The summer sun was hot and getting hotter as it reached its zenith. Bilguun the Fearless happily rode at a gentle pace to accommodate the stride of his lovely prisoners. He knew full well that the day would be hard on the captives, but he made sure the hardships wouldn’t reach a dangerous extent. This was why he had ordered his men to allow hats for all prisoners, so the sun wouldn’t burn their faces.

Walking out in the heat on the vast steppe was hard enough as it was. June and especially Kate were learning this the hard way as their comfortable first-class compartment quickly became a distant memory.

Kate was already getting blisters in her feet after only an hour of walking, and she kicked off her shoes, finding it better to walk barefoot on the tender grass. The horseman following her loved her petite, walking figure and her little girly feet offered him pale beacons against the green grass. He would be more than happy to attend to those sore feet later that night, but... Would the Captain allow him to touch her? The barefoot maid in her fancy black dress, black hat and black gloves suddenly felt magically out of his reach.

Captain Bilguun often looked behind him, beyond the rump of his brown-and-white horse, to look at his own prisoner, a raven-haired beauty whose slender body was sweating under her wide-brimmed hat as she kept walking on and telling another girl – probably her sister from the likeness in their features – to hang on and be strong.

Bilguun was the only one in his company who understood some English, and this was only because he had learned German during his time of fighting in Poland.

He was very happy with the way the attack had gone. He didn’t lose a single man, and only two of the wealthy passengers had been killed. Things always went smoother with the help of an inside confederate.

The old guardsman had pulled out his gun at the locomotive drivers and ordered them to stop. There had been a little shooting at the back of the train, but the guards were quickly overwhelmed and half of them were shot like dogs before the others surrendered. One bandit had got a bullet in his forearm, and that was all for the butcher’s bill.

They had quickly gone through the second-class section, taking some money and a watch, a ring, an earring or a brooch here and there. They did not forget to choose a handful of Chinese daughters or newly wed wives to bring along with them as it was always nice to have girls at night by the campfire.

The real prize was the first-class car, toward the front of the train. There, they had gone through each compartment and taken all the money, jewels and other valuables they could get their hands on. Everything had gone smoothly.

And then the white women! Many of them were young and beautiful. A lot more than expected, but Bilguun wasn’t surprised as he had been tipped off by the old guardsman. They had found a real treasure trove and taken a lot more hostages than they had originally planned. And now, some fine shoes of Italian leather were threading on East-Mongolian grass. A young Italian nun was walking on in sandals, toiling under her white robes under the sun, roped to a horse. All the white women had to endure this indignity.

Bilguun had taken eleven white girls. What's more, two Chinese girls from Peking and their father were among his wealthy hostages.

His lieutenant Oolguun had told him these Han girls also spoke Korean, although they were from a well-known noble family that was distantly related to the Imperial family of China, and their names were Fade and Jan. Two sisters, each dressed in a long dark indigo dress with golden dragons embroidered on their bosoms; both looking like princesses with their long black hair and bright pale complexion.

Oolguun had caught them himself. Bilguun decided that these two sisters with Imperial blood in their veins would be the very first to get thrown at his men. Bilguun was eager to reach the site for his overnight camp, where he’d get to see the expression on the white women’s faces as they’d be forced to watch the Chinese girls get brutally gang-raped.

Bilguun spurred his horse a bit, forcing June to jog behind him and swear, using a Yankee vocabulary he understood nothing of.

He now rode next to his lieutenant, a rather tall man who nonetheless looked small next to his herculean Captain, who rode on a low and sturdy horse that made him look grotesquely large and tall.

“How old do you think this one is?” he asked Oolguun, pointing at Fade who stoically, silently walked behind Oolguun’s horse.

Fade was tied to the horse with her two wrists together in front of her as she kept toiling under the bright sun, her satin-black hair of exquisite lights highlighting the pale richness of her complexion and the perfect softness of her youthful features. She was looking down at the grass, a very noble sight indeed as she walked on, protected by a wine-red hat that matched the linings of her dark-blue gown.

