Alex Ayers

The soldier_s wife

PROLOGUE

The explosion.

Captain Allen Farrow heard it again and again.

Pieces of flesh splattered against his face. A dismembered thigh hurtled through the air and smashed against the back of his neck, knocking him unconscious.

"Kawhump!"

"Kawhump!"

The haze cleared and he opened his eyes. The black figure standing before him laughed loudly. Its foot lashed out and caught him in the jaw, knocking him to the ground.

Again and again the foot crunched into his body, sinking into his stomach, bouncing off his spine, the back of his head. He could taste the blood dripping into his mouth from his injured lip and feel the contusions growing like eggs over his body.

There was silence.

Farrow groaned as he rolled to his side and felt the bonds tighten around his wrists and ankles.

"Skipper? Skipper?"

Sergeant Monroe's voice filtered through the pain.

The sergeant's gaunt, bloody face wavered into focus beside him. Blood caked in a blob where his left eye should have been, his shoulder was ripped open and flies roosted on the exposed, raw flesh like tiny, black, iridescent vultures.

Monroe coughed, blood pouring from his mouth as he tried to speak. Voices jabbered behind him and Farrow looked up.

Three Viet Cong women stood looking down at him, laughing. AK-47 assault weapons were slung over their shoulders and hand grenades dangled from the thin, black belts pinching their waists.

A young-faced girl pointed at Monroe and jabbered rapidly. The other women laughed and drew knives.

"Jesus Christ," Allen Farrow muttered as he watched the women yank Monroe's head back and plunge the blades into the man's throat. Farrow shut his eyes and waited for the knives to pierce his throat.

A stinging blow to the back of his neck sent him sprawling.

They carried him as they might a dead beast, bound to a long tube of wood, his back bouncing off the ground, his wrists and feet tied above him.

He awoke, tasting the flies clinging to his blood-soaked lips. His body ached and blood trickled down his arms from his wrists.

Dumping him by a slow-moving stream, the women pulled their black pajamas off and splashed into the water, laughing and giggling.

Frantically eyeing the untended rifles laying a few feet from him, Farrow began to twist his hands, sawing them along the wooden shaft's ridge as he felt them loosen.

"Boum-boum."

He stopped and looked up. The women were standing naked above him, their breasts dripping water down onto his peeling face. The young one's raven hair glistened as she yakked at the others.

"Boum-boum," she repeated, reaching down and grabbing his penis. He screamed as the pain tore through him. The girl yanked his cock, stretching it as she snapped it like an old piece of rope she was trying to break. For a moment, Farrow screamed, afraid the appendage would rip out by its roots.

"Bitches! Filthy whores!" He spat the words through clenched teeth as the girl yanked his prick again. She relaxed her grip on his pole and began yelling commands at the bystanders.

Giggling childishly, the fattest of the trio waddled over to a box near the rifles and squatted over it. The young one slapped Farrow's face and spat betel nut juice at him, distracting his attention from the heavy one.

The fat woman returned, pinching her heavy legs together as she lumbered his way. She positioned herself above his face and squatted so that her cavernous vagina hovered inches from his face. He watched with gelled eyes as her snatch shut out the light and covered his nose and mouth. He opened wide, trying to suck in a breath of air.

First one, then another dropped from her gash into his mouth. They were hard and brittle, scampering across his tongue, pushing their feelers against his cheeks.

Farrow gagged and shut his mouth, feeling the roaches squash between his teeth as he fought for air.

He pumped his arms madly up and down and felt them connect with his tormentor's face. A bright splash of sunlight smashed against his eyes as her body rolled off. Without thinking, he leapt to the left, where he had seen the rifles gleaming in the sun only moments ago.

Fingernails clawed at his face as he scrabbled for the weapon. He swung back over his shoulders and knocked the woman to the ground. He grabbed the rifle and leveled it, pulling the trigger point blank as the two women rushed toward him, knives in their hands. As if in slow motion, their advance slowed before his eyes, their heads jerked back, their shoulders sloped forward, red holes dotted their faces, chunks of flesh exploded from their foreheads and cheeks as they fell in a bloody mass at his feet.

Farrow pushed himself shakily to his feet and aimed the rifle at the unconscious young girl lying beside him. He pushed the barrel of the rifle between her legs.

"Cunt, you're going to die like a whore should." He pulled the trigger. Nothing. He snapped back the operating rod handle and felt it drive home. Smiling, he pulled the trigger again.

