Karim al-Zib

Wild in the country book four

CHAPTER ONE

Mark Denning listened patiently to Sid Buchanan's endless diatribe about the symbiosis of business and politics, growing faintly concerned about the way government ran at this level, as he was coming to understand it. Of course, he had never been overly na•ve about it, and knew that considerable influence was peddled and pushed, but he had had no idea how far he would have to go to obtain the help of these people that he needed to get himself elected.

The other man sitting with them at the table in Buchanan's lounge, Khalid al-Mazkum, was a man Mark thought he could never trust no matter how much he wanted to or how hard he tried. His Rolex watch, a piece of jewelry that attracted Mark's unaccustomed eyes again and again, was heavily encrusted with diamonds and gave Mark the definite impression that he was dealing with a man of exceptional economic power and considerable vanity.

"Mark," Sid said after a long dissertation. "I'm disappointed that you didn't bring DesirЋe with you this time."

Mark saw a gleam in Sid's eye and a furtive glance in his direction from al-Mazkum.

"I didn't think it appropriate to bring her along to a meeting like this," Mark responded. "But, I mean, if you want me to bring her with me in the future, I will."

"Please do," Buchanan said. "She has every right to enjoy your successful climb in public life. My wife is usually at every party, no matter how exclusive." Though she never gets in the way of my fun and games, thought Buchanan.

"Yes," said the Arab, in an oily voice. "I've heard such wonderful things about her. That she can even sing and play piano."

"Oh, yes, she does that," Mark said, allowing his pride in her to surface through the lingering resentment and negative feeling he had been harboring and that had seriously afflicted their love life.

"That young woman is a definite asset to you and your career," Sid added.

Mark was forced to agree. He loved her still, he knew that, but still and all too often, memories of her lovely figure, mounted by that evil dog and responding to the rape of her pure body surfaced in his thoughts. He knew in his heart that she had been the victim of the act, but he found it too hard to forgive her reacting sensually to the dog's huge, driving cock. Mark shook himself, swearing he would make himself forget it. Yes, when he returned, he would rekindle their love, take her to bed and pleasure her the way no other man – or animal – could. They had always had one thing between them that no other male could share with her – Love. It was fact, pure and simple, and he knew it, felt it. They loved each other and that could never be changed by outside elements.

Yes, he had vented his male energies, again, with Nancy Pace just that morning, before leaving, but that would stop as soon as he and Dez had begun making sweet, beautiful love again. Of course, it wasn't her fault that they weren't having sex every night. It was his reaction to her giving herself to the wild dog Lobo, with the sole purpose of saving his life. Truly, she was innocent of any ill intent, yet he had shunned her solely for being the dog's victim.

But why should he? She was his wife, and the greatest asset he had, breathtakingly beautiful, musically talented, and undeniably intelligent. Sexy, stunning, and barely out of her teens.

Nancy Pace? A lovely teenage girl, quite innocent in her own newly awakened and sexy way. He liked Nancy, loved to fuck her, as she, it seemed, loved him, though the fact remained that she was engaged to marry the black sheriff Clete Anderson. What he found amazing was that he could be so turned on with a girl involved with Clete, so dark-skinned that he looked like he applied black boot polish regularly to keep from getting too pale. Though Nancy had told Mark that she loved him many, many times, he supposed that a young and lonely girl needed someone. And Clete had his qualities, among them his Olympian musculature and an overpowering aura of masculinity, but Mark wondered how young Nancy had wound up with him when there must be some pretty decent, wealthy white men available for a girl as lovely as she.

Clete had never ceased to be a source of irritation to Mark, a constant voice of opposition to every single idea or local ordinance he proposed, so it had given him a certain perverse pleasure to have had sex with the teenager, three times now, behind her fiancЋ's back, and it made him more than a little jealous to think that Nancy would return to Clete and probably have sex with him when he demanded it. It was hard to imagine it. Imagine DesirЋe having sex with someone like Clete! He must have a cock like an elephant!

Buchanan's voice broke through Mark's thoughts. "You are coming to the party tonight, aren't you, Denning? I'm sure we can find some companionship for you."

Mark returned Buchanan's smile thinly. Was the big man suggesting that he be unfaithful to DesirЋe? Occasionally indulging in his clandestine affair with Nancy Pace was one thing. Openly cheating on DesirЋe in front of political associates was quite another thing altogether.

