It was a most pleasant surprise for me the day I got a call from Countess Caroline
Orlovska, author of Sex Diary of a Captive Countess. I was in Paris and so was she, it
turned out. I hadn’t heard from Countess Caroline since the publication of her first book.
We met at one of my favorite sidewalk cafés, La Terrasse at Avenue Bosquet near Rue Cler
and the Eiffel Tower, and she filled me in on the details of her recent life, which, as
you may imagine, was eventful to say the least. Countess Caroline had been and was at the
time working as an operative with both the FBI and for an anti-terrorist organization
whose name I am not at liberty to divulge. And, she had a new book for me, an account of
her recent ordeal in a Siberian gulag as faithfully recorded in her Diary, as before.
Could I, would I, do her the great favor once again of editing and organizing her material
so that it could be presented as a book? Countess Caroline, needless to say, can be very
persuasive, and so I agreed. Actually, she didn’t have to persuade me, because I was more
than happy to oblige this enchanting and exceptionally plucky young lady. After a few
apéritifs and an excellent bouillabaisse we said goodbye and Countess Orlovska, under deep
cover, was off for another adventure, to what part of the globe, I cannot, at this time,
make mention. I took the Diary back to my hotel room and began reading. After only a few
pages I said to myself, “Yes!” And again, “Yes!” I read on and on through the night,
unable to put Countess Caroline’s Diary down. I knew I had something: a real book, written
by a real flesh-and-blood woman. And so it is with great pleasure that I present for your
reading entertainment—only slightly edited by yours truly—Countess Caroline Orlovska’s
latest book, Bride of the Mongols.
CHAPTER 1
November 17. Dear Diary. Here I am at the Siberian Gulag under deep cover. My true
name is Countess Caroline Orlovska, but my undercover identity is Corporal Caroline
Wright. My commanding officer is Major Popov, Commandant of the Gulag. There are something
like five thousand slavegirls here, girls of all nationalities, in various stages of
training. It breaks my heart to see how these innocent girls are treated, but we cannot
act as yet. I am in close radio touch with my immediate superiors, Agents Winton and
Bronson of the FBI. I must follow their instructions to the letter.
We are working in conjunction with the International Anti-Terrorist Coalition.
God willing we will soon put Major Popov and his band of criminal sadists behind
bars.
My path to the Gulag was not an easy one.
Shall I tell you how my train to Northern Siberia was hijacked by Mongols? How I
was captured and forced into sexual servitude? How I became the sex toy of Pujik and
Maldahr? How they violated me again and again throughout the long Arctic nights on a bed
of foul-smelling reindeer hides?
Or shall I tell the heart-breaking story of Emily, the gentle British schoolteacher
who was Pujik’s plaything? Or how we escaped, Emily and I, in a kayak? The Norwegian
merchant seamen who rescued us on the open sea were a kindly lot, to be sure. But then our
ship was boarded and taken in tow by Chinese pirates.
Shall I begin there? Shall I begin with the ruthless Ling Po, Maximum Leader of the
Chinese pirates, who kept me in a damp hold deep in the bowels of his ship, bound with
coarse hempen ropes? Shall I tell you how he ravished me again and again in that infernal
hellhole that was infested with rats and crawling with lice?
I think I shall begin with Pujik the Mongol. How I despise him! I hate him with all
my heart. I am a civilized woman, and yet I would kill him if I could. Pujik is an animal,
a vile, thug.
Perhaps it will do me good to get it off my chest.
My train was hijacked, as I said, somewhere in the wilds of Siberia. My cover—that
is, my corporal stripes and my Sex Commando uniform—meant nothing, of course, to Pujik and
his henchman, Maldahr. To them I was woman flesh, booty, baggage, chattel.
I was bound with crude rawhide thongs, wrapped in seal furs, then bound once again
with more thongs, and placed on a dog sled like a lump of merchandise. As we sped across
the ice floes I could hear the Mongols laughing and talking in their harsh dialects. There
must have been about a hundred of them, a swarthy, ratty, rank-smelling band of brigands,
dressed in furs and animal skins. Above us, the Northern Lights made fantastic patterns in
the sky.
At least I wasn’t cold, bundled up as I was in furs and bound with thongs, but I
could not move my arms or legs. I was not gagged. I could have screamed for help, but who
would have heard me?