“How old? Hmmm... Hard to tell. She can’t be twenty, but she’s no longer a child, but why does it matter?”

“Well, you're right. As long as she looks young and pretty, we can get a good price for her on the Chinese market. Those peasants will pay a lot for the privilege of fucking a royal princess! And the other one is her sister?” Bilguun asked, looking at Jan, who was wearing a nearly identical outfit, except for her hat, which was of a beautiful golden brown matching the linings bordering her rich dress of silk.

Oolguun nodded.

“And their father is a high official in Peking?”

Oolguun nodded again.

“Good! I think we’ll fetch a very good ransom for those two and their fat father. When we get to our base camp in two days, he’ll have to watch his daughters working as sex slaves until he gives in and accept our terms. We need gold, rifles and ammunition.”

“Food too! With some pussy on the side! I always love the expression of deep, heart-breaking humiliation in a Chinese girl’s face when she gets gang-raped by Mongolian men! It’s always priceless. But what about the white women? Aren’t we going to get some piece of them too?”

“I haven’t made my mind about it yet. Those white pigs tend to pay more when we keep their daughters intact.”

“That’s a pity!” Oolguun complained. “The men will be upset. Aren’t you afraid they will mutiny if you deny them those white women?”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take. I tell you, the white men will do anything to keep their daughters unscathed and inviolate. I know how they are. But look at these lovely Chinese sluts! Are the men going to complain when they get such prime meat for booty?”

On that, Bilguun, proudly wearing his khaki uniform---with its old Russian shoulder pads adorned with the long red stripe and the four tiny stars of a Captain---took a small canteen from his saddle and offered some arkhi to his lieutenant, before taking a couple of sips for himself.

Both men grinned as they rode on. It would be a while until the authorities got wind of the attack and longer still to bring some forces in. They'd be far by that time and safe on the Chinese side of the border. Bilguun felt it was safe to have fires at the camp. Cossacks cavalry rode fast, but they weren't demons who could fly in the sky.

As for the local men, they were too afraid of the bandits to be of much help to any pursuing force; any man who helped or caused trouble was certain to have his house ransacked and his wife and/or daughters gang-raped in front of him. The train was still immobilized due to the dismantled rails in front of the locomotive, and the only driver who had survived had gone missing. It wasn't going anywhere any time soon. The passengers would soon eat out the food stores in the diner car; they'll be starving and dangerous to each other by the time rescues arrived.

The bandits had to ride on. Bilguun would allow his men to kill the first man who would try to escape or to delay them, in order to strike terror in the hearts of the surviving hostages.

The weather was perfect. It was a gorgeous summer day, and it looked like they’d reach the first campsite on schedule; they’d reach that pond and the emerald-green pastures surrounding it well before nightfall.

***

June’s Diary (her thoughts committed to her memory)

This is appalling! My captor, who is so tall and large that he makes his horse looks like a little pony under him, gave me some strong alcohol called arkhi when we made a short halt under that scorching sun. He smiled as I accepted it and I understood instantly this was a mistake. It nonetheless fortified me.

That alcohol was strong, and it gave me courage for the humiliation that lay ahead. Most of us prisoners needed to relieve our bladder. Thankfully, all of us are in such a state of shock that our bowels are tight shut, in survival mode so to speak, but peeing while being looked at by these awful men—animals, really—was humiliating beyond words.

They carefully escorted us away from the horses, to a patch of rich grass, where we were made to understand through signs that we were to relieve ourselves there.

The men and women were separated of course. One of these three Russian daughters I met this morning in the dining car, Alexandra I think, started shouting loud at a guard, in anger, as he was taking some liberties on her person.

My own captor—I know now that he's the Captain of the whole company—barked at him and even struck him hard enough for him to fall down. He then spoke harshly to all his men. He was no doubt telling them we, women, are not to be touched.

