0 comments/ 86290 views/ 8 favorites Desert Encounter By: CookieMonster Amy squirmed uncomfortably behind the wheel of the Jeep Cherokee. She was barreling down Interstate 8 through the Arizona desert, headed west towards San Diego, about half an hour out of the little town of Gila Bend just north of the Mexican border. Mile after mile after mile of desolate desert, with sparse patches of scorched scrub, prickly pear cactus and the occasional sorry-looking saguaro, flashed by on either side of the road. Her problem was that she needed to find a bathroom. Desperately. She clenched her thighs together and glanced at the odometer: even if she pushed it to 10 miles or so over the speed limit -- the fastest she dared to go -- it'd be at least an hour before she came to Yuma, where she could run into a McDonald's. Turning around and going back to Gila Bend would be quicker -- about half an hour -- but there was no way she'd be able to hold on that long. The one rest stop she'd passed, a little after Gila Bend, had been closed for repairs. She'd considered stopping on the side of the roadway and peeing in the desert, but there were no bushes or trees to hide behind; and there was just enough traffic on the freeway that she'd surely be seen if she just went and squatted by the roadside. And Amy was much too modest to even dream of letting some total stranger see her relieving herself shamelessly by the side of the road, with her naked butt exposed for all to see! Amy Waldron had been brought up in a strict Methodist family in Tucson, Arizona. She was extraordinarily pretty, with an angelic face framed by thick silky dark blonde hair that fell straight to her shoulders, with wide blue innocent eyes, a pert nose, and sensuous red lips that cried out to be kissed. Her body was trim and athletic, conditioned by years of regular tennis and swimming, with full breasts and hips, a narrow waist, long slim legs, and an ass that turned a lot of male heads. She had graduated from the University of Arizona a couple of years ago with a degree in Communications, and had chosen to stay on in Tucson -- taking a job at an advertising firm in town -- because of a guy she had been romantically involved with at the time, even though she was aware that she could probably have landed a modeling job in LA or New York if she'd tried. Part of the reason was that she was a deeply moral person, almost to the point of being a prude: the thought of having to stand before the cameras in skimpy costumes, or expose her breasts or pose naked, filled her with revulsion. Her boyfriend -- the only one she'd had, she hadn't been big on dating in college -- had gotten her to loosen her up somewhat, and she had learned to enjoy pretty clothes and sexy lingerie. But that relationship had ended a month ago, mostly because he thought she wasn't putting out enough while Amy felt found sex mildly distasteful: at best, something to be tolerated on occasion. She couldn't understand how people could find all that sweaty humping and grunting and moaning -- that ridiculous motion of the buttocks -- to be enjoyable. So now she was single and unattached again, which was just fine by her, and focused all her attention on her job. "Damned coffees!" Amy swore under her breath. She'd been up until long past midnight the night before, trying to finish up some last-minute work for a new ad campaign for an important client. It turned out that they urgently needed to get a bunch of artwork for the campaign -- stuff that couldn't be faxed -- to the client, who was based in San Diego. When she'd called it quits last night, Mike, a senior vice president at the firm, had asked if she'd help out by driving to San Diego today to deliver the materials. She couldn't possibly have refused: Mike was notorious as a hardass, and if he thought she wasn't a team player, her career at the firm was dead. So there she'd been at six this morning, all bleary eyed and feeling like shit, at the office to pick up the material and load it into the back of her red Cherokee. She'd thrown a big blanket over it, so it wouldn't get blown around if she decided to drive with the window open, before heading west. She had downed a big mug of strong black coffee before leaving her apartment, and another at the office before setting out, just so she wouldn't nod off on the freeway. And now she was paying the price. She'd given up a while ago on holding it until she got to Yuma -- now, she'd gratefully take a rest stop, a truck stop, whatever: anything with a bathroom. But -- this was just her crappy luck -- there didn't seem to be anything out here, just open desert. She was getting increasingly desperate