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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
- 3
- 4
- 5
Dokuhebiki marched forward and back in front of the assembled line of females, under guard of course, while two of his officers stood to the side delivering a report of the aftermath of the battle. They were in the village, the church directly behind him, its long shadow offering blessed shade from the afternoon heat. His cadre of females, these ones taken in the early hours of that morning from a nearby village, stood there on the church steps, awaiting his attention.
“A victory Colonel. We have taken the villa and our dead and wounded are easily eclipsed by those of the rebels.”
“Indeed, Colonel Culebra, our dead do not exceed a hundred, with a hundred and twenty-seven wounded. While we have the bodies of ninety-seven of El Sobre’s men, while the wounded and prisoners add up to one hundred and forty-six.”
Culebra paused and flicked a frown over at the reporting officers.

“A hundred, and a hundred and twenty-seven, and they have ninety-seven and a hundred and forty-six?”
“As you know, Colonel, the percentages tell a different story.”
The colonel paused, considered in silence for a moment and then gave a nod. His eyes returned to the line of beaten down and terrified young and middle-aged peasant women before him.
“How many females, dead and wounded, that are not present?”
“Fifteen Colonel, seven dead, eight wounded. Though most are El Sobre’s Soldaderas.”
“And missing? Of our own Federal Soldaderas?”
“We… we do not know Colonel… No one thought to count… they are just women… Colonel.”
The Colonel maintained his cool, looking at the females he did still possess. The rear line was formed of his stalwart, his originals recruited from the Texan border village. His pale harem as the soldiers had taken to calling them. Of the others, all were filthy, sweaty and blood spattered.
A rhythmic crunching sounded behind him. He turned to see a marching group entered the village. Two lines side by side, of women, marching toward him. They were flanked by a small armed cluster of his best men. His surviving Soldaderas were being returned to him. Plus, the fresh prisoners. Those who wore the Federal uniform tunics, were encrusted with dust and blood. Hair sweat-caked to their scalps. Those dressed as peasants, or guerrillas, though all weapons and ammunition had been taken from them, were equally filth stained and blood smeared. Their eyes were either devoid of emotion, empty in defeat and hopelessness or were filled with defiance and rage and hatred. Four of their number were naked or practically naked. Including Miranda Ochoa Sanchez, who, though she still possessed her ruined blouse now had it around her waist as a makeshift skirt.
The Colonel marched up and down the line, and counted the females. He counted and recounted until he was satisfied and then let out a series of rapid-fire curses. He had less numbers of females than he had started with that morning.
He called for Luna Expósito to come forward.
<><><>
El Sobre sat with his chief advisors around a campfire halfway up a mountain to the south of the haçienda they had retreated from. The high moon overhead, sat in a cloudless sky. Its light plated the rocks, the handful of gnarled and leafless trees and the packed earth around and under them in gleaming silver.
The retreat had gone according to plan, the rearmost reserves hurrying into the rocks to throw covering fire down onto the villa as the Federal’s pursued the rear most rebels along the sloping roots of the mountain. The more guerrillas who made it into shelter, the more repeating rifles were turned back the way they had come and all too soon the soldiers halted their pursuit and returned to the haçienda to lick their wounds and see to their dead, and their prisoners.
Almost at once, as the surviving guerrillas started to realise that they had lived to fight another day, that the battle was over, they started to turn their attention to the women. The gangrapes began. Of course, they turned their attention to their own Soldaderas as well as the newly captured Federal females.
El Sobre allowed it, encouraged it, enjoyed it, as long as none of the women were too badly injured or killed. His men had to blow off steam somehow. And a man standing so close to death so as to practically feel his skeletal touch wanted nothing more than memories of what it meant to be alive, and what better reminder of life was there that the carnal act of procreation. Even in its forced, violent, gangrape form.
He gave it an hour and then called them to attention, the men and the women. On his orders, they rebel army gathered up what little belongings they had, namely discarded clothes, weapons and ammunition and canteens. Then they started to ascend higher into the mountains in search of a better, more defendable position. One that wouldn’t be quite such a temptation for the still close by Colonel Culebra.
They found their defensive position. It was an almost flat expanse with a tufty carpet of sun yellowed grass and shrubs among the rocks, partway up the mountainside. By the time they had erected their camp, and lit their fires, it was already dark.
There were many such campfires dotted about in other hollows and caves above and below the flat expanse. And a cluster of men occupied each, sitting around their comfort of the flames, while pickets guarded the narrow animals tracks leading to each, and observers kept an eye on the distant fires of the villa, the haçienda, and even the village far below them.
El Sobre was in his favourite location, surrounded by women. Those captured from the Federal forces were no longer bound but they were being carefully guarded by those still armed. Women who were loyal to the revolutionaries. And El Sobre, in some cases even more so.
Of course, everyone knew that the captured women were far from loyal to the Federals. They had been taken from their villages and homes, most having their families murdered before their eyes and then forced to march with the soldiers, forced to cook and wash and repair their uniforms. And, worst of all, to fuck whoever they were told to. Most might have been eager to have joined El Sobre’s guerrillas themselves, except for the generally believed rumours that women were not treated any better in the revolutionary armies. And were forced to perform the very same tasks. The only compensation was that at least the cause they were fighting for was a good one, and may even benefit peasants and working-class women in the long term.
Still, they sat with the rebel leader in a circle around the fire, having been summoned together to eat and drink with El Sobre. Many of them were still sore, aching and bruised from the earlier mass assaults, as well as wounds taken during combat. They were rightly wary and suspicious of the men they had fought alongside. Though they soon found comfort in solidarity of their own sex.
The first thing their leader had done, after getting them all to sit around the fire, was to feed them. At least after had had ordered men with medical skills look to any wounds the females suffered from. He had Bianca, Santana and Isabella dole out the bowls of goatmeat stew down the line. And then while they ate, quietly ignoring all else but filling their bellies, he stood on a low boulder overlooking the group and carefully counted their number.
He had been smiling with more and more excitement and joy as he got closer to the final count. Though his glee was slighted a little by his recognition of the lack of certain persons, especially Miranda Ochoa Sanchez and Daniela Gomez. And found himself hoping that those two specifically were still alive and relatively unharmed, Miranda had impressed him with both her skills in combat and her skill at his cock. And Dani had been with him since his days as Father Camcho, up north in that Texas border town. Yet even that disappointment could not put a damper on his victory.
The tally was one-nil to Issieki. It was a good start, as he and his brood brother had agreed a best-of-three total… At least to start with.
<><><>
Bendición De Celestial sniffed the air with an increasing sense of urgency. Her mouth watered. That sickly-sweet sex and sweat tang of Makai was headier that it had ever been, lower in amongst the layers of the sky, and feeling like it was clinging viscously in her small, sensitive nostrils. It seemed to drift lazily around her head, leading her ever onward toward the south. There was little wind to toss it about or dilute the aroma.
Her horse was still trotting along happily enough, though Bendición was enjoying riding less and less. It was uncomfortable work, with the hard leather of the saddle and the stifling heat of the Mexican sun and, at the moment, very little breeze to take the edge off.
Worse still, she was almost constantly horny and it was getting her frustrated. Those skin tight leather trousers were sticking to her constantly tingling vulva, and rubbing gently at her erogenous flesh. It was almost making her grind her teeth. She could feel her juices seeping into the fabric, filling in any and all of the tiny spaces between skin and leather.
