Female POW3: Afghan captivity

                                                     Female POW 3:   Afghan  Captivity                              

                                                              by conwic@aol.com

 

 

 

DISCLAIMERS:  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This story includes fictional descriptions of rape, torture, and bondage. If these descriptions are likely to offend you, DO NOT READ THIS STORY.  If you are under twenty-one years of age, DO NOT READ THIS STORY.

 

    There are a few things in my story which I didn’t make up.  One is the legality under Islamic law of enslaving women captured in war. That portion of the law remains unchanged, though  little used  given the Islamic Arabic world’s six century losing streak.  The other is that  the story of the English Captain is taken from an autobiography of John Masters, an officer in the colonial Indian Army between the  World Wars.   Now, as well as in his experience, Afghanistan is a  cruel and dangerous place for Western soldiers regardless of their sex. 

 

  

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SOUTHERN AFGHANISTAN: 1530 hours local time.

 

   “SHIT  SHIT, SHIT,  RED LIGHT .... HYDRAULICS.”

 

 “ Roger Captain.  I see it.” replied the male voice, calm as always.  “ Looks like we better be setting it down right now.  There. The road at 2 o’clock looks like the closest thing to  flat ground I can see.  “

 

“ Yea.  Looks clear. You bring it down, I’ll call in”, replied the  female voice. She sounded calmer now , reassured and just a little shamed, by the matter of fact tone of the older warrant officer.  But she remained  worried enough to put her pride aside and let the more experienced warrant handle the emergency landing, even though she was nominally at least the one in command of the UH-60 helicopter.  “  Blade one one, this is Blade  one six, Mayday, Mayday,  Making emergency landing vicinity  grid two three eight niner... I say again.. Mayday... emergency landing vicinity grid two three eight niner..over”

 

  Only static came back to her over the radio. She tried again as the warrant officer lined the  heavy copter up with the strip of sandy road  which  bisected the narrow valley below them. Again only static came back to her. There was no response from her unit‘s flight control station. Nor could she raise the special forces detachment they had just left 10 minutes earlier. That was not surprising.  Line of sight tended to be short in the mountains of Afghanistan, and with it, the range of radios.  With no contact with any station, there was nothing more for her to do other than warn the two door gunners in back to brace themselves and take a good  grip on the sides of her armored seat as  the aircraft spiraled rapidly downward. On either side of the road were steep boulder covered ridges;  smaller rocks and gullies bordered the road itself.   There was no room for error; the valley was barely wider than the copter’s blades.   She realized that she was holding her breath.  It took a force of will to make herself breath  as she watched the snow dusted  Afghani landscape came hurdling at her.

 

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  As soon as the first hint  of the noise of the helicopter’s rotors  reached them,  the ragged line of men had literally  dissolve into the rocks of the ridgeline they were following.   Instantly all but one man had squatted down behind a rock, pulled a woolen blanket over their bodies to  foil the American’s  heat sensors, and   huddled under it, a sincere appeal for Allah;s protection  on each man’s lips.  The only exception was a tall man dressed entirely in black, wearing an  Arab head cloth, a kaffiyeh, along with expensive Western style synthetic cold weather  clothing  rather than  the rough locally spun, earth colored wool coats and pants of the other men. He did condescend to kneel  beside a rock outcropping, but he made no effort to hide himself under a blanket as his companions had done.   Such a response was both beyond his experience as he had no knowledge of war as fought in Afghanistan and beneath  his contempt as  the descendant of proud warriors of the tribe of Beni Umaiya.  Centuries ago, in the time of the Prophet, his Arabian ancestors had exploded out of the Arabian desert to conquered the civilized world for the Faith. He would not hide from infidels like these cowardly Afghan peasants.  Instead, he welcomed the appearance of the Enemy’s aircraft. He  longed to meet his foe face to face in battle as his ancestors had.   That was the reason he had come to this desolate place.

 

  He watched with interest as the lone helicopter spiraled down to a hard landing in the small valley directly below him.  But instead of a squad of soldiers disembarking to do battle, he saw the craft shut down its engines, and  then three figures exit the now silent aircraft.  Watching as they set one of their number to guard the turn in the road, he realized that  they were oblivious to his  presence above them on the ridge .  Scarcely able to believe his good fortune, he carefully scanned  the surrounding sky, but could find no other aircraft.  God was indeed good.   With a whispered  “ Kehalis“ , he curtly called the Afghan leader, the young man with the old eyes, to him.  Kehalis was the only one of the Afghans who understood, if barely, his Arabic.  Kehalis was also, unlike the  dark man,  one experienced in the ways of Afghanistan’s many wars. But even for a neophyte such as the dark man, the mechanics of  destroying this handful of  infidels which God had deliver into his hands  seemed simple enough.  God, he thought, was indeed gracious. Though he had only been inside Afghanistan for three days,  he was already in a position to fulfill his vow of jihad by destroying  at least these three  infidels.  He could only hope that God had been so kind as to make them American infidels.

 

    The leader of the Poshtoons , the  man  named Kehalis,  had  also been watching the  events unfolding below them.   For once, he agreed with the arrogant  Arab. It was an easy target-  easy because the men below seemed oblivious to  the dangers presented by the ridgeline.  Provided they acted quickly before more Americans arrived, it would be an easy kill.   Unlike the  dark man beside him, Kehalis was a veteran of a lifetime of mountain warfare, having fought in several  jihads in Afghanistan even though he was technically a citizen of Pakistan .  As a Poshtoon,  he paid little attention to such arbitrary national distinctions and felt equally at home in the tribal areas on either side of the border between Afghanistan and Pakistan. He had fought twice against the Northern Alliance  as a teenager and more recently had joined the jihad against the Americans.   Orphaned as a young boy during the mujahideen‘s war against the Russians, he had been  starving and alone in a refugee camp in Pakistan before he was  adopted by his Mullah.  He had been  raised in the Mullah’s madrassa, his religious school.  The Mullah had been the father Kehalis had  lost,  feeding him, protecting him, and  teaching him  his duty to his Faith.  For this, he owed his Mullah his loyalty and his service.  Kehalis had no more thought of questioning his duty to his Mullah  than he did of  questioning  the seasons.  It , like the seasons, was the will of God. He knew nothing else, had no one else.  It was his Mullah who had sent him on Jihad to fight jihad against the Northern Alliance and the Americans, and it was the Mullah who had instructed him to organize and lead a band to accompany the Arab - which was how he thought of the tall dark man, since he had never been told  the  foreigner’s real name.  Because his Mullah had charged him to obey the Arab, he did. He knew that the others in their band  saw no reason to obey a foreigner, and an inexperienced  warrior at that, even if  a believer.   That too was  his people’s traditions; he did not think less of them for it.  Kehalis simply accepted that, if he were to fulfill the charge given him by his Mullah, he had to  balance their mistrust of the Arab against their strong desire for the money that the Arab had offered  them to accompany him and fight for him.