now, to the point of being prepared to abandon all modesty and do it by the roadside, when she saw an exit coming up. It was some obscure road cutting through the desert, with no sign of life that she could see. She gratefully pulled off the freeway onto the exit ramp, on a whim turning left at its end onto the deserted two-lane ribbon of asphalt: the road was empty to the heat-shimmering horizon on either side, and she figured that a five-minute drive should take her far enough from the highway to be free from prying eyes as she did her business. And this time her luck seemed to finally have turned: after a couple of minutes of driving she spotted a big pile of boulders off to the right of the road... they'd offer her some privacy should anyone choose just that moment to come down the road, unlikely though that seemed. Amy pulled onto what passed for the shoulder, killed the engine, frantically wrenched the door of the car open, and jumped out and headed for the pile of rocks. She was this close to losing it now, but she couldn't possibly show up for a meeting with a client with a big stain on the seat of her suit skirt, so she gritted her teeth and headed for the rocks, twenty yards or so away, as fast as she could. The ground was stony and uneven, and her high-heeled pumps -- de rigeur attire at her firm -- didn't make it easy to get there, but she somehow made it. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps with the effort of holding her pee when she rounded the first of the boulders, hitched up her skirt around her waist, desperately shoved her panties down to her knees, and squatted down. She'd put on thigh-high stockings instead of pantyhose this morning -- mostly because pantyhose made her crotch sweaty and itchy in the heat, though she admitted that the stockings made her secretly feel feminine and attractive -- so thankfully that was one less piece of clothing that she had to deal with just then. And then, closing her eyes with a sigh and letting bliss flood over her, she finally let the floodgates open. She was almost done when she heard the crunch of running feet. She wasn't alone after all. * * * The two of them -- Manuel Ortega and his brother Pedro -- had been trekking in the desert all night. They had started out from Hermosillo, in Mexico, five days ago, after paying a "coyote," a people smuggler, all their life savings -- some ten thousand dollars -- to get them across the border. They had headed north towards Nogales, but had been forced to turn west because of the stepped-up activities of the Norteamericano Border Patrol near Nogales. Last night the coyote had finally gotten them across the border, but had broken his word and abandoned them after that. They were lost in the desert, with no maps and only a little water, and only a vague notion of which way they needed to go. They had come to the road early that morning, heard the faint sound of traffic on the highway to the north, and decided that it would be too risky to try to make it to the highway during daylight. Instead, they decided to hide in the shade of the boulders that day and then try to follow the highway to a town that night. The desert lay still under the hot morning sun, the lazy swirling of a distant dust devil the only movement to be seen, silent save for the occasional scrabbling of lizards amongst the rocks and the distant hum of traffic on the highway. Manuel and Pedro were dozing fitfully, lying uncomfortably on the rough ground, when they were startled awake by the sound of an approaching automobile. They watched the Cherokee approach with increasing apprehension: when it pulled off the road and came to a stop near them, their first thought was that the Americanos had somehow found out where they were. "Madre Dios!" Pedro had moaned in despair. "How could they know where we are?" Manuel had shushed him, and they had lain still and low and watched the car through slitted eyes. On closer inspection, it looked like there was only one person in the car, a woman, though they couldn't imagine what she might want out here in the middle of nowhere. The woman got out of the car and headed towards them. She had blonde hair that fell straight to her shoulders and bounced lightly as she walked, a simple sleeveless blue blouse stretched tight across good-sized breasts, a navy blue skirt that came to her knees, and black high-heeled shoes, like those on the rich girls in Hermosillo, on long, slim, shapely legs covered by dark nylons. She had a look of intense discomfort on her face as she half ran, half limped towards them. Except for a couple of quick glances towards the rocks she kept her eyes down as she hobbled towards