I wonder at the cause of that change. That same Captain, with his wide face, large black moustache and hard features, did kiss and grope me when I and my poor little Kate fell in their hands. I shudder just to think of the horrible things he did to my person, and only through my clothes! Kate was also subjected to such depraved treatment! I dare not imagine anything worse...

But I have hope. He probably felt guilty of doing what he did and through some sort of primitive morals, he realized he had done something wrong. Maybe he’s human after all. He most certainly intends to bargain us for ransom, and it must be in his interest to see that we are treated with respect and dignity. I really hope so for Kate’s sake. She comes first!

My biggest insurance comes in the silk dresses I discern in the other group of women not far away—the Chinese girls, all of them young and beautiful. I’ve seen them as they formed two circles in order to squat down and pee with relative intimacy—the girls in the outer circle stand, forming a dress-wearing human wall and shielding the girls in the inner circle squatting and doing what nature compels them to. Then, the girls switch circles.

We white girls took their example at heart and formed such outer and inner circles. I made sure I was holding Kate’s hand all the time as she was terrified and wouldn’t stop bawling. She’s so young and delicate! I shouldn’t have taken her along with me; she belongs in a café in New York, not in the Siberian steppe where the wind sometimes carries whiffs of piss or even rotten odors from some carrion. As I pee, I see vultures in the sky. I was looking for a good omen. No luck in the sky.

These Chinese girls were brought along for one purpose by these men, and as I looked at the rich Peking daughters, whom I had spoken with last night, I knew their fate was sealed. Poor Fade and Jan!

They are such sweet girls, just about Kate’s age or maybe a bit younger. They are just as well educated and well-read as us. But their being Chinese will make all the difference. There’s a cut-off wall of decency between us and them... I cry as I anticipate what will happen tonight—Fade and Jan will be defiled by the bandits along with all the other Chinese girls. We will hear their wails, their screams, their whimpers, and we will be powerless to stop the tragedy. This is inevitable.

This is so horrifying! And we will have to watch and hear all of it. Horrifying! I must write that book and get it published. At least, we white girls will be spared from the worst.

But I have reasons to expect that this unfortunate situation will be resolved. My family is rich, and I know father will give up a large sum of money to see us back home safely, but how long is this going to take?

From the way my captor has been looking at me as he rides his ridiculously small horse, I know for sure that he’ll soon propose to me. He looks to me like a man with enough sense of honor to properly marry me before taking me with him inside his tent. But there’s no way I’m marrying such a savage! Who does he think he is?! I could just as well go to the zoo and marry a gorilla! But I need to buy time for myself and Kate, feign an illness or something.

That sun is unforgiving! I’m so numb now that I even forget how humiliating it is to be tied to a barbarian’s horse and forced to walk on behind him like some Roman noblewoman after the sack of Rome in 410 A.D. My hat is saving my life! My snow-pale complexion is my pride, but here, under that sun with these vultures circling around us, this would be my death without a hat.

One of the European men tried to fight back against his captor. I recognized him. He’s a Belgian jeweler by the family name of Deleu. The horseman behind Mr. Deleu charged forward and skewered him with his spear as the unfortunate man was striking at the horseman in front of him, only hitting the man’s thighs, before he screamed in shock and agony when that wicked spear was sunk deep in his back.

I saw the blood and it was awful! Kate didn’t see much, thankfully, but I heard the Russian twin daughters scream in a loud series of shrill sounds of horror that chilled my spine.

Mr. Deleu’s young wife screamed, “Oh, mon Dieu ! Gilbert ! Gilbert !” in French as she saw him fall, and she frantically pulled at her own rope, trying in vain to drag her horse and captor as she attempted to run and reach her fallen husband to kneel at his side as any good wife will do in such a grim tragedy.

But the cruel horseman stepped down of his steed and punched her square and hard, making her fall with the sun playing wonderful lights in the tragic cascade of her golden hair.

