall. Each female was noosed securely to a long rope. Every one of them screamed and sobbed and pleaded for clemency.
“No clemency!” The Colonel shouted gleefully. “Cock! Lots of cock! All day and night until the traitor whores are dead!”
He laughed at their renewed screams or horror. Then called over to one of his officers. Captain Mendoza was an overweight sadistic pervert that Culebra found himself having developed a soft spot for. The Captain ran over and offered a snappy salute. Mendoza might enjoy wine and food a little too much, and the women or at least their tears and their pleas and screams, but he was no slouch and was by no means slovenly.
“Once we have all the villagers we find in these retched mud huts, take some men and set fire to every building. There are usually hiding places in these villages, under the floor boards, in the walls and roofs. We shall burn out any stragglers.”
“And when they make themselves known, Colonel?”
“Same orders, Captain. Kill every man, capture the women.”
“Yessir.”
“How many women do we have so far?”
“At last count, twenty-seven, Colonel.”
“All of sexual maturity?”
“Most, Colonel. A few perhaps too old. Three or four that might be too young.”
“I will make the final decision, Captain.”
“Of course, Colonel.”
The burning of Agua Del Sueco’s buildings conjured up another three men. Two were shot on sight, the third emerged from his hiding place already on fire. He was left to burn, screaming as he ran out into the valley two fall twenty yards out. Two women also emerged. They appeared to be in their early twenties and they were easily the most attractive of all the captured village women. They were immediately claimed by the Colonel.
He drew his pistol, A Webley and Scott self-loader that most of the men had never seen the likes of, and walked up and down the line of weeping, trembling women. He shot two. An overweight woman who appeared to be in her fifties with her black hair in a bandana, liberally shot through with grey and a deep, sundried lined texture to her face. The other was younger though missing an eye and appeared emaciated. She was apparently the village prostitute.
If there had been fewer choices she might have survived and been made to show off her experience to the men but with almost thirty to choose from she was rejected. She took a .455 bullet to the head, her corpse dropping to the ground and dragging those on either side of her in the roped line down to their knees by her limp body weight.
Then he went to the gathered group of girls. Three were babies or toddlers, gripped in the arms of their mothers. Two were under ten. Three were in their teens. The choice was obvious but the Colonel allowed his men to deal with it.
“Colonel! Colonel, Sir! You have a visitor!”
The alert came from a Sergeant from the sharp shooter unit. Colonel Culebra, escorted by the Captain and the Sergeant, marched over to the entrance of the burning village. It was nice to get away from the acrid smell of the smoke, as much as the please, screams and freshly grief-stricken sobs of the women.
What Culebra saw standing there, flanked by a couple of soldiers, made him smile. He paused, took a moment to holster his pistol.
“Well, well,” He said. “If it isn’t young Luna Expósito. A pleasure to see you again dear.”
Rather than the docile sexual slave of Issieki’s that Dokuhebiki had come to recognise having made the trip from the Texas border down to Mexico in their two wagons, Luna Expósito actually appeared alive and lucid. She looked wary, even frightened. Though when she saw the Colonel approach, she offered up a generous though shaky smile. The grin he returned was predatory.
“Strip her.” He said, through his grin.
The guards flanking her flashed their own smiles and shouldered their rifles. Luna’s face dropped, and she visibly paled.
“But, my master sent me to speak to you.”
“Be silent. You will be interrogated later… And you’ll be sure to tell us everything we wish to know about your master.”
Her sombrero, already hanging down her back, was lifted off and tossed. It sailed through the afternoon heat like a gliding condor, slowly descending to the ground twenty paces away. One guard had unbuckled her wide leather belt and tossed it aside, while the other started working hurriedly through the little buttons keeping her blouse closed. The blouse was not buttoned all the way to her throat so there were only a few buttons to contend with. Both guards gleefully hauled the blouse from her body. A knife came out and slashed at the drawstring of her skirts, which fell to her ankles, revealing a little petticoat beneath. A second knife slash and the petticoat followed the skirts.
