Feature Writer: Jason Lancing
Feature Title: THE SPANISH INQUISITORS 3
Published: 25.08.2021 / Mr Double Sex Stories
Story Codes: Nuns, Rape, Rituals
The Spanish Inquisitors 3
CHAPTER THREE
At least the Germans had been true to their word. When Dolores learned the next morning that her mother and sisters had fled their home to an unknown retreat her tormentors put her on a bus to Pamplona where she could seek her father. Mistakenly, they thought it would be a safe trip.
Still naked except for the trench coat she was hardly aware of what was happening around her. Absently the fifteen-year-old stared at the passing countryside through a dirt smeared window. But her thoughts were filled with horrible Germans, her submission to them, and most of all her need to see a priest.
Not until she heard a burst of machine gun fire and the unguarded bus jerked to a halt did she realize what was happening. Marauding Republicans had set up a surprise roadblock.
The Fascist passengers were pulled from the bus and lined up against the side. The Republican peasants faced them with armed rifles. Their leader was an exceedingly handsome young man. From the various conversations Dolores learned his name: Andres Eroles. And his good looking assistant was Carlos Suanzes.
The handsome Republican studied his captives for a few moments then finally gave the dreaded order. “Shoot the Fascists.”
“No wait,” cried Dolores with unexpected boldness. “I am not a Fascist. And I must see a priest.”
“If you wish to see a priest you are not a Republican.”
“Please,” she whimpered, leaving the bus and walking up to him. “I am too young to be political. Back at the prison camp the Fascists raped me.” She dared not mention the assault by the peasants.
Andres studied her for a moment with slightly squinted eyes. “But surely you are nobility,” he asked.
“Yes, a little,” she answered shyly. Behind her there was a sudden racket of rifle and machine gun fire. The girl whirled to see her fellow passengers slumping against the bus or writhing on the ground, huge bloody holes in their bodies. They had killed every on. Frightened the child turned to again face her captor.
“Please,” she whispered.
But the young man did not answer. His eyes were glued to the show of creamy white flesh between the lapels of her coat. Without a word he reached forward and jerked them apart. Dolores’ large perfect cones burst into view.
“Beautiful,” Andres murmured appreciatively. “I could use another pet back at my place in Barcelona. We must return today. You will not like it-a prison camp itself for blue-shirts. We call it the Hotel Inf ierno. But you shall come with us.”
“Well,” broke in Andres’ companion Carlos with a chuckle, “and Father Manuel is still imprisoned there. She may see a priest after all. But personally I say shoot her and be done with it.”
“Oh, you Communists are so strict,” chided Andres fondling one of Dolores’ golden nipples. “You are too serious and ignore the little pleasures of life.”
“As you want, Andres,” answered Carlos. “You Socialists are never serious enough when the time comes.”
At any moment Dolores expected to be raped once again. Yet on their trip to Barcelona the two captors acted like gentlemen. Still the child could not help but tremble when she thought of the hotel with the dread name of Infierno: Hades.
It had originally been called the March Hotel, a pleasant and regal place in the suburbs of Barcelona. But it had been converted to a camp for political captives and renamed Hotel Infierno. It looked awesome to the naive fifteen-year-old, surrounded by barbed wire and defended with guards and machine guns.
Dolores was given a room to share on the top floor. Since it had been made into a cell the furnishings were austere and uncomfortable. The window had been barred.
The frightened child sat on the top bunk for hours waiting for her captor Andres to return. She did not know what was in store for her but to her horror she had learned that every church in Barcelona had been destroyed except one. And her urgent requests to see a priest had been contemptuously denied.
At last the key rattled ominously in the door and once again she saw the handsome face of Andres Eroles. Even in the worst of times he always seemed to have a smile on his face, full of good health and jubilation.
“Don Andres,” she began immediately.
“Do not,” he interrupted firmly, “call me ‘Don’. Nor ‘Senor’. Those of us who fight on the Republican side are all Comrades. We are all equal in our struggle for freedom and our risk of death. We look up to no one nor do we look down.” Perfectly at ease he settled himself on the sole chair and rested his elbow on the single table. Quietly he lit a cigarette and threw the match in the lone ashtray.
“Senor … I mean Comrade Andres. I need to see a priest. Can you arrange…? ”
“Perhaps. Later. You know we are anti-church. That they have been burned here in Barcelona.”
“But even the Republicans…? Surely … Comrade, I am just a young girl. I am not yet political.”