Anything and anyone could make her cum, her own people of course. And humans. But in fact, the times she had always enjoyed the best orgasms had tended to be with those perverse denizens of the demon realm. They had multiple cocks to penetrate her many times simultaneously, like an exquisite gangbang though with only one partner. They could stretch themselves to fit her, and they could get deeper than any other cock. And they had the unrestrained power and energy and stamina that she relished. Plus, best of all, she was able to cut loose with them, she didn’t have to hold in her orgasms or restrict her own pleasure experience.
She had a taste now for Makai cock, or tentacle or tongue… The problem those two she was chasing down were too far from her and she needed something right now, or she felt like she would explode. Even taking flight to advance the rendezvous would only exacerbate her problem, it was an ever-eroticising experience after all. At least for her.
Her only chance was a human or five, something rough. And within an hour or less, or she’d be doing some damage to this desert she was passing through, and it would doubtless kill her mare.
<><><>
Colonel Culebra sat at the head of the dining table but there was no food there. Every table setting, was occupied by a woman. Each of them, and there was a dozen in total, were either bent face down over the table, or lying across it on their backs. The Colonel had hand-picked the twelve women himself, half of them taken from the freshly acquired Federal Soldaderas prisoners.
The Colonel himself was enjoying overseeing his tabletop game. The women over both sides of the table and at its foot, being energetically fucked by his officers.
He sat at the head of the table, like a medieval king, slouching casually, arms on the reasts of the high backed, padded wooden dining chair. His legs were spread wide so that one of the newest wenches, Miranda, could fit herself between his thighs with her head in his lap, sucking voraciously on his cock. He would keep her at it, refusing to cum until she was exhausted and desperate.
She had confessed to being close to El Sobre and that they had ‘made love’ on the morning of the battle. So, the Colonel, recognising her as a favourite of his brood brother, had chosen her for his own. As an amusement, he had told her she had five minutes to empty his balls or he would have her tied to a stake and flogged, until there was no skin remaining on her back. Of course, he would make sure he did not cum within those five minutes. It would make her work that much harder and give him more pleasure. Once she had failed, he would have her tied to a stake outside. However, rather than have her flogged, he would allow his guards to have her one at a time and he would ensure it lasted throughout the entirety of the night.
She was a mature beauty, curvaceous. He could see exactly why she had caught Issieki’s eye. She was slender while sporting robust curves. Though her features were exquisite, the full, perfect cock-sucking lips, the deep brown eyes. Her hair long, silky and shiny.
Looking over the other females, he recognised many of them from the village they had emptied out and burned to a crisp. There was the shorter of the two Paola’s. He remembered there had been two of them from that village. He also remembered the taller, prettier Paola had escaped Roland Mag and allowed herself to be taken by the rebels. He would punish her three times over when he won her back from his brood brother’s forces.
This Paola was stockier, her hair cropped to shoulder length, she was on her back with her legs hooked over the shoulders of Captain Gonzalez, and he was pummelling her brutally, as though he too had been given no more than five minutes to empty his balls. Though in fact Culebra suspected it was to get shorter Paola’s huge tits shaking about all over the place. And they were certainly doing just that.
Beside the Captain was one of his Lieutenants who had Conchita Marquez bent face down over the table. She had, in fact, started out as a rebel who had been taken prisoner by the original Colonel Culebra, before Dokuhebiki had taken him over. The original had seen her among a rebel scouting party and taken a liking to her and so he had sent a unit of his men against the scouting party with orders to bring back the revolutionary woman alive and unharmed at any cost. He had sacrificed six of his best and most experienced soldiers in the cliffside firefight that had followed. Finally, the men had managed to secure the woman’s husband and young son, who were also part of the same team and had bartered their lives for hers. She had given herself in and then had been forced to watch her husband and son executed. It had broken her and she had peacefully fallen in with the Colonel’s wishes, as though her soul had left her body to be with the souls of her husband and son. At least, that was how the gleeful Colonel had made sense of it to himself.
She had followed the Colonel’s every order, both inside and outside of his bed. It got to the point when she was carelessly murdering her own revolutionary allies along the side of the Colonel and his soldiers. She had been given a rifle and a uniform and had attached herself to the Colonel’s advance scouts, leading them through mountain passes and goat paths that only rebels knew of and she had betrayed countless rebels to her old enemy without a tear shed. Dead inside, and no doubt loathing herself, even punishing herself. She killed and she fucked her Colonel whenever he made such demands. It was her life.
Since Dokuhebiki had taken the place of the Colonel, she had been fucking a lot more men than just her master. And still she had done so without comment and with the same noisy enthusiasm that the Colonel had always insisted upon.
Also being used on the dining table, were Eiza Raisa, Carmelita Gonzalez and Angelica Serratos, all taken from El Sobre’s forces at the haçienda battle. Each attractive in their own way and all getting officer cock rammed into their holes, over the table, face up or face down.
The other female of note was Dora Calaveras. She had also been taken from the village. One of the youngest she was surprisingly shapely, matured beyond her years with an enticing hourglass figure. She had her hair tied up, a fringe, the length plaited but then tied up around the back of her head and covered with a scarf. She had lovely features, huge innocent eyes in a round face. A thin upper lip, as though compensating for the thick lower lip. A wide flat nose. A few years beyond puberty she would probably start piling on weight. Though with little food and drink other than soldier spunk and daily exercise of drilling and marching and scouting mountains and valleys, Culebra intended to help her remain slender and shapely for as long as she was useful to him.
She was sobbing and pleading as another of the Lieutenants took her on her back, chewing cruelly on her fat nipples as she rocked liberally back and forth across the table. Culebra didn’t know why she was sobbing; she had been taken numerous times already since being removed from her village. Perhaps he would send her down to the soldier’s barracks or have three of his men use her simultaneously, and give her something to cry about.
They were celebrating a victory, having evicted the rebels, depleted their numbers and sent them packing into the mountains with their tails between their legs. However, in reality Culebra was smarting. El Sobre had taken more females than he had lost to the Federals and that meant he had to win both the next two battles soundly to be able to hold a clear victory of Issieki.
<><><>
It was sunset before Bendición located what she wanted. A village. By this time, she felt so frustrated, and electrified by the need to be fucked that she would happily fuck an old man. Hell, she’d fuck a donkey if they had one. She just needed a cock inside her.
She stumbled across the village. Smoke on the air, the smells of cooking meat. Tobacco, Whiskey and Tequila, sweat and maleness, the equally alluring and unpleasant tang of unwashed cock. She turned her mare to Follow a track around toward the west. Ruts from wagon wheels overlapping dappled prints of a multitude of horse’s hooves caught in sundried mud, that could be decades or hours old.
She followed the trail around the side of a low cliff edged with spiny shrubs, and there it was. A small wall enclosed village of low, single storey white-washed buildings. Domiciles, stores and animal shelters, all clustered haphazardly around a central two-storey church.
It was a less prosperous version of the Mexican half of the border village where she had taken great pleasure in ridding of its Makai-cum possessed humans.