The savage Mongolian then proceeded to tie her ankles together with some more rope he was given. He jeered and laughed at her the whole time he worked the knots with prodigious dexterity that made me pause and think about what the modern man had lost in primitive skill. Only a hundred years ago, we had large sail boats where our own sailors were just as dexterous in knots.

Once the young wife’s lower legs were tightly wrapped in one piece, the heathen demon attached the rope to his saddle, and as he mounted his pony-size horse again, he spurred his steed forward!

We all heard the pitiful cries of her dying husband, “Adèle! Adèle!” as she was dragged face up and feet first on the long grass, at the speed of a trot, with her long beige dress giving some grotesque majesty to the scene, soon broken by the grotesque erotic show of her white legs as the dragging movement brought her dress all the way up to the point her underwear—the hem of a petticoat—was coming dangerously close to exposing her genitals.

Fortunately, my captor, the Captain of that horde of yellow-faced scoundrels, gave a loud order, and the horseman immediately slowed down his horse to a very gentle gait. He also ordered the scoundrel to bring the unfortunate wife back on her feet. He was clearly doing his best to spare us white women, and he had firm control over his men, which brought me some hope.

One of the prisoners has had some medical training before becoming a clergyman. He’s from England, answers by the name of Victor and he was travelling with a daughter by the name of Maude, an exquisitely good-looking girl about Kate's age.

The dapper clergyman was untied and allowed to attend by the Belgian jeweler, who soon died, as the wound was a lethal one.

Victor entered in a state of mad rage as the Captain said we would go on without burying the dead man.

“The vultures eat him verden! His zeele, hoch in the sky is.”

Such was his reply to the enraged Anglican priest, in a broken English that we all understood in spite of his use of the German word for “soul” and his German phrasing.

But the priest broke into a fit of rage, which looked all the more impressive against his usual calm and the dignified style of his bowtie and queue-de-pie, complete with a bowler hat of first-rate felt. He ran at the nearest horseman and tried to take his rifle away! I could tell he has fighting experience.

“Father!” his daughter Maude cried out, but she was immediately reigned in by her grinning captor who pulled hard at her rope and caused her to lose her balance, while her father was quickly surrounded by a small group of bandits who beat him down into a state of silent submission using the butt of their Russian rifles. The Captain stopped them and probably saved the poor soul’s life.

The Captain then ordered men to tightly wrap ropes around his legs and arms, making him look like a living mummy, grotesquely dignified in his dark suit, as they attached his ankles to a man’s saddle. He was going to be dragged on his back like that Belgian wife by the name of Adèle, now a widow.

We were all made fully obedient from that point on. We marched on, frightened, suffering under the sun for the better part of the afternoon until we reached the welcome sight of a large pond where wild ducks bathed in clear waters that mirrored the deep blue sky. I spotted some males with their teal heads.

This sight brought tears to my eyes, as I remembered those carefree days of my childhood, on those sunny days of smiling oaks, cheerful beeches, green lawns and gabled houses overlooking white fences, when I took my little Kate—so little back then—and we would go at the park to watch the ducks and the swans too.

What’s going to become of us now?

***

“I have English pounds in a Swiss account!” Yuri told Captain Bilguun.

This was true. In 1918, when it was clear that the Soviets would stay in power and would only be dislodged at the cost of a long and bloody war, Yuri had converted all of his rubles into English currency and gold bullions, which he had stashed away through a secret, Tsarist-controlled network.

This was a few years before, back when there was still hope of regaining Russia for the fallen aristocracy, before his cousin the Czar was murdered along with his wife and their four wonderful daughters. Poor Olga! He would never forget the intimacy they secretly shared, so long ago already. No doubt the Soviet guards, all of them former serfs and greased-faced proletarians, must have terrified the poor girls, who were better off dead. Killing royalty... What an abomination!

Yuri had remained in hiding through living in nondescript poverty, thanks to his peculiar knowledge of practical street survival and some dubious trade. He had been a prizefighter in his early youth, earning money through his fists for a brief period, before his noble father uncovered the truth and put a stop to such a young man’s madness. Yet he had learned some precious streetwise knowledge that would later save him and his daughters from nobility’s common slaughter and defilement at the hands of those bloodthirsty Bolsheviks, who were really brigands under the guise of government.