them, and Manuel figured she was watching where she stepped on the rough ground so she didn't trip in her high heels and fall. She disappeared for a moment as she went around a big boulder, then reappeared on the other side -- barely ten feet from them, though they were well hidden in the shadows behind a pile of smaller rocks and some scrub bush and creosote -- and pulled up her skirt. The tops of her black stockings came into view, about two-thirds of the way up her thighs, with a band of smooth creamy skin above it, and then skimpy little black bikini panties covering her mound. Manuel's breath caught as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and pushed them down hurriedly -- almost frantically -- revealing a neatly trimmed triangle of brown pubic hair. Then, completely unaware of their staring eyes, she sat down and, with an audible sigh of pleasure, started to pee. Her eyes were closed, the discomfort on her face replaced by something close to ecstacy, as a stream of water erupted from her and hissed onto the parched soil. Manuel held his breath and watched her with wide eyes. He had never seen anyone as pretty as this smartly dressed golden-haired gringa. She was young -- he figured she was maybe twenty-five -- her skin was fair, and -- unlike the girls he knew in Hermosillo, who all had thick thatches of coarse black hair "down there" -- when she pulled her tiny panties down her private parts were clean and smooth, except for a trim little triangle of brown curls above her slit. She was completely exposed to him: he could see quite clearly the delicate pink inner lips of her pussy and the little fold of skin at the top covering her clitoris. He had always been partial to fair-skinned women -- maybe because all the pretty, rich, unattainable girls in his town, who didn't have to work with their hands in the fields and who'd looked down at common folk like him with disdain, had been fair, while the girls from the barrios were dark from laboring under the sun. So, despite his exhaustion, he felt his cock begin to harden at the sight of this pretty woman's naked pussy displayed so openly to him. As he stared at her, inspiration struck: if they could get the gringa's car, they'd be able to get out of the desert and find their way to a big city in no time, instead of having to painfully plod their way through the desert. For that, though, they'd have to first get the girl. The gringa still wasn't done peeing, though her stream was weakening. Manuel gestured towards her to Pedro and mimed the outlines of his idea. Pedro nodded, and they slowly straightened from where they were lying into a crouched position, then burst out together from behind the rocks and bushes and ran at her as fast as they could. * * * Amy heard the running footsteps, opened her eyes and looked up, and froze in panic. Two dark scruffy men were running towards her -- were almost on top of her! After what seemed an eternity, her body finally responded, and she leaped up and turned to run. Things were happening in slow motion now. In one isolated corner of her mind, she felt a dribble of warm liquid on the calf of one leg and realized, with an incongruous sense of regret, that she hadn't quite finished emptying herself. Meanwhile her brain tried to propel her away from her assailants ... the Cherokee wasn't too far from where she was, maybe a couple of dozen strides away, and if she could make it there ahead of these men she'd be OK. Out of the corner of her eye, as she began launching herself away from them, she noticed the closest of the men maybe six feet behind her. There were no coherent thoughts in her head any more, just a refrain of "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit..." And as she began her run, on her very first step, she came crashing down, completely unexpectedly, without any warning whatsoever. She grunted from the force of the fall, which knocked the wind from her. She barely had time to reflexively twist to one side so that the side of her shoulder took the force of the fall rather than her face. Her sunglasses, which she had pushed to the top of her head as she got out of the car, skittered across the hard ground and fetched up against a rock. She rolled limply onto her back, her vision dimming and blurring momentarily from the force of the impact. Then she looked up and finally saw, clearly, the men who had surprised her. They were big men, unwashed, disheveled and scruffy, their faces drawn from fatigue. Both had big shaggy mustaches, and one had a long pale scar that slashed across one cheek. They were standing over her, staring fascinated down towards her middle. Realization came to