It was late afternoon when we stopped to make camp for the night. It was just a
spot on a desolate ice floe. There was nothing around. I’ve never felt so alone in my
life, and so helpless. But I wasn’t alone, I reminded myself. I was the only woman in a
company of men, a company of ragged desperados, foul-smelling, illiterate men, most of
whom had probably never seen a white woman.
I was the bride of the Mongols!
My captors lost no time in setting up their crude tents made of animal hides. I was
released from my dog sled and ushered into the tent of Pujik, the Mongol leader. By the
light of a flickering seal-oil lamp I saw a large forbidding man with a wispy mustache and
a single earring. There was no furniture. A pile of reindeer and sealskins served as a
bed. In the center of the tent was a smoldering fire which gave off the most horrid smell
imaginable. The Mongols burn dried reindeer dung for fuel.
The bandit chieftain’s tiny shrewd eyes were sparkling with lust as he looked me up
and down. Clearly, Pujik considered me a prize. I was standing in front of the fierce
Mongol leader, more or less at attention, hoping against hope that a show of respect might
make my ordeal an easier one.
After contemplating me for a moment, Pujik stepped forward and stripped away my
furs. My uniform seemingly displeased him, for he ordered me, with a series of crude
gestures, to take it off. I obeyed, knowing that I had no choice but to do so.
I now stood before the Mongol leader in my bra and panties, trembling, not with
cold, for it was quite warm inside the tent, but with fear. For it was plain to see now
that the savage Mongol meant to have me. And have me. And have me.
And there was nothing I could do about it. I was his. I was Pujik’s sex toy, a
plaything to be used according to Pujik’s pleasure throughout the endless hours of the
long Arctic night.
And use me he did, Dear Diary! Oh, how that savage used me.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
I suppose that Pujik had never seen a bra before. He reached out a grimy hand and
stripped it off me with a single fluid movement and held it up in the air like a trophy.
Then he burst out laughing.
I forced a laugh myself, hoping to distract him from his main objective.
I was unsuccessful, because Pujik’s laughter ceased as his tiny bright eyes
fastened on my ample breasts. The next thing I knew the bandit chieftain was holding my
breasts in his hands, cradling them, as if glorying in their weight and density. Then he
began to squeeze them and massage them, and he was terribly rough about it.
“Ongghh…” he muttered, and then he spoke some Mongol words, which of course I did
not understand. Apparently he wanted me to kneel, because he placed his grubby hands on my
slender shoulders and firmly pressed me down.
I obediently knelt before the Mongol leader and apprehensively awaited his next
command.
Suddenly Pujik stripped off his fur robe and stood naked before me! My heart sank
within me as my eyes swept over the segmented torso and the thighs with their great bands
of thick muscle. And his cock… It was enormous, dark in coloration, with an odd-shaped
purplish head. Only half erect, it lolled in front of me like the trunk of some extinct
elephant.
“Ongghh…angghh agg!”
These grunts that came from his lips were more like grunts of pleasurable
anticipation than commands. I remained as I was, kneeling, gazing up into his eyes like a
faithful dog. I knew that my very life depended on my obeying the fierce bandit
chieftain’s every command with an attitude of utter submission and subjugation.
Grinning like an evil ape, Pujik grasped his growing cock at the base and began to
rub it all over my round firm boobies, paying special attention to the nipples, which he
repeatedly prodded with the ugly purplish head. After a few minutes of that, which he
seemed to enjoy immensely, he laid his cock full length between my breasts.
More grunts and unintelligible words followed, this time in a tone of command.
I understood what was required of me. Pujik wanted me to hold my breasts together,
to squeeze them around his cock, capturing the shaft of it in the snug silky valley
between them. The bandit chieftain was going to fuck my tits!
And fuck them he did. In contact with the ample globes his cock stiffened to a
prodigious hardness. He fucked it between them with quick, rhythmic strokes. It felt as if
I had a red-hot poker between my boobs.
Then the Mongol leader got the idea of lubricating his cock with some oil from the
flickering seal oil lamp. He rubbed the oil into his rigid brown cock, thoroughly
lubricating it. Then he placed his gleaming penis back in the snug valley between my white
rounded breasts, his fierce eyes urging me to squeeze them tight around it.