Immediately she could see men with guns standing at the arched entrance, as well as… She counted quickly, as many as five dotted around, sitting on the roofs of buildings, brandishing rifles. They might be taking their duty half-heartedly but they were almost certainly guards. Though, what were they guarding? The village or something within its defensive wall? Problems with local bandits perhaps? Or were they afraid of the Federal Army? Surely half a dozen armed guards didn’t expect to be able to protect some poor, lowly village from the army’s soldiers?
She rode onward toward the village; protected, at least for a few hundred yards, by the advancing twilight, the long shadows and a wind picking up, throwing low clouds of loose earth and what the humans called dust-devils around the lowland between her and the village.
<><><>
El Sobre had spoken with his men, his advisors, momentarily feeling the loss of Miranda. He pulled in a Soldadera, a local woman who knew a little about the local terrain and the surrounding villages. She pointed out the locations of two on a roughly sketched map, she was rewarded by being allowed to take lone guard duty that night so she wouldn’t be fucked by half a dozen men throughout the hours before the dawn.
However, before the dawn came on them, they marched. They wanted to get to the nearest of the villages before they lost the light, and it was already getting late.
El Sobre sent scouts ahead, after showing them on the sketched map where they were heading.
He needed men and women. Men to replace his losses at the haçienda. And women, of course, to bolster his numbers in preparation for his next battle with Colonel Culebra. He had the advantage and wanted to press it and press it well.
They crept into the village with a third of El Sobre’s force. Led by the rebel leader himself. They were male to a man, all the Soldaderas kept safe and secure to the rear with the reserves. Though no doubt they were all being fucked, and having to swallow loads of Revolutionist cum while the reserves awaited the order to advance to the village.
Three of his scouts had been sent straight through the village, building to building, to assess the number of villagers, their rough whereabouts and an estimate of the number of females present. They returned with good news, the village being a small but reasonably prosperous place with numerous youngish families, meaning plenty of useable men and women. As many as twenty men and even more women.
The advance force had stacked their rifles back with the reserves, taking only stout wooden clubs, handmade leather coshes and plenty of rope. A few had knives and the officers usually had stolen pistols, but they knew better than to use them. El Sobre wanted none killed other than those too old or too young to fight or fuck.
The advance force crept in from the south, up-hill. Creeping slowly, crouching low. Then slipping around or over the low wall that surrounded the village. They spread out, using buildings as cover, abandoned wagons, some wooden crates, anything big enough to conceal their approach. They moved forward in a loose line, a wave of quiet violence and forceful subjugation.
A man would creep into a home where a family ate their supper at their dining table. The patriarch would be clubbed unconscious, the others subdued. Or maybe a knife held at the throat of the mother or a child, would result in the patriarch’s surrender, he would be made to tie himself up. Or the wife would be ordered to tie up her husband, then the rebel would tie up the woman and leave them on the floor, going onto the next un-assaulted building. There was very little violence, it was almost always accomplished through threats and bondage. And any self-tied knots would always be tested or retied by the rebels before they left the domicile for the next target.
Unfortunately, there was a small cadre in and around the elder’s larger than standard house. The elder and his sons, as they were furthest back from the entrance, must have got wind of the sounds and maybe moving shadows in the night time gloom, and had realised the village was under attack. A few rifles punched out the glass in the north and east sides of the building. And a couple of shots were fired.
The officers and some of the veteran rebels were hungry to charge and take on the upstarts in an open battle, but El Sobre denied them permission.
“We want all able bodies under my command. Dead ones, even these wanna be Nobleza, are no good to us. Remain here. Actually, get closer if you can, but if anyone gets shot and I’ll personally bring you back from the dead just to punish you. I’ll deal with it alone.”
El Sobre didn’t listen to the hissed complaints and advice not to be the one to go, or that it was too dangerous. He ducked low and skirted off, along a low wall to the right vanishing almost instantly into the night.
Issieki allowed more of his own essence to emerge from the flesh disguise of El Sobre. His flesh bulged partially distending, his clothing stretched at the seams, the tan trousers going tight, the loose off-white shirt no longer loose. His skin took on a mottled grey-green hue beneath the deep tanned russet. Even the gleaming curls of his hair thickened, taking on an almost serpentine or tentacular appearance, perhaps revealing his kinship to Dokuhebiki.
Once he had skirted, quick as he was silent, around to the rear of the property, El Sobre leaped up into the air. He came down onto the middle of the building’s roof. He had already used his demonic senses to pick out the number and location of the inhabitants. He could smell the age and arrogance of the elder. The man seemed to think he owned the village and everyone in it. As though they were all his possessions. Even the wives and children of his four sons. He was certainly an interesting individual and could have proved a fun alternative disguise, Maybe not better than El Sobre, though if this particular game hadn’t popped into his mind, then perhaps he could have found comparable amounts of fun here.
He dropped, plummeting through the ceiling into the main sitting room where the elder and patriarch stood tossing out orders to his sons and servants. All the women, the matriarch, the daughters and serving girls had been ushered into a small chamber in the rear of the house for protection.
El Sobre grinned. He was nothing more than a blur as he grabbed the elder and leaped back out through the hole in the roof.
A quick, winding gut-punch silenced then big bulky man. He was perhaps partway through his fifties, but he still possessed all the power, strength of will and arrogant dominance of an ox. Yes, this man might have proved to be a fantastic disguise.
He returned to his men, shoving his hostage into the arms of his officers. He ordered his best snipers to be brought up and positioned on the rooftops overlooking the elder’s house. Once they were in place, El Sobre called out to the house.
“You know we have your father! If you don’t want to hear his screams as we skin him alive and then see him being burned at the stake before the steps of your church, you will first send out all your women. You have thirty seconds!”
“Orders to the snipers.” He whispered to an officer. “They might well try to shoot their women in the back rather than allowing us to have them. Any man in those windows seen aiming a rifle at a woman gets shot on sight. The women are much more important than additional rebel gunmen. Now go!”
It took thirty-one seconds before the door was opened and a gaggle of terrified women were shoved outside. El Sobre knew immediately they were not all accounted for. His senses counted another four women who had remained, or been kept, indoors.
He turned to the Elder and violently stuffed his slack mouth with all four fingers, slamming in hard jarring the man’s jaw and making him splutter and gag. To the others it looked like he was using some form of mild torture. In fact, he was ramming a phallic tipped tentacle back and forth deep down the man’s throat until Issieki climaxed, dumping a fat wad of demon cum into the human’s bloated stomach. The cum was instantly absorbed into the Elder through his stomach lining, turning him into El Sobre’s slave. The whole experience took no more than a minute.
The women were clustered together in the centre of the house’s front garden, terrified. They appeared unable to go back to the house and yet unwilling to enter the domain of the Revolutionary soldiers.
“Don Phillipe. Phillipe del La Carrera. Look at me.”
The old man turned to El Sobre, his eyes wide and looking green around the gills.
“Who’s missing? From those women. Who have they not sent out to us?”
The middle-aged patriarch peered over the wall, taking a second to assess.
“My wife Charlotte, my youngest Carlotta, and my eldest and second son’s wives, Maria and Alexandria.”
“And who is there? Who have they sent us.”
“The cook, the cook’s daughter, our two housemaids, and my youngest son’s wife.”
“Your youngest son’s wife?”