“Perhaps,” repeated the young man complacently. “But we destroy the churches that no one else will be corrupted by them. It will be part of your education to do without them. But in the meantime you have a much more important lesson to learn Dolores.”
“Which is?”
“Humility. You and your father and all your kind have taught this virtue to all of us who have struggled for a living and faced starvation. But you have not learned it yourselves. You have taught us humility through humiliation. So shall you learn. There is a party tonight among my friends on the fourth floor. It is a place where many of us who pass in and out of Barcelona quarter. I will have a guard escort you down. Your education will begin there.”
The guard opened the door for Dolores. She went in and it closed softly behind her. No one seemed to notice her for the moment. In luxurious overstuffed chairs the men sat about talking and smoking. In the center was her captor Andres Eroles and beside him his Communist friend Carlos. Four strangers sat listening intently. It was a large comfortable room and through the huge windows the young girl could see the famous fourteen century old buildings and behind then the beautiful hills and mountains in the distance.
Only two factors kept it from looking like a meeting of aristocratic country gentlemen. One was their workmen’s clothing. The more startling was that at the feet of each of the four strange men sat a completely naked young lady.
“Well Comrades,” said Andres at last, standing up to greet her, “this is they young girl I mentioned. On her father’s palatial estate she is called Senorita Dona Dolores Margarita Arenillas. That shall soon change.”
At his beckoning Dolores stepped into the center of the room. Unceremoniously Andres took her trench coat from her and she stood in nervous embarrassment trying to cover her naked breasts and pussy with her hands. As Andres introduced the four strangers, their smiles were sardonic and expectant.
“And the four ladies,” continued Andres, “are personal pets of my comrades. They have assumed the responsibility of their pet’s education. You will notice that each has assumed a pose or dress appropriate to them.”
“My pet has been very successful,” volunteered one very fat fellow with a satisfied smile. “Her husband was a high politician-a conservative. Unfortunately he was killed soon after the revolution began. His wife was conveniently caught here in Barcelona.”
Dolores looked at the lady. She was the first she had noticed when the girl entered the room for from head to toe she was covered with tattoos.
“Bella,” continued the man, “professed an alliance with our cause, with all of us: Republicans, Communists, Anarchists, and all liberals. But!” he smiled broadly with small teeth, “she would screw with none of us.”
There was a general round of laughter among the men. The lady’s degradation had obviously been a source of comedy for all the Republicans in Barcelona.
“She would not sleep with me because she was too demure, she said.” quoted the fat peasant. “She was too timid for one and too bashful for another. With some she wished to be discreet and others were inconvenienced by her period. Even your own master Andres tried. But she was too modest. Yet just look at her now.”
At his prodding Bella stood and stretched her arms above her head. She was quite tall and thin with lovely features. Immodestly now she strolled about the room, showing off her nudity.
The tattoo work with its intricate and colorful flower designs was expert. All of her hair had been shaven-head, eyebrows, pussy-to make room for the artist. But in conspicuous places words had been spelled out in large letters like childish scrawlings: screw me, fuck me here, shit hole available, and other lewd words.
“Nowadays,” continued her owner as Bella folded herself gracefully again at his feet, “there is not a speck of modesty in the woman. She walks the streets of the city every day, just as you see her. And if she cannot prove she had balled at least ten men when she returns in the evening we beat her harshly.”
“Mine too has been a success,” spoke up a young boy, not more than nineteen. Proudly he patted his woman on the head. “Can you believe she was once my employer?”
“Meow,” whimpered the woman like a cat, turning to look up at Dolores. The young girl started back at this unexpected utterance. “Meow,” repeated the young woman. Though flat chested she was attractive. Her short hair was cut in a masculine style but it had not lately been attended to. And from head to foot her golden skin had been painted with black stripes. She was a perfect caricature of a tiger.
“She was the manager of a large factory. Very good for a woman in old fashioned Spain. She dressed in severe suits, acted tyrannically to all employees and associates, and in every way tried to act like a man. So we decided to make her into the most feminine of animals, the cat.
With a loud purring sound the woman got upon her hands and knees and began to steal about the room as if she were a lioness. A painfully tight band of leather about her middle made her severely wasp waisted. Another strap of leather in the form of a cutout halter cruelly forced her tiny boobs to bulge out of the openings.
Her long nails painted black. She wore false eyelashes that were exceptionally long. And from her ass-hole projected a short black whip so that as she crawled it swung behind her like a tail.
Finished circling the room she returned to her master. Without a word she reached up and unbuttoned his pants, withdrawing an enormous and erect pecker. With many meowing and purring sounds she licked obediently up and down its length.