Thung.

The pin hit the empty chamber.

"Bitch," Farrow snarled, kicking at her limp body and falling to the ground. His feet were still tied.

"You'll get yours, cunt," he growled, crawling to the packs and slicing the rope with a knife he found. "I'll make you pay, you filthy whore."

Trembling, he picked up the woman's body, carried her to the slow-moving stream and dumped her in the water. She floated for a few seconds then stirred, raising her head and coughing out the tepid water.

Farrow reached down, grabbed a handful of hair and pressed the knife against her throat. Her almond-shaped eyes looked wildly up at him as she backed up onto the shore.

"You wanted to fuck me, bitch. Now you're going to get your chance. You hear me? You fucking, hear me?" The cords on his neck bulged as he slowly drew the knife across her throat, barely cutting the skin and making the blood dribble down her chest, forming worm-like wriggles down her cleavage.

She sobbed and wailed in Vietnamese.

"Shut up! Shut your fucking mouth, you whore. You murdering WHORE!"

He could still taste the cockroaches in his mouth as he spat out the words. His mind swirled and his eyes burned as he looked down into her pleading, childish face. For a moment he thought about home; the children in the streets; his wife; the ocean lapping at the shore; an orphan he had given five-hundred plasters to in Quang Ngai. His ears rang and he heard the explosion again; saw the faces masked in agony; felt the chunks of the bodies smashing against him, pinning him to the ground; saw Monroe's haunting eye and quivering lips warning him; saw the knife the girl had plunged into his sergeant's neck, dripping with blood; saw Monroe's eyes widen and his face turn livid as the blood gushed from his neck.

"On your knees, pig." He pushed the girl down into the duff.

"See this? See it?" He pulled his penis out and waved it in front of her. "You wanted this a minute ago. You're going to get it, now. In the ass, where you and fucking comrades deserve it. In the fucking ass, slut."

He dropped to his knees behind her, tears welling in his eyes. Sobbing, he shouted and stabbed at her anus with his limp penis.

"Take that, you bitch. Feel it." Again and again he pounded against her buttocks, but his penis wouldn't stiffen.

Pulling her hair, he snapped her head back and pressed the knife against her throat.

"Suck my cock until it's hard, bitch!" he screamed. "And don't try to bite it or I'll cut your throat." He chomped his teeth and ran his finger across his throat, then pushed her head down and stuffed his prick into her mouth. She didn't open at first and he grabbed her arm and twisted it until she shrieked.

He felt her lips close around it and her gentle suckings draw the staff to life as she sobbed and looked up at him, her eyes pleading, afraid. The dong was hard now, and he pulled it out and pushed her face into the dirt as he moved around her and lifted her buttocks into the air.

Spitting on his hands, he wetted the head of his cock and lunged into her ass, making her cry in pain as he viciously thrust forward, sinking the shaft to the hilt. His hands crept under her and grabbed a breast, squeezing it so hard she cried out again and beat the ground with her fists.

He jabbed into her and took his knife in his left hand. Pressing the point against her back, he slid it down and watched the razor line fill with blood as the blade sliced her skin.

She screamed and he picked a handful of dirt and rubbed it into the wound.

"Scum. You rotten scum!" His voice shook as he moved in a steady rocking motion, driving the tool deep into the squishy, ravaged tissues of her bowels. He felt the semen rising up from his balls, thundering through the small, expanding tubes, spurting deep into her ass.

She moaned and whimpered, her face resting on the dirt, her hands clenching dead leaves and twigs. As the last ounce of spunk shot into her, Allen Farrow pressed the knife against the girl's throat and drew it across her throat like a bow across a violin. He heard her gurgle and saw the blood spill out onto the earth, seeping into the dry soil as fast as it pooled from the girl's severed veins.

Screaming and throwing the knife away, he ran headlong toward the east.

CHAPTER ONE

His hands roamed over her pouting breasts.

It was a good, soft, comforting feeling. She moaned and stretched her arms out in a "T" and squeezed her eyes shut as he studied and teased his wife's naked body.

The nipples were as he had left them eighteen months ago-turgid, rosy, standing up at the crest of her round, firm mounds like tiny, pink, nailless thumbs. Her throat dipped gently, rising up along her thin, delicate neck to her dainty ears screened with silky, auburn strands of hair.

He leaned down and kissed her soft neck, letting his lips trail down to her breasts where he captured the hard nipple and sucked it eagerly into his thirsty mouth.