“He is the runt of the litter and his wife is not well liked. She is beneath the rest of us. Nothing but the daughter of a peasant.”
“Are you not all peasants?”
“Not at all!”
He spoke with surprisingly indignity. El Sobre’s cold glare brought about a hurried clarification.
“Well, there are peasants and there are peasants. Maravilla, was the daughter of a farmer. My family are cattle merchants, breeders and sellers. My eldest Vega will be able to take over in a decade, and has many plans to bring us up in the world. I am very proud of Vega.”
“But not your youngest son?”
“Alejandro wants to be a musician. He flies about with moths and butterflies. He had nothing in his brain.”
“And his wife?”
“Chosen for her looks only. She does nothing but complain and make a fool of herself.”
El Sobre, turned to address his men. Most of them now were gathered around him, all kneeling low behind the wall or protected by the closest buildings, though well within ear shot.
“Ropers. Lasso those putas and get them over here. Anyone to rope a woman on the first try can make use of her, here and now. One of you officers, make sure the snipers are ready.”
It went smoothly enough. The women were snared by the lassos of the rebels with horse training and either pulled across the front garden into the waiting arms of the rebels or, in one particular case, yanked right off her feet as she tried to disentangle herself from the tightening rope. That particular woman was dragged across the garden, her dress torn, at one point her hair snagged by a cactus then ripped loose from the way she had it tied up atop her head. She had screamed and cursed then. Two of them were thrown to the ground, held there at the wrists and ankles by soldiers, while the successful roper climbed into place between her splayed thighs threw her dress up out of the way, lying down on top of her to claim his well-earned reward.
El Sobre shouted over to the house one last time.
“You still have your wives and mother. You have ten seconds to release them. I will not give you any more chances.”
He listened in to the goings on in the house, blocking out the sweet distraction of the squeals and sobbing of the women behind him. And the weeping and machinegun-rattle prayers of the fourth woman, who stood by watching the horror of the men rutting away on the others. Knowing her time would come too soon enough.
Inside they were arguing. The women snapping back and forth, one of them weeping. The three young men arguing between each other. The mother appeared to be berating her sons for their refusal to allow them to surrender. She apparently wanted to protect her husband and their father from what they were threatening to do to him and was willing to hand over all of them in order to protect him. The eldest son didn’t seem to see things her way.
The mother intrigued El Sobre, her loyalty, her strength, her sexy voice. While the eldest son, who might be sensing the opportunity to get his father out of the way and allow him to take the patriarchal position, frustrated him.
Giving a little huff, El Sobre rose, told his men to stay put and wait for him. And then again slipped away into the long, all-consuming shadows of the night. He leaped up onto one of the rooftops where a sniper knelt, covering the front right window. He tapped the man’s shoulder and silently requested his rifle. The Model 1902 Mauser was a quality arm taken from a Federal soldier. There was no telescoping attachment, just the adjustable iron sights but at this range, even at night, they were more than adequate.
He settled down, took aim at the view through the window and lined up his shot. He could only see the eldest son from sternum to knees and the bare boards of the floor behind him. But it was more than enough. He squeezed the trigger and put the 7x97mm round through the boy’s groin, essentially tearing his penis clear and sending it, wrapped around the bullet, through his lacerated groin and then out through the fat and muscle of one of his buttocks. All that gore spattered with an audible wet slap across the boards behind the man, making a crimson canvass for him to fall back on.
While the young man screamed, so that his din echoed around the rocks that formed a horseshoe shaped cliff around the village, El Sobre took his time reloading and re-aiming. And then he put a second bullet through the young man’s skull. The second rifle round added shattered fragments of skull cap, gore laden hair and mushed grey matter to the artistry already splashed across the wooden floor.
He passed the Mauser back to his sniper, who knelt there looking over the lip of the roof they stood on. He was grinning widely in awe of his leader. El Sobre raised his voice toward the occupants of the elder’s house for a second time, cutting through the screams from inside and also from the women still being raped off to his left.
“You had your warning. Either everyone in that house leaves right now via the front door with their hands in their air. Or we will burn you out and then you will all die slowly and painfully. It will be a diabolical death, of knives and teeth and fire, and of sharpened stakes, and everything else we can think up. I give you no time to consider. You will walk out now!”
The door opened and a striking middle-aged blonde woman emerged with her hands in the air. Closely followed by three more lovely looking young women, one bawling her eyes out in the arms of another. They were followed by two forlorn looking young men.
“Good. Let’s all get down there.” El Sobre said.
He gathered his officers. While some of his men checked their latest hostages for weapons and valuables. Others had been sent into the house to search for useful loot.
“Okay, take the rest of the men and gather up our catch. Then we’ll do a head count and see how we have done. Before you go. Bring me the blonde woman, the Elder’s wife. I want to meet her.”
<><><>
Bendición looped the reins of her mare around a sad, lifeless looking tree. It was just behind a boulder twice the height of the horse which concealed it from the village. Then she strolled forward, remaining within the gloom of the village periphery. The sun was gone and the place was deep in the shadows of surrounding rocks, illuminated by torches, the flames dancing lazily, casting diabolical shapes over the rocks and the whitewashed walls of buildings. Part of her wanted to use her revolver, but the pulsing eroticism was driving her to distraction and making her feel short tempered. Pent up sexual aggression doubtless in need of venting. She decided to use more Japanese Ju techniques instead.
The two men guarding the entrance were completely distracted by an ongoing game of poker. They had upended an old barrel and were using it as a table top. Neither man noticed her approach. She was preternaturally quiet and able to diminish her chi so that they wouldn’t feel her presence until she wanted them to.
One of them cursed and stumbled backwards as her shadow fell over their makeshift table. His eyes found her, noted the contours of her lush body and the spectral beauty of her face, even beneath the shadow from the brim of her hat. She drew the old Colt Navy from his belt, reversed it and crushed his skull into his brain with a single tap to the head. She re-holstered it before he even started to fall to the ground and turned to the second man.
The second man, in dumb shock, was staggering to his feet. He accidentally knocked his stool over as he rose. The girl already had a fist full of the receding hair of his scalp before he was at his full height. Her grip was like an iron bar, preventing him from straightening his legs.
She lifted her right arm and then powered the edge of her open hand through the side of his neck with such colossal power that she actually decapitated him. Holding his head up while his body collapsed tumbling over his toppled stool. She looked down at the body for a moment and then casually let go of the head.
The next man was on the flat roof of a single storey building, seated on a wooden chair with a lantern beside him. He was reading some kind of penny dreadful paperback. Bendición made a quick run across a space between two buildings and then leaped up to the rooftop. She didn’t even put her feet down, instead sailing past him, whipping out a snap kick with her heel as she passed. Like the knife hand to the second guard, the kick tore the man in two, one arm, shoulder and his head coming away and rolling over the roof and down to the ground, barely held in one piece by a scrap of flesh and muscle, even as the spray of blood fountained up from the stumps of his shoulder and neck. The body started to tip over to one side, altered weight distribution, as well as the change to his balance due to the escaping blood causing the shift.
She landed on the ground on the other side of the building and headed toward the far side of the village. She could smell two more men outside, while the rest seemed to be congregated inside the church.
<><><>
El Sobre sat on a couch before the roaring fire inside the sitting from of the Elder’s house. The blonde woman, the elder’s wife, sat beside him. Through she appeared to be thoroughly distracted by the body lying face up in the corner of the room to the northwest of her position.