 

   Despite his obedience to the man,  Kehalis despised and  hated the Arab.  He despised him because the Arab had come here to experience war as a sport, like others of his kind had come here long ago before the wars to hunt exotic game. He knew that the Arab would spend a few weeks here on his private jihad and then go back to his comfortable world in Arabia without another thought for Kehalis or those like him who had lived with  this unending war all their lives.  He despised the Arab because he knew the man looked down upon him. The Arab was wealthy and traveled, while Kehalis was not. His arrogance in this was unforgivable in Kehalis’ eyes since it was a defiance of  the words of the Prophet that all believers were equal.  He despised the man for all these reasons and simply because he was an outsider, but he hated the Arab for one very personal reason. He hated him for the way he made fun of Kehalis’ spoken Arabic.   Raised to speak  only a dialectic of eastern Pashto, Kehalis had painfully taught himself  written Arabic in order to be able to read the Koran in its original tongue.  It was an achievement of which Kehalis was extraordinarily proud because it was the only thing which set him apart from his fellow students at the madrassa and the one thing which made him special to his Mullah, who, even if he could not comprehend the Arabic words, enjoyed listening to Kehalis speak the words of the Koran in God‘s own language.   Kehalis knew he did not possess the purity of the spoken word that any Arab would take for granted,.  But for the Arab to meanly mock  his hard won knowledge  enraged him.  He would do as the Mullah ordered,  but Kehalis would not be sadden if it was God’s will that the Arab went to paradise on this trip.

 

    For the moment, Kehalis simply hid his feelings and  nodded at the words the Arab spoke to him. The way the man wish to go about the attack was unnecessarily dangerous, but he did not argue with the Arab. He simply  nodded his head and then gave his men the orders  to do it the proper way.   He knew from painful experience that killing Americans was not easy.  He  would take no chances. Three of his men with one of the rocket propelled grenade launchers  - the ubiquitous RPG which was their most effective weapon- were told to move  to a position above the lone man guarding the bend in the road, taking full advantage of the way in which his attention was foolishly focused on the road itself rather than on the more dangerous ridgeline above him.  That man was dangerous; he had a machinegun.  Kehalis told the other six men with the remaining  RPG to carefully move  closer to the big helicopter for a better shoot.   Kehalis could see the barrel of  another machinegun  extending from the left side of the machine; its periodic side to side movements indicating that it was manned.  Here was another dangerous man, but one which Kehalis thought could not see them on the  ridgeline since he could not see the machinegunner in the helicopter . The two figures on the top  appeared unarmed and focused only on fixing their machine.  With care, none of the Americans would see his men until it was too late. Kehalis stayed with the Arab  to keep him from doing something foolish.  Once his men were in position, he would give the signal by firing his AK.  Kehalis watched and waited, his body absolutely still, his face blank,  as once again he prepared himself to face battle and the prospect of death. The Arab  fidgeted  beside Kehalis, compulsively checking and rechecking the magazine and safety of the shortened AK he carried, unable to contain his impatience for the bloodshed to begin .

 

 

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 Captain Cathy  Harper stood behind the left door gun, moving it nervously from side to side as she  scanned the half mile or so of empty road that stretched out in  front of her.  She could hear CWO2  Johnson and  the crew chief, SGT Grimes,  talking as they moved around on the top of the UH-60, carefully pouring their reserve cans of hydraulic fluid one by one into the  rotor system.   That and the duct tape Grimes had wrapped around the leaking hydraulic line would, she hoped, be enough to get them back to the SF detachment they had  left shortly before the rotor  ran dry .  Ten minutes flying time, at worst, she figured. She felt frustrated at her lack of control in this situation. She was the aircraft commander as well as the senior officer present,  but it was Johnson and Grimes who had decided what need to be done without any reference to her.  Her only contribution had been to see to their  security by sending PFC Williams to the bend in the road to guard the southern road approach while she manned Grimes’ door gun and watched the northern  road approach. 

 

     Cathy took off her flight helmet and ran her hand through her short blonde hair.  The more she thought about this, the angrier she became. All her life men had been doing things for her, regardless of whether or not she wanted them done.   While Johnson hadn’t said anything quite so crude as , “ Don’t worry your pretty little head about this” , that had been his attitude, and she hated it.   Her physical beauty- the blonde hair, the high cheekbones, the sky blue eyes, and the full, naturally pouting  lips-  had always had that effect on men.  Having been born with  that natural beauty, she took it for granted. and wished instead  to be judged on her abilities and intelligence.  She possessed an abundance of both - along with a strong, even willful personality, the result of a  spoiled childhood as the only child of  a career Army officer and  his  wife.  Rather than follow her Mother’s desires that she  marry a promising young man and produce children, Cathy had all her life intended to follow in the footsteps of her father.  He had been a distant, even cold, man to his daughter.  His pursuit of  promotion left little time for family.  But despite this, or as some- usually frustrated suitors- would say, because of it, Cathy had always been determined on a military career. She had joined the Army after college ROTC, taking her commission with the rather naive idea that as an Army officer she would  be judged on her merits alone.  To her surprise and disappointment, she found that males in uniform were much like those in civilian clothes.  Most couldn’t see beyond the size of her bust line, and many, to include some nominally married senior officers,  tended to fall all over themselves every time she smiled.  Cathy could easily have coasted  through her years as a junior officer by simply relying on her looks.  Instead, she entered upon nothing less than a crusade to be taken seriously as an officer despite her beauty.  She chose a difficult specialty, Army aviation , and  earned her wings as a helicopter pilot. After little more than three years service,  half on flight status and half on staff, she had already been promoted to Captain and given command of an aviation company, a plum position for any ambitious young officer.  The fact that she at age twenty-five commanded men who were older and far more experienced than she was both a source of great pride to her and a source of some discomfort. But, unlike many of her male peers, she  continually made an effort to improve herself  professionally. She put in very long hours at work rather than socializing with the other officers at the officer’s club.  In fact, she tried to avoid the club altogether if she could. She found it  frustrating to be treated as a sex object by men she wanted to respect her as a fellow officer.  As with her beauty,  the fact that she had always had  male admiration led her to place  little value on it. Cathy refused to date other officers when she dated at all, a rule which earned her the nickname of  the “ Ice Queen’ among her male peers and led to rumors about where her sexual preferences lay. What  free time she had, Cathy put in at the gym.  Determined to literally pull her own weight in any situation, she  built up the strength of her five foot, seven inch body with as much zeal as she  pursued her career. She found that she enjoyed the time she spent in the gym. The physical effort  and even  the pain  body building demanded  were strangely fulfilling  to Cathy,  as much if not even more so than her professional duties which had previously so dominated her life. But this was a satisfaction that was physical, even sensual,  rather than  intellectual.  Her body never felt more alive, more satisfied,  than after a punishing workout.  However, if she had thought that developing her body  would change the way men looked at her, she was again mistaken.  The end results of her labors tended to quicken rather than cool men’s ardor. Her workouts added muscle mass to fill out Cathy’s already shapely legs and arms while producing an impossibly  tight, round butt and a  flat hard stomach.  It made her muscular, but not in any way masculine. Her physical development, when combined with  Cathy’s  strikingly  beautiful face and her 35 inch breasts, seemed perversely to intensify her femininity, making her even more strikingly attractive. The effect  was quite noticeable since, as a side effect of the sensual pleasure these workouts provided,  Cathy showed fewer and fewer qualms about displaying her new body.  As Cathy’s workout  outfits grew smaller , the post gym experienced a steady increase in male patrons. Once again, she found herself  taken as a sex object instead of  a comrade by her peers. Eventually, Cathy was forced to buy a membership at a local gym off post in order to have some privacy in her workouts. Even chopping off her long hair for a short pixie cut to present a more “professional” appearance could not made Cathy  look any less feminine or lessen the attraction men instinctively felt for her.  All of which was a source of some frustration for Cathy.   Just as she was for perhaps the millionth time thinking of the unfairness of it, her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a single gun shot. Before she could locate its source, there was second, louder explosion. A  blinding flash  rolled over her. Then it seemed  to Cathy as if a giant hand had picked  her up and thrown her backwards out of the aircraft.  She hit the ground hard, the air knocked out of her.  Then darkness replaced the light of the flash imprinted on her retina as unconsciousness engulfed her.

