Atawna

Adventures in the Lost World

Episode 1

Atawna and the Lost World

Chapter 15 Hell

Antonov huddled in the pouring rain. Beside him were the shivering forms of eight of his men and the two girls. They were all that was left of his command. Surprisingly, one of them was Vishinsky, who despite his head wound had led the dash for the forest. Another was the foreigner who had been added to the expedition. He watched them from the shelter of a large leaf, a contemptuous smile on his face.

“What is so funny?” Antonov said irritably.

“Nothing in particular,” the foreigner replied. “It’s just that I have never seen an ambush so poorly handled.”

“I suppose you could do better,” Antonov growled. The man’s arrogance seemed insufferable.

“I have done better,” the foreigner replied. “Miss Court and I are old acquaintances.”

“I didn’t see you when we tried to trap her,” Vishinsky interrupted.

“I’m no fool,” the foreign archeologist replied. “When dealing with Larra Court it is best to be cautious.”

Vishinsky got to his feet. “If you have a plan, tell us what it is; otherwise shut up.”

“I’m glad you are finally ready to listen,” the foreigner replied. He leaned forward conspiratorially. “This is what I think we should do.”

Larra watched the darkness. Other than the usual chorus of rainforest sounds she could hear nothing. But that was a good sign. It was when the noise stopped that it was important to be alert. She couldn’t stop worrying about Lin Yao and James. It was the curse of motherhood. No matter how grown up her children seemed they were still like infants when it came to caring about them.

Moving closer to the fire she tossed another log into the flames. It was important to keep it going. Most animals were afraid of fire and the smoke helped to keep the insects away. In the tent behind her were her four companions. It was midnight and Larra had agreed to take the second watch. She still had an hour to go.

She didn’t like sitting in front of the fire. It made her too much of a target. But she was depending on the buzzing of the insects to help her out. They were very much attuned to intruders and usually interrupted their nocturnal songs when disturbed. As long as they filled the night with their chirping she was probably safe.

“What is that?” whispered Antonov as he watched the foreigner assembling a long tubular object.

“Blowpipe,” the man replied as he carefully connected each piece. Both men were trying to ignore the swarms of insects that sought to enjoy their blood. The foreigner had taken the tubular contraption from his backpack once he and Antonov had come within sight of the camp. They were still a few hundred feet away, but could see the glowing of the fire through the forest.

“Why didn’t you use that earlier?” Antonov asked.

Even in the dark Antonov could sense the strange archeologist’s sneer. “It’s not nearly as good as a gun. I just never realized how incompetent you were.”

Antonov fell silent. One day he promised himself, it would be his pleasure to put his fist into the smug foreigner’s face. For now he was the only real chance they had. He had to take Miss Court and her friends alive. Those were his orders and he intended to carry them out.

“I’m ready,” the foreigner said. “We’ll wait until they change shifts. It will mask my movements.”

Larra yawned and looked at her watch. One a.m. Time to wake Lisha. She got to her feet and poked her head into the tent. Gently she touched the black woman’s foot. Almost instantly the Ullabomba warrior was awake. Gripping her spear she crawled out of the tent.

“Anything?” Lisha asked. She was a woman of few words.

Larra shook her head. “Everything’s qui…Ahhh!”

“What is it?” Lisha asked.

“Something just bit me,” Larra said. She slowly raised her hand to her neck. “Lisha it’s a dart!”

Lisha stared into the darkness. She opened her mouth to shout a warning and then gasped as a sharp pain bit her shoulder. She looked down and saw a tiny dart, no bigger than a darning needle sticking out of her smooth skin. Beside her Larra was collapsing, her fingers still fumbling with the dart that protruded from her neck.

“Melissa! Ayashe!” Lisha cried then she too fell, her body missing the campfire by just inches.

Melissa and Ayashe bundled out of the tent, their weapons at the ready. Immediately they moved out of the glare of the fire and blended into the shadows. Both had seen the fallen forms of Larra and Lisha. Incredibly it seemed that the Russians had come back.

“Good evening, Miss Gallant,” came a voice from out of the darkness.

Melissa froze and a cold sweat broke out on her skin. She had never expected to hear that voice again, but the upper class English accent was unmistakable. “Featherstone,” she gasped.

