Salvation Army of One

One thing was clear, she did not feel uncomfortable surrounded by men who looked unfriendly and could potentially attack her.

She held her pose, sitting upright with her legs slightly crossed and her chest pushed forward. Her vest seemed a size too small or maybe a man's cut, as her breasts were straining against the two upper buttons. Francisco felt ashamed of his weakness of thought and forced himself to look into her eyes.

What was her plan? She seemed to have a plan. Francisco, still feeling ashamed of his own thoughts, couldn't help but fantasize that she would use her sexuality -- after all, she was strong, beautiful, and experienced. However, the situation had turned dangerous, and the degree of risk was high. He couldn't help but wonder why they couldn't just meet in a cafe like normal people do.

"Can. You. Free. My. Hands?" She addressed Big Q directly and raised her wrists to emphasize her request.

Big Q shook his head. "Coffee?" he asked her. The laptop computer made a notification sound, but by his facial expression, it wasn't the one he was expecting.

"I don't drink coffee, thank you," she replied, shaking her head. Her response could also serve as an answer to why they would never meet in a cafe. "Maybe just some milk, if there's any left? Milk, please?"

It seemed like her request was granted, but the small milk jar remained on the table for a few moments. She didn't raise herself, even though she was free to do so -- her wrists were only tied together, not to anything.

Big Q didn't approach her with the jar, but he had the excuse of being in a wheelchair. So nothing happened for a minute or so, and Francisco wondered if she had been understood.

Without breaking her smile, she glanced at Blondie. That was all it took. Shortly after, Big Q ordered the young man to help with the milk, and he obeyed.

She took it awkwardly in her hands and drank some. "Thank you." The young adult took only one step back and remained standing there.

It was not clear what was happening. There was a thrill in the air. It might have been Francisco imagining things, or were they studying each other?

She looked at the rifle carried by the young man, the only weapon visible in the room -- and the only weapon Francisco had ever seen fired in his life. She pointed to it and, shaking her head, said, "I get nervous around weapons. I. Do. Not. Like. Weapons."

Blondie reacted wrongly and pointed the gun at her, then poked her with it. Francisco felt nauseous watching her face transform with panic. Blondie was clearly not a teenager anymore, but behaved with the immaturity and erraticism of one. The act was interrupted by some deep-voiced words spoken by Big Q, causing the kid to step back in frustration.

She then relaxed and downed the rest of the milk. A clumsy move caused a drop of milk to spill from the corner of her lip, dripping onto her vest. Francisco had to stop himself... wrong type of associations were leading him down the wrong path. Especially given the circumstances.

The spill caused a reaction from the others, as well. Unintelligible words, apparently filled with impulse and discomfort, were exchanged between the two men. Francisco was not accustomed to the apparent aggression conveyed by their gestures and tone.

Lara ignored Francisco most of the time, except for very brief moments of eye contact that lasted only a fraction of a second. Despite their short duration in the physical realm, they felt deep and eternal, as if to signify that she was still there with him. Francisco had fallen back into a state of powerlessness. His body was constrained, and his mind was betraying him. He felt useless. Only God would know what the future would bring -- God or Goddess, given the modern times. Or perhaps Lara, who, for Francisco, was nearly the same.

She stood up and walked towards the quiet man standing next to the door, carrying the metal jar in her hand and ignoring the argument between the other two. She stopped a few steps before him and, after sizing him up, took his left hand in her hands and led it to her right shoulder. The big black hand, with a lighter palm and nails, held her shoulder lightly. It could probably break it in two if squeezed. His arm was flexed, and she ran her tied hands along his huge bicep, up the black melon he had for a shoulder, squeezing it slightly as if sizing it. A finger continued downwards, stopping at his chest muscle that popped slightly out from the white wife-beater. She pressed the metal jar against his skin, and Francisco couldn't tell if it was cold or hot, as if testing for further reactions. He maintained a serious look the entire time, not even breaking into a smile.

Eventually, the room fell silent.