 

 

 

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  The attack had gone exactly as Kehalis had hoped.   As is the case with any good ambush,  the enemy had been defeated by the  first volley.  The RPG men had both done their work well. The first RPG shot had struck the top of the helicopter just at the feet of the two men working there, literally dissolving them from the waist down with the blast of the RPG‘s shaped charge. Designed to destroy a tank, the  grenade’s  charge had  also shredded the top of the helicopter and ignited the craft’s fuel tanks,  engulfing what was left of  the two men in a funeral pyre.  The machinegunner inside the aircraft  had been more fortunate.  Kehalis watched in surprise as that gunner was blown out of the open door on the opposite side of the aircraft. The flying  figure hit the ground hard  and lay still, face down in the dust.  The  American guarding the road had suffered a similar fate, killed  by a single round from the second RPG.  Even though  his body armor could - and did- stop the bullets from his men’s AK’s , the exploding rocket grenade  had reduced the man’s left leg to a  bloody stump and shredded the flesh of his right leg.  He lay unmoving next to his machinegun. Kehalis left the Arab to make his own slow way down the hillside and joined his men as they raced recklessly  down the steep slope to loot the defeated enemy.  Most raced for the machinegun at the road bend.  Kehalis  moved toward the apparently dead American lying by the helicopter, drawn as much by the sight of the figure‘s blonde hair as by any prospect for loot.   

 

  By the time Kehalis reached the body, the flames from the burning copter  had almost reached the  feet of the motionless figure. Kehalis grabbed a handful of the soldier’s uniform and  hauled the inert figure away from the flames so that he could examine - and loot- the body in safety. He stood for  a moment over the unconscious figure,  which lay on its  face.  He could see by the slight movement of the chest that the American  still lived. That, Kehalis knew, would have to be changed.  They had no interest in taking prisoners. Using the barrel of his AK, he  turned the  American over onto his back.  What he saw then took his breath away.   Nothing he had experienced in his years of fighting prepared him for this. While the bulky, armor encased torso  could have been that of a small man, the  face and the hair were clearly those of a woman.  A very beautiful woman.  The sight of that female face froze him in his tracks, his AK half raised to deliver the coup de grace.  Instead he simply stared at the  woman lying at his feet,  her fine features  relaxed as if she were asleep. A woman fighter? This was something new in his exclusively masculine world of the religious school and the battlefield.  It stirred something in him that he had never felt before. He was staring so intently at the woman’s halo of fine blonde hair, that  he did not realize that the Arab had arrived beside him until the man spoke.

 

“  Is this infidel still alive?   God willing, I will kill him myself!”

 

 When the Arab raised his little AK and pointed the muzzle at the  woman, Kehalis grabbed the muzzle with his left hand and jerked it down.

 

“  No! It is a woman!  An Amerikan woman. We cannot just kill a woman. What shall we do?”

 

 The Arab  stared first at him and then at the uniformed  figure on the ground, his confusion evident in his face.  Before he replied, he knelt beside the body to confirm that this indeed was a woman. Since the heavy ceramic protective vest covered her breasts in a hard shell, the Arab thrust the palm of his hand against the vee of  her open legs, searching for evidence of her sex. He found it and nodded to Kehalis.  She was indeed a woman, and, though her uniform hid her body as effectively as any burkha, she was, if he could judge by her unveiled face,  a very beautiful woman. The Arab checked the pulse at her slender neck. It was strong. He decided that she could not be seriously injured; there was, after all, no blood visible on her except for some  small cuts on her face. She appeared to him to simply have been stunned by the blast from the RPG round. He stood and faced Kehalis again, his mind racing, trying to accept what his eyes and hands had told him.   Once he managed to comprehend that they had indeed captured an American Army woman,  it did not take the Arab long to decide what was to be done with her.  Even this situation had been foreseen and  provided for by Islamic law. And the Law was quite specific.  Slowly a wolfish smile came to his face.

 

 “  What shall we do?   WE shall do as the Qur’an commands.   Is it not written that  all women outside marriage are forbidden unto you .......save those whom your right hand possesses.  She has been taken  by the right hand.... taken in battle. And she is an unbeliever, is she not?  By the Holy Law, she is now a slave.    My slave.  As the Prophet , blessed be his name, took Raihana  by his right hand from the Bani Quraiza, so I do take this American whore by my right hand from the infidel Ameriken Army. She is now my slave to do with as I  will. “

 

  While Kehalis could find no flaw in the Arab’s interpretation of  the holy law, for he knew that it was so written and that the words of the Qur’an were as true today as in the time of the Prophet. . He did, however, have another  objection.

 

 “ Yes, it is right that she be a slave,  since she has been delivered into the  hands of the Faithful by God the all merciful. But why should you be the only one to possess her?   It was agreed that what was taken on this raid would be shared among all of us.  She should be shared among us.”

 

  If the Arab was worried by this sudden resistance to his orders from the  previously obedient Kehalis, neither his face  nor his words  showed it.

 

 “ Fool... Fatherless Son of a Pi dog!  How can you divide a woman into  shares?   Only one may possess her. She is my slave because I command here.  Were those not the orders of your Mullah?”

 

 For a moment, Kehalis’ eyes flashed . But that passed quickly to be replaced by what appeared  to be the obedient Kehalis the Arab had grown used to.  While in his heart, Kehalis  refused to accept the Arab’s possession of the woman, he knew this was not the best time to dispute it.  She should be his since he had commanded the attack on the unbelievers. But he would bide his time until he had his tribesmen at his back. Then  he would settle ownership of this blonde woman..

 

  “ We should not be standing here arguing. It is too dangerous.  There will be more Amerikans here soon. We must seek  a place to hide from their eyes.  We can talk more of the woman later, when we are safe.”

 

“ You are right about the need to leave this place.  Get the men together. Have two carry my new slave until she can walk.  Now, let us make haste, God willing.”

 

  Kehalis  did as he was ordered. But first he  took the time to search the American woman himself.  He found and pocketed the 9mm pistol she carried in a shoulder holster.  He cast aside the survival vest she wore over her protective vest,  where it was eagerly snatched up and its contents looted by one of his men.  Then he stripped off the  heavy  armor vest she wore. He looked at the protective vest with envy, but after a moment’s thought discarded it as too heavy for a man on foot.  He unzipped the flight jacket and began to run his hands over her  torso. He felt uncomfortably aware of the Arab watching him, but there was no objection  from him.  The woman was wearing a  baggy one piece flight suit which completely covered her body.  He could see nothing of her shape through  her uniform, but he could feel her body underneath. He ran his hands over her torso as he ostensibly searched her for weapons. Her body felt surprisingly firm until her reached her breasts. Her breasts felt soft and full, warm to his touch even through her uniform.  He was close enough to smell her fragrance as he ran his hands over her body. An arousing, intoxicating scent lingered about her, one unlike anything he had ever experienced before.  He felt his cock harden involuntarily as he crouched above her,  her musk filling his nostrils, her warmth against his hands.  His hands moved downward, discovering again the firmness of her body, exploring her  by  touch alone as a blind man would.  She stirred as his hands ran over her body.  She was beginning to regain consciousness.  Reluctantly he took his hands off her.  He noticed that she wore soft gloves which were the same brownish green  as her uniform. He stripped these off her hands,  revealing slender  white hands, the nails at the tips of her  fingers painted a bright red.  Kehalis  brought the gloves to his face; he could  smell her scent on them.  Rising, he quickly slipped the gloves into his pocket as he turned to get his men moving.