The girl stood there, at first a hand covering her breasts and her trimmed pubic bush but with a nod from the Colonel, the guards grabbed her wrists and forcefully pinned them behind her. She was ripe, young and fit. Though nineteen she looked younger. At least from the neck up. Though her large breasts were already showing a hint of sagged but the nipples were still high and jutting, casting long shadows that showed off the fullness of the orbs. Her belly was flat and taut. Her legs were long and supple. Her long, loose black hair was centre parted and framed her attractive large eyed and full lipped face. Though her nose was wide and flat it didn’t detract from her undeniable prettiness. The eye-drawing black bush was trimmed close enough to her pubis to easily reveal the soft grove of her pink flushed vulva.
“Mendoza, you, this sergeant and these two men may make use of dear Luna for the duration. Until all the men have been pulled back into their ranks and the gathering of supplies and fresh meat onto our wagons has been completed."
“And this new stock of females, Colonel?”
“The fresh meat can walk. Make sure they each have footwear.”
“The, erm, the houses are all on fire, Colonel.”
“So, take boots from the dead.”
Culebra’s reply came with a hint of exasperation. Having to think of and then instruct his men to perform every little detail often proved tiresome. Mendoza was okay, but he felt like another officer with more intelligence, forethought and perhaps a little incentive might prove more helpful.
<><><>
Issieki was thoroughly enjoying giving El Sobre free reign, while they sat in the stronghold estate of a one-time local gentry and landowner. His rotting. bird-picked, sun-baked corpse still hung from a tree beside the archway that formed the entrance to his haçienda.
He was happy to be along for the ride and the sensations El Sobre himself enjoyed. This human was his kind of person, almost Makai-like in his levels of sexual potency and disregard for anything but his lusts, of the female body, of violence and control.
The local revolutionaries had already been through all the females in the haçienda, the owner’s family and his household, before El Sobre had made it as far south as the haçienda.
The Rebel leader had annexed this small independent cell and added it to his own forces when he had caught up with them. There were no specific ranks in La Revolución but he certainly had more fame and notoriety than this cell’s own leader. Therefore, the takeover had been simple enough. Even, perhaps, disappointingly peaceful. While, to mitigate any jealousy, he had invited the previous leader into his inner circle of Lieutenant’s and advisors.
From there he had been shown to their local stronghold village, with its rich, plush and generously expansive haçienda. However, the contents of the large house and grounds had already been ransacked of its riches and people, the staff as well as they household. So, El Sobre had no enemies to violate when he arrived. No fun to be had. Instead, he made free use of local village girls and the twenty or so Soldaderas under his command, there were only three fresh Soldaderas within the ranks of the annexed cell. Though of course, there were still his own girls, minus Luna.
Right now, he was sharing a bed with one of those three annexed women. Miranda Ochoa Sanchez. A celebrated Soldadera in her late twenties. A woman with a reputation as a fierce fighter, she supposedly she had more than a score of Federal killings under her belt. And she was a real beauty too.
He was also happily sharing her. Though, unlike on previous occasions, the third party was not only male, he was a gringo. An American. Lee Dreyer Carlton was supposedly an old timer gunslinger and bounty hunter from New Mexico territory. El Sobre hadn’t seen Carlton fight personally but there were plenty of accounts of his bravery and skill with his shooting irons. He carried a pair of double action Merwin Hulbert .44-40’s.
According to these witnesses he had been instrumental in holding off attacking Federal soldiers who had been attempting to destroy a number of villages to the south of the mountainous regions. And El Sobre, on hearing of his bravery and skill had, on meeting him invited him to a private get together with a Soldadera. Though, more publicly he had presented the American with a silver plated, engraved Colt SAA ‘Artillery’ model with ivory grips. He had found it in the back of a drawer, in a presentation box among the personal items of the haçienda’s previous owner. The cell group must have missed it when they were ransacking the property for valuables.
He had studied the American under the bright Mexican sun, while he poured his attention over the brightly polished revolver. Bald beneath his wide-brimmed white felt hat, he wore his moustaches long with a tuft of beard growth accenting his pointed chin. He was tall and appeared lean of body with a long face. Though his eyes, topped by thick and unruly brows were a keen flint grey.
After the public display they had retired to El Sobre’s chosen master bedroom and drank port and smoked cigars while they waited for the Soldadera that he been called for.