Though practically as tanned as anyone in the village, she was American. That much was obvious. In her twenties or thirties, she would have been absolutely stunning. Even now in her forties she was a lovely woman, though there was something harsh in her beauty. Her large blue-grey eyes had a flinty hardness to them, her long dark lashes helped to distract the crows-feet and lines beneath her lower lids. She had a long lean face though with high, plump cheeks and a long slightly curving nose. Her lips were neither thin nor full, and also framed with laughter lines that, though a sign of her maturity, were not unattractive. Her lush blonde hair was tied up and back, having little wings of leaves projecting down from the back of her head toward the nape of her neck, that shined like gold in the firelight.
“You’re mine now. A Soldadera. You will fight the Federals, alongside my men. You will assist my men in other ways, you will cook and clean, repair uniforms. And you will fuck. You will fuck me and you will fuck whoever I order you to fuck. If you defy my orders or try to escape you will be tied to a stake under the sun and fucked by every man in my army and then you will be expected to complete all your other duties afterwards. If you betray the revolution by killing your own, or trying to kill me or refuse my orders… Well, may God have mercy on your soul… And mark my words woman, it will be a long time before you will be freed to meet him. And during that time, you will get to know pain, pain such as you have never known before, or even considered possible.”
There were tears in her eyes, of fear perhaps. Yet there was also a cold, fierce pride and possibly defiance. Even so, she offered a little nod.
“May I make a request?”
“I will listen.”
“What is to become of my husband?”
“He is a strong man and proud. He will fight with the rest of the men. He might even become one of my officers, if he continues to show the strength I have seen in him today.”
“He is not as strong as he seems, his heart is weak. I fear he will not live long marching up and down mountains, sleeping on the ground… I have heard stories that wives are sometimes allowed to remain with their husbands in your army, will I be allowed to take care of my husband?”
“It is not usual in my forces. Zapata’s, perhaps. I have heard stories… but no. I actually like the look of you myself. You might attend me for a time.”
“Then my husband… Should he be allowed to remain here… I would be very grateful to you, Señor. And I know well how to show my gratitude.”
“I will expect nothing less from you no matter what becomes of your husband. However, if you were to say make a vow that you would give me both your loyalty and, even more, your every effort to please me in whatever ways I require. I might allow your husband to remain here.”
“Thank you, Señor. I accept...”
“A moment. I will expect you to truly go out of your way to show your gratitude. I won’t go easy on you…”
“My husband married me for what I could do for him. And the way I looked on his arm. And in his bed. And before he made his proposal, he insisted that I prove my skills to him. I assure you Señor, he was more than satisfied with what I could do for him and has enjoyed the use of my skills every day since.”
“Then you will do the same for me. Here and now. And if I am thoroughly satisfied, I will allow your husband to remain here.”
“In that case, how can I please you, Señor?”
<><><>
The woman emerged from the shadows, her animated white blouse preceding the rest of her. She was small and slender but there was a sense of power to her. Paolo intended to draw on her but her appearance was utterly hypnotic. Her high, taut breasts, pushing out against the fabric of the peasant style blouse quivered delightfully to her, slow deliberate walk. They distracted him. She wore no skirts. Instead, her disproportionately long and shapely legs had been graced by tan brown trousers, that were so tight they showed off the interplay between the muscles of her legs, and even how her abdominals slid, like molten butter, into her pubis.
The last piece of her his eyes found was her face. First the brim of her American style hat cast a long shadow, shading her face down as far as her lips. But as she approached his firelight, she was finally underlit and a startlingly beautiful, and young, face was unveiled. Touched by flickering golden flame. Her eyes glimmered, huge, dark and expressive. A small nose, a little flat and curved, full lips perfect for sucking cock. She was really more girl than woman, despite the taut curvaceousness of her body. Not to his taste, perhaps, but he still found himself erect and shivering slightly with unfathomable desire. She was smiling at him. It made everything worse, made his heart ache. His balls were tingling.
Finally, his eyes took in the cross-draw holster on her left hip. And then the spatters of blood on her blouse. Suddenly suspicious, he reached for his shotgun. She drew her pistol, snapping it elegantly from the leather and sweeping it in a blur across her body, even as Paolo’s hand found the wooden fore stock of his double barrel. She could have shot him three or four times over, by the time he had his own gun pointed at her. However, she didn’t shoot him, she threw her gun at him instead, clipping him across the nose. While behind it, she became a blur of colour and shadow.
Paolo had no idea what she had done to him but he found himself on the floor, paralysed and assuredly dying. He could only move his eyes. But it was enough for him to see one arm was still attached to his propped up shotgun. But it was not attached to his body any more. He could feel something fleshy and firm inside his mouth and in the few seconds of conscious thought that remained, he realised the thing in his mouth was his nose. He felt a great wave of despair and grief overcoming him and his eyes flooded with blood-stained tears but they were soon lost to the blackness of death.
Bendición came out of the shadows for the last two guards as well. The first was just outside the church and looked like he was sulking. He certainly wasn’t doing his job properly. She walked right up to the back of him and tapped him on the shoulder, he gave a start and whirled around to see who had managed to sneak up on him. She drew his whirl onward, one arm around his shoulders whipping his body around in a fast full circle. At the same time, she had clamped her hand on his jaw, holding his head locked in position. His neck snapped suddenly. Spinal column twisted free from his brain stem. And with barely a squeak his corpse collapsed to the dusty ground.
The last of the men was up in the church bell tower. She leaped up into the tower to meet him. Stepping into view around the side of the bell. She gently punched him in the throat to silence the possible scream and then pushed him from the tower.
He might not have died instantly except that he landed on a brick wall that was part of the church surround, the impact caved his skull in.
She entered the church by dropping down the inside of the bell tower, inverting herself as she entered the vaulted ceiling space of the nave. It was a bit of a wreck inside. Half the pews had been shoved away, some of them had been demolished with an axe and a large bonfire burned in the centre of the chamber. Something, some animal was being roasted on a spit beside those flames. There were five bandits and three women. All of the women were dressed head to foot in long black robes with some kind of white cowl encircling their faces. There were also bodies of more of those black clad women, as many as half a dozen, scattered about the place. But on second glance, they were all older. The three living women were relatively young. One in her twenties, the other two perhaps a decade, no more than two decades older.
Of the three survivors one lay exhausted on the floor, beaten, bloody and naked. Though one part of the woman’s clothing, the black and white cowl, had been knotted tight around her throat. She was weakly pulling at it.
The eldest of the three was tied, face down, in a ‘T’ shape to a large wooden cross that was propped up against the altar. She was also naked other than the cowl. Her arms had been secured by ropes to the crossbar, one leg lay along the vertical strut while the other flopped limp down the side of it. The foot dangled, her toes scraping the floor. Her head lolled too. Her eyes were shut and blood coated her slack lips, though Bendición could see the rise and fall of her naked back and she breathed. Her bare back was marked with a score of long red welts but her buttocks appeared the most damaged they were black and blue with bruises and whip marks, and blood was trailing the inside of her thighs.