He had had opportunities for escape, but he had felt the odds were against him and his family, and he wanted to be sure, for being caught meant absolute horror for his daughters. Then, the Soviets found him. His wife and his son Mikhail were taken and no doubt tortured before being murdered.

Yuri and his daughters narrowly escaped to Moscow, at the cost of Alexandra’s honor. Now, at last, as the civil war was over and lost, he had found a means of escape through the East, via the Trans-Siberian Express to China, which he boldly boarded in first class as a wealthy man having important business in Peking—Bolsheviks always looked for hiding aristocrats in second and third classes, and by 1923, these survivors in hiding were becoming few.

From China, he would sail all the way back to Europe, where a fortune and a return to his aristocratic way of life awaited him. He planned on some simple mansion in Switzerland. Nothing lavish. Only a dignified freedom and peace. At last. He was so close!

Then, fate had struck again in the form of horse-riding Mongolians. That Captain presently riding above him on the vast steppe looked like a man who could be bought for reasonable terms. The initial offer for their freedom was 5, 000 English pounds.

Yuri had hoped to settle the deal for 10, 000 pounds, a fabulous sum of money in these God-forsaken parts, but the Mongolian Captain had a perfect command of the Russian language and proved shrewder than anticipated.

With a poker face, the horse-riding Captain made a far costlier offer—Yuri was asked for 15, 000 pounds and the hand of one of his daughters.

Yuri was white with rage, but remained calm. How dare he! He offered 25, 000 pounds for their freedom, for himself and all his daughters.

The shrewd Captain made a final offer—35, 000 pounds for the freedom of all of them plus the guarantee that no harm would come to his daughters. Yuri immediately accepted. This was a third of his wealth, but the relief he felt was priceless. His dear daughters always came first.

***

Captain Bilguun smiled a mile wide as he saw the pond, its tranquil surface of a delicate blue and silver.

Now, at last! Now... He and his men were going to rest and celebrate their successful hunt at the expense of these privileged pigs who thought they owned the world.

He was so hungry! The cooks were already fetching the barley flour and the yak butter from the carrying horses to prepare the tzamba, a porridge made from roasted flour mixed with buttered tea.

His lieutenant Oolguun was barking orders and the bandits were now pitching the tents, herding the prisoners and setting the camp with their usual efficiency.

A few ducks were hunted, killed by scary-accurate marksmen—as an additional warning against any escape attempt—and the feathers were plucked off the game birds. Captain Bilguun announced that duck meat would be a privilege for the female prisoners, only for Chinese, he said aloud, enjoying the sense of humiliation on the faces of his white prisoners. A priceless moment!

That privilege would come with a heavy cost for the unfortunate Chinese girls, most of whom began to sob and hug each other as they knew all too well that their inevitable fate was close at hand.

Fade and Jan were crying in each other’s arms, very predictably.

Fade madly hoped for some Russian cavalry to show up and come to their rescue, but even if such a company of Cossacks did materialize, those white cavalrymen would charge and defeat the Mongolians, but they would rescue the white hostages, and gang-rape all Chinese girls as war booty. The only difference would be the color of their skin. Fair was only fair for the privileged.

Jan thought of her comfortable home in Peking’s diplomatic neighborhood. She was going to be gang-raped! Defiled by Merkits!

The Merkits were lowly men compared to the Han Chinese. The prospect of being raped by a single Merkit felt even more degrading to Jan than the same treatment from several white men on her, even if those white men were vile and dirty. The only rapists more degrading than Merkits would be African men or Aboriginals from New Guinea. Merkits were on a par with Indonesians and Indian men. They were scum!