 

 

  Two men, one on either side of her, supported Cathy  as they left the site of the ambush.    With Kehalis leading, the Arab’s band climbed slowly upward, heading for a  cave used long ago as a hiding place for the mujahideen which lay a valley away. A place  which Kehalis knew about from years ago when he had fought against the Northern Alliance. There they could hide from the American forces.

 

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  The march was like a nightmare for Cathy. Stunned by the blast, she initially did not know where she was or who these men around her were.  She allowed herself to be half carried, half  dragged up the ridge and then down a valley to another steep ridgeline.   Her senses returned only slowly.   At first she thought these men were helping her; that there had been a crash and they were taking her to a hospital. Repeatedly she ask in a dazed voice about the others in her crew, but found no one who could, or would, respond to her English.   Only slowly did she remember the forced landing and the sudden explosions.   It was the worst shock  of her life when Cathy finally understood what had happened and realized that she had been taken prisoner by men she had to assume were at best Taliban  and quite possibly Al  Qaida fighters.  The realization that  her men must be dead washed painfully  over her.  It took all her willpower to put aside the feelings of guilt she felt and focus on surviving. She continued to pretend that she was still in shock in hopes of finding an opportunity to escape.  Cathy waited until just before darkness, then  she made her attempt.  Pretending to stumble against the man on her right, she drove her knee into his crotch, bringing him to his knees.  Then she tried to use her left elbow to smash into the face of the other man. That blow miscarried when he was able to hang onto her arm. As she struggled with the second man,  the tall dark man walking in front of them spun around and brutally drove the muzzle of his  rifle deep into her stomach. With the air knocked out of her, Cathy was easily brought down by the man with whom she was struggling.   As Cathy screamed and cursed at them, more hands grabbed her, holding her arms, punching her in the stomach and breasts, and finally twisting her over onto her stomach, then pulling her hands behind her and tying them tightly with a length of rope.  While one knelt on her back to hold her down, others  tied both ends of a short length of rope to each leg, creating an effective hobble if she should try to run away again.  When she was again hauled to her feet, the bound and battered Cathy found the  dark clad man standing in front of her, another length of rope in his hand.    To her surprise, he addressed her in  perfect English,

 

 “ What is your name, girl?”

 

 Despite her surprise at his use of English, Cathy responded  as she had been trained- with name , rank, and serial number.

 

“ Harper, Cathy C. ,Captain , United States Army, 409-67-0221”

 

  “ No. You are wrong. That is not who you are. You are no longer Harper, Cathy C. Captain, United States Army.  You are now the slave  Cathy.  I am your Master.  A merciful master, once you have learned to obey.   A merciless one if you do not. I know Western women like you , Cathy.  I know that obedience will not come easy to you. But you will learn your place. With God’s help, I shall see to that.”

 

   For a moment Cathy was rendered speechless  by the man’s bizarre words . Then she straightened her back and snapped defiantly back at him:

 

   “ I am an officer in the American Army. I may be a prisoner of war, but no man is my master.”

 

  “  I shall be, God willing.”

 

The Arab  reached up and put one end of the rope he carried over Cathy’s head. The noose encircled her neck. He pulled it tight, tight enough to make breathing just a bit difficult. The other end he kept in his hand. Without another word he walked away, jerking Cathy after him by the rope around her neck. He led her like that for the rest of the night, pulling  her along behind him as one would a reluctant donkey.  He ignored her, never looking back at her.  He simply walked forward forcing her to follow or to be dragged over the rocky trail.  When Cathy tried to protested vocally or balked, the man walking behind her- the man she had kneed-  would use the muzzle of his rifle to prod her forward, jabbing it painfully hard into her kidneys.  Not as painful but even more humiliating was the way the man would also grab her ass every time she began to lag even a little.  Put off balance by her arms bound behind her back, jerked, groped, and prodded forward, her legs hobbles forcing her to shuffle along behind the Arab at a half run, Cathy was soon exhausted by the effort required of her. Her thermal underwear and flight suit quickly became soaked with her sweat despite the cold.   Her lungs struggled for each breath in the thinner mountain air . Her strong leg muscles, accustomed to regularly running hard for an hour on the treadmill, felt weak as water. It was all her strong will could do to keep her on her feet, moving forward. All thoughts of escape  were put aside as she struggled simply to keep up with  her captors.   By the time they reached the cave in the early morning hours, Cathy was too exhausted to want anything other than to  lie down and sleep.  The Arab  led her into one of the interior rooms of the huge cave and  tied one end of the rope around her neck to the  wooden frame of an elevated dirt sleeping platform.  He did not speak; he only watched as Cathy collapsed  onto the cold floor of the cave, quickly falling  into an exhausted sleep. She lay there on the rocky ground, curled up into a fetal position on her side, her arms still tied behind her back, her feet still hobbled by the length of rope, tied like a dog on a leash.

 

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        The Arab stood over her, intently staring at the face of the sleeping figure, thoughts of jihad replaced now by thoughts of earthly pleasure.   He watched her face for a long time, the  anger  on her face softened by sleep and  the soft  light of the  lantern on the table. She was beautiful, he thought, far more so that  any woman he had ever been with. She was strong as well as beautiful. And proud. Far too strong and too proud for a woman.   She was everything he found both attractive and repellant in a woman.  He would change that, he vowed.  This would be his new jihad. He would make her into the perfect woman, submissive and beautiful.  One who lived to serve the man God had placed over her. There were places he knew of , places  in Yemen not too far from his homeland, where the old ways were still alive.  There  slavery was still practiced, as the Prophet, blessed be his name, had said it should be. There, in Yemen, the Law was still pure, unlike the  law  in his homeland where the Westerners and their Saudi puppets had corrupted it.  If he could get her to Yemen,  he could enjoy his slave in safety. To keep as a slave a Western woman - a woman  who was also an officer of the infidel army  captured in battle-  would be a  deed worthy of his ancestors.  And  a strong blow for the true faith. It would win him much praise from those few  righteous men  with whom he could safely share his achievement.   Men with whom he could share his stories of jihad.  And perhaps even his slave. Yes, to Yemen. There, God willing,  he would have the time he needed to train this Cathy to accept her proper place.   The thought made him smile. On a personal level, it would be a fitting  revenge for the humiliations he had suffered from the whims of  American  women  when he had been young and foolish.   When he had been in love with the power and vitality of the Americans .  Before he had  found that there was no place for him there.  

 

     But, like all women, he knew that she would bring  dissension in her wake.  He had seen through Kehalis’ pitiful attempt at deception. Kehalis wanted the blonde woman for himself, as though an unclean pig like him had any idea of what to do with such a treasure.  For him to have Cathy would be a waste of God‘s largess. Kehalis merely wished to rut with  her; he had no idea of how to truly possess her. To get her, Kehalis will no doubt try to stir up the other men, men  of his  treacherous blood, to betray him despite  the money they would lose by killing him.  It was in the nature God had given those fools to see only the prize to be taken today, never the larger prize.  They would forget entirely about the money when Kehalis aroused their lust for the infidel woman. But even if he succeeded Kehalis would not be able to keep Cathy for himself.  Once aroused, the men would all want her and quarrel among themselves over her until  all but one of them were killed fighting over her. And then that lone survivor would probably be deceived and killed by the blonde herself.    No, he could not allow that to happen.   God willing, he  would prevail, using his guile to defeat  their numbers.