“Oh you’re very good, Miss Gallant. You get a prize. Now be a good girl. You and your Indian friend come out where I can see you. If you don’t I’m going to ask my good friend the Colonel to put a bullet through Miss Court.”

Melissa did not reply. Featherstone of all people. The man was nothing more than a foul piece of excrement. He was brutal, cowardly, and incredibly inventive when it came to torturing women. He was also the man who had taken her virginity in a brutal rape and she hated and feared him more than anyone she knew.. He ought to have died long ago, but somehow he managed to survive. Surrendering to him would be tantamount to committing suicide.

“I’m waiting, Miss Gallant,” came Featherstone’s taunting voice. “Perhaps I’ll just have the Colonel put a bullet through Miss Court’s leg to start with. Then he can start on the nigger.”

“Scum,” muttered Melissa. Racism was another of Featherstone’s more endearing traits. But she didn’t have much choice. Slowly she got to her feet, raised her hands and stepped in front of the fire. She didn’t look at Ayashe. What the Dene girl did was entirely up to her.

Ayashe dropped her rifle. Surrendering was the last thing she wanted to do, but she knew more than she would have liked about Reginald Featherstone. She couldn’t leave her friends to face him alone. And she knew he was quite capable of carrying out his threat of maiming her helpless companions if she did not give herself up as well.

Featherstone stepped into the firelight followed by the Russian Colonel and about nine other Russians including two women. Most of them did not have weapons, but the few that did were more than enough to cover the two unarmed women.

“Get on yours knees and put your hands behind your backs,” ordered Featherstone.

For a second Melissa just stared at the British traitor. This was a man who had betrayed his country to the Nazis and now it seemed the Russians. Apparently ideology meant very little to him. She felt an inward satisfaction as she glared at him. A terrible scar ran diagonally across his face, from his right eye to the edge of his jaw. His once prominent nose had been smashed flat and his left cheekbone appeared to have been caved in. She remembered how he had screamed when Larra had slammed an iron bar across his face. She had thought the blow had killed him, but she had been wrong.

“Yes, Miss Gallant,” Featherstone hissed. “I am not a pretty sight. But I intend to remedy that. Miss Court has apparently discovered the secret of eternal youth. I intend that she tell me what it is.” He gestured toward her and Melissa saw that where his right hand should have been there was now a cruel hook. “Now do as I instructed get down on your knees. I am beginning to become impatient.”

Melissa did as she was told. A deep sense of dread seized her as she felt Vishinsky grab her wrists and begin to tie her. Once again she and her companions had fallen prey to one of their enemies. Would they be fortunate enough to somehow find a way to escape, or would their luck finally run out? She took a slow deep breath. Tomorrow she suspected, was going to prove to be a very long and painful day.

Featherstone didn’t wait for the next day. As soon as Melissa’s wrists were bound he had her escorted to one of the empty tents. It was Larra’s, but Featherstone wasn’t particular. It was the biggest tent in the camp and had a comfortable bed that one of the porters had built out of saplings and canvas. Melissa knew what was going to happen to her as soon as she was pushed through the entrance. Inside a lantern had been lit, providing enough light for what Featherstone was going to do. He pushed her toward the bed and then as she struggled to get free he began to remove her clothing.

“Time for us to get reacquainted, Miss Gallant,” the brutal Englishman said as he used his hook to pop the buttons off her shirt one after the other.

“Don’t you ever get tired of being a gutless bastard?” Melissa grunted. She couldn’t escape. Featherstone was straddling her, using his weight to pin her to the bed. Her ankles were tethered with a short length of rope so she couldn’t kick him or even bring up her knees to fend him off. All she could do was twist her body in a futile attempt to shake him off.

“You always have to use that smart mouth don’t you, Miss Gallant?” Featherstone sneered. “It is almost a tradition when you and I make love. And as usual I grow tired of it almost immediately. Fortunately, this time I came prepared.”

“You filthy bast…” Melissa began, but her insult was cut off as a roll of cloth was stuffed into her mouth. Then using his hook very adeptly and his left hand, he tied a gag in place preventing any further coherent protests.

“Mmmpph!” Melissa grunted. Featherstone had completely unbuttoned her shirt now revealing her lace-covered breasts.