her with a sickening flash: why she had fallen, why these vermin were staring at her crotch. Her skirt was still bunched up around her waist, her panties still down around her knees, where she'd lowered them when she'd squatted. In her panic she'd forgotten all about them, forgotten to pull them up before she began to run, and had tripped on them and fallen. And because of that one little mistake she was sprawled helplessly on the ground, her most intimate parts exposed in the bright sunlight for these men to drool at. She cringed with shame and humiliation as she tried to cover herself and get back onto her feet. And then one of the men brought out a knife. * * * Manuel looked at the girl lying on the ground before him. She was tugging at her skirt and struggling to get up at the same time. Her little black panties, which she had pushed down to just above her knees when she had initially squatted down, had now slid down to her ankles. Her knees fell open for a moment as she tried to sit up, inadvertantly giving him another glimpse of her beautiful smooth-shaven pussy. His cock, which had begun to soften a little in the adrenaline-pumped rush from their hiding place behind the rocks, stiffened immediately, straining uncomfortably at the crotch of his pants. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see that Pedro had seen the same thing and seemed to be having a similar reaction. Manuel pulled out the short folding knife he'd brought with him from his pocket and flipped it open, just so the girl didn't do anything stupid, and gestured to Pedro, who took a couple of quick steps to a spot right behind her. She had managed to sit up by now, and was beginning to scramble to her feet, when she saw the knife. She gasped and her eyes bugged out, even though the knife wasn't very big, and froze in mid-motion. Pedro reached down, grabbed the back of her blouse at the collar, and jerked her to her feet. She gave a soft whimper of fear and pain as she was brought to a standing position, then stood there trembling, her arms limp by her sides, her eyes riveted on the knife in Manuel's hand. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Manuel looked at her for a moment, as if trying to decide what to do next, while Amy stood there paralyzed with fear, her panties lying limp around her ankles, with Pedro holding onto the back of her blouse. Then he handed the knife to Pedro, dropped to one knee, reached out and took one of her shapely nylon-covered ankles in his hands. He lifted her foot up gently and eased her panties off over her high heels, repeated this for the other leg, and stood back up with the flimsy black panties in his hand. Amy was utterly mortified. She had never felt so terrified and vulnerable in her life, standing helpless in the middle of nowhere, with only the skirt of her suit covering the nakedness of her pussy from the greedy eyes of her assailants. As if reading her mind, Manuel, grinning lecherously, reached down and flipped her skirt up to her waist. Amy was horrified ... had these filthy wretches no decency at all? Reflexively, she jerked her hands forward to cover herself and protect what modesty and dignity she could. Pedro's reaction to her sudden movement was just as reflexive: in a flash he jerked the knife up to her throat, its point just touching her soft white skin. Amy froze again, tears coming to her eyes as she began to realize how completely helpless she was. "P-p-please don't hurt me," Amy pleaded in a soft, terrified whisper. "Please. Please let me go. I'll give you all the money I have..." Her voice tailed off as she felt the point of the knife on the skin of her throat. Manuel's face was just inches from hers now, and she could smell him, a raw unwashed smell of tobacco and stale sweat. She looked into his hard eyes but saw no trace of mercy there. They looked at each other in silence for a moment that seemed to stretch to eternity. Then Manuel glanced over to Pedro and said, in Spanish, "Hold her for me." Pedro handed the knife back to Manuel in response, grabbed Amy's arms at her elbows and brutally pinned them behind her back, drawing a whimper of pain from her. Manuel, who had been standing in front of her holding her panties and leering at her, reached out towards her skirt again. Amy struggled frantically, knowing what he wanted to do. But Pedro was much too strong for her, and he held her with her arms pinned behind her, unable to do anything to defend herself. Then, unexpectedly, Manuel abruptly pulled his hand away, shook his head and muttered something under his breath to Pedro. Then -- to Amy's immense surprise and relief -- he ran over to the Cherokee, circling