When Miranda had come in, at first blushingly unaccustomed to being in the presence of their renowned leader, yet obviously taken with his youthful handsomeness, she had been all smiles and flushed cheeks. She was wearing what many of the Soldaderas wore, a simple blouse and skirt with sturdy boots. Though she also wore a brightly coloured vest, horizontal lines of multicoloured wool, over a rawhide lining it had been unbuttoned when she had walked into the bedroom.
Outside, when he had first been introduced to her as one of the three women from the local rebel cell, she had been armed with her repeater rifle. Twin crossed bandoliers separated handful breasts and a large sombrero sat atop her head. A pistol belt contained an old ‘75 Remington holstered at her shapely hip. And as was common, her long black hair had been in pigtails.
When, as summoned, she had stepped into his room she had been wearing the same clothes but the bandoliers, rifle, pistol belt and sombrero were nowhere to be seen. Her hair was also down and had been well brushed so it lay smooth and straight, tossed over to one side of her head.
After a few words, two-way and complimentary, El Sobre holding her big brown eyes, had walked up to her, toe to toe and kissed her on the lips. It was not a chaste kiss, nothing polite or respectful. It was alluring and entirely sexual. Gasping with surprise, she took his tongue all the same, and made no attempt to pull away from him when his arms came around her. Nor did she try to remove his hands when he squeezed her plentiful bottom through the seat of her skirts or fondled her breasts through her blouse. And when he grabbed one of her wrists and pressed it to his bulging cock, she had not pulled away, but left her hand there squeezing gently at the hot lump.

“Show me how you love, El Sobre,” He groaned, staring into her long-lashed eyes. “Use your mouth, Chica.”
She was on her knees with her head bobbing vigorously back and forth when the American had joined in. He had been seated in a shadowed corner. And it appeared that Miranda had not noticed his presence. She had tried to pull away and get up but El Sobre had stopped her, both hands firm on the back of her head halfway taking over, pulling her back and forth on his erection as he spoke casually to Carlton. He had pulled her back to her feet and she had found herself sandwiched between the two men. Her gasped protested were ignored, her clothes loosened, unfastened and pulled off.
And she knew there was nothing to be done but whatever she was told. She accepted El Sobre’s kiss again as she stood there, naked, between the two men. Essentially strangers. She returned her master’s kiss as though he were her husband, with passion. Behind her the American fondled her naked bottom, cupping her cheeks, spreading them and caressing the hot cleft. El Sobre cupped and squeezed her breasts with vice-like urgency.
Miranda had been used plenty. First by an uncle, then the village chief both in secret and against hr will. Then, blessedly, by her husband. That had all been prior to the burning of her village. Then she had been used by a Federal Captain and three of his Lieutenants, though she was able to slit the throat of the Captain, and gut one of his Lieutenants as she made her escape.
Afterward, and on numerous occasions, she had needed to use her body to barter for food and water or most often for ammunition. And more than once she had used her body to entice her enemy to come close enough so that she could use her wicked long knife on him. She had manged to kill no less than four Federal soldiers as they lay atop her violently humping away. Killing them before they squirted their seed inside her had always been the trick in those occasions.
And now, ignoring the American, who was doing what he wanted, essentially without her consent; with El Sobre at least, she was screwing him for pleasure. A reward for this impressive young man’s bravery and comradeship and his skilled leadership. Because she looked up to him and admired him. Because she wanted him and he obviously had wanted her. So why not give him exactly what he wanted?
While El Sobre cupped her breasts and sucked her jutting nipples, the gringo thrust fingers inside her, she felt the dampness and the fire beginning, and then, rather less pleasantly, another couple of fingers had been worked into her ass. Still ignoring the American, she had pulled El Sobre’s cock out of his trousers and worked it in a tight fist until she had him groaning. She had been pushed, quite forcefully, down to her knees. And had taken her leader’s cock in her mouth. He was big and thick and hard, impressively so. She was pulled deep into that hot length.
Less impressive was the American but she had been made to suck him too, not being given much choice. Before she had been able to suck either of them to climax, she had been pulled back onto her feet and led to the bed by El Sobre.
