Torture The Widow

Chapter 42 – Sapphic Blood Rite

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This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely coincidental, etc.

Copyright 2004

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"Fuck you bitch," I screamed then groaned loudly as I forced the double-ended dildo out of my cunt into Bashira's. The muscles in my pussy strained to put as much force behind it as possible. I was trying to blast that motherfucking sex toy all the way through her cervix and out her asshole. We were seated facing each other on the OR table our legs wrapped around each other's waist. Our pussies were married together, clit to clit and hole to hole. You couldn't get a sheet of paper between us.

We were using only our cunt muscles to push that mean motherfucker of a double dildo back and forth. It was my turn to push. I felt the latex probe start to move and pick up speed as I contract my vagina with all my might. I sucked my belly button to my backbone then forced it downward as my gluteus muscles acting in concert squeezed my cunt walls.

No one out fucks Rozz Donaldson I told myself especially a fifteen-year-old Uzbek girl who could barely read and write. Everything but the tip of the dildo left my vagina with a whoosh then I heard a thunk sound as it slammed into Bashira's cervix. You could see the pain in her eyes as the blunt end hammered into her organs. My pussy felt the vibration as it hit so hard it bounced inside her birth canal.

I sucked on the plastic tube surgically taped to the side of my mouth and drew a mouthful of Bashira's piss directly out of her bladder. Bashira and I were engaged in one of the oldest and most primitive rites on the planet. Ancient Greek lesbians on the island of Lesbos had begun the ritual three thousand years ago. Today, as far as I know it is only practiced in three places: (1) a club in Berlin called The Vagina, (2) a leather dyke bar in Passaic, New Jersey called The Wet Hole, and (3) in a remote valley of the Hindu Kush where Bashira's small forgotten tribe of Uzbek's lived.

Sappho, the poetess of muff diving described the ritual in her writings. She even admitted to having practiced it several times. It is not for the faint of heart.

I'd selected the operating theatre that had the greatest seating capacity. A second floor held almost a hundred of the hospital's staff come to watch one of the most bizarre and punishing rituals on this earth. Afterwards, several of my staff privately told me that it was the most awesome thing they had ever witnessed. One girl said it had changed her entire perspective on what it meant to be female. "I felt like my pussy was born again after I watched you and Bashira," was how she phrased it.

Bashira and I began facing each other seated on the operating table. The rite began with catheterization. I was lucky that Lt. Mavis was knowledgeable about the ritual and had the surgical skills to set it up. Lt. Mavis inserted a catheter in our urethra then ran the tube up each other's bodies using surgical tape to fix the end between our lips. One good suck and I emptied Bashira's piss bladder. We both drank four litters of water before we started and I would hazard a guess that during the rite I'd siphoned the equivalent in piss from Bashira's bladder. Bashira kept my tank of mellow yellow empty.

The next step was to insert a very long and thick dildo in our rectum. Ten inches long with a five-inch diameter, it felt like someone shoved a greased log up my ass. Once the Lieutenant had it fully inserted she inflated the holding collar located just inside my anal ring. There was no way that motherfucker was coming out unless someone pushed the button releasing the air.

The double dildo went in next, half in my cunt and half in Bashira's. The fact that only one of the dildo's sides was covered in sharp spines that would rake the walls of your vagina was the only concession to humane fucking. According to legend, the Greek dykes on Lesbos used a dildo whose head was embedded with sharp stones. The loser usually bled to death through her pussy.

Dildo in place, Lt. Mavis used her medical skills to suture our clits together.

"Take a deep breath, Major, this is going to hurt," advised the Lieutenant right before she pushed the curved tip of the suture needle through the base of my clitoris. I felt the needle penetrate the mass of nerve ganglia that gave me orgasms. God that was painful. The Lieutenant put two more stitches in the base and several in the length as she carefully stitched our clits together. The pain was mind numbing. My hat was off to the queers of Lesbos. They did this sort of shit as part of their religion.

When Mavis was done, our clits were firmly sewn together. Those sensitive little fingers of flesh were intertwined with a half dozen stitches holding them together. If either of us decided to run, we would castrate ourselves.

The final preparation involved our breasts. Lt. Mavis wrapped monofilament-fishing line around the base of our buds that she captured in a surgical clamp and extended to within a millimeter of ripping off. She captured the base of both buds together in a single loop, tightened it until they were about to fall off then circled our nipples several times tying them tightly together. Once we were tied bud to bud, she'd hauled out the battery clamps from a Humvee jump-start cable and let them snap shut. It was pure hell when those jagged metal teeth cut into the flesh of my areola. Bashira and I had both screamed our pain to the handful of amused spectators come to see the ultimate in dyke style fucking.