 

   The Arab leaned down and shook the sleeping woman, arousing her only with difficulty.   Cathy instinctively shied away from him as soon as enough of her wits returned to make her aware of who he was and where she was.  She tired to raise to her feet to confront him, but the rope tied around her neck prevented that, forcing Cathy to  remain on her knees in front of the standing man, forced her to stare up at him as he towered over her. With her hands still tied behind her back, there was nothing else she could do. The Arab pulled a  jambiya,  the large curved knife common to  Arab lands,  from his belt and held it in front of him as he leaned over her. Cathy  instinctively braced herself. But, to her surprise, the tall man only reached into the open neck of her flight suit and pulled out her dog tags. He used his knife to cut through the plastic covering and the light metal chain which held it around her neck and then retreated a step and  began carefully examining the information found on her two dog tags.  Cathy  was surprised and a little frightened at the ability of his knife to slice through the chain holding her dog tags like that,. Nevertheless, she sat quietly on her heels, determined not to speak until he did. She studied the man who held her. He appeared Arab to her rather than Afghan or Pakistani. taller than the local men she had seen. His countenance was dark; everything about him was , in fact, dark-  his hair, his short beard, his eyes, his skin tone, and the clothing he wore. Seen in other circumstances, she might even have called him handsome in a dangerous way. Seen here, under these circumstances, he appeared  frightening.  While she was  intently studying him, he appeared to be ignoring her, seemingly intent upon reading the scant information- name, rank, religion, blood type-  contained on her dog tags.  After a moment,  he casually pocketed  the dog tags as if they were no longer of interest to him and turned his interest to his blonde captive.

 

 “ You did not flinch at the sight of my knife. You have courage .. for a woman. Nor did you speak without permission. You have learned your first lesson. That a woman - particularly a female slave- does not question a man..   I am pleased, slave. “

 

Cathy stiffened noticeably at his use of the word “slave”. 

 

“ I am not your slave. I am a prisoner of war, and as such  I am entitled to be treated as a soldier.  NOT AS A SLAVE!.  I don’t know who you think you are, but  you better think twice before you  do something  you will regret later when you’re sitting in an American prison. “

 

“ You  are my slave, Cathy. You are no longer a soldier, if you ever were. All that you knew is gone. You are simply my property under the Law to do with as I wish.”

 

“ Who the fuck do you think you are?   You can’t own another human being.  There aren’t any slaves anymore.  They’re.... not legal!  And I am Captain Harper to you, not “Cathy”.   A Prisoner of War has the right to be addressed by her rank. You need to think about your situation here. They’re looking for me now, you know. The American Army.  What do you think will happen to you  if they find you haven’t  respected my rights as  a POW?”

 

He did not raise his voice  or show any outward signs of anger as he replied, which strangely frightened Cathy more.  Instead he spoke slowly and distinctly as one would speak to a very young or particularly slow child.

 

“ The word of God, the Qur’an- what you foreigners call the Koran- tells  us that unbelievers captured in battle by the warriors of Islam become slaves of their captors.  They and all they possess become the property of the chosen Believer. The law is merciful as it is laid down by God, most gracious and most merciful.  The law allows such slaves to have their freedom bought back by ransom or by the surrender of the remaining Unbelievers.  Or eventually to be manumitted by the Believer whose slave they are, if the slave truly embraces Islam, the one true faith.  But I do not see either your President paying for your freedom or surrendering to the Faithful.  Nor do I see a Western whore like you surrendering to the truth  of Islam and accepting your proper role as a woman.  The Law also states that a woman taken by the right hand of a Believer -captured as a result of battle-  are slaves. They too can be freed by ransom or accepting the True Faith. But they have another alternative; they  can seek freedom through marriage, seek their freedom  by becoming a pleasure to their Master.  Perhaps that alternative is one you should consider. For you most assuredly are a slave.  You are not longer Captain Harper of your Godless army. You are the slave Cathy. Nothing more. And  I am your Master.  That is how you will address me, as Master.  I control everything about your life now. I control whether you live or die, and everything  you do - or that is done to you.  Every breath you draw is a boon from me. Every necessity  you receive,  food or water or even being allowed to relieve yourself, is a gift from me, not a right.  To receive any of these necessities,  you must humbly ask  for them from me. And to do so, you must address me as Master.   Only that word will find my ear.  I am deaf to all others. “

 

   “ No,  I am a prisoner of war.  You cannot make me a slave. This is the 21st century.  There is no slavery now. No one can own another human being. Slavery died centuries ago.  I am a prisoner of war.”

 

“ Your slavery is God’s will, Cathy. No mere passage of time can change the will of God. Nor can man forbid what God  in his  Holy Law, the Shari’a, has permitted. What was his will before is his will now. As the Faithful enslaved your Frankish crusaders and freed the Holy places in the time of the true Caliphate, so today shall the Faithful enslave you and those crusaders like you who fight against the Faith and shall once more cleanse the Holy places.  I grow impatient with you, slave.  It is God’s will. And it is not the place of a woman to question God’s will.  Do you desire water.. food ..after your journey?

 

 His words made Cathy realize how thirsty she was. And hungry after the long night march.  But she still  shook her head and replied,

 

“ I will not call you Master!  Never!  You  cannot deny a prisoner of war food and water under the Geneva convention. ”

 

“ You  are not a prisoner of war. You are a slave.  You  have no rights.  Do you want a drink of water, slave?”

 

Cathy struggle to control her temper. She knew she should not provoke the man. He was obviously a madman. But she could not bring herself to call him “Master”.  And she hated the demeaning way he called her  “slave“. Even his use of “Cathy” made her feel that he was talking to a child rather than  a grown woman and an officer in her county‘s Army.

 

“ Yes, I do. But I will not call you master to get one. I have no master. I am not a slave.  I am a prisoner of war, and I demand to be treated as one.  Starting with being addressed by my rank.”

 

   The dark man simply shrugged  and picked up a large water bottle from a crudely built table near the sleeping platform.  As Cathy watched, he took a long drink.  Then he set the water bottle down just out of her reach on the cave floor and lay down on the sleeping platform above her. In moments, he seemed by his regular breathing  to be asleep. Cathy struggle with the rope on her wrists, but could not  loosen it in the least. She tried rubbing it against  the sharpest thing she could find within her reach, the  corner of the platform, but the ropes held. She gave up eventually.  She simply sat on the floor, leaning  with her back against the platform and her legs out in front of her, her eyes unable to look away from the water bottle.  With it right in front of her eyes, but out of her reach, her thirst quickly grew from a discomfort to a torture. The dark man’s words confused her.  He had shown no interest in learning anything of military value. He had not ask her a single question about her mission or her unit. This ran counter to everything Cathy had been taught to expect if she was taken prisoner.  She did not understand what he wanted from her. Or how she was supposed to resist him other than the obvious answer of escape.  Between her thirst and the terrible uncertainties running through her mind, she could not get back to sleep, tired as she was.   She was still  staring at the water bottle hours later when she heard the  man begin to stir.

 

She watched him rise and move to the other sleeping platform against the opposite wall of the room.  He appeared to  take no notice to the bound American woman. She watched as he opened the small rucksack lying on the platform and took out  a piece of the local  unleavened bread  and ate it, then begin to nibble on some dates.   After a few moments, he picked up the water bottle from where he had put it on the floor and took a long swig.  Cathy could stand it no longer.  Why, she thought, did it matter what she called this man.  If she had been captured by members of a real army, She would have  had no problem addressing  a senior  officer of their army  as “sir” or by his rank title.  How was that different than calling this man  by the title “Master”?  She told herself that simply saying the word “ Master” did not mean she was accepting his dominance over her, only yielding to superior force for the moment, until the opportunity presented itself to escape. She had to have water if she was to survive.  And as long as she gave him no information which might endanger American forces, what did it matter what she said?  Slowly. Cathy convinced herself that playing along with this madman was the wisest course of action.   The young female officer had over the last few hours made the very basic gut level decision that she wanted to live.  From that followed the need to do what was demanded of her by her captor, however repulsive to her. Cathy rationalized that to survive, she would have to give up  her pride and humor this madman, though only  for the moment, only until she could escape or was rescued. Though she almost choked on the words, she forced them out:

 

 “ Master, may I have some water?”