“My God,” murmured Dolores under her breath, but loud enough for the others to hear, “how can she bear to touch such a thing with her lips and tongue? It’s disgusting. How could she ever kiss a man after that? Or even live with herself?”
Andres only smiled at what the fifteen-year-old said. He hurried on to finish his introductions.
“And mine here was once a courtesan,” began a third man with satisfaction. “Just a well paid prostitute. But her cunt was only for the noble and wealthy, the famous and the powerful. She disdained to screw a working man.
“Of course we forced her to. Beat her and raped her. But her spirit remained unbroken. She would spit upon us when we fucked her.
“So for punishment-I was once a poor country doctor-we sew her pussy shut every time she is humped. Like a virgin it must be torn open for each new fucking, but it is much more than the pain of a virgin. She is in agony each time she is screwed.”
Dolores could not keep from looking at the pretty woman’s twat. It had been shaved clean and she could easily see the lips of her pussy. They were torn, scarred and ragged. And even now they were once again tightly sewn together.
“And we make certain,” continued the doctor, “that she experiences many of these painful ballings. Each night we put her in a cell with one of our long-term prisoners. They are usually so horny they will do anything for a piece of tail. And they do not take time to be gentle about it either.”
“The last pet,” broke in Andres, pointing to another lady, “has not been so successful. She was … is a nun. She was of course virgin when we brought her but we have repeatedly raped her. Yet steadfastly she refuses to cooperate, to relax and enjoy her fuckings.”
Dolores stared at the girl in surprise. She was dismayed that even without her clothes she did not recognize her as a nun. The girl sat mumbling to herself, doubtlessly a prayer. Demurely she kept her naked pussy closely covered with her hands. Between her breasts hung a huge iron crucifix, heavy and powerful.
She was a girl not yet in her twenties, more beautiful than all the rest. Her face was like a movie star’s. Her narrow waist set off the huge firm butt. And her breasts were mammoth, as large as any of the men in the room had ever seen. But most of all she was a natural blonde. A treasure in dark-haired Spain.
“In spite of all we have done for her,” broke in her master sadly, “her spirit remains unbroken.”
“And so should yours Senorita if you have either faith or courage,” interrupted the nun unexpectedly. “My soul chooses with whom I make love-and I have given my sex to Jesus Christ.”
“Tonight you shall pay for it too Sister,” retorted Andres in angry indignation. “And you Dolores! First we shall initiate you in our group this evening. You of the aristocracy have for centuries treated us like dogs. You shall learn to be a dog yourself. Your training begins now. Bark for us!”
Dolores stood staring at him silently. Certainly he could not be serious.
“Then get on all fours and act like one,” he growled roughly, grabbing her by her long hair and forcing her to her knees. Rudely he shoved her forward so that she rested on her outstretched hands.
From a table he took a flat metal plate, bent toward the end to form a seventy degree angle. From it hung leather straps. Placing the plate on her back he tied one of the straps tight about her waist like a belt. Taking two that hung from the bent end he secured them about her thighs. With the apparatus in place Dolores could no longer straighten up but was forced to remain on her hands and knees.
“Now then Senorita,” he said with satisfaction, “you shall wear this training girdle until you learn to stay on all four paws like the bitch you are.”
The teenager opened her mouth as if to speak but there was nothing she could say. Instead she began to whimper pathetically. In her protected childhood she had never realized so many men could be so cruel.
“What are you going to call her?” asked the Communist Carlos with passing amusement. “It is not fit to name a dog Senorita Dona Dolores Margarita.”
“Call her Lola,” said the young boy, his feline pet now sucking his prick vigorously.
“Yes,” agreed the fat man. “Lola is short for Dolores and is suitable for a canine.”
“Lola it is,” agreed Andres, staring down at the confused and speechless teenager. “But her mane is too long. We must trim it.” Handing a pair of scissors to both the tattooed lady and the courtesan he ordered, “Cut her hair.”
“No,” gasped Dolores in consternation as the two women obediently approached her. “No, not my hair. Please. It is … it is beautiful. It is my father’s pride. Please don’t cut it.”
“Quit whining Lola,” laughed Andres, “such luxury is the sign of nobility. It must go.”
“No, no, no,” moaned the hapless child as she heard the scissors snipping behind her. She wept and pled as she saw the long glossy black strands fall from her shoulders to the rug. By the time they had finished she was nearly hysterical. Crouched on all fours in the center of the room, her lovely mane strewn about her, only an inch or less of hair left on her head, she sobbed and shook piteously.