“These are even prettier than I remember,” Featherstone crowed as he used his left hand to snap the elastic of Melissa’s bra. Her rose-tipped breasts fell free.

“Yes, very pretty.” Featherstone bent his head and tongued Melissa’s left nipple and then switched to the right breast. Melissa mentally cringed as he suckled, but maintained self-control. For some reason the brutal Englishman was being unusually gentle. Featherstone like to hurt the women he violated. Hurt them as much as possible, but the movements of his mouth on her breasts were tender, almost loving.

“Ah, Miss Gallant, your charms are every bit as succulent as I remember. Your breasts are like ripe peaches, warm and juicy.”

Melissa would have spat into his face if she had not been gagged. His weight pinning her to the bed, she could do nothing more than lie there and let him do what he wanted, but her deep brown eyes glared hatred.

“Still the spitfire aren’t you, Miss Gallant? Still so defiant. Let’s see if you are still as strong as I remember.”

“Mmmpphh!” Melissa couldn’t help but protest in terror. Featherstone was slowly dragging the point of his steel hook over her breast. The point was very sharp, almost like a needle as it traced a thin line of blood as it cut into the magnificent curvature of her left breast.

“Not so strong now, are you?” Featherstone taunted. He increased the pressure, forcing the needle point into her areola just above her nipple. Melissa trembled, trying hard not to show her fear. Now her captor was showing his true nature, inflicting as much pain as he could while he watched her face to gauge her reaction.

“That’s it, be strong, Miss Gallant. You will need to be.” Featherstone finished by digging the point of the hook into her breast. Melissa held back a scream as blood bubbled up from the wound. Then with a quick twist of his wrist, Featherstone penetrated the breast, driving the hook right through her areola so that the metal entered on one side and the bloody needle point emerged from the other.

“Nnnnngghhhh!” Melissa’s muffled scream could be heard clearly throughout the camp. Outside the tent, Vishinsky smiled while Antonov looked shocked. The two Russian girls looked at one another, fear flickering over their faces. Ayashe, bound and gagged and awaiting her fate next to the unconscious forms of Lisha and Larra, paled. She knew that once Featherstone was finished with Melissa he would likely turn to her next. Futilely she struggled to loosen the ropes that bound her.

“Nnnnnngggghhh!” Melissa screamed again as Featherstone twisted the hook in the wound. Blood spurted from her bleeding breast, splattering on his clothing and turning Melissa’s fair skin crimson before dripping off her body and staining the bed.

“Pretty,” Featherstone crowed. “Very pretty.” He wrenched out the hook causing another cry of pain from his helpless victim. His sadistic action had him fully aroused now, the way it always did. He was ready to take her, show her what it was like to be his sexual slave. Just like the first time so many years ago when he had pinned the teenage Melissa beneath him and taken her virginity. Ah, it was so good to be the dominant member of the human species.

He unbuckled her belt and yanked her trousers down. Then he tore off her silk panties revealing her the dark patch of hair bordering her vulva. “Just as I remembered, Miss Gallant. Let’s see if we can recreate the magic of the first time I made love to you.”

Melissa moaned. Her left breast pulsed blood and burned with agony. She was almost fainting with pain and struggled only weakly as Featherstone removed her boots and pulled down her trousers.

He spread her legs and unbuckled his belt. Unzipping his trousers Featherstone revealed his erect phallus. It was an impressive organ, one that Melissa had seen several times. Even in her pain she struggled to escape as he prepared to violate her again.

“Still playing the reluctant lover, Miss Gallant?” sneered Featherstone. “We have done this so often I am surprised you still pretend that you do not like it. Soon, however, I will have you screaming in pleasure.”

He leaned toward her. Melissa redoubled her efforts to escape, her breasts quivering with the effort, but Featherstone placed a hand on her undamaged right breast and pushed her flat. Then without further ceremony he entered her hard.

Melissa shuddered as she was raped. Her body twisting under the pain. Humiliated she was helpless as Featherstone did whatever he wanted to her. Again and again the villain drove into her, using his male member more as an instrument of torture than one of love and procreation. When he finally finished, Melissa was wet with blood and sweat, but Featherstone wasn’t quite finished yet.