As they had approached the bed, she had helped him undress. All the while she had continued giving his erect cock plenty of attention. She had been pulled atop him, her firm robust body warming his, her soft weight pressing into his hard frame while they French kissed, with a mutual moaning passion. His hands had moulded her breasts while their tongues had writhed and rolled, his squeezing none too gentle, while hers had continued to jerk his cock. Seemingly always behind her, the American had joined them, once again thrusting fingers into her, priming both her holes. He used duckbilled fingers to scoop her flowing juices out of her pussy to anoint her anus.
It was obvious how she was about to be used. She knew she had no choice and didn’t bother trying to complain.
When bid, Miranda climbed onto El Sobre, her full attention and dedication on her leader. She took him deep inside her experienced sheath and rode him, hands behind her head lifting her hair up and making her breasts jut and bounce, at the forefront of his attention. All too soon however, a gnarled hand was pressing between her shoulders blades and she felt lean, hairy legs sliding alongside hers. A thick, hot weight thumped down onto one of her buttocks. She was pushed down flat on El Sobre’s lean firm chest. He encircled her body, holding her tight against him, chasing his tongue with hers so they flicked and danced around their locked together mouths. At the same time, she could feel the gringo putting his cock head against her ass hole, asserting pressure.
Miranda groaned in protest but she relaxed her ass. And then squealed at the pressure-invasion. She was held tightly by the two men and her wordless complaining went straight into El Sobre’s mouth, to be consumed, ignored.
The American grunted as he finally slid into her anus which, to Miranda, felt as though it was on fire. He thrust home and then lay still across her back for a long moment. Then after maybe a minute, he lifted himself upright, grabbed her around her waist and started to drill her with long, deep, punishing strokes. At the same time El Sobre started to thrust as well. And with purpose, Miranda gave her all to the man beneath her, deliberately ignoring the gringo using her behind so fervently.
The American was pummelling her buttocks, making use of her ass while she rutted passionately on top of this beloved and charismatic leader.
The American abruptly climaxed with a great cursing groan, Miranda felt the rush of hot wetness gushing into her clenching bowels. Almost immediately he withdrew, gave one full ass cheek a hearty slap, then climbed off the bed and started to dress.
“Gracias, El Sobre, for your generous hospitality.” He grunted.
His voice grated, sounding slow as though exhausted. He never said a word to Miranda, or even acknowledged her other than in the use of her shapely body. Trying to ignore the cum leaking from her ass and the bloated feel of the air trapped up there, she refocussed all her efforts into giving El Sobre the ride of his life.
<><><>
Colonel Culebra marched with his men. Well, he rode on horseback with his officers, while the men marched behind. Their Mauser bolt action rifles shouldered. Their boots crunching on the packed rocks of the roads or dirt tracks and the flattened grass or sand of the trails.
It had been a fabulous night. The girl Luna, sent to him with a message from El Sobre, had additionally provided plenty of interesting insights and it had given him and a number of his men a lot of exquisite pleasure squeezing every morsel of knowledge from her. Though her body had been hard pressed to take the abuse.
The fun had given the Colonel an appetite and he had spent most of the night slaking his thirst on the females taken from the village the previous day. He had five of them and the rest were shared out between the units of his men. The sounds of their sexual torture tearing through the night had proved as potent an aphrodisiac as the female bodies made available for his personal pleasure.
Later, the following morning, the village women were gathered up. They were washed and fed and watered and then forced into his ranks as his personal ‘Federal Soldaderas’. They were given rifles but no ammunition, at least not until the fighting was about to begin. They were partnered with a male soldier who carried their ammunition for them and they would fight in partnership, the female being handed a round at a time and watched carefully for attempted betrayals, either through murder or suicide. They were given boots and uniform tunics, mostly taken from deceased men but no trousers or underwear. Though they were given sombreros or scarves to cover their heads.
The male soldiers of course gave every one of them a hard time, calling them whores, flipping up the backs of their uniforms to fondle their buttocks and what lay between them, and almost as though it was a good luck charm, every man who came close or marched past took a quick grope of their breasts through their uniform tunics.