it, peeking into its windows. All of a sudden he let out a whoop, opened the back of the SUV, and started rooting around inside; a few moments later he was back with the big blanket she had thrown over the boxes of artwork. He spread it carefully in the shade of the biggest boulder, out of sight of the road, then nodded to Pedro, who marched Amy over towards the blanket. Amy struggled desperately to free herself, knowing full well what these depraved monsters intended, but no matter what she did she was unable to break Pedro's iron grip. Walking on the rough ground was hard in her high heels, with her hands pinned behind her and being pushed and shoved along, and she stumbled a few times, but Pedro never lost his grip on her. A couple of minutes later she was standing at the edge of the blanket, panting from fear, her pretty face flushed from her exertions, still very much in Pedro's firm grip. Her fast breathing, almost hyperventilating, made her breasts rise and fall very prettily, and Manuel's eyes were locked on her heaving chest. He was approaching the edge of a precipice of lust now... He grabbed the front of her blouse with both hands and yanked hard, popping the delicate little buttons off and tearing the blouse all the way down the front with a sharp ripping sound that seemed very loud in the silence of the desert. Amy yelped with surprise at this unexpected assault on her modesty, but with both arms pinned behind her back there was very little she could do about it. He then grabbed the torn blouse at each shoulder and pulled down hard, causing it to rip down the back as well, the tattered garment coming flying off in his hands in shreds. The proud mounds of her breasts were now exposed to her assailants, scarcely concealed by the lacy cups of her flimsy black bra. Desert Encounter Manuel couldn't take his eyes off Amy's ripe young breasts, barely covered by her skimpy bra. The outlines of her areolas were visible through the flimsy semi-transparent fabric. His cock was so hard it hurt. He folded his knife and put it back into his pocket, then reached out slowly toward her breasts. Amy flinched away at the touch of his rough, calloused hands. "No," she whispered pleadingly, "please, no..." Manuel didn't seem to hear: all of his attention was focused on the soft mounds of flesh under his hands. He had never, in his life, had a woman who felt like this. He squeezed her breasts gently, kneading and savoring their soft yielding fullness, his thumbs moving over the slight protrusion of her nipples in lazy circles, causing them to slowly come erect. Then he sighed once, deeply, pulled out his knife, and began cutting off the straps of her bra. Amy gave a muffled sob and hung her head in shame and mortification, her silky hair hanging down over her face like a golden veil. The knife wasn't very sharp, and Manuel sawed at the strap for what seemed like hours before it finally parted. As her firm young breast settled slightly, almost imperceptibly on that side, Manuel moved on to the other strap. In utter despair, Amy closed her eyes and prayed that this was just a bad dream. Once the bra straps were cut, Manuel put his knife away, reached behind her, and began to unhook the bra. Amy stiffened immediately at the touch of his hand -- it was all too clear to her what he was about to do -- but she was powerless to prevent it. She felt the slight lessening of pressure on her breasts as the hook came undone and the bra cups loosened. Her bra now hung loosely over the proud thrust of her breasts, held in place only by the pressure of her arms against her side. Amy hardly dared breathe, terrified that even her slightest movement might cause them to fall away and deprive her of whatever little covering and modesty they provided. Manuel paused for a moment and regarded Amy as she stood semi-naked before him, a captive angel. Then he gently slipped his hands under the loosened cups of her bra and slowly pulled it away. Amy's beautiful firm white breasts, crowned by the brownish-pink circle of her defiantly erect nipples, were now naked in the bright desert sun, exposed for all the world to see. A slight breeze stirred her golden hair for a moment, then died away. Somewhere in the distance a cactus wren chirped discordantly. Then the desert was silent again. Manuel, who had been unconsciously holding his breath, let it out with a sigh. The harsh realities of the desert were now forgotten, the entire focus of his world centered on this goddess who stood before him, helpless and almost naked, her hands pinned behind her back. He reached down and caressed her nylon-clad legs where her prim little skirt ended just above