 

  The Arab looked at her impassively, successfully concealing the feeling of triumph that he felt at that moment.  Though it was only a small surrender, he knew that it would set the pattern for the future. With each surrender, her will to resist would weaken.  It would be progressively harder and harder for her to refuse each succeeding command  until she eventually reached the point where she had surrendered her will to him entirely. 

 

“ Yes, slave, you may have water”.

 

   Setting the  water bottle down on the sleeping platform , he crossed to Cathy. He drew his knife; her eyes widened at that, but she remained silent.  Bending over, he cut the ropes tying her wrists behind her strong back.  As Cathy rubbed her hands to try to bring some feeling back into her numb fingers, he crossed the room and retrieved the water bottle.   When Cathy was ready, he gave it to her.  She greedily drank, the water running down her chin.  She lowered the bottle to take a breath and then took another long drink, emptying the bottle. 

 

“ Do you want food, Cathy?”

 

  She could have refused, and she knew it. She could have disputed the way he addressed her, his demeaning use of her first name as well as his use of “slave“.  But there seemed no point in it.  Perhaps, she thought, if she did not resist openly, he would treat her better. The awful word came a little easier this time.

 

“ Yes , Master.”

 

  He gave her bread as well, allowing her to eat the rest of the piece he had  taken from the rucksack but no more.  She ate the bread hurriedly, as if she were afraid he would snatch it away from her, crouched there on her knees, still tied to the platform by the rope around her neck , feeling like a leashed dog.  When she finished,  Cathy remained on her knees, waiting  for him to tell her what to do next.  In her exhausted and frightened state, his simple reward of bread and water  for calling him “Master”  began to seem to Cathy  a sign of hope. She began to think that  by giving in to him on little things like that, she might be able  preserve her life and maybe even her dignity.   Then his next four words crushed that hope even before it had fully formed.

 

   The tall Arab  looked down at her and said:

 

 “  Take off your clothes.”

 

  Cathy stared at him in shock.  She neither began to disrobe nor neither did she defy him.   Instead, she stared up at  him from her kneeling position, her expression like that of a small frightened animal caught in a trap, her mind trying to  cope with this sudden shift in direction.  A few hours ago, he knew that she would have angrily, and  rudely, refused his command.  Now she did not openly refuse him even if she did not readily obey.  He had  instilled if not fear, then uncertainty in the heart of this strong, young female officer.    He was confident that her total submission would  follow.

 

“ You are in no position to defy me, Cathy”  He began in a reasonable voice.  “ If you do not  take off your clothes yourself, I shall simply use my knife to cut all of the clothing from your body.  I shall then leave you naked. Is that what you wish?  To be naked in the cold?  To be naked in front of my men?   Are you such  a shameless  whore that you would  do that, knowing  that they would  see your nakedness as an invitation to rape you?    Or do you think that you can overpower me and  then  fight your way through the ten men waiting on the other side of that wall.  No,  you foolish woman, you cannot escape me.  You have no choice but to obey me“

 

   A feeling of helplessness washed over her. Much as she longed to simply tell him to go to Hell, Cathy could not deny the truth of his words.  She had no choice. She saw no weapon at hand, and , even if there had been, by the time she got the rope off her neck and got to the weapon, he would have called for help or used his knife.  Even if she defeated him, she could not fight ten men.  She was going to be raped. Either by him or, as he implied, gang raped by the men outside.  A Hobbsian choice, but a simple one.  One rape was  preferable to  ten. Fighting him now was futile. Cathy again rationalized that she had to survive until they came to rescue her. She had to endure the dishonor of rape and whatever else he did to her until that time.   Although she didn’t realize it then, once she had made the decision to live at all cost,  Cathy had  given up any control of the situation.  By rejecting death, she had given up  her only sure escape from the Arab- Death. 

 

   The young blonde Captain  tried to steel herself to endure the worst.  She could have begged him for mercy. But her pride prevented  her from doing that. Perhaps another, more experienced woman might have tried to regain some control by seducing the Arab.  But that  option did not even occur to Cathy.   She remained motionless, a single tear trickling down her cheek, her hands clenched in helpless rage at the choices before her.

 

  “ Take off your clothes!”

 

  Through gritted teeth, Cathy  managed a terse “ Yes, Master.”  She braced herself mentally for the impending rape, repeating over and over in her mind the mantra, “you can do this, you can do this“.  She began to unzip her flight jacket, working slowly and clumsily.  Once it was off, she tried to stand, forgetting about the rope around her neck. As she crouched there halfway up,  the Arab stepped forward and untied the end of the rope secured to the sleeping platform,  finally allowing Cathy to stand.  He also cut the  rope hobble between her feet with his knife. Slowly, reluctantly, Cathy unzipped her flight jacket and dropped it on the floor.  She then unzipped the front of her one piece flight suit and shrugged it off her shoulders, allowing it to drop to her  booted feet. Woodenly she stepped out of the flight suit. Cathy sat on the edge of the sleeping platform to unlaced her boots.  Her boots and socks joined the flight suit in a pile on the cold floor. She pulled  the top half of her white thermal underwear over her head, pulled it clear of the rope still hanging from her neck, and dropped it to the floor. Hooking her thumbs in the elastic waist band of the bottom half, she pushed it down to her feet and stepped out of it.  Now she stood clad only in her  green sports bra and  panties.  Cathy stood straight and proud  at attention in front of the Arab, her face clearly showing her humiliation at being forced to strip herself.  At this point, she had gone as far as she could on reason alone. Overwhelmed by  feelings of humiliation and anger at what he was doing to her, she simply could not bring herself to take off her bra and panties, to strip herself naked physically as well as emotionally for this man.  Everything she was rebelled against what her mind told her was inevitable.  For a second, Cathy forgot reason and even survival, and rebelled, allowing her hot temper to take over.

 

“ NO, I WON’T DO IT FOR YOU; YOU WANT ME , YOU’LL HAVE TO DO IT YOURSELF, YOU BASTARD!.  I  AM   NOT  YOUR  WHORE!”

 

  The Arab did not bother with reason now.  His open left hand struck Cathy hard with a resounding “SMACK” loud enough to echo in the confined spaces of the cave.   He struck her  hard enough to make her see stars. The blow shook her, as much for the fact that she had never been struck by a man before as for the force of the blow itself. Instinctively, she raised her hands to fight back, but the sight of the big knife that had suddenly appeared in the  man’s right hand froze her in place. He held the curved tip of the knife just under her chin,  inches from her jugular ,the tip already drawing a trickle of blood from her soft throat. 

 

“ Are you willing to die, you American whore?  To die right here, right now?”

 

  Cathy knew she was not; she wanted very much to live. She let her arms drop to her side, returning to a rigid position of attention, her eyes fixed on the cave wall opposite, unable to look at the Arab  for fear of  losing it.  She had , Cathy reminded herself, to survive.  To live to fight another day.  Don’t throw away your life now when you can‘t win, she told herself. 