The Colonel gave a standing order to his officers that the raping of the Soldaderas was to be condoned, unless it interfered with their party’s duties or if and when while on the march, the offenders ended up too far behind their units.
<><><>
Megumi could tell at once what the Makai had done to the small border town. She could smell their cum, their influence. It was in the air, in the buildings, in the people.
She had ridden in around sunset as the majority of the town were at home eating their supper. She had stabled her horse in a random stable on an outskirt’s property, and then taken a quick stroll through the place, keeping to shadows and alleys, avoiding being spotted.
Then she had gone over to the centre point of the town. A tavern. It would come alive as soon as supper had been finished. She had strolled in, confidently and bought a drink. The owner had been too taken with her looks to refuse her, he stammered and his hands shook when he took the coin from her outstretched hand. And then she concealed herself in a corner, an attempt at ‘out of sight, out of mind’. It didn’t really work. However, within ten minutes men started to fill the room, and the barkeep was too busy to do anything about her.
She sat in the shadowy corner of the busy saloon, alone at a small table beneath the main staircase. Her glass of beer had so far lasted a half hour. By rights she shouldn't have been allowed into the drinking establishment at all. Barmaids and whores were the only women allowed in the Saloons and yet she had walked in bought a drink and sat down in her chosen corner. The brim of her hat cast her face into welcome shadow, but anyone taking more than a second glance would plainly recognise the taut, shapeliness of her feminine curves, beneath the loose blouse.
She was actually enjoying watching the human’s living their lives, both the infected and not. She enjoyed all the different mannerisms, reading people, their interactions. The lies and deceit, the attempts to seduce or con or cheat or intimidate or even, on occasion, befriend. But watching was a dangerous pursuit. It appeared that people catching you watching them, became nervous and nervous people tended to become angry people. Angry people often turned violent. Not that that bothered her, they couldn’t hurt her. Still, it was an interesting and informative past time.
The Saloon had grown loud and raucous almost as soon as the sun had set. The air had grown heavy with the stink of unwashed men, tobacco and stale beer. A fog of dirty grey pipe and cigarette smoke floated just above head height, hiding the roughly hewn planks that formed the low ceiling and diffusing the light from the half dozen oil lanterns suspended from it, which helped in Megumi’s concealment.
Every table was occupied. The gaming tables at the rear bustling, the bar area all but hidden by a line bodies. The other two chairs by her table had been repossessed and taken elsewhere early on. That was good too, it gave no one any reason to spare her table any deeper interest than the most fleeting of glances.
At the bar there were curses and arguments, pushing and shoving, the occasional fist fight breaking out.
What she was most interested in, and in two minds about though, was the barkeep’s young assistant. She was probably the barkeep’s daughter or so Megumi assumed, and was helping clear the tables and deliver drinks. She also provided a good way to separate the Makai-possessed from the simply drunk. Well, it wasn't fool proof but it gave her a better idea. The little assistant was only a kid, maybe fifteen or sixteen and, unfortunately for her, uncommonly pretty. A couple more years, maybe less, and she'd probably be married off to some local-storeowner or other. The mayor's son, perhaps, if this place even had a mayor. Unless somehow, the kid got dragged across town and forced into the whore house... Maybe if they hit on hard times or her father lost this place, maybe he would have no choice but to sell her over to that his main competition.
Though even right now, she might be in the worst place possible. Especially for a girl her age. And being so comely no doubt made things worse for her. And she was having to fight off male attention from every direction, from drunk teenage cowboys to drunk men well into their sixties. And though most of those assaulters were no doubt the demon-possessed, not all of them would be.
It went on at pretty much every table she passed, and every occupied inch of floor space between. She tried to fight her way through, to grit her teeth and smile politely, like her daddy had no doubt taught her. Or to keep her head down and ignore the attention. Perhaps most of the time it was just a little grab of her ass through her skirts or a quick snatch at the small perky mounds high on her chest. Of course, the reality was that she was unable to fend off all those groping hands, as her own were always full, either with trays of glasses of beer and shots of whiskey, or drained glasses that she was carrying back to the bar to get washed and refilled.