"There was something I wanted to discuss with you concerning what my – our – stance will be concerning illegal aliens," Mark said, changing the subject.

Buchanan said, "We need them, so we've got to oppose any further clampdowns." He glanced at al-Mazkum. "We need the cheaper labor, and it gives us a competitive edge against some of these foreign businesses."

"Well, don't you think that the country's in danger of becoming overrun?"

Buchanan leaned forward and put both hands on the table. "Mark, let me tell you something…"

***

And while Mark, in the utmost sincerity, discussed important political matters with Sid Buchanan, his lovely young bride DesirЋe rode innocently in the back seat of a car on the path to the horrible death her two captors had planned for her. Had she had any idea of what awaited her down the road ahead, she would have been petrified and done anything to escape, for, while DesirЋe was a brave, religious young woman with a noble and selfless heart, she was just as afraid of death as any atheist would be. Yes, she was very brave and would gladly lay down her life for Mark, but that same life was devoted to him and, with things running so coldly between them at the present, she could never feel ready to leave the world without telling him one last time of her love for him.

But for now, she was only mildly apprehensive for herself. It was Mark who had had the accident out here on the road and him only that she was concerned about. Her darling Mark, whom she idolized.

"I'm sorry," DesirЋe said as the car sped over the dirt road toward her rendezvous with death. "But I don't know you two gentlemen."

Sam Quaid turned and with a thin smile, he said, "I'm Jim Smith, and this is Dan Jones. We're Mark's liaison men with the party."

DesirЋe looked from one to the other. "But can't you tell me anything about this accident? I mean, is it serious. Oh, it must be."

Mr. Smith turned his head slightly. "He'll be all right if we get you there in time. Just hold on."

"But haven't you called an ambulance? A doctor?"

"The doctor's with him now, but Mark's asking for you. Needs a blood transfusion."

DesirЋe felt her heart leap to her mouth. Transfusion? Mark was bleeding seriously, and he needed blood. Oh, God, please don't let him die! Her hands went to her face as her eyes flooded with tears and a sob wracked her bosom.

Sam saw her reaction, and in spite of his hard and evil resolve, felt compassion for the innocent young woman. Fuck! Why are we doing this to her? She's got nothing to do with Johnny's death, but we're ripping her up inside for Bill's sake. But fuck me! This was my idea so what am I getting all soft about?

"Don't get too upset, Mrs. Denning," Sam tried to console her. "It might not be that serious."

"But-but… he needs blood!" she sobbed. "He's injured badly."

Sam shut up. If he wasn't careful, he was going to turn her into a hysterical mess before they got her to their provisional slaughterhouse. They wanted to be able to get her inside before she started kicking, screaming, and fighting. Damn, but she was a luscious bitch, with that shapely, warm pair of round tits, those creamy legs, and that smooth, clear voice of hers. He had never heard her sing, but he had heard that it was an experience not to be missed. He still remembered her the first time he had seen her, through the slats in her closet door where they had crouched, hoping to be able to plant some cocaine in her bedroom to give Clete Anderson an excuse to arrest her. His mind went back to the picture of her naked on her bed, masturbating, her dainty fingertips working in the wet gash of her pussy. He recalled the way she had panicked when Johnny had burst out of the closet, followed by him and Billy, how she had squirmed and pleaded for mercy while Johnny tasted her sweet, fragrant pussy with the butterscotch-colored fur, remembered how her tender hole had clasped around Johnny's big, hard cock when he had pushed it wetly into her, the two of them nearly coming to climax before the nasty dog Lobo had bounded into the room and chased the trio of rapists away with his flashing teeth, before himself falling under the spell of her feminine charms and mounting the moaning blonde angel and fucking her silly while Johnny watched through the window.

The funny thing was that DesirЋe didn't seem to recognize either Billy or himself at all, even though she had stared into their faces while they held her open to Johnny's lustful pleasure. And Sam was still wishing he had had his time with her then, those weeks before, because now they were planning to kill her and cut her up into pieces to feed to her black lover Clete, in revenge for his killing Johnny out of jealousy. Jealousy over DesirЋe.