The handsome Socialist picked up a whip and began to beat her over the part of her back and legs not hidden by the plate. “You must be quiet Lola,” he snarled. “You must learn obedience-humility. Now bark for me. Bark!”
“No, no please,” wailed the frightened child helplessly. “I am only fifteen. I have done nothing. I do not deserve punishment.”
“Bark,” responded Andres, still wielding the whip. “Bark like the dog you are. Bark like a bitch.” Kneeling so that he could reach under her body he began to flail her large drooping boobs and open cunt with the stinging lash.”
“Oh, oh, oh stop,” she moaned at last, “I’ll do it.” Clearing her throat she prepared herself for the humiliating utterance.
“Stop,” broke in the strong willed nun unexpectedly. “If you do what they say you will lose your soul. You will be theirs forever. You will never be the same again. You will never have self-respect again. Don’t listen to them. Pain can be endured. The worst they can do is kill you. It is better than losing your soul.”
Dolores turned clumsily about so that she could look at her. The little girl’s eyes were wide, questioning and curious. She had to respect this woman’s lone courage.
“Ignore her,” purred the ex-factory manager, taking her head momentarily away from her master’s pecker. “Do as they say. You’ll lose in the end anyway. Obey them.”
“Yes,” assented the tattooed lady softly, “it will be better in the long run to go along with them.”
“Don’t,” argued the nun vigorously, “don’t do it Dona Dolores. You will be lost. You can.”
“And tonight you will see what your resistance gets you,” snorted the outraged Andres. “Just wait. But now Lola, my pet, is your turn. Bark for us!” Meaningfully he struck her with the lash across her dangling perfect cones.
Dolores closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was humiliating, dehumanizing, but she had been through much worse. And the pain in her breasts was fierce from the beatings.
From deep in her throat came a clearing, gurgling sound. Then a single soft almost inaudible “woof escaped from between her pretty lips.
“Don’t do it,” cried the nun urgently.
“Louder,” commanded the Socialist, striking his whip hard against her leg.
“Woof, woof,” barked Dolores, “woof, woof, woof.”
“Much better, grinned Andres with satisfaction. “Much better Lola. You are a bitch already. Have been all your life. It is good to see you act like one. Now walk around the room wagging your tail and panting happily.”
Dolores paused a moment and then began to crawl rapidly about on all fours. She wiggled her ass violently as she moved. With a big smile on her face she stuck her tongue out and began to gasp an exaggerated pant.
They all laughed at the ridiculous looking little fifteen-year-old with her beautiful body performing for them.
Forced into her crotch be the brace of steel and leather she waddled on all fours about the room.
“Now go over to our proud nun who has tried to mislead you and squat.”
Dolores looked up at him questioningly.
“Go squat over her like a bitch dog and piss on her,” ordered Andres smugly. He watched with pleasure as Lola did as she was told.
Backing up to the woman so that her cunt was poised only inches from hers, she paused. Dolores tried to look back at her but because of her brace could not do so.
“Go ahead, Lola, bitch dog,” hissed the nun angrily. “It won’t degrade me nearly as much as it does you.”
“Yes,” go ahead supported Andres, “go on, Lola, my new little pet.” Still smiling he reached down and grabbed one of her white cones, beginning to twist it slowly. Steadily he increased the pressure.
“Ohh Senor,” gasped the little girl in pain as relentlessly he squeezed and turned her precious boob. “I will do it.” Obediently the teenager strained to urinate, the muscles in her twat pulled, but she was full of hurt from her breast. Instinctively her muscles tightened and prevented an easy flow. Grunting and groaning, her face red from the effort, Dolores continued to struggle until at last she felt a stream of hot yellow liquid squirt from her body.
Her master let go her tortured jug and with a gratified sigh Dolores freely emptied the contents of her bladder. It shot forth in a sparkling river into the nun’s love mound and pussy. Dolores looked down between her arms where she could see the lady’s naked legs and closed quim as itwas covered by the thin yellow flood.
“Very good, Lola,” approved Andres stepping back from her triumphantly. “Now about sex. Are you ready to engage in sex according to your new station?”
The child said not a word. In patient dread she waited.
“I noticed the disgust you had for our little cat when she sucked her master’s cock. Will you suck mine now Lola? Will you suck it?”
“Please don’t,” she groaned without looking at him, “it’s horrible. Please don’t make me do that.”
“Then will you even fuck me? Do it willingly? Do you want to take my prick up your cunny, Lola? Be honest. Do you?”