After silencing the room and getting everyone's attention, she turned and walked towards the bar table, leaving the milk jar there. The discussion had halted as everybody watched her movements. Francisco was sitting under the table, so her face was out of sight. He could see her belly sweating from the heat, and some drops running down her leg from her shorts. Her suntanned skin reminded him of tasty grilled meat, and he found himself salivating involuntarily. He cursed to himself. His demons inside his head were tempting him again, and to his frustration, he realized he was starting to get an erection. Could his erection be attributed to the temperature? It was hot, despite the fan on the ceiling being fast enough to make small papers swirl.

As those bronzed slim legs walked away towards the corner where Blondie was standing, Francisco watched her go. Blondie started talking as she approached. She halted several steps away and withstood the words spitting out of his mouth.

With her gaze, she pointed at the weapon.

"You, three. I, woman. No gun here. Gun away," she repeated, pointing out the window.

Blondie's hesitation eventually came to an end, even without the need for Big Q to interfere. Francisco could sense the frustration in him, fearing that it could bring expensive consequences for everybody. Blondie dragged his feet as he approached the window and yielded to some other men outside. There were two of them, and they approached to receive Blondie's rifle. Francisco recognized them as the two men who attempted the rape earlier that day. The men stuck their heads through the window and started shouting at her. Francisco assumed that they were probably giving her compliments. Those were probably compliments.

"So, you two are here for the looting?" she said to the two men. Her words were not understood by them, but she continued talking mostly as if clearing her own understanding of the situation for herself. It was more like words in a prayer to be heard by the one who judges. What she said made sense to Francisco, however he did not like the two men. "Haven't you been taught that no means..."

Her ignored words were drowned out by their replies. With hunger in their eyes, they looked to Blondie, one raising his sunglasses, the other showing his missing tooth. It was clear that they were his men. Francisco felt a shiver run down his spine as he watched how Blondie started to nod, followed by both men jumping and rushing in, leaving their weapons outside. The first one ran towards Lara and tackled her in a rapid motion, pushing her against the wall. She exclaimed in pain, but stepped heavily on her attacker's foot, creating a small opening which she used to hit him with her elbow on the side of his rib cage. The man fell and started coughing.

Several movements followed. During the entire time, the three men that were in the room before did nothing. Francisco saw what was coming, but did not manage to alert her. In panic, he tried to force himself free while following the scene.

She ran to the side, towards the table where Francisco was crouched underneath. The second man followed her and stopped standing on the other side of the table. Francisco could hear her high-rhythm breathing. When the man chose one side, Lara ducked and passed under, next to Francisco. The man followed and grabbed her from the ankle. Francisco looked at his big black fingers. They were full of rings. He kicked the arm, but it did not let go. He gathered courage and kicked his face, breaking his sunglasses and forcing him to let go.

"Sorry," Francesco said, in what probably was the most stupid and meaningless attempt for communication he had that day.

She could have run towards Big Q, but that would probably be considered as against some rule, because she did not. Neither did she attempt the guarded door. This was different from what had earlier happened with the young teacher. This was as much revenge, as it was a game. Francisco could not decide if this was another rape attempt, a fight, or a game. But he knew he did not want to miss out. And he had faith in her. She waited for them, standing on the couch. She could have jumped out the window, but she did not. But maybe she did not want to leave Francisco alone?

She breathed heavily and her smile showed euphoria. It was the smile of partial victory, for sure, but also mixed with the invigorating feeling of a challenge.

Both men had recovered and cornered her on the couch, approaching slowly. Getting closer. And closer.

It was a crazy move, she took a pillow, tore it using teeth and tied hands, and threw it to the ceiling fan creating a snowstorm of fibers and feathers. She used the distraction to run along the wall heading back to the bar table. The distraction was unfortunately not enough, and she ended up tripping on one of them and landing on the floor. The man grabbed her from the back of her vest using only one arm. His bicep flexed as she was being lifted over, her feet and arms kicking in all directions, and thrown to the table. The sound of her body hitting the wooden surface just above him meant that she was trapped. Francisco saw what was going to happen before it happened. He could see her shorts being removed before they flew off. He could feel her neck being held before her breath-searching grunt was heard.