I obeyed, pressing my boobs firmly together to capture his rampaging brown cock. He
began to fuck in earnest now, bumping my chin with the purplish head of his cock with
every furious stroke. I knew he would be cumming soon, and then hopefully he would go to
sleep. Therefore, in order to hasten his orgasm I gazed up into his eyes with what I hoped
was a look of utterly submissive adoration as he ravished my breasts.
My ploy worked beautifully, for the next instant I caught a hot jet of Mongol spunk
full in my face. Pujik’s thick brown penis was spurting and spurting, drenching me with
his warm gooey cock milk. Gobs of sperm flew into my eyes, and into my lustrous black
hair. My boobies were covered with it, thick ropy strands of jism that clung to my
nipples, soothing them with its creamy warmth.
“Aaaaaarrrrghhh!”
And still it kept coming, gush after gush. The air was filled with the raw protein
odor of fresh semen. I felt the Mongol’s balls now, jerking and thumping against my belly
as they pumped load after hot steaming load of spunk up through the shaft of Pujik’s
swollen brown cock and onto my savaged titties.
“Aarrrghhh! Arrrgh! Uhh! Ah! Ohh!”
At last the flood subsided. With a fierce grunt of gut-deep satisfaction, the
bandit chieftain seized a handful of my finespun black hair and wiped his drooling cock
off with it.
Now he gave a great yawn, and dragging me as if I had been a toy, he lumbered
toward the pile of stinking reindeer hides that served as his bed.
I felt a sense of triumph. Perhaps Pujik would now sleep through the night, and I
too would get some much-needed rest. But my hopes were in vain, because when we sat down
upon the pile of furs the Mongol leader stripped off my pink panties and ruffled my bush
of dark blonde pubic fur with the flat of his hand.
“Onganga…” he muttered with a grin and an appreciative nod of his head. Clearly, my
pussy was a treat that he intended to save for later, to be enjoyed at his leisure.
Before lying down to sleep, Pujik bound my wrists together with rude rawhide
thongs, so tightly that the circulation in my hands was nearly cut off. He fastened my
bound hands to his own wrist by means of another rawhide thong about a foot and a half
long, thus assuring that I would not leave his bed during the night.
I stretched out beside the reclining Mongol, thinking that perhaps I would be
allowed to sleep, but I was wrong. Pujik had other plans for me. Placing his hands on my
shoulders, he pushed me downward on the pile of furs until my face was opposite his groin.
Grasping his shrunken cock at the base, he introduced it into my mouth.
“Ung gung guhhgg.”
I took this to mean that the bandit chieftain wanted me to suck his cock.
Obediently I took his still-drooling penis deeply into my mouth and sucked a long strand
of jism out of it. Pujik gave a sleepy, appreciative grunt and began to snore. Was my
torment over?
Cautiously, I allowed the Mongol’s cock to slurp out of my mouth. Instantly, Pujik
awoke. With an angry growl, he seized a handful of my hair and pulled my face rudely into
his groin.
As I dutifully took the Mongol’s penis once again into my mouth, I understood to my
horror just what was going to be required of me. The brute wanted me to suck his cock all
night long, bringing it to erection with my mouth, then stripping the sperm out of it when
his orgasm arrived. I was not to take my mouth off his cock for even one minute!
And so it went on all night. I sucked, like a baby fastened to a nipple, on the
Mongol’s cock, now bringing it to orgasm with my lips and tongue, now sucking the drool
out of it as the orgasm subsided.
For a time it would lie there in my mouth, his penis, flaccid and relaxed. Then, as
I constantly slicked my tongue over its every surface, it would begin to swell and grow.
My mouth would be stuffed with it, with its throbbing hugeness. I would begin to suck in
earnest, bringing it closer and closer to orgasm. Then the spurting would begin, the
repeated jets of thick Mongol sperm.
Then the bandit chieftain’s vile brown cock would shrink, and lie once again
flaccid in my mouth, until the ceaseless lapping of my tongue caused it to swell and spit
out its foul-tasting spunk.
When Pujik awoke in the morning he seemed very rested and in a good mood. I didn’t
know what to expect, but after the brute had pulled back the seal-fur blanket and had
ruffled my blonde pubic fur with his broad flat hand, I knew only too well what was coming
next.
It was time for the Mongol leader to enjoy some white-girl pussy!
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