“Please, no,” she whimpered in a small voice, though she knew she would if forced to, if beaten. “No. I don’t want to.”
“Of course you don’t, my little pet,” the Socialist whispered in a surprisingly soothing voice. In an unanticipated gentle manner he knelt beside her, fondly ran his hand through the short fuzz on her head and stroked her back.
“Of course not,” he continued, taking his forefinger and beginning to scratch her ear, “after all you’re a dog. It would be unnatural for you to want to screw a human. You want another dog, don’t you my Lola? Don’t you my pet?”
Dolores said nothing. She tried to ignore his words. Surely he did not actually mean she should mate with a dog.
“Don’t you, Lola?” continued the handsome young man affectionately, “don’t you want another dog like yourself to fuck with?”
“But that’s impossible,” muttered the girl apprehensively. The naive fifteen-year-old knew nothing of sex but she did know God. She was aware implicitly of His infinite wisdom and sense of order. He had made the enormous universe by His own hand and endowed it with a perfect harmony so that beautifully all things were balanced by their opposite and every entity of creation held its particular proper place.
Men mated with women and bore children, as did dogs, birds and fish. This was good and praiseworthy. In His wisdom God undoubtedly had made things with their own particular proper organs of reproduction so that fish could not mate with birds, birds with dogs or dogs with humans.
She had already seen evidence of this in the oversized painful ugly pricks of peasants, obviously not built for the more refined and genteel vaginas of the nobility.
“It is not possible,” repeated Dolores with assurance. “It cannot be done.”
“But we have a delightful surprise for you Lola my pet,” whispered Andres fondly, stroking her flanks with the tips of his fingers, “and you will see it can be done.”
Nodding toward a closed door he motioned the fat man to get up and open it. In a moment the obese senor returned with a male dog, as ugly as it was large. An amalgamation of many breeds it seemed to tower over the crouched Lola as it approached her, its unkempt short gray hair stinking noxiously. The dog eyed her without curiosity then lapped at her face with its long red tongue.
“Take one of your forepaws, Lola,” instructed Andres genially, “and stroke between its hind legs. You will see that it is indeed possible for you to mate with him-to carry out your desires for a canine husband.”
“Oh, God no,” moaned the terror stricken child, shaking her dizzy head, “you cannot mean it. You can’t. Surely such a thing is not possible. God would not allow….”
“You are right Lola. God would only allow dogs to fuck dogs,” smirked the soldier. “And he shall fuck you. Now do as I said. Stroke his prick and bring it out.”
“No,” whined the little girl, shaking her head, “no, no, no.”
Knowingly Andres stood again and picked up the short whip. Dolores shivered in dread and anticipation. It took only a few expert lashes this time to bend the stubborn girl to his will. Gingerly with shaking fingers she reached between the animal’s back legs and stroked the hairy pocket.
They could hear her short gasps of fear as immediately she found herself petting something hot, moist and resilient. She knew what it was without looking. The thought sickened her.
The odor of it was stronger than the canine’s breath and added to her nausea. Yet intimidated by two more sharp whips of the cruel leather she dared not stop her fondling. In a moment it stretched out huge and long in her palm. It oc-cured to her that she had been right, that it was not like a human’s with its thick middle and slender point. But what impressed her most was that it was enough like a man’s to do the work, to penetrate her.
“Please,” she whispered softly once more, not daring to look up at her captors, “please don’t do it to me.”
“Why we’ll let you do it to yourself, Lola,” laughed Andres callously. Reaching under her he shoved her on her back. With the steel brace on her the girl could not right herself and rolled about helplessly like an upset turtle.
The experienced dog did not wait a second. In growing horror she saw and felt his long thin snout nuzzle her quim, his tongue begin to lick eagerly up the tiny thin gash. In a moment his forepaws were on her flat white belly as he pulled his distended cock into position.
Dolores stared at it wide-eyed. There was no use protesting to the animal that could not understand. Between her arched spread legs she could see the oily prick approach, a ghastly bright red that throbbed and trembled with lust. It was uglier than the peasants’ and seemed even longer.
The dog pressed up inside her thighs and she could feel the matted stinking hair. At last it began to arch itself forward in quick choppy jerks. She felt the hard point jab at her love mound and ass as repeatedly his prick missed her tiny opening. Even those nervous punches hurt and frightened her.
“Oh why,” she moaned, again looking up at Andres tearfully, “why must you do this? You humiliate me and take no pleasure for yourself. This is worse than rape. Why?”