This was lesbian fucking as it's most elemental, basic and primal. You had to be beyond hard-core to do what Bashira and I were doing. There were maybe one in ten million females on the planet up for this kind of action. You had to have cunt muscles that could crack a walnut. It was a pussy tug of war over a spiny double dildo. Both our cunts were oozing blood onto the once white sheets.

Ever since I was a little girl and let the boy next door remove my cotton panty and stick his thing in my snatch, I knew that I had a talented twat. One of my more worldly boyfriends referred to it as a 'nutcracker'. The muscles lining my vagina are exceptionally strong. That's the genetic nature factor but I've added a lot of nurture over the years.

I've practiced Pilates and Tantric Yoga to build those muscles. Of course, my favorite way to exercise my cunt wall is to wrap my legs around a man's waist and milk his cock until it dumps juice in my pulsing well.

Bashira yelled something in Uzbek as she forced the dildo back my way. I felt the sharp spines ripping the walls of my vagina as it traveled inward. There was a thud sound as it landed hard against the bottom of my cervix. God was it painful. I felt it bounce off the flexible anal dildo that Lt. Mavis had inserted in my GI tract. For what must have been the fiftieth time I climaxed.

Half of the hospital staff was seated in the amphitheatre watching. Cocks and clits were exposed and being worked. Watching the ritual can get deep into a woman's head. In the first row of the operating theatre were five recently arrived lieutenants. They'd sat down not knowing what to expect. Fifteen minutes after we started, one of them found some razor blades we used to shave patients and passed them out to the others. As they masturbated and watched, they nicked their breasts and labia. They were stuffing dildos and fingers in bloody cunts. Their lips and faces were stained with each other's blood. There was gore everywhere.

One of the older nurses who I had always thought was a little odd had watched a while then gone to her quarters and returned with a giant dildo and a straight razor. The dildo had a suction cup on one end. She'd stuck it to the tile floor and was slowly raising and lowering her body. She's cut deep vertical stripes in her breasts. She kept chanting, "I bleed" over and over again. At some point, she used the straight razor to slice off thin stripes of her labia. She chopped the carrion into pieces and passed them into the crowd. My six newbies each ate a piece thinking it was part of the ritual. Most of my female audience got to sample pussy sushi.

Bashira and I must have been a sight. Our hair was matted down with sweat dripping off us. We were trading porn kisses taking turns spitting in each other's mouth. For a small person, she had a lot of spit. Both our faces were covered with near and not so near misses of high-grade snot and sputum. We'd sucked each other's nostrils empty and my sinus had never felt clearer. If you have the clit for it, capture your lover's nostrils in your mouth and suck hard. It's not for the uncommitted.

Our bleeding tits were clamped together and the slightest movement caused the jagged teeth to dig deeper into our flesh. If you looked close you could see fresh blood steadily pumping out along the saw teeth. And if you got real close, you could smell girl pee on our breath.

Like I said this was extreme hardcore girl fucking like the leather dykes do at that club in Passaic just across the river from NYC. It helped to be out of your mind on uppers to fuck like this.

Technically I was doing research. It had been six weeks since Bashira arrived at the hospital. She was fully recovered. Even the bones in the fingers and toes the Marines broke had knitted back together. I'd had a reconstructive surgeon not only repair the shattered bones in her nose; he'd chiseled off that ugly hump that made her look like a parrot. She was a damn pretty girl now.

Once Bashira had recovered and the word spread about her capacity for non-stop sex her room became very popular. Every time I went to see her I had to shoo away staffers eating her snatch or pounding her pussy. Of course, what got the male and female staff members interested in Bashira was her cunt. That thing had a life of its own.

"I just love to suck her clit and finger fuck her," said Captain Helen Reynolds one of my subordinates. "Her pussy is so strong. It's like yours, Major."

And the males were in love with how their cocks felt inside her pussy and ass. If things were slow in the rest of the hospital, there would be a line outside Bashira's room. She never turned anyone down no matter what time of the day. During the overnight shifts, she would screw thirty for forty of our personnel. The little slut was like a machine.

I'd spent my every free moment with Bashira gaining her confidence and getting her to trust me. I'd been anxious to determine whether what I had observed during Bashira's gang rape by Marines was for real or just some unexplained result brought on by stress.

Four weeks ago, when she was almost healed up, I'd leaned over and given her a kiss that lingered. She pushed her lips against mine.

I took it slow not wanting to frighten her. She didn't seem bothered by lesbian sex. In fact she was eager for it. That was a surprise. I kept telling myself her people were Muslims and the Quran forbade homosexuality. The Taliban took anyone they caught walking the wrong side of the street to that soccer stadium in Kabul for execution.