"Ummm," she moaned, running her slender fingers through his curly hair. He teased the nipple between his teeth, feeling its hard, marble-like shape roll from one side of him mouth to the other.

"Glad I'm home?" he asked, letting the nipple pop out of his mouth and sliding his rough hand down to her thigh where he stroked the ivory flesh gently.

"Ummmm, yes," she answered dreamily, lolling her head and wrapping her arms around his neck.

She pulled him down and his mouth met hers. At first their lips pressed softly, grazing across each other as their tongues danced playfully at the entrance of their mouths. She pulled him hard to her and his mouth mashed against hers, his tongue wriggling frantically against hers as his fingers stole up and flicked at her vagina. She moaned and sucked on his tongue, drawing the organ deep into her mouth. He stiffened his tongue and felt her lips slide back and forth over it as her hips began to buck against his fingers, driving the digit deep into her box.

He pumped her slowly as they slid across each other's body, her fingernails digging into his back, his hand massaging her left breast as his other hand cradled her neck, pulling her head roughly against his mouth.

She broke the kiss and, panting, nibbled on his ear and let her tongue rim the gentle circular indentions. She nipped on the lobe and lanced her tongue in and out, mocking the pumping action of his finger in her cunt.

"Now," she murmured, sliding her hand down his back to his hirsute ass. She pulled at the firm, muscles of his rear, feeling the coarse, affluent hair stiffen under her smooth palms.

He shifted and slid between her legs, guiding his rigid penis toward her hole. He rested the head in the warm, tight slot as she wrapped her legs slowly around his waist, locking her heels together over his buttocks.

"Welcome home," she cooed, looking up at his broad, handsome face. She closed her eyes as he pushed the shaft into her. Her face twisted slightly as the massive size of his cock-head eased in, spreading the tissues of her vagina to make room for the rest of his seven inches.

"Ohhhh, that's so good," she moaned, twisting her hips slightly and helping him sink in deeper and deeper.

He could feel the warm, pudding-like flesh sucking at the sides of his pole as he eased into her, rocking gently back and forth, feeling the warm wetness send shivers up his spine.

Her slot expanded slowly and he began to rock faster and faster as the dong slipped easily into her. He clutched her buttocks in his strong hands and pulled her up as he drove down, sinking his meat fully into her wriggling loins.

She hadn't forgotten what he liked. She thrashed her hips sideways as he drove into her. Her motions bent his penis and made it rap against the juicy membranes of her vagina walls as she gyrated beneath him.

He pressed his lips on hers and their tongues fenced as he pulled harder and harder at her buttocks, bucking and heaving his hundred-and-eighty-pound frame into her.

Her blue eyes rolled back and he saw the whites shining in the dim light as she whimpered and sank her fingernails painfully into his neck.

Drooling with saliva, he kissed her cheek and pressed his mouth against her ear, tonguing it as she had his. Her hair was wet and matted against her neck and the bed squeaked as he lunged forward, driving the headboard against the wall.

A sharp, warm, exciting sensation rippled through him as he felt his sperm making its way up from his enlarged testicles.

"Screw… screw me, hard… oh… hard… ummph… deep…"

She muttered the words softly as he battered into her, feeling her legs tighten around his waist, her hands squeeze the flesh on his back.

Madly, he drove his engorged cock into her until he felt the stinging sensation of his sperm splashing out into her hot snatch. She cried and her legs stiffened. Her mouth slid across his cheek and her tongue raved at his face as she bucked and cried and thrashed beneath him.

He felt her sag as her cunny spasmed around his sperm-oozing cock. Again and again she flexed the vaginal muscles to drain his slick pole of its last ounce of life-juice.

Limply, he lay his head against hers and rolled onto his side, pulling her with him. They breathed slowly, their hands gently rubbing the other's flesh, their eyes closed in the glowing aftermath of satisfying sex.

"Happy?" Gwen Farrow asked her exhausted husband as they sat sipping the sweet Bombay drinks Allen had made. Gwen wore a diaphanous floor-length gown Allen had bought for her last month in Saigon.

"Fatigued," Allen said, rolling his head against the soft leather recliner and staring appreciatively at his mouth-watering wife. Had he not been sapped of all his strength, he would have scooped her up and taken into the bedroom for another round.

She crossed her legs and he could see her velvet-smooth thighs cover part of her dark, pubic patch. Her rosette nipples poked gently against the sheer material as she raised her arm and drank from the snifter.