From below, he could only see her feet. He also saw how both men held her in place from opposite sides of the table. One from her hair, the other from her ankles. He could hear her well. Her breathing. Her brawling. Her panties snapping.

Francisco saw how the man that held her from behind, took his belt off. He raised it, and without any warning, slammed her butt producing her legs paralyze and calm. A loud grunt escaped through her closed teeth. Francisco could see the entire movement preceding the slam, but could not directly see her ass. But he had a direct view of her pussy. He saw a second time how the belt was raised to only be accelerated, followed by the sound of a second hit accompanied with a moan. How to interpret that moan?

Francisco could not withstand it anymore. He turned his head away from this attacker, just to realize the other man was holding her by the hair with one hand. He was unzipping his shorts with the other.

The moan that followed the third hit brought him a flashback of beautiful reed marks on a porcelain-white butt. With his eyes closed, he tried to shake the thought of bruises being formed on her skin. Because Francisco was decisively not desiring holding that belt instead, or...? Her sounds sounded less as screams for help, but more as an inner euphoria that leaked through her closed teeth. A fourth hit came, followed by its moan. Could that have been a moan of pleasure?

Did he wish for her to enjoy it, or to be disgusted by it?

Francisco closed his eyes and kept them like that, hiding his head in his own arm. He did not want to hear what he desired to hear. Could she be enjoying it? What would be best of the two alternatives, satisfying the dignity of the soul, or of the body? Oh, Francisco did know that dilemma, but it never felt so real before.

Francisco attempted to embrace reality, and opened his eyes again. He saw a hard, black cock approaching where her face would be. Maybe she would use her teeth to keep the fight going. But he heard a gagging sound that increased his suspicion. There was only one reason for her not biting it off. Or were there other reasons? Was she doing whatever she could to get that piece of black meat out, or deeper in her throat?

The next belt hit brought a moan that pushed through a gagging cock. When he looked back at her pussy, he found it dripping. It was only a few palms away, but he could only think about stretching so he could taste it. He knew what his desired position would be if he managed to get free. But his tongue did not reach that far. He was ashamed of not even thinking of releasing her if he were presented with the opportunity. And he got furious at himself. He discovered that he was also getting hard. As hard as the wood of the table separating him from her. How could he get hard in a situation like this?

His rage increased. It was not the desolation left after a heartbreaking revelation of an unfaithful reality. No, it was the forced denial to an everlasting truth that could set the spirit free once accepted. But why was it so fucking difficult to accept it? He buried his head in his tied hands and slid down the table leg.

No. One should keep fighting and never surrender. She was enjoying it and it was wrong! She could not be such a whore. She should be punished. The belt whipped one more time smashing her butt, shaking her legs and sanctifying her sins.

The moaning and the gagging sounds developed a rhythm that increased in frequency and intensity. He heard the man who placed his cock in her mouth also moaning, in what was a climax moment, followed by her coughing, choking and mouth squirting sounds.

Francisco, lying face-up on the floor, peeked between his fingers. He had the perfect view of her cunt. He positioned himself and saw her fluids dripping and hitting his hands and eventually his open mouth and the pleasure that only one droplet and a lot of horny hormones could bring. He needed her. That belt raised again. He would take care of her. Francisco flexed his leg and kicked upwards at his balls. She was his, and he had decided that it was enough of submission. A new moan came from the sadist man, who tumbled back, his belt hit and tangled in the ceiling fan; he finally falling backwards to the ground.

Both men were now out-of-combat and sitting on the floor. Their testicles were asking for some recovery, but for different reasons.

Her motionless, slutty body gilded downwards and fell to his arms. They shared a brief hug. She revealed an unmistakable deep, hormone-filled smile in her face, that eventually changed to concern. Concern?

Yes, it was up to Francisco now. He needed to do his part. Would he condemn her for the whore she was? Looking at those beautiful and expectant green eyes, he just knew. He loved her no matter what. "I'm with you," he nodded.

He felt her grip tightening more, her hug embracing with care and need. Her leg came between his and discovered there, through his cassock, to her obvious surprise, that he had an erection. And as if it worked like a power reset, she released him and stood up. Despite Francisco having only pure and honorable desires about her, he could not miss that ass, reddened by the belt marks and framed by her tan line and by that beautiful in-flames phoenix tattoo she wore on her back.