Pulling his dripping phallus from Melissa’s panting body, he reached down and pulled her into a sitting position. Then snagging his hook in her shirt, he held her in a sitting position and with his left hand slapped her face forward and backward several times.

“That’s enough for tonight,” Featherstone said, letting the nearly unconscious woman fall back. “Tomorrow we continue the lesson. Get some rest. You’re really going to need it.”

The bright light of day hurt her eyes, but Larra forced them open. There was a painful throbbing in her head and it took a few seconds for her to remember the sting of the dart at is struck her neck. Her heart leapt into her throat, however, when she saw the shape looming over her. It was one of the Russian thugs who had menaced her. The man grinned, but the smile was hardly reassuring. He was a huge man, probably weighing almost double what she did and his appearance was decidedly menacing. It was then that Larra found she was tightly bound. Someone had placed a sturdy wooden pole across the small of her back and bent her arms under it, tying them at the wrists across her flat belly. The pole was elevated about eighteen inches off the ground and her legs were bent beneath it so that she was kneeling with her back arched across the pole in a most sexually provocative position. She noted with some alarm that she was naked from the waist up and that her prominent breasts were badly bruised. Someone had been playing with them while she was unconscious.

“Why does that not surprise me?” she thought.

Off to one side, something moved. Larra did not take her eyes from the man in front of her, but her peripheral vision picked up something and then a familiar voice sent a chill through her veins.

“Miss Court, you are finally awake. How I have longed to meet you once more.”

Larra turned her head. “Reginald Featherstone,” she said slowly.

“The same,” Featherstone replied, a crooked smile creasing his distorted features.

“You’re looking well,” Larra said. “How have things been for you?”

“Better than they are going to be for you, you arrogant bitch.” Featherstone touched his scared face with his hook. “I haven’t forgotten this. When I am through with you death will seem a welcome pleasure.” He leaned closer to her, his face only a foot from hers. But before you die you will tell me about the Eye of Thoth.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Larra said. “What is the Eye of Thoth?”

“I just love it when you play games with me,” Featherstone leered. “I used to be an impatient man, but adversity has taught me to slow down and enjoy the finer things in life. Torturing you will be one of those finer things. I plan to draw it out for as long as possible, so please don’t give in too soon.”

Larra shuddered. Reginald Featherstone had always been a cruel and brutal adversary. Now it seemed that his desire for vengeance and his physical deformities had warped him even further.

“Miss Gallant and I have already been reacquainted,” Featherstone continued. His twisted features contorting into a gruesome leer. “She was delightful as always.”

“You bastard!” Larra exclaimed. “You brutal bastard!”

“Finally a true show of your feelings,” Featherstone sneered. “This is going to be pleasant. Very pleasant. I will let you watch the next time I enjoy Miss Gallant.”

“If you have hurt her…” Larra did not finish. She had allowed Featherstone to goad her into an emotional reaction. Her naked breasts were heaving and her helpless body was covered with sweat as she twisted unconsciously, straining to get at the sneering Englishman.

“Delightful is she not, Comrade Vishinksy?”

The big man she had first seen stepped forward. His face was warped in anger. “Not so high and mighty now are you, you aristocratic bitch?” the man sneered. “Now you will experience the people’s vengeance.”

“People’s vengeance?” asked Larra, regaining control. “I see only a hulking coward. Untie me and we will see how brave the people are.”

The man laughed. “Still full of aristocratic arrogance,” the man replied. “It is time to change that tune.”

“Enjoy yourself, Comrade,” Featherstone said. “I think you will find Miss Court to be everything you have imagined. I know I always have. Now I must get back to Miss Gallant. She is eagerly awaiting my return.”

Vishinsky glared angrily at Featherstone. He spoke no English and had not understood a word he said. Featherstone switched into Russian. “Enjoy her comrade. She is certainly one of the best fucks I have ever had. And don’t worry about hurting her. She likes a man who hurts her a little bit.”

Larra glowered at Featherstone. He had by accident hit a little close to the mark. She did like a little pain when making love. All of her lovers had been big men, but being raped was another thing entirely. There was nothing she feared more. The humiliation of being forced to have sex against her will was a stomach churning experience. She had cried like a baby the first time it had happened to her and subsequent experiences were not much better. However, she tried not to show her fear or revulsion. Men like Vishinsky enjoyed the feeling of power it gave them when women cried out or begged for mercy. She intended to give them as little satisfaction as possible.