With growing alarm, Fade and Jan observed the life settling down in the swiftly set camp while the sun was still some height above the horizon. Large fires were made in dug holes under the late-afternoon sky. The ducks were put on rods and made to slowly roast over expertly adjusted fires. Meat jerky was pulled out of pouches and eaten by men who kept eying their lovely prisoners in a way that did not bode well for the girls.

The prisoners were all given tzamba to eat along with strong tea. Some of the women were even offered arkhi, but Jan and Fade proudly refused to eat anything, no matter how hungry they were, and they certainly wouldn’t accept any drink from Merkits!

Jan felt their vile gazes that polluted her person. The golden dragons embroidered on her dark indigo dress must be so offended! Why didn’t they take life, fly out of her and fight off that rabble? She was indeed wearing her favorite silk dress with linings that matched her golden-bronze hat. To her, it felt as if those filthy Merkits could see right through her garments! Were they really going to take her dress off?! She couldn’t imagine this! She felt already dead and trembled.

After quickly eating some tzamba and beef jerky, the Merkit bandits began to drink arkhi. This was the beginning of the end.

They gathered in a fast-growing circle around the Chinese girls, many of whom started to wail and shriek at the top of their voice while others remained petrified in terrified silence, shedding quiet tears as they stood on the threshold of the worst fate that could befall a Han girl. They had nowhere to run. Two girls tried to escape, running like headless hens while the others understood that this wouldn't help them. The running girls ran directly into the men's arms, and the orgy began.

Fade felt beyond vilified from being stared at and appraised like a piece of meat at the market. No decent man would want to touch her once it would be known that she had been a prisoner of Merkits. She’d be better off dead!

Jan felt the same way, but she had no more time to ponder about her predicament. She screamed Fade’s name as she was snatched away from her arms by a sordid circle of earth-yellow faces, all of them displaying the grinning vileness of the Merkits—square jaws, wide faces, hard features with prominent cheekbones and cruel eyes that offered nothing but narrow slits of doom. In short, their features were harder and darker than the softer-faced Hans. They were absolute scum!

Jan yelled and cursed at these men, who jeered at her and spat on her face. Her golden hat was taken away and they all began to catcall her as the raven silk of her long hair cascaded down for their gross entertainment. Her naked hair was now defiled by their filthy gazes. The slightest of its threads was too good for them.

Something broke forever inside Jan as hands cupped her tits through her silk dress, and she screamed as if they were reaching inside her chest and pulling out her beating heart! Why did her golden dragons remain silent? Why didn’t they protect her? Why? Why? Why? Merkit hands on her boobs. So horrible! Why was she still breathing?

She heard Fade’s screams of distress and spat at the face of one of those wide-faced bandits, and the Merkit just laughed at her and helped the others in restraining her while her silk dress was assaulted by their filthy hands.

A loud, shrill scream exploded out of her as Jan realized they were lifting her dress and tucking the rich silk up her legs while removing her shoes. The only relief she felt was for her feet—they were hurting her after that long day of walking through the steppe. Feeling the breeze directly upon them brought some petty comfort.

But that relief was short-lived, as she felt countless hands touching and defiling her pale skin, all the way from her ankles to her upper thighs. They were all catcalling her and making all sorts of lewd sounds as they uncovered the nakedness of her legs.

Then, her dark dress was covering her face and the screaming Han girl felt her underwear shorts being ripped away along with her breast binders. They were pulling hard at her arms, removing her dress with urgent rage as she felt the Mongolian breeze directly on her skin as it hit her exposed cunt and the entire pack of Merkits hollered jeers of celebration as they beheld the forbidden silk of her cunt hair, that secret vee that could only be seen by a proper Han husband.

Jan was free. A free whore stripped of all dignity.

“Bù! Bù kěyǐ! Bù kěyǐ!” she screamed, as if they were going to stop just because she said "no you can't!".

They understood what "Bù kěyǐ!" meant. They told her that yes they could, "kěyǐ!"