her knees. A few minutes ago he had slipped her little black panties off over the sexy black high heels on her feet, and he knew that she didn't have anything else on underneath her skirt. If he'd wanted, he could have ripped off that one last remaining covering on her body, but he wanted to prolong every moment, relishing the almost-unbearable pleasure of anticipation. His hands traveled upward slowly, the fingertips caressing the silky smoothness of her stockings. Amy pressed her thighs together in a desperate attempt to keep his hands from the smooth sensitive skin of her inner thighs and the soft folds of her most private parts. Manuel smiled inwardly -- he could very easily have had the gringa lying on her back in a flash, with her legs spread open and his cock pounding into her pretty little cunt -- but there was no need to hurry. His hands slowly traveled up her legs until they came to the elastic bands at the top of her stockings. They lingered there for a moment, caressing the smooth soft skin of her legs where they met the edge of the stockings. He reached behind her, cupping the shapely curves of her butt cheeks and gently squeezing the firm flesh. A finger slid inquisitively into the crack of her butt, drawing a startled gasp from Amy and an involuntary clenching of her ass cheeks. Manuel smiled: there'd be plenty of time for that later, too. His hands slid higher, to her waist, drawing her skirt up with them and bringing into view first the pretty embroidered tops of her stockings, then the creamy white flesh of her thighs above them, and finally the neatly trimmed brown triangle of her bush above her shaved pussy. Manuel's breath caught in his throat, his hands pausing as he took in the sight. Then, all of a sudden, as if some dam of patience had finally burst, he ran his hand along the waistband of her skirt until they found the little zipper at the back, unzipped the skirt in one quick motion, and pulled down on it. The skirt slid down to her feet with a slight rustle, leaving Amy standing completely naked, except for her stockings and high heels, in front of her captors. Amy was utterly mortified! The thought of complete strangers -- uncouth dirty filthy smelly ones at that -- insolently ogling her tits and ass and pussy like this was almost more than she could bear. She could see the bulges in the crotch of their pants, and could imagine what dirty thoughts they must be thinking. Even Steve -- the one real boyfriend she'd had -- hadn't been allowed to stare at her naked body like that! On the occasions when they'd made love, she had made sure that the lights had been turned out before disrobing... he'd complained about that, but she'd told him that if he loved her he had to learn to respect her modesty! And now that treasured modesty was reduced to a skirt lying puddled around her feet, her private parts on open display to the lustful leering gaze of total strangers! She looked down at the ground and bit her lips to keep from bursting into tears at the shame and humiliation of it all, hardly able to believe what these men were about to do to her. Her eyes welling with tears, she looked pleadingly at Manuel, and in a soft voice cracking with fear, whispered, "Please... please don't do this to me..." But there was no mercy to be had from him. Manuel swiftly strode behind her and grabbed her arms, and Pedro moved in front of her, where Manuel had been a moment ago. Then Manuel let go her arms and, before she could do anything, grabbed her shoulders and pushed down hard, forcing her to her knees. At the same time Pedro dropped to his knees down in front of her, grabbed the back of her neck and pulled down, bending her over at the waist and forcing her to catch her balance with her arms. She was now kneeling on her hands and knees, the soft white smoothness of her unwilling ass sticking out invitingly towards Manuel, her tits hanging down like ripe fruit ready for the picking. Her face was only inches from Pedro's crotch now, and she could smell his raw animal smell, see the large tenting bulge in his jeans. Gritting her teeth, she clenched her thighs together desperately, with all her strength, hoping against hope that this one effort would fend off her attackers. But Manuel effortlessly thrust his hands between her knees and pushed outwards, easily overwhelming the strength of her legs and causing them to open, leaving her feet shoulder-width apart, her ass sticking out in an obscene invitation, the soft folds of her womanhood helplessly exposed. Pedro saw Manuel force open the gringa's legs. From where he was kneeling in front of the girl, he could see the heart-shaped curves of her ass, see