Gay males were publicly castrated then beheaded. A CIA operative who was in Kabul when they were in power described it to me. As a warning to others, the Taliban made a show of executing homosexuals. They tied the males to posts pulled their trousers down then went down the line slicing off one ball. When everyone had lost one nut they went back to the first guy and cut off the other ball. Sometimes they made the guy eat his own nuts or the nuts of the queer beside him. Fun over, they'd forced the poor bastard to kneel down while someone with a dull sword hacked their head off. It usually took several blows for the neck to be severed.

Given that the lesbians were still women and the Taliban were males, they had even more fun with gay girls. There was a special room under the stadium where the lesbians were nailed to wooden frames then gang raped. Large flat head iron spikes were driven through their hands and feet.

The Taliban higher ups got first crack at fresh meat. Sometimes the rapes would go on for a week. On the morning of the execution, they chopped off their tits, clit and labium then took them out before the crowd and stoned them to death. No one misses the Taliban that much.

The CIA guy somehow acquired video and still pictures of the executions. He sold me a copy of everything he had. I sent them to General Donaldson for his birthday. The General loved them. He sent me a nice note thanking me.

I quickly learned that while Bashira was on most accounts a devout Muslim, she was from a long forgotten sect that lived in a remote section of the Hindu Kush who had absolutely no restrictions about sex in any form. I further learned that Bashira was not an anomaly among her people.

"So you have been sexually active since you were twelve?" I asked while we were having lunch in the cafeteria.

"Yes, all the women of my tribe are. Once we eat of the sacred root and are cut in our sex, we are transformed from a child to a woman who needs to experience sexual activity all the time."

"So why did you run away and become a suicide bomber?"

"I did not run away I was kidnapped by the Taliban six months ago," said Bashira.

"And what have you been doing for the last six months?"

"They kept me in a cave where the men came day and night to have sex with me," said Bashira. "Finally they decided to make me into a suicide bomber but I disconnected a wire when they were not looking."

"So that's why you didn't blow up. Are all the women in your tribe like you when it comes to enjoying sex?"

"Yes, my grandmother, mother, and all my sisters and female cousins love to pleasure the men and women of the tribe," confided Bashira.

"You have seen your mother have sex?" I asked as I spooned down some Jell-O.

"Many times, my mother and I lain together with the other women and had sex with one another," said Bashira.

"You've fucked your mother?" I asked incredulously. Even I, the Rozz, had never eaten my Mom's pussy.

"And my grandmothers and all my aunts," said Bashira happily as if incest was universally acceptable.

"How about your grandfather, father, brothers, cousins and other male relatives?" I asked.

"Yes, I have slept with every male member of the tribe who is twelve or older," said Bashira.

"And when did you first have sexual intercourse?"

"When I reached twelve, I ate of the sacred root and became a woman. That was when the old women of the tribe changed my sex," said Bashira.

"And that was all there was to it?" I asked.

"No, I had to perform the sacred ritual with one of the women of the tribe."

"Sacred ritual, what's that?"

"It was given to my people by a troop of women warriors that came with the great Alexander. They were trapped by the snow and forced to spend the winter. That was when we learned of the sacred root. These things have been carefully handed down over the ages," said Bashira looking very serious.

"Great Alexander you mean Alexander the Great?"

"Yes, that one."

"And what is this rite called?" I asked desperately trying to hide my excitement.

"The Blood Rite of Sappho," whispered Bashira conspiratorially

"I would like to return you to your people and spend some time with them. I need to learn about the sacred root."

"That's impossible unless you have performed the rite. Only women who have performed the blood rite can sleep in our tents."

"Okay, we can perform the rite together," I said. I had an inkling that I knew what she was talking about. When I got back to my office, I kicked off a host of emails requesting any information available on the ritual known as the Blood Rite of Sappho.

While waiting for responses I went to see the tripod. Colonel Mowbray had been away on leave and had not sampled Bashira. I took him to her room and sucked his ass and mouthed his balls while he pounded away inside the best piece of ass available in Afghanistan. Bashira responded to his eleven-inch cock with serious contractions of her vaginal walls.

For an in shape muscular male, the Colonel had a surprisingly loose asshole that relaxed and opened up with minor encouragement. It must have been genetic or he was secretly allowing someone to fist him nightly. I was wearing a latex glove covered in Astro-Glide and my fist was packing his shit down. I'd given his prostate a finger wave as I pushed deep in his ass. I'd been there before.