As Megumi had watched the kid during the last fifteen minutes, she had been seriously groped four times by as many men, and had at least as many mild touches on her tits, ass and groin as she passed from table to table. Some of them even grabbed her and forced kisses on her lips, driving a tongue into her mouth. She daren’t bite. All she could do was to struggle free or wait to be released.
Megumi watched in amused silence as the girl leaned forward to put drinks onto a table. While she was busy an old panhandler type grabbed her by the hips and pulled her down onto his lap, mauled the jutting front of her plain brown dress, while he forced his tongue into her aghast mouth. He managed a second or two of forced tongue kissing and groping before the girl managed to pull herself out of his grasp. As she spun around and hurried between another two tables to get away from him, another man upended his fresh beer over the front of her dress, making the thick layered linen cling to her adolescent curves. And right after, the kid standing there shocked and shivering and drenched in beer, another man scooted over and knelt behind her, grinning. This guy was a drunk cowboy type, maybe five years older than the girl. He hurriedly shoved both hands right up the back of her dress.
He apparently managed to get both his hands onto her ass cheeks while his friend grabbed the girl in a drunken bear hug, hands grabbing her small sodden tits, to allow his fellow cowboy to enjoy a few seconds fondling the girl’s probably tight little buttocks. Finally, a kindly older man fought his way through the drunken hilarity and pulled the two cowboys away from the girl.
Megumi had expected a fight to breakout but the drunk boys remained pretty good natured about his interference, choosing to return to their drinks, laughing with their peers and accompanied by raucous applause from the surrounding tables.
The Jyujin girl got up then. It was time. The multiple demonic scents were hard to distinguish in such close proximity to each other and along with all the other strong aromas pervading the tavern. But she had picked out a little group she was certain of. More than likely, the others would make themselves known soon enough. Plus, others were bound to get in her way. More fool them.
She rose and stepped out from under the staircase. Of course, being young, female and supremely attractive, and wearing inappropriate clothing that showed off her lean, curvaceous figure, all eyes in the vicinity fixed on her at once.
“Oh! Lookie here, another young one strolling around teasing all the gentlemen, and a little China girl too.”
“You ain’t supposed to be in here darlin’, ‘less you’re a whore.”
“You a whore, darlin’?”
The room was filled with laughter. Megumi smiled her prettiest smile. The old panhandler guy, who had pulled the young barmaid down onto his lap earlier, stood up and crossed the room, planting himself right into Megumi’s upturned face. A hand came out to squeeze one of her full breasts, but Megumi swept herself around, slightly planting her hip, body blocking the old human. Her body was suddenly as immoveable as a brick wall. And even as he stumbled against her cocked hip, her own arm came up and around like the limb of a windmill and caught him open-palmed on the side of the head. She struck him with all the immutable strength of a horse’s kick. He whipped over in the air, tumbling ass over tip and slamming face first into a near-by table.
The two young cowboys who had also accosted the girl kicked their chairs back from their table, standing up and rounding on Megumi. One of them stormed across the planks, coming straight for her. The other stepped to one side, keeping her in his view, careful not to allow his possessed companion from blocking his view. He reached for his revolver. Megumi had her own revolver of course, but she didn’t expect she would need it. Even better for use in this kind of crowded environment, she had a good century of experience in the Japanese martial art of ‘Ju’. The Samurai’s empty-hand combat style.
She skipped forward, putting herself right in the first cowboy’s personal space. A palm heel strike under his chin shattered most of his teeth, broke his jaw and rocked his brain around in his skull. He hit the deck where he stood, as though struck by lightning.
By the time his revolver-wielding partner was able to see the girl, the cheap copy of a Webley Bulldog clearing his jacket pocket, Megumi had already drawn and levelled her own Double Action, aiming between his eyes.
She gave him a chance, at least she told herself she did. However, she was so quick that even though his eyes registered her pointing her pistol at him, bulging in shock, he was unable to tell his hands to change strategy. The Bulldog continued to come up to level on her, his thumb beginning to cock the hammer. She didn’t anticipate him not having adequate reaction time to stop himself. Megumi fired at the last possible second, though as she squeezed the trigger, she realised too that his snap shot was way off and would pass a good couple of feet above her head. He went down with her .44 bullet punching through his throat.