The third woman was still fully dressed though her cowl was askew and her clothing was rucked up around her midriff. She was bend forward on her knees over one of the pews close to the fire. Naked beneath, she was exposed from the shoulder blades to her bare feet. Her feet and lower legs were also marked with thin red welts. She appeared limp, equally exhausted to the others. Though with her was the reason for the exhaustion.
Of the five men occupying the church, one was keeping watch on the roasting animal, two were standing on the other side of the bonfire, chatting quietly to each other and drinking from some large earthenware jugs. While the other two were performing their own spit-roast, this one within the body of the youngest of the three women, the one bent over the pew.
A tall rangy individual with a bandana encircling his bald pate had the woman’s cowled head in both hands and was thrusting a long, though thin shaft back and forth between her bruised lips, he was taking a leisurely pace. While, behind her and pounding away at her buttocks, was a short fat Mexican. One hand spread out across the top of her buttocks, his thumb thrust inside her anus while he drove his short, stubby looking shaft in and out of her splayed crimson pussy lips.
Bendición found herself wincing. The young human woman looked very raw and tender down there, over-used and under-lubricated.
The tall skinny one paused, looking down, tried thrusting a little more firmly and then let out an aggrieved sigh. He slid his erection from between her loose lips and slapped her firmly across the face. She let out a tiny whimper and a trail of blood trickled from her slack mouth but it was hardly worth being called a reaction. The fat bandit at her rear end gave a sudden laugh.
“That was good, do that to her again, she tightened up for a second!”
“Forget it Pedrito, our delightful bitches-of-the-cloth are no longer any fun!”
“You’re right my friend. I think we have ruined them, at last.”
“Well. It was fun while it lasted.”
The fat Mexican pulled out his only half erect shaft and limped away from the bent over nun. He wandered over to the eldest one, lying on her back on the floor. Standing over her head, his feet flanking her face, he started to piss into her open mouth, using a hand to train the hot stream around her face, neck and chest. The two men chatting, paused in their exchange to laugh at their compadre’s antics. The man dealing with the roasting animal also turned to look. Grinning, he shook his head. His eyes slid over each of the three women, appraising.
Then he casually drew a Remington revolver from his right hip and shot the woman tied to the cross in the back of her head. The front of the cross turned into a thick crimson porridge of blood and gore. He turned the barrel toward the youngest. The tall man was still making a go of using her slack mouth to get him off but when he realised his comrade’s intent he hurried backward quickly. His cock was all but soft already, glistening wetly in the firelight. The Remington roared, a deafening and echoing outburst of violence. The girl’s head came apart.
By the time he had turned the SAA copy onto the last surviving woman, that fat man had ceased pissing in her mouth and was backing nonchalantly away, folding his softened penis back into his trousers. The gun went off and a thumb diameter hole appeared in the third nun’s chest. A halo of blood seeped out from beneath her as her torso appeared to collapse in on itself, like a rotted fruit.
Bendición silently lowered herself down from her vantage point inside the chimneylike mouth of the bell tower.
<><><>
The more clothing El Sobre removed from Charlotte de la Carrera, the more he appreciated her and understood why Don Phillipe had married her after the death of his first wife and mother of his children. Her tits were big and heavy. Her stomach, while not flat was little more than a soft pleasant cushion, her legs long and shapely, her ass remained pert though no doubt larger and fleshier than it had been when she had turned twenty. She also had talent. Especially when El Sobre compared her ability with mouth to other women he had taken since arriving in the human realm. She was the equal to Miranda, maybe even better. He gave her a list of instructions, a series of assessments of her skill, her ability to obey, her enthusiasm to please him. Perversely, and to El Sobre’s amusement, her husband sat at the dining table on the other side of a thin partition wall, unmolested yet made to listen to his wife servicing not just another man but the man who had murdered his firstborn, whose body cooled in the corner of the room by the smashed window.
Outside, in the village, the rest of his women, his only daughter and his three daughters in law, along with his staff, were all being vigorously introduced to the vices of his men. As had quickly become a tradition of new recruits, at least the females, they were gangraped as an initiation; an exciting and morale boosting prospect for the men under his command. And those women would come out of the other side of it, cowed and devoid of defiance. Give them a taste of punishment early on and they will know to avoid it in the future by doing whatever they are told to.
He had stripped Charlotte quickly, using a knife to separate her from her American style gown and bodice, marvelling as each tossed aside layer revealed more and more of the bedroom delights beneath. Once she was naked, he threw himself onto her, initially to judge her enthusiasm in accepting his kisses and molesting of her body. And, after an understandable moment of hesitation, he was rewarded with gratification as she started kissing him back, rolling her tongue around their mouths while she put her hands on his body too.
He allowed her the freedom and time to expose his erection naturally, enjoyed the gasp of shock she let out at discovering his size and girth, and its heat and hardness, once she wrapped her hands around it. However, once he was free of his trousers and had enjoyed her initial reaction, he whipped her around and pushed her onto her back across the couch. He put her at an angle, so her shoulders were on the seat but her head hung over the front. And then he leaned over her, filled his hands with her tits and pressed his member to her mouth. With a little gasp and whimper of reluctance she made an ‘o’ with her lips and flicked at the head of his meat with her tongue. But that gentle introduction only lasted a moment, as El Sobre drove himself all the way into her mouth enjoying the texture of her tongue and the roof of her mouth sandwiching his girth and then her tonsils and then her gullet. She took him all the way without preamble and without gagging. He slammed into her, testing her resolve and her thresholds of discomfort. And how long she could hold her breath.
Both impressed him. He continued with a quick, deep thrusting pace, accelerating every minute until he blasted his first load into her mouth, pulling back each time so he filled her oral cavity, making it a requirement to actively swallow each heady eruption rather than simply thrusting balls deep and squirting straight into her stomach.
Charlotte managed herself well, though she almost fainted and choked at one point, not having enough air making her lose her rhythm. He allowed her to flip herself upright and enjoyed her groaning, her wet voiced moans, colourful curses and her near sobbing. Once she was just about recovered, at least enough to notice he was still hard and that her ordeal was far from over, he picked her up under the arms and flipped her over onto her hands and knees. He positioned himself behind her and started feeding that big, hot hardness into her obviously well-used cunt.
<><><>
Bendición approached the bonfire, enjoying the temporary concealment of the shadows and the glare of the flames that would be obscuring her from the five bandits. They were obviously bandits. Having taken over a deserted village, in search of treasures. Or maybe just food and shelter. However, she couldn’t fathom the presence of the black clad women. Were they already here? Had they arrived after the bandits and been taken captive and made to pleasure the men? Or had they been brought by the bandits to the village from elsewhere? It didn’t matter anymore. They were all dead. Used up and spat out. Well, she was going to give these men a taste of their own medicine and have fun doing it.
She watched with a smile of anticipation as the firelight painted her into their awareness slowly, her blood smeared white blouse first, perhaps the steel and pearl of her revolver, the sheen of her leather clad thighs, her pale skin, perhaps the gleam of her eyes sparkling like stars in the night sky would catch their attention. But by the time she was fully illuminated they were fully aware of her, and none of them was pointing his gun at her. At least not the kind the fired lead.
Nothing was said. And they all seemed to have the same idea. “She’s too valuable to just kill outright, at least not until they had all taken as many turns with her as they felt like and worn her out.” She strolled lightly into their midst. They encircled her. Eyes roaming her shapely, perky curves, taking in her youthful beauty and the unaccountable sexual allure she emanated.