All brief foreplay, the Colonel was ramming it home in Bashira's cunt. Bashira weighed one hundred and nine pounds. She'd gained six pounds since arriving in the hospital thanks to my careful nurturing. Still, Bashira was wrapped around the Colonel like an anaconda humping happily away.

"Fuck that pussy," I chanted as the Colonel withdrew ten of the eleven then buried it in a blur.

Colonel Mowbray was what I termed a 'power fucker'. Once he was hard and inside a snatch, he hammered away for a long time. After the Colonel had screwed you, your pussy needed some recovery time. If I saw a nurse taking short painful steps, I pretty much knew she'd hooked up with The Tripod. We even had a name for the walk. We called it the, 'Mowbray Shuffle.'

The idea that a waif like Afghan girl was fucking back like a tyro was somewhat disconcerting to the Colonel. The last nurse I'd seen him fuck was a sweet young thing named Heather from Macon, Georgia. Heather had sobbed, moaned and screamed that the Colonel was killing her. But when he offered to stop, she looked at him like he was crazy.

"Please, just keep fucking me. I can deal with the pain," said Heather between sobs. After, the Colonel had filled her cunt with his swimmers and made her clean his blood stained cock with her mouth; it was two hours before Heather found the energy to move.

My point is that the Colonel was a man who expected to do some damage. The female was supposed to react like she was getting the shit fucked out of her. After he popped his load, she was supposed to look worn out and very used. Of course, he knew there were exceptions yours truly being one. He was getting more from Bashira than he expected.

The Colonel took longer than normal screwing Bashira. She started climaxing over and over again and wouldn't stop. Frankly, if my hand had not been playing patty cake inside his large intestine, I'm not sure he would have got off.

Finally, the big man squirted. Bashira went into five solid minutes of female orgasm that contracted her vagina around the great man's schlong.

"Shit, I thought she was going to crush my dick," the Colonel told me later.

I worked his prostate as he released his semen. This time it was Colonel Ellis Mowbray who did not move when he managed to roll to one side.

"Can we do it again?" asked Bashira.

"No, Bashira, the Colonel and I have something to discuss. Please return to your room. I'm sure there will be someone there waiting to fuck you." I said stripping of the latex glove.

"That was fucking unreal," said the Colonel after Bashira had left.

"Look at these," I said handing him a copy of her blood tests as I licked the head of his cock. After watching Bashira and he, I needed a fuck.

As he studied them, I provided oral. The Colonel's nuts matched his cock, large and hung low. I loved to take one of his testicles in my mouth and work on it. It had the feel of a large spongy egg.

"That is one big complicated molecule," said the Colonel studying the test result. "Shit Rozz, you even had the Pasteur Institute in Paris run these. Who'd you have to fuck to get them to do that?"

"No one has seen anything like it before. All the tests show it as an unknown," I said before forcing his cockhead to the back of my throat then wedging it into my throat.

"So you think this Afghan girl's long lost tribe has discovered a true female aphrodisiac. You know that's not possible. Big pharma has been pouring billions into research looking for a way to enhance the female orgasm. They still got nothing better than Frank Sinatra and champagne."

"According to Bashira, all the women in her tribe, partake of the sacred root when they are twelve. After that they spend a lifetime fucking."

"If what you say is true, it would be worth billions. I could see a global revenue of ten to fifteen billion a year," said the Colonel who was starting to get hard.

"I need someone to break down that molecule in Bashira's blood," I said fisting his cock as I worked the head with my mouth. "I plan to get my hands on examples of the sacred root and isolate the triggers."

"My younger sister, Towanda, could do it. She 's a molecular biologist assigned to research at John's Hopkins. She brilliant and bored out of her mind."

"She's in the army?"

"How else can a poor black brother and sister get through medical school? Towanda is as smart as they come when it comes to breaking down complex molecules atom by atom."

"Excellent, I'll bring her here and put her to work."

"You can do that?"

"Yes, I'll get her transfer in the works. And I want you to look into the surgery that was performed on Bashira's pussy. Somehow that interacts with the molecule to bring all this about," I said as I positioned the Colonel's rigid pole at the entrance to my vagina.

"Exactly what is in all this for Towanda and me? Man, you feel good," exclaimed the Colonel as I slid down his to arrive at the point that my ass rested on his pelvic bones. I squirmed around to get the last half-inch inside me.

"Ten percent," I said.

"Twenty," replied the Colonel.

"Fifteen."

"Seventeen and a half."

"Done, you two are going to be very rich some day soon." I said starting to slowly raise and lower myself.

"What are your plans?"

"Bring your sister here and put her to work. You study Bashira's surgery. You may even find a way to improve it. I'm headed to the Hind Kush to perform field research."