Yes, it was regrettable, but it had to be, for Billy had taken obsessively to Sam's idea of murdering and mutilating this beautiful girl, even though Sam had said it half-jokingly. Regrettable to have to turn this angelically beautiful girl into a lump of rotting meat. But it was useless trying to talk Billy out of killing her. He already had a buyer for the "snuff" film, for which he hoped to make a handsome sum, and his hatred for Clete seemed to have been wholly transferred to DesirЋe as an outlet for his grief over his acne-scarred brother, whom Sam had never really liked anyway.

Shifting his gaze from the weeping blonde girl in the backseat, he looked at the smooth, aquiline profile of his old friend. There was no hope of deterring Billy from his plans to vent in anger on DesirЋe, for the horrible murder of his brother had done something to twist his feverish mind. He was obsessed with Clete and revenge and spoke of little else, except when speaking of DesirЋe as a vehicle for his revenge. There was little doubt that DesirЋe was doomed to breathe her last today in the old, unoccupied Pace mansion where the whole convoluted tale had begun with Nancy Pace's dog rape just a few months previously.

The car sped up in its approach to the Pace house and Billy braked sharply, throwing the car into a little sideways slide as it came to a stop before the veranda.

"He's here?" DesirЋe blurted, unaffected by the incongruity of Mark's being here injured in a car accident with no cars in sight. Throwing open the door, she jumped out, pivoted toward Billy and quickly searched his face with her limpid, blue eyes. "Mr. Jones, is this where he is?"

Billy was getting out, but without waiting for his answer DesirЋe mounted the steps two at a time.

Sam saw Billy turn with a wicked smile and give him a thumbs-up sign, then follow the girl into the old house.

CHAPTER TWO

Priscilla Devereaux sat morosely in the hospital, her wrists strapped to the bed. Things had become worse since her coming here, under Dr. Hemmings' care two days ago. She had required special surgery for an anal and a perineal tear after the dogs that had raped her had torn their swollen penile lock-knots from her tender orifices, and she had needed a pint of blood to replace what she had lost that day when they had brutally degraded her at the same time as she wallowed passionately in her own wastes in the dust near the Pace mansion. The humiliation she had undergone had thrown her into a state a depression and anger, but her father had vowed to see the evil animals exterminated, increasing the reward to fifty thousand dollars per head.

The final insult had been the mysterious appearance of the video tape in her bedside drawer. She had found it yesterday, after Hemmings had left after examining her, and the note that accompanied it, giving dire warnings about any further attempts to blackmail DesirЋe Denning. She had secretly viewed the tape on the video machine supplied with her private room and promptly gone into fits of anger.

The tape, graphically photographed and well edited showed her in the most degrading position she could imagine, from the time she had of necessity voided her bowels to her seduction and abasement beneath the pounding thrusts of three big, savage German Shepherd dogs! She, Priscilla, the world's most scheming manipulator, had been set up! Obviously, it had been DesirЋe, grown crafty beyond former experience, and now the older girl understood. DesirЋe was the leader of the dog pack. The dog-fucking bitch was controlling them with her nasty pussy. It had been she, DesirЋe, who had arranged for Priscilla to be lured to that remote spot and systematically assaulted. The video tape was ammunition against Priscilla's own designs to shame DesirЋe and alienate the two newlyweds.

She had raged around her private hospital room, breaking everything in sight, until orderlies came to subdue her, and in her fury she had kicked, scratched and bitten until a doctor had run in with a hypodermic to calm her. They had strapped her to the bed and this morning a psychiatrist had been in to talk to her. Still unsatisfied that she was no danger to herself, he had kept her on sedatives with arms and legs immobilized.

Priscilla still wanted Mark Denning back now more than ever, and more than ever hated DesirЋe for coming between her and the man she wanted and deserved. The auburn-haired girl now understood what had to happen. The only way to protect herself from DesirЋe's blackmail was to see the young woman permanently out of the way, and soon. So the spoiled and scheming Priscilla Devereaux resolved to bide her time for another day quietly, until they removed the straps and sent her home.

How would she do it? Arrange a car accident? Poison? Yes, that sounded good. Arsenic, so the little singing bitch would die puking her guts out. Or maybe just a gun? That was a pretty awful death in itself, Priscilla knew, much worse than any depiction in any movie she had seen. She would have time to decide this afternoon, while she waited for these idiots to remove her bindings.