She was booty. They had the right to do anything they wished to her. They just laughed louder and called her a dirty little tramp, in Merkit and even in Mandarin, as they ran their hands all over her suddenly naked body, cupping and pressing her pale breasts, and hurting her with aggressive fingers inside her pussy as they drowned her in their filthy musk, shaming her for life.

“Bùuu-uuuuhh... Bù kěyǐ! Bù kěyǐ! Bùxíng!” screamed other Chinese girls as they were similarly stripped naked and induced to their new life of sex slaves whose sole existence would from now on be devoted to the entertainment of Merkits.

The Chinese girls screamed their loud protests in complete panic as the bandits proceeded to uncover their out-of-bounds charms and feasted upon every inch of their almond-pale skin and flesh, unable to believe their good fortune at the sight of such splendor as they urgently pulled their dresses all the way off their faces and finally past their arms, in a glorious confusion of loosened silk while most of these Han daughters kept screaming and clenching their little fists as they were being so shamefully humiliated by those grinning Merkits.

The youngest one remained silent, completely petrified and shocked with unknown terror and sensations as she suddenly found herself naked with her virgin titties, her pure-brown nipples dancing a scared dance atop them, amid the press of these animals. Her legs and feet caused some men around her to grow maddening erections that demanded an immediate relief.

They had fire in their veins and got really horny as they found maddening charms in this small girl. This "little tramp from Beijing" was going to be an amazing fuck! They were all going to deflower her! Their collective madness took a gross life of its own, making them less than human if they were such to begin with.

Captain Bilguun had ordered that all Chinese girls be stripped completely naked, so their modesty would be defiled for all to see. He knew how incredibly humiliating this must be to these girls, and how terrifying—and perhaps secretly arousing—the scene must be to his European "guests".

Jan’s and Fade’s father screamed and struggled against his bindings, struck by a fit of raving madness as he saw his daughters being stripped naked by the vile dogs. He tried to break his ties and nearly succeeded, for he was a stout man with great strength, but the rifle butts spoke to his skull, and the dishonored father was soon pummeled down and brought back to more reasonable dispositions.

***

June hugged Kate close to her heart as she witnessed the harrowing scene. Nearby, Nadejda buried her face against her father’s chest; she was sobbing in terror and wouldn’t take one look at the unthinkable scene, but she heard these poor girls as they screamed and squealed to no avail, while the bandits laughed and jeered at them. Alexandra and Anna held each other and felt the utmost pity for the Chinese girls who were sacrificed like sheep on the altar of men’s lust.

Adèle, the newly made widow, was watching the scene with her jaw dropped, unable to stir or make a sound. Maude, the clergyman's daughter, remained silent and kept looking down at the grass, unable to un-see or un-hear the defilement of these girls who were the same age as her, but they were Chinese while she was British.

Stanley had a shameful erection as he recognized Jan and Fade, and was suddenly seeing them in the nude in the hands of these devils of the Pit. He would never admit it, not even to himself, that he was wishing he were one of these bandits and could partake. The 22-year-old lad was too young to realize that nearly all men present secretly felt the same way, at least to some extent. A few of them even looked at the white girls with something uncivilized in their gaze. This wasn't a good place to be for any girl. Yet most men felt ready to die to protect their loved ones.

Stanley would never forget the bandits' expression of animalistic lust as Jan and her juicy breasts were put in full display, freely moving and so pale against her dark-brown nipples as they were forcing her legs apart and restraining all her limbs, keeping her noble nakedness in a slanting position amid their sordid circle while the first man presently took his place between her legs and unceremoniously lowered his uniform pants to begin the real feast. One moment later, he was inside the unfortunate girl and taking his pleasure while her shriek of agony echoed against the heavens.

This was beyond horrifying! All Europeans watched the Chinese girls, who were sobbing, shrieking or weeping in silence as the gang-rape began. One sentiment of selfish self-survival pervaded all white women and it remained unspoken—Better them than us.

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Gang rape, Asian, Teen, Humiliation, 1920s, Outdoors, Froced undressing, Groping, Period-typical racism