The leader, the Chef, casually reached out and took the Smith and Wesson from her holster. He tossed it aside onto one of the corpses. Then, holding her eyes he reached out toward her narrow hips again, this time unbuckling the pistol belt. He tossed it after the revolver.
It appeared to be a silent go ahead to the others. They crowded in and started attacking her clothes. At first it was slow, casual, even gentle. The drawstring at the off the shoulder neckline of her blouse was untied, the rucking loosened so that the neck line drooped clinging to the curves across the middle of her breasts, crescent tops of her areolae like tiny pink-gold sunrises peaking over a snowscape. Her nipples stiffened visibly as the smooth thin cotton stroked their tips, they jutted outward, creating features against the white with its speckles of bloody reddish brown. A quick jerk, snatched a little gasp from the girl as her nipples were caught by the fabric and plucked, and the blouse was drooping across her waist, sleeves holding it around her elbows and forearms though her torso was fully exposed. Her breasts were simply magnificent. Bigger than they appeared to be under her clothing, they jutted, the nipples a hairsbreadth above the exact centre of the full teardrop orbs. Her flesh was silky smooth and utterly without blemish, almost a pale gold in colour, the shade intensified by the bonfire.
The two men who had been spit-roasting the youngest black clad woman a few moments earlier, stepped up to either side of her and started on the lacings of her skin tight leather pants. There was a ‘V’ of that same perfect bare flesh. It stretched from the waistband and terminated a couple of inches below her groin on both the left and right of the garment, a crisscross of leather thongs pressed lightly into the supple yet taut flesh on display beneath. Her flesh somehow felt simultaneously hot and cold under their touch, as though her skin was cool, yet some fierce heat emanated from beneath it.
Of the other two, one, a quick moving jittery sort, took to pulling her arms from the sleeves of her blouse and untucking it from the waistband of her trousers. While the fifth knelt down at her feet, lifting each leg one at a time to remove the low-heeled boots, after unbuttoning the line of small buttons, that ran down the outside of each.
The leader helped himself to a handful of her firm, upthrust breasts.
She was naked in barely a minute, pulled firmly and silently by the upper arm over to another of the carved wooden pews where the men once again crowded around her. Before she was pushed down onto the pew, mouths feasting on her breasts and nipples, marking her flesh with bites and suction. While hands grabbed her hands and pressed them to the resurgent bulges in their unwashed trousers.
The leader leaned in and forced her to kiss him. She did so willingly, even though his breath smelled rank and his big wiry beard was itchy on her peachy skin. More hands reached below her toned waist and smooth abdominals, finding a bare pubis and taut buttocks with barely any give, though covered with the same silky soft flesh that they were all busy marvelling at.
There were three hands cupping and squeezing her perfect buttocks, and they quickly grew fierce in their caresses, doing battle with the steel hard gluteal muscles, yet losing out. A finger penetrated her anus, though not very easily, and multiple fingers stroked her soft, puffy vulva. Again, they groaned at the heat of her body, especially around her groin. Her inner lips were spread and her vagina penetrated.
Sucking on the rancid tongue stuffed in her mouth, she clamped her muscles down on those probing digits, not too hard, she could turn their bones to powder if she wished, but this was just an enticement.
Even as the tongue dance and exchange of saliva continued, Bendición felt herself lifted up off her feet. Mouths still sucking hard on her nipples, fingers still probing her, front and back, between her legs. She was carried to the pew and laid down on the smooth carved wood, warmed by the proximity of the bonfire.
She expected them to push her down onto her knees and be made to suck each of them in turn, but was gratified by the immediate realisation that they neither required or were interested in delaying the main event.
<><><>
Culebra’s Federal army was on the march by nightfall. On the advice of his new local Soldaderas, his scouts had been sent to assess three villages in the area. A logical assessment of where El Sobre would be. After all, he would need reinforcements, food and shelter and to rest and regroup. The scouts reported the first village deserted, the second quiet, but the third showed activity and pickets. It was possible they were just village defenders, used to protect the residents from bandits and possible predators going after livestock. However, Culebra knew better. He sensed it on the air. That was where his brood brother lay in wait. He was no doubt having the time of his life, fucking as many of Culebra’s Soldadera’s as he could manage. Just like Dokuhebiki had been doing with Miranda and the other captured females from El Sobre’s little ragtag gang, throughout the day.
So, now they marched throughout the night knowing that with the coming of dawn they would be in range of the village.
The artillery would be no use here. It would be much better to just send in the foot and fight building to building. Though perhaps, this time Culebra would keep his females to the rear and just use his men. It was cheating, according to their rules, but that was how one won.
As he strolled along astride his horse, he looked back along the long columns of his men. There were his officers, each riding their own horses in two parallel lines. And behind them, were the two lines of his delightful Soldaderas. Conchita, Carmelita, Dora, Angelica, Eiza, Paola, Miranda of course. Then there were the foreigners, The Salonen sisters, Siobhan the redhead, Penny Hughes, and Sharon Chisholm who was worn down and much skinnier than when he had first came across her.
She had been fucked a lot. And with so little food to share between his forces, the men were always given the lion’s share. So, the women often had to make do with mouthfuls of spunk for their meals and apparently it was barely enough. So, Sharon had lost a lot of weight in the weeks she had been part of his army.
Still, she marched along with the rest of them and now he had recently renewed his Makai seed inside all of these women, they were once again fully under his influence so they could carry their own rifles and ammunition, they were wearing a combination of head scarves and sombreros, they all had uniform tunics and boots, though the veterans also had trousers now. All the uniforms the women wore were taken from the corpses of fallen comrades, with any and all rank patches removed, of course.
The men marched to the rear of the women, in four columns abreast, when the roads or fields or desert ground allowed it. The Colonel couldn’t help but smirk, finding it mildly amusing watching the focus of the men’s eyes. It appeared as though all eyes who could look were locked tight to the flexing buttocks of the women, either through the seat of their trousers or beneath the flaps of their tunics. Grinning, the Colonel turned his attention back to the road.

<><><>
Bendición was quietly aware of the two men on the far ends of the pew. She could almost taste their frustration at not having any access to her body. They were Ruidoso and Precoz, she had learned everyone’s names during those short moments of pre-fuck arrangement.
At this moment, she was sitting in the wide, soft fleshed lap of Pedrito, the fat guy. Alto, the tallest of the gang, stood behind the pew at her back, holding her legs up and wide spread, gripping her ankles, holding them out at arms-length. While Cocinero, the leader, shuffled forward. He positioned himself at the crux of her creamy thighs and was jerking his cock to maintain his hardness.
Pedrito was slouched at an angle along the pew’s seat, to provide room for his head and upper body, while Bendición had one hand pressed into the slick pliant flesh of his chest while the other lay along the back of the pew, her hand gripping the scroll-carved wood of the backrest. She felt him reach under her buttocks, there was the hot spongy texture of the head of his cock bumping against the inner curves of her buttocks, then he repositioned it until the hot crown met the cinched pucker of her anus. He suddenly began asserting upward pressure, while his hands around her waist started to pull her down toward his lap in order to force access.