“Your humiliation is our pleasure,” broke in Carlos smugly. “You shall learn as your peasants learned from your father. The aristocracy has looked up on us as dogs, called us that. But all men are equal. So you too much learn to be a dog.”
“Oh please,” she gasped looking hopefully around at the others, “please don’t let … ohhhh,” she squealed frightfully as at last the canine found its mark. “Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,” groaned the child as she felt the unnatural pecker being pounded rapidly through the hole in her tight pussy. It jerked and pulled at the tight skin painfully and it was inhumanly disgusting. The thought of what was happening to her was worse than the act.
“Oh, oh no, God save me. Someone save me,” she wept. Gradually the animal worked its hard prick deeper into her dark cave. She tried to squirm away but awkwardly only forced it in deeper. She sensed the doggy lust as the tip pressed against her womb. At last it was firmly locked in and the animal began to tread its hind legs feverishly.
It was too late to stop it now. It could not be prevented. She was fucking a dog. The beautiful proud daughter of her noble father and heiress of everything good in Spain was fucking a mere dog.
Inside her, the thin dog cock was whipping wildy against her tender cave. The furious jerking and tossing of his huge body caused her to twist as if in pleasure under him. It hurt and it was degrading. Over her, the dog strained its neck and head, panting heavily, great gobs of drool falling from its mouth on her virgin white flesh.
“Oh, ho, ho I don’t deserve this,” cried the child in misery as she felt the prick pounding primitively inside her. “I don’t, I don’t. I’m a good girl,” she wailed. “It hurts. It hurts me. Please, it hurts.” Tears steamed over her contorted flushed face.
Savagely the dog screwed her, humping away with inhuman vitality. This was what fucking was really all about the child realized. No love or care of pleasure. Her cunt was just a hot moist place for man or beast to get its rocks off.
That was why her father and the preist had never told her about it, never talked to her of sex. They didn’t want her to know how hideous it was. Even her future husband would someday to the same.
“Uh, uhh, ohhhh,” she groaned as the canine increased the fury of his attack, forcing her to roll and twist about uncontrollably. Helplessly bound she was scooted about the floor by his strong onslaught. Her now bleeding quim, torn and chafed, sent waves of pain through her back and legs. Even her untouched boobs seemed to burn from it.
Twisting, Dolores strained to look at the nun, hoping for consolation. The pretty young girl said nothing but only smiled at her patiently. The nun knew that the Republicans did much worse things to their captives, knew that Lola’s training had only just begun. Her curious eyes moved to the fifteen-year-old’s twat where she saw the greasy red shaft plunging relentlessly between the almost invisibly small tight pussy lips.
The teenager closed her eyes and tried to forget it, to pretend it wasn’t happening. Somehow it had to be endured. But the incessant pain could not be ignored, nor the strong smell of the dog’s rut. She felt her ass being tossed from side to side, up and down and around, grinding itself against the inhuman peter. The thin pole touched every crevice of her grotto, leaving her no virgin spot.
Andres knelt beside her and grabbed her two large jutting cones, feeling their resilience, then squeezing and twisting them cruelly. Dolores cried out at the new pain. Under his fingers the pure white mounds became red and bruised. The nipples bulged out grotesquely and leaning over he bit into them recklessly with his craggy sharp teeth.
“Oh dooon’t,” moaned the girl hopelessly, “please dooon’t. It hurts.” Tears flooded from her pretty brown eyes. Pain filled her now from head to toe, sharp vicious throbbing pain that came from her cunt and boobs. It was endless, unendurable. She thought she would faint.
Grasping her jugs like handles Andres began to rock her back and forth in a steady tempo. Dolores grit her teeth in anguish. She knew what he was doing. He was making her body fuck the dog back. He was going to try to make her climax too.
“No,” she whimpered pathetically, “no, I mustn’t. I mustn’t. Don’t make me. Please don’t make me.” But even as she pleaded she knew it was no use. It was like the other times with the men. The itch in her cunt was becoming an insatiable fire of desire. She wanted more of it, more of the itch and the flame and the dog’s hard peter. She was going to lose control just as she had with the peasants and the Germans. But this time with an animal.
“No, I won’t, I won’t come, I won’t come,” she repeated over and over to herself, trying to gain control of her body with her mind. She held her body rigid. She would not invite the dog’s juices. She had to triumph, her willpower had to prevail. “I won’t come, I won’t come, I mustn’t, I mustn’t.”
Unexpectedly the dog stiffened, his claws digging into her flat belly. He shook and whined as he strained and Dolores could feel his prick growing even greater inside her. The hard knot locked them irretrievably together. It was going to climax.