 

  The Arab had been  disappointed by Cathy’s  resistance in the face of  his overwhelming advantage.  He had moved too fast. And, because she was a Westerner,  he had spoken to her as if she were rational, were a man. He had been foolish for, as the Qur’an  clearly taught,  women were not rational.  They were ruled by their emotions, most particularly their base desires. This woman was clearly no different.  She was but a foolish woman, made even more foolish because she was filled with  decedent Western ideas just like the others.  He saw now that his blonde captive would only submit to him when he used force, not reason.  Training her to acknowledge him as her Master would be no different than training any dumb beast;  no different, he decided, than breaking a spirited  horse, a task he had seen done many times.  The method with a horse was the traditional one for Arabia,  depending upon the whip and the spur to break the horse’s will.  This, he decided , was the way to treat this woman.  He smiled to himself at the prospect of such a  challenging but pleasurable task.

 

  The Arab traced the knife down Cathy’s bare torso until it rested between her breasts, the cold steel against her warm skin.  With a flick of the curved tip, he cut the fabric in front of the bra between the cups , allowing both cups to fall to the side, held in place now only by Cathy’s erect nipples,  revealing the soft curve of the insides of  Cathy’s rounded breasts.   He traced the tip over her left breast as Cathy shivered at the cold touch of the steel against her warm skin. Another flick of the tip and the left strap was cut, revealing her left breast in all its glory. He traced the tip across her torso above her breasts to the right strap. It parted with just a touch of his razor sharp jambiya, allowing the bra to fall to the floor of its own weight, leaving Cathy half naked .  The Arab traced the flat of the blade back to the centerline of her body and then down the soft skin, passing between Cathy’s breasts  and over her flat stomach. Cathy’s stomach  retreated at the touch of the cold metal of the blade. She did not dare to breath as the blade traveled over her.   A flick of the knife’s tip and Cathy’s panties  joined the bra on the floor at her feet.  She did not dare to breath until the man and his knife stepped back. She tried to avoid looking at the Arab, but even so she could feel his eyes traveling over her now nude body.

 

    The Arab walked around Cathy,  inspecting  the nude woman standing before, her  body rigid, heels together, her arms held close along her body, her hands clinched into tight fists, her entire body trembling from the cold as well as  from the fear evident in her face , nude now except for the rope still tied around her neck, its trailing end hanging down her back.  In the lantern light Cathy’s nude body  showed the  fading gold  of her summer tan except for a strip of pale white at her hips matching in size and shape the green panties lying on the floor at her feet. Traces of  red  accented her nude body- the bright red of her lipstick,  her painted nails, her painted toenails, and the paler red of the two red, erect nipples capping her breasts.  In the dim light her nude body was a  study in light and shadow. The shadows highlighted the play of the  muscles under the skin of her strong arms and legs as they flexed involuntarily and cast teasing shadows over the half hidden vee where her long, muscular legs met. The light accented the two proud breasts which jutted from the captive female officer’s torso without the slightest hint of sag  and highlighted the smooth flat expanse of  her stomach.  The Arab silently watched her, enjoying the sight of her breasts rising and falling with each breath as well as the  small shivers which periodically shock the  nude body standing at attention in front of him.  He reached out and weighted one of Cathy’s breasts, enjoying the way she flinched when he touched her.

 

“ Spread your legs, slave!  Show me your ... “  The man hesitated as he struggled to remember the crudest American term he could from long ago,  “ cunt.!”

 

    Cathy glared at him , her full red lips tightly compressed  in her anger and humiliation .  An involuntary moan escaped Cathy’s lips.  She could feel  her face turn  bright red in her humiliation.  But she obeyed, spreading her legs until her feet were should width and her vagina visible.

 

 Her pubic area had been shaven clean. He could see the pale red lips of her sex  against the white of the surrounding skin.  While traditional among Arab women, Cathy was the first Western woman he had ever seen shaven this way.

 

   “ Why are you shaven there?   Is that the fashion for American whores now?”

 

 Cathy had trouble replying.  She knew that she was on the verge of  either breaking into tears or throwing herself on the man- or both.  But she managed to get a grip on herself and  to stammer:

 

 “ no.. NO!    For cleanliness .    I ‘ve always done that in the field.  In basic, they taught us that...”

 

SMACK

 

 The unexpected open handed slap cut Cathy ‘s explanation off in mid sentence and rocked her head to one side.  The second blow by the back of the same hand  jerked her head back to the front. Her ears rang from the blow while she stared  with pure hatred at the screaming  Arab. 

 

“  MASTER.  YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AS MASTER, SLAVE!”

 

 “Through gritted teeth, Cathy quietly replied, “ Yes, Master.”

 

“ Put your hands behind your back, slave.”

 

 Cathy obeyed, standing still as he  bound  her hands together behind her bare back with a length of rope.  Her muscular body  was rigid , her body arched, as her strong arms instinctively fought against the ropes binding them.  The Arab smiled at this image of untamed beauty bound which  the captured blonde officer presented. It was, he decided, much like the reaction of  an unbroken mare when she felt the saddle on her back for the first time.  He took a second length of rope and  tied one end around her left arm just above the elbow.  The Arab took the other end and  ran over her other elbow, then pulled the rope as tight as he could,  drawing her elbows together until they were only an inch or two apart, almost close enough for her elbows to touch.  A wave of pain shot through Cathy’s shoulders as he tightened the ropes, pulling her muscular arms in a direction they were never designed to go.  Cathy moaned softly in pain as she  struggled against the ropes crushing her elbows together.  It felt to Cathy as if her shoulders were being ripped out of their sockets.  The ropes that pulled her elbows together  also forced Cathy to arch her back, involuntarily thrusting her perfect breasts forward - almost as if she were offering them to her tormentor.

 

  The Arab  picked Cathy up and set her on the edge of the elevated sleeping platform. He grabbed the loose end of the rope tied around Cathy’s neck and  ran it over and then under the wooden frame on the opposite side of the platform and pulled it tight,  trapping Cathy on her back on the platform and incidentally forcing Cathy to rest her weight on her cruelly bound arms.  More pain shot through her tortured shoulders as her own weight pressed her elbows even closer together. As Cathy struggled futilely, the Arab tied off the rope and stood back to admire his work.   His enjoyment was cut short as  Cathy lashed out with her bare foot, striking him in the chest hard enough to knock him backwards but to do any serious damage.  Angered at her impudence, he momentarily retreated out of the range of Cathy‘s legs, only to return with 2 more lengths of rope.   Working carefully from a position to Cathy’s side,  he captured  each leg and secured it,   forcing her lower leg underneath each thigh and holding it there while he wrapped the rope around Cathy’s thigh and  above her ankle and tied it .  When he finished, Cathy was totally helpless, unable to use either  her arms or her legs in her own defense. Now able  to admire his work in safety, the Arab stood between Cathy’s legs so that he could look down upon Cathy’s nude, vulnerable body. He ran his hands over her soft, bare skin, tracing his way down from her shoulders to her soft breasts and over her flat stomach  to her  full hips, delighting in the feel of her warm skin.  Cathy could only endured his hands in silence, unable to protect herself or  to escape his touch- trapped , vulnerable, her nude body his for the taking. 