She allowed it, expertly relaxing and pushing forward to open herself for ease of access. With a wheeze of exertion followed by a long passion-filled moan, he slid into her delectable, scorching tightness.
Letting out her own sweet sigh at the feel of him accessing her innards, she relaxed her upper body and allowed her meagre weight to press her down the length of him, impaling herself on his thickness. Her sigh developed into a long low whine, as she experienced the lovely smouldering throbs of pleasure that emanated from the girth of his deepening cock shaft, stroking against the sensitive inner muscles of her ass tunnel.
The second Pedrito was securely inside her, Cocinero leaned in to line up his own erection with her lust swollen pussy. Her clitoris was visible, jutting from its delicate hood and he passed his thumb back and forth across it a few times, enjoying her gasping flushed cheeked reaction, and the visible twitches at her inner thighs. But then the crown of his member was poking at the tidy little lobes of her inner lips, pressing them asunder, parting them like drawn curtains to let in the morning sun. He held himself there, just a hint of his crown inside her tunnel, plugging her entryway, marvelling at the tightness and the band of heat that encircled her tunnel mouth. It almost felt like there was a raised ridge encircling the mouth of her cunt. However, he marvelled the most at the waves of heat that seemed to issue from inside her, it felt like hot breath caressing the tip of his meat. And in that moment, he could do nothing other than thrust deep inside.
Bendición let out a long rattling moan of pleasure as the leader thrust his meat into her. The friction was intense as always and so was the caress of his flesh against the clitoral ring that lay just inside the entrance to her pussy, it was a big part of how quickly and easily she was able to climax. Not that he would know anything about it, of course.
He leaned over her, bracing himself with hands on either side of her head along the top of the pew’s back rest. He started to thrust himself in and out, enjoying the tightness that was only exacerbated by the second cock sliding up and down against the underside of his erection, with only a thin membrane of flesh separating them.
It didn’t take long for Alto to get involved. He let go of one ankle and took hold of her head, cupping the underside of her pointed chin. He angled her head backwards and then came up onto his tiptoes to present his erection to her upside-down mouth. He urgently drove himself between her parted lips, sliding his long member all the way in right down to the balls in a single urgent push. It was nothing for the girl to take him. Though he was longer than the average human cock, his lack of girth made it no kind of challenge for her jawline. Then again, her jawline had not yet found a challenge she could not overcome.
With all three holes plugged, the Jyujin girl knew her climax would not be long coming. She could already feel it brimming under the surface, bubbling away, expanding within her loins. Krakatoa preparing to blow its top.
The simple feel of those three hot, steel hard members, pumping back and forth inside her, fervently, powered by their animalistic desire for her, allowed Bendición’s already intense sexual pleasure to be supplemented by orders of magnitude. Multiple ingredients, each individually sweet and joyous, forging together inside her loins to create an entirely new cocktail of unfathomable deliciousness.
<><><>
Charlotte de la Carrera was good at humping on cock. For a moment she had surprised El Sobre, but then he had second guessed his surprise. He should have been expecting such skill. She was a trophy wife. She needed to look good and she needed to be able to perform. Those elements of her, along with her unceasing loyalty were all her husband Phillipe had required of her, therefore it stood to reason that she would be good at fucking. She had plenty of strength and stamina in her shapely legs. Though at the start he had instigated a rapid doggie style fuck, that had sent her broad buttocks quivering in miniature waves every time he slammed rapidly and balls deep, into her. Though the excited impacts no doubt repeatedly bruised her cervix.
She sobbed under him. Though whether in pain or ecstasy he couldn’t work out. He also didn’t care. As he rearranged her internal organs with his powered pounding, her front half collapsed onto the cushions, arms unable to hold herself up under his barrage assault. Though, to her credit, she didn’t try to pull away from his rapid pummelling. However, he didn’t want to break her just yet, so he withdrew, seated himself in the centre of the couch, and threw an arm around her waist, pulling onto his lap. And she appeared so grateful for the temporary mercy that she went all out on his cock.
<><><>
It had been the suddenly unexpected and driving double anal that had tossed Bendición abruptly into the stratosphere of her orgasmic nirvana. She lost herself to the immaterial white-out of sheer bliss, all her senses shutting out anything but the sensations of her divine climax.
It was a pitch-black world of dusty, grit and grime when her awareness returned. There was a lot of weight on her back, her nostrils were full of dust and the scent of blood was heavy in their air. Pulling her legs up underneath her so she was on her hands and knees, she carefully pushed upward, judging the pressure above her. It barely moved so she conjured her chi sphere, allowing its bubble-thin surface to cut a sphere of free air around her and then floated up through whatever it was covering her.
It was rubble. She saw it as she elevated through it, stone, wood, glass and tile. The church, or a part of the church appeared to have collapsed.
She floated up over the village and looked down. She cancelled her chi sphere, letting the captured articles of rubble fall to the ground beneath her. However, there was a cloud of dust and grit filling the air above the church, she already knew that the spire was no longer where it had been, it would have been visible above the dust cloud. She slipped down into the grime ridden cloud and made a score of rapid circles around the area, essentially piping the dust away like a tiny tornado before returning to the church. Or what was left of it.
The whole building was gone, replaced by that vast pile of rubble.
She was still completely naked. Also, her gun belt and revolver were buried under there somewhere. She had hardly had the chance to use the pistol very much and wanted it back. She swept down to the ground level and then started to use her body strength and some Ju techniques to smash her way down to the floor level of the church and then search around through the rubble and the mashed bodies until she oriented herself, enabling her to locate her discarded belongings an item at a time.
There was a tear across the back of her filthy blouse, one of the leather thongs on her trousers had snapped and there was a tear up the left knee and thigh. The leather of her holster and belt was badly scuffed, some of the cartridges in the belt loops were half crushed or dented, so she discarded them all. There was a crack in the mother of pearl grips, though the gun itself looked alright.
One of the black clad women’s corpses had a string of beads with a small cross at the end of it around her gore ridden neck. Bendición took the robust string.
Looking inward for a moment, she felt the frenetic and heavy triple penetration, and the intense climax it brought about had taken the edge off the intensity of her urges. The urgency of the tingles in her loins had lessened by a degree or two and would not be quite so distracting. At least for a little while.
She managed to free all the rest of her things and then flew over to a nearby rooftop to dress and have a look at mending any damage. The tears to her blouse and trousers were nothing of significance. However, the snapped leather thong at her left hip of her trousers stopped them from staying up. And as intended, she used the string of beads as a workable replacement. Her boots were full of dust and she had to tap them out before buttoning them back over her feet. She found a well in the village and used it to give her blouse a wash. The tear was at the back so she ignored it, it loosened the fabric against her skin, but that just made it slip lower down onto her upper breasts, exposing more of her chest and leaving the thin fabric clinging to her jutting orbs.
She belated realised her hat was still lost but couldn’t be bothered to go looking for it. A quick examination of her revolver revealed the crack was superficial and other than a few scratches to the blued metal and surface dust, there was nothing wrong with the Smith and Wesson.
She returned to her horse and refilled her cartridge belt with fresh shells from her saddlebags. Then climbed up into the saddle and tapped the mare’s flanks with her heels. The animal responded happily enough, taking her onward into the night.
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Urotsuki-dojo. A Fistful of Tentacles