Featherstone turned to leave, but as he did he made one more parting remark over his shoulder. “Enjoy the slut, Comrade. I expect she will give you at least as much pleasure as Miss Gallant gave me.”

“You cowardly hyena,” Larra called after him. “You will pay for this!”

Featherstone laughed as he moved away. “I have already paid for it Miss Court. Now I am just collecting what I have bought.”

Larra’s attention returned to Vishinsky. He towered over. His tongue flicked over his lips. His thoughts and intentions were obvious, but she was helpless to do anything to stop it.

“English whore,” Vishinsky said. “Now you will begin to pay for your crimes.” He began to remove his belt.

Larra curled her lip. “Brave man,” she sneered. “When did rape become part of the people’s justice?”

The Russian’s face clouded in anger. Capitalist bitch. I will show you justice. The justice of a Russian man.” He dropped his pants, revealing that his manhood was definitely proportional to the rest of his body.

Larra tensed. Flexing her muscles she tried to break free of her restraints, but there was almost no give. He captor grinned. “Afraid, capitalist trollop? Don’t worry I will treat you with the respect an exploiter of the masses deserves.”

Vishinsky was kneeling in front of her now. He had stripped off all of his clothing. And was now removing the last of hers. In order to do that he had to untie her ankles, which were tethered to the same pole that bound her arms. Larra, however, was in no position to stop him. Her legs were bent beneath her, and she could only struggle helplessly as Vishinsky jerked down her trousers, exposing her luscious loins. Only her filmy panties provided her any privacy and Vishinsky left these on for some reason.

“You show true courage,” Larra said acidly. “Small wonder that communism has swept the earth.”

“I am not as stupid as you think, capitalist slut,” Vishinsky replied. “I know what you are capable of. You killed more than a dozen of my men. I will take no chances with you, and I will remember what you did when I punish you.”

“I committed no crime,” Larra replied. “It was you who ambushed my party. I merely defended myself.”

Vishinsky shifted his body so that he was between her legs. “Capitalist whore,” he said. “Now will begin your punishment.” His hands closed on her breasts.

Larra winced. Vishinsky’s hands fitted the bruises on her breasts perfectly. “Coward,” she said. “Fondling unconscious women is about all you are capable of.”

“Keep talking, whore,” grinned Vishinsky as his grip tightened on her breasts. “It will be most enjoyable when your jibes turn to screams.”

Larra clenched her jaw as Vishinsky crushed her breasts. The soft flesh bulged out between his fingers as he increased the pressure. “Incredible,” the Russia mustered. “I have never felt tits like these.”

“Uungh!” Larra grunted as Vishinsky twisted her firm but pliant flesh. He obviously intended to work her over for awhile before raping her. That probably explained why he had not removed her panties. No doubt he found it sexually stimulating to almost undress her, but leave the most desirable part of her anatomy covered. But she doubted that it would last long. Vishinsky was sporting a huge erection. He would want to use it soon.

She didn’t have long to wait. Vishinsky was soon gasping like a beached whale in anticipation of his prize. Placing his hand in the waistband of her panties he tore them from her loins. “Now,” he said, “you will taste some Russia steel.”

“I’m sure Marx would be proud of you,” Larra sneered. Then she grunted as Vishinsky entered her.

He took her hard, trying to inflict as much pain as possible. He was a big man. Very big. And it took all of his strength to force himself into Larra’s unprepared inner sanctum. “You bastard,” Larra grunted. She was arched backward across the wooden stave that was pressed into the small of her back. Her legs were spread wide as Vishinsky forced his big body between them and pumped like a piston into her soft yielding depths.

Larra cried out in rage, frustration, and pain as he was taken yet again against her will. Blood ran down her thighs from her torn vagina and her belly undulated as Vishinsky penetrated her. The Russian was unrelenting, driving into her until he reached the full depths of her womb. Her finally erupted within her, spilling his seed into her uterus. Larra prayed that the Russian’s vile milk would sour in her womb.

Vishinksy climbed off the haughty bitch he had just raped. It was a start. He had enjoyed it fully, but now it was time to get serious. The English whore had information he needed and he was going to enjoy extracting it.

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