Dolores held herself stiff, unyielding. She couldn’t relax her will a moment. Desperately she struggled with her body, fought her vile base desires. “I won’t come, I won’t come, I won’t come,” she mouthed wordlessly.
It was there. The first string of jism had shot down the dog’s long prod and deep into her cunt. It felt like a thin hot hand clutching her womb. Simultaneously Andres crushed her breasts even harder, bit deeper into her swollen nipples.
“I won’t come. I won’t come,” gagged the child. She was afraid to breathe, afraid to let her heart beat. With every ounce of will she held the muscles in her body still and tight, frightened even the least relaxation would trigger a spontaneous explosion.
The second load of juice was just as hot, bathing her temple in its inglorious fire. The stuff seemed to be filling her, drowning her cave. And still she dared not breathe. A third squirted viciously into her, long and sustained it filled her cave. She felt it bubbling out her tight quim. Some of it splattered up to touch her hard clit, making it tingle and itch harder.
Her clitoris was trembling now, beginning to get out of hand. She strained against it, tried to ignore it. But the little pink button was reaching out greedily for every hot splash of jism. Suddenly her hips jerked spontaneously, shoving the tiny clit along the coarse throbbing peter.
Dolores gasped, took a deep breath and held tight. Teeth, hands, toes clenched as she waited. She could feel the fourth come already building in the dog’s spear, beginning to shoot down its length. She had to overcome it. She was a human, not a dog. She couldn’t come.
“Ah ha, ha ah nooo,” she screamed suddenly at the top of her voice. Her hips jerked forward, began to pound against the hairy balls. “Nooooo,” she wailed, “noooo,” as her legs automatically tried to lock behind the monster to hold it in. Her twat was arching up and down, twisting about the great spurting length. In less than a moment the child’s whole body erupted into violent spastic orgasm. She had failed. She was lost.
“Oh nooooo, noo … oh, oh, oh yeeeessss,” she shrieked. “Yesss, I love it. I want it. Do want it. Fuck me. Fuck me dog. Dog fuck my cunt. Dog fuck meeeee!”
Only the straps of her brace kept Dolores from throwing her legs and arms so tight about the animal that she would crush him in her embrace. Passionately she weaved and jerked on the floor, the huge mongrel pushing endless floods of jism into her. She loved it, the heat and the odor and the rough painful prod. Insanely she jabbed and thrust to meet his comes.
“Fuck me, oh fuck me, fuck me,” she pleaded, afraid it would stop. It was no different whether human or canine, she loved to be fucked. Her cunt ached for it, thrived on it. Never had she known such joy. The pain and love and lust filled her.
Exhausted the animal at last tried to pull to a halt but Dolores wouldn’t stop. Greedily she jammed her cunt up and down the length of his tool, screwed at his crotch. She wanted more. Still locked to her by his swollen knob the dog could not escape, his body pulled along by her rhythmic explosions.
The dog whined now himself in pain and fear as the wild she animal beneath him squeezed and yanked his long pecker. He wanted to run but couldn’t. Frightened he looked at the humans around him. Gleefully they stared back, watching the girl’s willing self-debasement.
At last Dolores let her hips grind slowly to a halt. Andres released her bruised boobs and bleeding nipples. She panted in exhaustion and looked at the men with glazed wide eyes. The dog finally pulled himself loose with a whimper and ran off.
“Do you like it, Lola?” the Socialist smiled at her patronizingly.
“I loved it,” she managed to gasp. “I loved it.”
“And now do you think of yourself as a dog too?”
“Yes,” she whispered, and meant it. Never afterwards did she call herself Dolores, but used the name Lola. She had no Christian soul, no God given will. She was a horny bitch dog in heat with a big red ass that loved to be fucked by anything. And she was completely the property of her master Andres Eroles.
“I told you that you would lose your soul,” whispered the nun in mixed disgust and sympathy.
“We have had enough of you now, Sister,” retorted Andres shortly. Brutally he grabbed her by the shoulders and jerked her to her feet. Through still-dazed eyes Dolores watched as they strapped the nun down to a table letting her naked twat droop over the edge.
“More rapes,” spat the indignant nun, “haven’t you learned that God protects my soul from such savagery?”
“A little more than rape this time,” responded the country doctor. From his bag he took a razor and began to shave off the girl’s big thick beautiful blonde pussy bush. In a moment her twat was as smooth and pink as a baby’s.
“And now,” smiled Andres, examining the nun’s bald quim with satisfaction, “now for that heavy iron cross you always wear. A family heirloom of great sentimental value, you told us.”