her beautiful long legs in the sexy black stockings and high heels. He could imagine what she must look and feel like down there, spread wide open and ready to be taken whether she liked it or not... the thought made his already hard dick throb. Her face was right in front of his crotch, partly obscured by her cascading silky golden hair... In a frenzy of lust, he grabbed Amy's dangling breasts, pulling and kneading the soft yielding flesh, rolling the stiff rubbery pink nipples between his thumb and fingers, pulling on them, squeezing her breasts, until Amy whimpered with pain. Then, unable to hold back any longer, he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and hurriedly pushed them down. Freed from its confines, his erect penis popped out into the warm desert air, bobbing up and down a couple of times. A small string of clear liquid ran from the tip of his cock to his undies, stretching thinner and thinner until it broke into a tiny dangling pearl of fluid. Manuel ran his hands over the creamy smoothness of Amy's ass while all this was happening, exploring, squeezing gently and marveling at its soft firmness. He ducked a hand between her legs and ran his fingers through the neatly trimmed little thatch of hair above her pussy, then drew it back, lightly tracing the smooth outline of her shaved pussy lips. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined that someone as gorgeous as this gringa would be before him like this, completely at his mercy, to do with as he pleased. He caressed her ass cheeks gently, enjoying the sensuality the silky soft smoothness of her skin. He pressed outwards slightly, gazing at the little puckered hole of her anus, intrigued by its clean hairless beauty. The women he'd had before this -- there hadn't been all that many of them -- had all had thick mats of coarse dark hair covering their nether regions, and the unfamiliar elegant beauty of the smooth hairless pussy and asshole of this golden-haired gringa was stunningly arousing by its very contrast. Mesmerized, Manuel traced a finger lightly, wonderingly, across Amy's asshole, delicately probing the little opening. Amy gave a shocked gasp at this unexpected intrusion into her asshole. God! what uncivilized filthy perverts! Even Steve -- until recently her boyfriend -- had been careful to stay away from her asshole after the first and only time he'd tried to stick his dick in there, and she'd freaked out and threatened to do a Lorena Bobbit on him. She clenched her anal sphincter as hard as she could to try and keep him out. Her unexpectedly vigorous response broke the trance that Manuel seemed to be in. Surprised and amused by her defiant reaction, and at the same time highly aroused by it, he drew back his hands, hurriedly unbuttoned his pants and pulled the zipper down, then pushed aside his undies. His large rock-hard cock popped out immediately, its bulbous purplish tip oozing a tiny anticipatory dribble of fluid. Amy looked up at the sound of the zipper, loud in the silence of the desert. Through the hair hanging down into her eyes, she saw Pedro's cock sticking out at her a few inches from her face, hard, implacable, mindless beyond its own limited purpose. Revulsion swept through her as she gazed at the thick dark veiny shaft capped by the large blotched swollen head that seemed to seek her out blindly, cyclops-like, his testicles dangling obscenely below it like huge hairy meatballs. Pedro scooted forward a few inches closer to her, his erect cock bumping into the side of her cheek as he did so, causing Amy to flinch away. Pedro grabbed her hair and yanked her face back, pressing her tightly closed lips against his swollen member until, reluctantly, they yielded under the unrelenting pressure. The stiff shaft of Pedro's cock rammed impatiently into her mouth, until her nose was almost buried in the thick coarse hair at its base. Amy, gagging reflexively, tried frantically to pull back, fighting the pressure of Pedro's hand on her neck. The gagging subsided a moment later as Pedro's hips moved back, pulling his cock halfway out of her mouth; and then it was back in again, filling her mouth, choking her. This went on and on and on, Pedro fucking her tender mouth mercilessly, her sensuous red lips stretched unwillingly around his penis, its shaft slick from her saliva, his firm grip on her hair precluding any possibility of any relief from the torment. And then, as if this weren't bad enough, she felt a hard pressure against her pussy. The pressure on Amy's pussy lips increased until it shaded over into pain. Yet, surprisingly, the savage penetration that she had resigned herself to didn't materialize. She