Someone threw a beer glass at her. She shot it out of the air, raining shards of glass down on the patrons and causing an instant riot, people were cut with glass without knowing who was responsible. Drunk, confused and angry, violence erupted.
Megumi holstered her pistol, hooking the hammer strap over so she wouldn’t lose it or have it taken from her. And then shoved and elbowed her way to another man who reeked of demon cum. He gave a shriek. Though probably coming from the Makai essence within him, it came through his human vocal cords. She leaped up, over three men who were punching and shoving at each other, and landed with light-footed precision on a table, kicking ash trays and one of the two beer glasses onto the floor.
With all the movement of people fighting each other or darting out of range of a thrown punch, or kick or an unbalanced body, a swung stool or chair, a thrown beer glass, Megumi was finding it impossible to spot the possessed.
Of course, without constant updating of the Makai cum the possessed humans would eventually revert and retain no memory of their lives while they were infected. But until they were freed of the effects of the cum, they would still be under the Makai’s influence.
Standing on the table made her a target, which allowed her to pick out the guys trying to take her down. Possessed or not, she didn’t have the time or inclination to discern the possessed from the simply bad. She saw a man across the saloon draw on her, saw him cock his pistol and squeeze the trigger. Her preternatural reactions allowed her to kick the remaining beer glass up off the table into the path of the bullet. The bullet tore through the glass, raining more broken shards down but its trajectory was deflected enough to miss her. Though it had been a good shot.
Somersaulting from her perch and using a second of flight to aid her, she came down on the man knees first, her heels tucked into the pert undersides of her buttocks. She might as well have fired a cannon ball into shocked face.
Someone behind her swung a bar stool onto the back of her head. The impact, though not particularly hurting Megumi, shattered the wooden stool and a splinter of that wood somehow split the cotton knot that had kept her long hair tied up on top of her head. Hair flying free, she wheeled herself around to face the man who now held a single broken piece of chair leg. Continuing her momentum, she cocked an elbow and slammed it horizontally onto the back of his neck. His spine shattered under the train-crash impact and he hit the floor, just another corpse.
However, two more of the possessed took advantage of a momentary dizziness that Megumi was distractedly shaking out of her head. One of them grabbed her hair, yanking her backward while the other, a beer glass in his hands, smashed it down on her forehead.
A bead of blood bubbled up from the small cut the glass had slicing into her perfect skin. However, the dizziness cleared and rage bubbling to the surface, Megumi had already snatched a shard of the broken beer glass out of the air. She slashed at the hand of the man pulling her backward. His hand and wrist came free of his forearm, but with it came along lock of her lovely, shiny black hair.
She allowed herself to hit the ground on her shoulders, then flipped back and lashed upward with her feet, double kicking the man who had attacked her with the glass, the first boot ripped at the flesh beneath his shirt, there was so much power and friction there that the shirt set a flame, but the fire was almost immediately extinguished by the spray of blood from the torn flesh of his chest. It also lifted him up and over her.
Megumi’s second kick caught him right between the legs, her boot penetrating him as completely as a spear point or arrow, his pelvis shattered. He screamed and fell to the ground. He was dead by the time he met the floorboards, internal organs pierced by bone shrapnel from his pulverised pelvis. The Jyujin had continued her cartwheel pushing up off her hands and flipped over so she landed on her feet facing remaining possessed, who stood there in shock, a long chunk of her hair in his fist, the other nothing but a bloody stump. She punched him once in the chest splitting his aorta wide open.
She walked out of the tavern. The scent of demon cum was still everywhere but less so in the vicinity. There would be women, probably the majority in fact, still full of Makai seed and still possessed. She would deal with them in the morning.
First, she had to do something about her hair. Tidy it up at least. There was a barber’s place further along the thoroughfare. She broke in and made use of their mirrors and a straight razor, slashing the remaining pieces of the length of her hair. Afterward she tidied the edges and riffled at with her fingers, she assessed the results in the big expensive mirror, liking the look, it somehow made her look prettier still and perhaps even younger, though in human terms she didn’t look a day over fifteen anyway. She might let it grow back, but for now, and especially with her felt hat, she liked the short look. In fact, it reminded her of an illustration of a pixie in a book about ancient British mythology she had seen in the house of one of her lovers not long ago.