“I had hoped never to be parted from it,” sighed the young religious, “but it is not worth my soul. Take it from me if you must but I will not submit to your sexual abuse.”
“Do not worry,” chuckled the young man, “we shall see that it will be with you always.” From the next room the fat man brought a large brazier filled with coals and wood. In a moment it was blazing brightly. With a pair of tongs Andres held the metal crucifix in the fire.
“What are you going to do?” whispered the nun hesitantly as she watched her iron cross turn to red and then white hot.
Andres said nothing but instead turned to the woman, cross in his hands. Dolores could see that the nun was trembling with fear in spite of herself. Surprisingly the young fifteen year old, normally compassionate and loving, was filled only with curiosity and a feeling that perhaps the obstinate nun deserved the punishment she was about to receive.
Without a word the Socialist pressed the white hot iron firmly between the woman’s huge breasts. Violently the nun screamed her body jerked wildly on the table and her legs kicked the air. Distinctly Dolores could smell the odor of the sister’s burning flesh.
At last Andres pulled away the iron. The nun lay beneath him sobbing hysterically, the crucifix permanently branded now between her breasts. Again the handsome man placed the cross in the fire until it was white hot.
Dolores forgot her own problems as she watched intently as Andres branded the young woman on her breasts, arms, her belly and on her thighs. The teenager found herself enjoying the torture. It excited her to see the ugly crucifixes burned over the woman’s body, to hear her helpless cries and pathetic weeping.
Andres placed the brand in a bucket of cold water. When cooled he placed it meaningfully on the nun’s crotch. The cross itself was centered on her lovely pubes where her thick cunt hair had been. And the base of the crucifix pressed directly against the poor woman’s clitoris.
“This is where I shall burn you next,” he commented unemotionally.
“No, oh no please,” begged the shaken sister, pleading for herself for the first time. “Please don’t. The pain.”
“Will you let us fuck you? Voluntarily ask us to?” smiled the Republican knowingly.
The young sister hesitated only a moment. “It is not worth my soul. God will help me endure. He is my salvation.”
“So be it,” responded Andres still smiling. Again he placed the iron cross in the fire and waited patiently as it changed color with rising heat.
“Please,” the nun continued to beg. “Please don’t. The pain is so great. I can hardly stand it. What do you want from me? I have not harmed any of you.”
Ignoring her the man again placed the branding iron close to her flesh. She choked as she felt the heat so near to her defenseless snatch. Then there was a sharp sizzling sound and immediately the room was filled with the nun’s loud screams. Steadily Andres held it there until the sign of the cross was burned deep into the woman’s cunt.
“Oh God. Oh God. Oh God help me,” gasped the woman when the white iron was finally removed. She shook visibly in fear and pain. Again Andres placed the iron in the water to cool.
“This time,” he said at last, “we will fuck you with your hot crucifix. like this,” he demonstrated, placing the base of the cross at the hole of her dark cave. Slowly and methodically he moved the cooled relic in and out of her sweating trembling cunt.
“Nooo,” whimpered the young woman helplessly. Tears streamed from her eyes.
“Yes,” countered her captor, “just like this. We shall fuck you with the burning cross.”
“Please no,” she moaned, over and over. “Please don’t.”
Andres paid no attention to her words as once more he heated the cruel branding iron. With wide anxious eyes she watched as her cross turned to red and then white. Sweat poured from her face as he took it from the fire. Again she could feel the heat approach her naked twat.
“Nooo,” she suddenly bellowed. Her mad screams were deafening. “Noo, noo. I’ll fuck you. I’ll fuck all of you. Don’t do it to me.”
With a laugh of triumph the Socialist stuck the cross back into the water. They could hear it hiss as it cooled.
“You will fuck us, Sister?” asked Andres calmly, standing meaningfully between her legs. “You will fuck all of us whenever we want? And you will do it willingly, eagerly?”
“Yes,” wept the nun hysterically, “yes, I’ll fuck you. All the time. Anywhere. You can screw my ass. I’ll suck your cocks. Anything you want. Just don’t do this to me again. Please promise.”
Breathlessly Dolores listened and watched. Never had she heard such abject defeat and desperation in a woman’s voice.
They unstrapped her from the table and led her without protest to a couch.
Dolores saw her take them, each man in turn, between her widespread legs. And the fifteen-year-old felt satisfied as she watched for the nun hugged each one to her enthusiastically, begged for them to cram their cocks into her gaping cunt, and fucked them back violently.
THE END OF CHAPTER THREE