heard Manuel spit out an obscenity behind her, and realized the problem: she was too dry! Then suddenly the pressure was gone, replaced a moment later by a thick stubby finger that wormed its way into her pussy, forcing itself in harshly despite the unwilling dry walls of her vagina. The finger pulled out, then plunged in again, back and forth, back and forth, another finger rubbing her clit in a slow circular motion, and Amy was suddenly filled with dismay and shame as she realized that the painful abrasion of its initial entry was gone... he was lubricating her, he was lubricating her, Oh God! despite all her efforts at resistance he was lubricating her. With a strange mix of shame and incredulity she felt her body turning traitor, betraying her, as waves of pleasure radiated out from her loins, overwhelming the years of strict conditioning that had forced her into the belief that it was wrong to enjoy the animal pleasures of her body. Amy lost track of how long this went on, until abruptly, the finger withdrew, popping out of her vagina with a little wet slurping sound. A moment later, with no warning, Manuel slammed his swollen penis hard into her cunt. It hurt -- despite the lubrication he had forced, God, how it hurt -- and yet the pain was overshadowed by a surging bolt of desire. Amy choked out an involuntary muffled moan as Manuel's huge lust-filled cock stretched her tight cunt far beyond anything she had ever experienced. Then, as Manuel hammered into her pussy, pounding into her over and over and over, she felt her hips moving as if of their own will, bucking back eagerly to meet each savage thrust, frantically sucking Manuel's cock deep into her sex-starved cunt. The hot blue sky, the open desert around her, all faded away as Amy's world contracted into a lust-filled point of guilty reluctant pleasure. Time slowed to a crawl, punctuated only by the delightful brutal thrusting of the hard cocks ramming into her body at either end. And then, when it seemed as if her ravishment would go on into all eternity, she heard, as if from very far away, a guttural groan wrenched from the man before her, felt his thrusts quicken, and then his cock was spewing its hot sticky release deep into her mouth. She swallowed the thick salty-sweet fluid gushing into her mouth as fast as she could to keep from gagging. Somewhere about then she heard a deep moan from the man behind her, and again, as his cock hammered into her, faster and faster, then impaled her in one last mighty thrust as it pulsed its warm seed into her body. On an impulse, Manuel leaned forward and reached down between her legs... and as his fingers brushed against her clit, Amy exploded in a towering, crashing orgasm that went on and on and on, tearing from her a long low wailing cry. Then the world blurred and fell away... * * * Manuel and Pedro looked down at the gringa lying unconscious before them, a dribble of semen trickling from her battered pussy. They looked sheepish as they tucked their now-deflated cocks into their pants, pulled their zippers back up, and stood up. For a long moment no one moved. Then Pedro gently pulled a portion of the blanket over Amy's prostrate body, covering it from the blazing sun. Manuel looked at Pedro strangely, but said nothing, made no move to interfere. Then they quickly walked away, towards the car parked off the roadside a short distance away. The keys were still in the ignition, where Amy had left them, and the engine caught as soon as Manuel turned the key. He looked back one last time towards the boulders, where Amy lay, still, silent, spent. Then he gunned the engine, turned the car around, and sped away. * * * Amy regained consciousness ten minutes or so later. Her mouth and pussy hurt from the assault they had endured; yet she also felt wondrously transformed, the echoes of her pulsing orgasm still reverberating through her being. She looked at the smears of half-dried semen on her inner thighs, half-heartedly tried to rub them away once or twice, then gave up. Rising laboriously, she hobbled over to where her skirt lay on the ground a few yards away and pulled it on, then retrieved the remains of her bra and put it on as best as she could. The tattered remains of her blouse lay nearby, unsalvageable; one piece had blown away a short distance and snagged against a clump of prickly pear. The road nearby stretched to the horizon in both directions, silent, empty, shimmering with heat in the distance. She cocked her head for a moment, listening for the traffic on the interstate, trying to remember which direction she needed to go. Then, limping slowly, she set off towards the highway to the north.