Pleased with herself, she strolled away over to the Mexican side of the border town. It seemed to be quieter there.
<><><>
Across the hours of protracted sexual violence laid upon her, Luna had informed the Colonel of the current whereabouts of El Sobre, the numbers of his soldiers and his Soldaderas, and a little about the details of the surrounding landscape. It appeared to be very accurate and precise information and the Colonel was assured it would be trustworthy.
A plan was developed around a table inside their Chihuahua stronghold that held maps of the province as well as a makeshift sketch of the specific area of the village and the hacienda at its outskirts.
The men smoked and drank and talked, planning the coming battle around the big rectangular table. While beneath it, Soldaderas, one for each officer, knelt with their heads in the men’s laps, each of them bobbing away vigorously on the men’s exposed erections.
<><><>
“¡Senór! ¡Senór Sobre! ¡Federals Aquí! ¡Tienen artillería!”
El Sobre’s continual fun was suddenly interrupted, Miranda noisily humping her leader’s big cock, had to stop so he could pay attention to the report. She was closing in on her second orgasm, while, El Sobre, hadn’t shown any signs of getting anywhere close to emptying his balls.
“Goddamned artillery? Shit!” The American grunted, apparently, he hadn’t left after dressing.
Miranda looked back over her shoulder. The American was indeed still present, sitting on a small chair, a glass of red wine beside him and an unlit cigar between his teeth. While the double door to the villa’s master bedroom had been flung open. Beside the messenger who stood two feet inside the room, the corridor beyond was full of rebel soldiers. Perhaps a few of them still showed signs of nervousness about the reported Federal army approach, but the vast majority were gazing openly with lust at Miranda’s naked body and the way she was still bouncing on their master’s erection, a hand stuffed into her mouth to stifle her groaning noises.
She looked back down at El Sobre, but he seemed even more excited by the coming battle than he was to be using her body and taking his pleasure from her. He was looking across at the open doors with a wide grin on his face and a different sort of fire in his eyes.
“Man the defences! Riflemen to the rooftops, barricade the entrances, and ready the mines. I’ll be out to lead you as soon as I’m done with this whore!”
“I’m no whore!” Miranda thought bitterly. “I am a Soldadera! Respected! Decorated! I am no lowly whore!” However, at the moment of low disappointment and frustration with El Sobre, she felt her vaginal channel suddenly bloating, stretched by the thick meat that filled her. It felt as though he was actually growing inside her, stretching her out even more. The friction as she continued to try and bounce her sheath over his cock, was becoming intensely hot, even making her tunnel walls itch. Even so, she could still feel the trickles of her juices flowing just as fully as ever.
Miranda let out a loud squeal and cursed colourfully. Her outburst embarrassed her as, even though they were hurrying to their assigned duties, there were still plenty of men watching her fucking from the doorway.
Casting her flush cheeked gaze back over her shoulder, she snarled at them and cursed them for their voyeuristic perversity but they just laughed. She grabbed an unused pillow from the bed and threw it aggressively at the door. It moved the door maybe an inch. The men laughed more, some of them making lewd gestures toward her, many rubbing their crotches. Even El Sobre was laughing. Miranda reached across to the bedside table and grabbed a metal oil lamp and tossed that after the pillow. This time there was enough weight behind it to shove the door closed, and of course it shattered and splashed paraffin in all directions. That was enough to disperse the crowd.
She brought her focus back to fucking El Sobre. She wanted to get him to climax so that she could get to the fight outside. She wanted to be able regain her dignity in the eyes of those men, through her courage and her brutality and skill at killing their enemy. So, she doubled down on working that thick, heavy shaft of flesh inside her, ramming herself up and down on it as hard and fast as she could. She made all the right noises and facial expressions and made her breasts bounce and shudder in his picture-of-sexual-joy face. At last, his sweat-soaked body tensed, sweat shined muscles bunching and bulging as, with a savage roar, he finally began to climax inside her.
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Urotsuki-dojo. A Fistful of Tentacles