Margie was leaning up as far as her bound hands would allow to see what was going on. She could just see a little bit outside the tent. When she saw the bloody head of her assailant rolling along the grass, she screamed with terror. Her captor in chief came crawling in, the red stained machete still in his hand. New, dark maroon splatters covered his shirt and pants. His face was a mask of rage.
“You f*****g w***e!” he yelled at her as she cringed and tried to withdraw her body from his reach. “You let that son of a pestilent w***e suck at your cunt!” Margie tried to tell the man that she had had no choice, that it was forced upon her as she felt him untie her hands from the stake. But her muffled protestations were not heard. The heavyset man dragged her from the tent and across the clea