***

While his erstwhile lover mentally plotted to murder his lovely, loving young bride, Mark Denning was finishing his meeting with Buchanan and Mr. al-Mazkum. The afternoon had been an education in practical politics, and not a pleasant one at that. Mark found himself faced with the necessity of gross conflicts of interest and dishonesty if he were to ever become elected to office through the influence of Buchanan and his many powerful business cohorts. It was amazing the power, all silent and under the table, that these men wielded in the government of his country, even to foreigners like the sinister al-Mazkum, whose dark, smokey eyes hid much more than his words could ever reveal. Mark was beginning to feel soiled by all the covert and immoral activities he saw rising around himself on the front of state politics.

He was beginning to yearn for the company of DesirЋe, who was pure and decent except for one momentary lapse of self-control that night not so long distant when she had surrendered to the plundering penis of the predatory dog Lobo. DesirЋe was a gem and not to be deprecated. He must forgive her for what had happened, just as she had forgiven him for letting it happen to her. Yes, it had happened to her and she had been the victim and he must put the lurid image of her dog-mounted nakedness out of his mind, force it out, and purge it from his memory.

Buchanan had requested quite insistently that she be present at tomorrow night's party here at the mansion. It would be their chance, his and DesirЋe's, to rekindle their love and their physical intimacy. As he thought of her rosy, perfect nudity, he felt himself becoming aroused at the thought of thrusting his penis into her loving, tight vagina and reinitiating their attempts to have a child, which would bring them together like nothing else ever could. The thought of sending his millions of sperm up into her womb to invade and unite with an ovum to produce their son – or daughter as the case might be – filled him with a strange heat. He thought of her lovely, trim body swelling with the robust bloom of pregnancy until the two of them would become three, a family, and somehow, a power in the world of government – the three of them together. Until they were four, five, and six.

He thought of it. Six children, perhaps? Seven? Eight? Though the possibilities were not quite endless, the joy of it would be. Fortunately, even the powerful Lobo's seed could not do to her what his, Mark's, could.

Yes, they had a life to build together, Mark thought, and it was high time they got to work building.

He would call her tonight.

***

Less than an hour earlier, when DesirЋe had left Tanya and Robyn in panic-stricken haste, the latter had turned to the older girl with wide eyes filled with concern. Her best friend had departed without explanation but in obvious distress, and the teenager felt an answering anxiety. DesirЋe had always been the kindest and most unselfish girl she had ever known, had never done her the slightest harm, and it upset Robyn to think that her friend might be experiencing some pain or hardship.

"What was that about?" she asked Tanya, who sat quietly gazing at the door that had just slammed shut. When the older girl merely shrugged, Robyn came back reprovingly, "Tanya, aren't you worried about DesirЋe? Didn't you see the state she was in?"

Tanya nodded. "Yes, I did, but she didn't let us in on it. What could it be, do you think?"

"Family," said Robyn. "Mark or her parents. They're in Europe, aren't they? Some accident, possibly? What else could it be? A loved one. Nothing else would make her act like that."

"Well, if it were her parents would they have called her here instead of at her own home. She doesn't live here anymore, you know."

Robyn nodded. "Then it must have been Mark. But what?"

Tanya thought a while, then smiled. "Well, I wouldn't want to intrude in their private matters, but she and Mark have been having a hard time. He's gone cold on her and he must have just called up and bawled her out for something. I wouldn't worry about it. Everybody's got their problems in a marriage. I've had mine too."

"Really? Then you don't think it's anything I should worry about?"

"Robs, darling, from what you told me about you and your uncle, you've got enough problems of your own. Frankly, I don't think that screwing your uncle a few times is anything to write home about one way or the other, but I can see it's affected you pretty deeply."

The younger girl's eyes clouded with sorrow. Tanya looked at the striking young brunette teenager with the lithe, mature body. Her hair coloring was darker than DesirЋe's but her beauty rivaled that of the blonde. Together they looked like two heroines of a hit TV show, equally beautiful each in her own way. Robyn was slightly slimmer, though DesirЋe could never be called plump or even buxom, though definitely large-breasted. DesirЋe fair, blue-eyed, and angelic, Robyn chocolatey-haired, trim-hipped, and lithe, with a dancer's grace, for a dancer she was. DesirЋe with the straight nose and patrician features, Robyn with the small, pixie-like nose, wide, greenish eyes, understated dimples in the chin and rosy cheeks. Both girls radiating demure sexuality and prudishness, they would never sink to the moral depth that Tanya felt she herself had reached owing to her emotional deprivation of the last month and the experiences she had had – still secretly – with Liz Clark's wild pets, the dog-pack her husband Rodney seemed obsessed with exposing.