Both of Blondie's men were dismissed, escorted by the silent bodyguard.

The fan turned only slowly, but accompanied by the hanging belt.

Lara, wearing only her top and vest, walked towards the big map on one side of the room. Her bruised booty hypnotized Francisco, and probably everybody else in the room.

"Let's go back to our business. It is better if you free us. Easier to give you amnesty if the consequences are not severe. You need an escape route, though. Here, you might hide along this canyon. You know, if military forces were sent by road from the capital city you have only one hour left. Two, maximum."

Francisco was unsure how much they understood and tried to remember her message in case it was meant to him. She moved in the room, as if oblivious of what had happened minutes before, of her half-nakedness and of whether the clear rivulet along her leg or the milky stain on her top were visible or not. She ignored the way they looked at her. And why in God's name was she not putting more clothes on?

"Or tell me," she continued at the same pace, but mixed some words in a local tongue that they might have understood, "what is your plan? Sitting there and drinking airport coffee all day? Maybe I should talk with your little friend over here, instead? He left his gun outside and deserves a reward for that."

She catwalked towards Blondie. She knew how to make her ass swing. She stepped so close that their noses nearly touched. They were about the same height. She took a half turn and her ass rubbed his part. Blondie kept an arrogant look at her. She leaned her head back, letting it rest on his shoulder, then when both their chins touched, she whispered, "You will be a great boss."

She rested more and more of her weight on him, until he raised his hands along her body, her exposed belly and underneath her top part. His lips approached the side of her jaw.

She circled her ass around his pelvis area while staring at Big Q. However, Blondie did seem to react as Francisco would have. Eventually, she smiled as she had noted something was in the state she had expected to be. She moved her face away from his, and turned and slowly slid towards his abdominals and downwards, slowly going on her knees. Oh God, the course was set.

She opened the zip and looked up. He met her eyes, then looked away with a poorly-hidden smile. With care, she took his cock out and held it, half-erect, on her palm. She started to kiss it gently, as Francisco got a childish picture of a lady that would kiss a frog. Francisco had no experience with cocks. But he had feared black cocks to be bigger than his own. It was big, but not as he had read on the Internet.

The kisses progressed. When she kissed the bottom of it, its tip rubbed her forehead. When she kissed its tip, she savored it extra with her tongue. She was enjoying her toy, it was easy to see. Francisco took a moment to decide if he felt jealousy. When she kissed it from the side, she shared a piquant look with Francisco, revealing to him that he was still on her mind despite breathing the scent of black cock.

Francisco's lips pronounced the soundless words, "Love you," which triggered a fast movement from her. She went to the tip and swallowed the entire shaft. This is her. Francisco could see her. See who she was. See her tongue sneaking out, underneath, in an attempt to open her throat as much as she could. It was the second black cock her throat was fucking in less than ten minutes. He could nearly believe a woman like her could actually exist. Seeing her enjoyment was a live show Francisco did not want to miss, and felt blessed she was sharing it with him, no matter the circumstances.

Francisco could see her tied hands moving slowly downwards, and how the dick dug its way through her throat. It did not look like she was fucking it, but as if she wanted to test how deep it would reach. After passing half its length, she gagged once and retreated some distance to its tip. She stared at Francisco and started to push again. First, with the cock slightly sideways, showing its shape to Francisco as it pushed her cheek outwards. Then, more in depth. Francisco could only imagine it passing her throat bell and rubbing her soft palate. A strong gag kicked in watering her eyes. Francisco thought he could see her cunt twitch as a reflection, but its view was eventually obstructed by her hands reaching.

The fellatio continued with a shallower fucking movement, until she suddenly understood she needed to proceed with care because she changed her rhythm. She licked it occasionally, nearly teasing it. The dampening of the tempo seemed to bring some frustration to Blondie, who moved his hands down to hold her head. He had his hands hesitantly on her head in a resting pose, not in a commanding grip. He opened his eyes and looked down at her. She looked at him through her gagging tears.