It was true that Tanya had ample reason to be unhappy. Rodney was a not-very-successful freelance writer hoping to win a Pulitzer with the shocking story of the marauding pack of woman-raping dogs terrorizing this affluent, Midwestern farm community. But his devotion to this literary dream of the prize had seriously taxed their resources. He had let many things go back at home, the bill collectors were getting nasty, and they had no resources left at all to get payments and obligations up to date. If Rodney didn't turn something over soon, they would be out on the street with only themselves to blame.

Of course, Tanya had no intention at all of helping him in his quest to find the animals that pleasured her lonely body and soul almost daily. She had lost track of how many times she had been mounted and brought to orgasm by the savagely-rutting animals. Most of all, she loved Lobo's technique, but Bruno, his giant offspring with his mammoth penis was special himself, with a member surpassing in size even that of his father, which was huge by all human – or canine – standards.

So the pressures of her young existence had brought Tanya to a critical stage in her life, where her baser instincts had conquered those more refined and left her with a comforting, hedonistic streak that threatened to overshadow her generally sympathetic and loyal personality. She was now drinking a lot, enjoying sensual afternoons of lesbian indulgence with Liz Clark, and going mad beneath the pounding loins of the animals that the older woman had trained for the purpose.

It was a terrible, tangled web! Rodney had learned to neglect his wife while searching for the dogs his wife had taken to fucking out of loneliness, and at the same time he was getting frequent thrills in heterosexual couplings with the dogs' trainer, Liz Clark, with whom his wife was having a secret homosexual affair. Had either the husband or wife known the truth of the convoluted circumstances surrounding their existence, he or she would have been astounded. But still, both of them were protected by ignorance of the full picture.

There was no doubt that the rot was setting in all over Pickford's Meadows. Even the pristine little Robyn Young was having an affair, albeit reluctantly, with her own uncle, and Tanya knew for a fact that Liz's dogs had had their way with several of the town women, having scared the life out of Agatha Proctor but only after already making use of her homely, red-haired and freckly seventeen-year-old daughter.

Yes, Robyn, and here you sit, you lovely little piece of pink fluff.

"Let's save our worries about Dez until we know it's all for real," Tanya said to the teenage brunette with the silky fall of chocolate hair. "Just relax and pour it out to me. I'm here to talk to, Robs, and I'm the understanding type."

Robyn smiled gratefully, toying with the empty wine glass. She had drunk already far more than during any past experiment with alcohol in her life. She felt relaxed, and the distress she had been feeling about her three sex sessions with Uncle Jim was melting away in the company of her new friend Tanya.

Robyn felt a tear of gratitude burning her eye and she dabbed at it, smiling shyly. "You're so nice, Tanya."

The older girl smiled back and touched the back of Robyn's hand where in rested on her skirt, on the firm and shapely thigh that was beginning to attract the emotionally twisted desires that she had developed in her afternoon orgies with Liz Clark and the dogs. She found she was drawn by firm, young, and healthy flesh, regardless of the sex or species. Robyn was ravishingly lovely and, in spite of her admitted couplings with her uncle, endearingly innocent. But she could be led, for her dear Uncle Jim had led her three times into lustful indulgence.

Tanya pressed Robyn's hand warmly. "Come on, tell me about it. Tell me about the first time with him. From the beginning."

The teenage brunette looked at the other dark-haired girl, finding warmth and, more than that, a fire in her eyes.

"I… I took a horse, to catch up with Priscilla, when she rode out in a hurry. I wanted to… go with her," Robyn continued haltingly. "The horse got spooked, saw something, it looked like a wolf, I think, and ran… ran away with me. Toward a cliff. I knew I was going to die, I was so scared, and I lost control. Wet myself. It was so embarrassing. All down my legs, my jeans – Yuck!"

Tanya was smiling, chuckling, but without ridicule. "Go on."