 

  Cathy closed her eyes, trying  to shut out what was happening to her.  But the Arab would not allow her that  luxury. He covered her breasts with both his hands and  began rolling his thumbs over the large red nubs of her nipples until each stood  painfully erect. He  took each of Cathy’s erect nipples between a thumb and forefinger, cruelly crushing the sensitive nub until Cathy arched her back in agony and cried out in her pain.  Even then, the Arab increased the force he was applying to those sensitive nubs until they were crushed flat and  white as a sheet, until Cathy  opened her eyes and  locked them onto his, silently pleading for  mercy. She stared up into the black holes of his pupils, really seeing for the first time the hatred  within. Unable to look away, she stared up at his face as he tortured her nipples further, cruelly twisting them until he drew tears from Cathy’s eyes. Through it all , the Arab stared unyielding back at her. He wanted Cathy to see  his face as he  took control of her body  and used it to pleasure himself.  He wanted her to see in his face the pleasure he took from raping her.  In this he succeeded, the things she saw in those dark eyes driving her to a renewed struggle against the ropes holding her helpless. A low animal like moan escaped from her mouth as her strong body fought futilely against the ropes.

 

  The Arab enjoyed watching Cathy struggle , enjoying the play of the well developed  muscles of her arms and legs as she fought against the ropes. He watched  with increasing arousal as her body arched and twisted, her breasts rising and falling erotically  as she struggled.  Unable to restrain himself, he captured those globes in his hands. Then her twin globes still lay under his hands, their softness an arousing contrast to  the strength displayed by the rest of her body.  His hands reluctantly  left the soft  globes of Cathy’s breasts and traced their way  across Cathy’s flat stomach to her vulnerable, shaven cunt. He parted the outer lips with his thumbs, exposing the red flower within.   She was dry to his touch, but this was of no importance to him. The sight of her soft red flesh ,  the small nub clearly visible at the top, drew his fingers deeper inside the helpless Cathy. He pushed two, then three, fingers into his struggling captive, thrusting them as far as into her cunt as he could, exploring her body. As the captive woman’s body arched upward  and she cried out in response,  he forced his fingers  even deep inside Cathy, immersing them in the warmth of her body, careless of the pain he was causing her, but enjoying it at the same time.  For her pain was to be his pleasure. That was the lesson he was to teach this arrogant Western whore this day..

 

  He stripped off his coat, throwing it on the floor with her clothes.   Otherwise, he remained fully dressed. He unzipped his pants and brought out his erect cock. From her position flat on her back, Cathy could not see his cock.  If she could have seen the length and hardness of his member, she would have been even more afraid than she already was. Instead, her eyes remained locked on the face hovering above her.  She felt his cock’s warmth- and its hardness- as he pressed himself against her cunt lips, running the head of his erect cock over Cathy’s soft cunt lips and against her sensitive clit before stabbing it deep inside Cathy in one hard thrust.   The force of his thrust drove the breath from her lungs.

 

“ AAHHHEEEE ........ STOP IT, YOU BASTARD... ... GET AWAY FROM .. NOoooo!”

 

   He held the helpless Captain down,  a strong hand gripping each  of her hips as he drove himself even deeper into her. Trapped between the Arab unyielding cock  and the equally unyielding cave wall, she could only lie there and scream as she felt his cock force its way  inside her. She tried to resist him, tried to close her legs top keep him out, but her  muscles were no match for his greater strength - and desire. Already his cock  had reached deep inside her. He had  reached all the way to her cervix and was  battering against it  with his cock head.  Again and again,  he impaled her  on  the  length of his cock. Cathy felt as if his cock was tearing her insides apart. It felt to her as if that cock had been sheathed in sandpaper and its head sheathed in iron. Every brutal stroke shook her body, driving drove the breath from her lungs. Relentlessly, the Arab battered his way deeper and deeper inside the helpless Cathy.  He used his cock as a weapon to overwhelm Cathy, used it like a battering ram to shatter Cathy’s defenses.  Trapped between his hard cock and the unyielding stone of the cave wall, Cathy could find no escape. With her arms and legs bound beneath her, she had no way of fighting back against this rape of her body and soul. All she could do was lie helplessly beneath him as he impaled her again and again on his cock.  The only way she could give expression to her feelings of rage and helplessness was through her voice. Cathy began to scream:

 

 “ “ AGGHEEE..  NO.. NO, YOU BASTARD... LET ME GO!  STOP .. STOP.. BASTARD!  NO.. NO ... NO!”

 

   He hovered over Cathy,   smiling down at her as she railed futilely against him,  drinking in the beauty of  the helpless body trapped beneath his.  He ran his hands over her skin, feeling the muscles moving under the soft skin as well as the slickness  of the skin itself, covered as it was by copious amounts of  sweat from her futile struggles.  He plowed deeper into Cathy’s  strong young body, his cock throbbing almost painfully as he stretched her raped cunt, his cock seeming to swell in size with each new thrust. He knew he would not last much longer in the warmth of Cathy’s tight cunt.  He stared down into Cathy’s upturned  face, his eyes drinking in the agony so evident on her face. He felt as if he were drunk, intoxicated by the pain/pleasure he was taking from Cathy, taking from his defeated enemy. At that moment, the Arab felt a curious detachment toward this act of  rape.  He felt as if he were an on-looker rather than the rapist,  as if he were a spectator watching another man, a man who looked exactly like himself,  rape the blonde American woman rather than being the man raping her.  He stared into Cathy’s face,   the blonde hair framing her face becoming a halo  in the reflected lantern light.  He saw the pain in her deep blue eyes, evident in  the tears running down her cheeks and the red  round “O” of her mouth as Cathy  screamed out in her pain.  In his mind, he watched over his own shoulder as Cathy  fought frantically but without success against the cock brutally impaling her,  watched her strong body moving erotically if unwillingly as she struggled futilely against the male body of her rapist .  He watched his cock sink into Cathy, thrusting  in and out of her cunt with the strength and regularity of a piston,  and felt the warmth and  tightness of  Cathy’s cunt, but felt oddly  detached from the act of the rape itself. He felt no pity for Cathy. Instead, he savored each one of Cathy’s screams of pain and outrage along with the softer moans of pain that escaped her lips each time his cock rammed into the depths of her womb. Slowly the screams of anger died out, to be  replaced by  moans as the now exhausted Cathy became increasingly incapable of coherent speech. Then the  volume of her moans rose  again higher and higher, becoming once again screams of pain, perhaps even screams of arousal, as the  power and depth of his thrusts built towards a climax. Brutally, the tall man slammed his cock into Cathy, the impact of his hips battering against her cunt and thighs,  making Cathy’s nude body shudder and reaching depths which neither  had never experienced before.  He stared down at her, his sweat soaking his clothes and falling from his face to mix with the sweat covering Cathy’s nude, slick and shiny body. Never  had he seen anything as erotic as the woman struggling beneath him.  His cock began to throb painfully as he moved one hand from where it had been crushing her left breast and ran it across her cheek, feeling the warmth wetness of the tears on her soft cheek.  He stared down into her blue eyes, his cock throbbing, as he drank in the agony so evident there as well as in the rest of  her face. He began to speak,  the volume and intensity of his words steadily rising in time with the force of his thrusts into her

 

  “ Yes, yes...speak to me slave. Scream... SCREAM out your pain so that everyone can hear you. I want them to know what I do to you.  Especially that pig Kehalis. Scream for him,  slave. SCREAM !  Scream out who is taking you, who is raping your whore’s cunt.  TELL THEM WHO I AM, SLAVE! ”

 

  The Arab drew his curved knife from his belt, laying the cold steel against Cathy’s tear streaked cheeks. Cathy was lost in the sheer power of his rape, her mind was overwhelmed by a feeling of  being overpowered, overwhelmed by his cock as it reached  deeper and deeper inside her, opening her body up, then filling it with his hardness.   Cathy stared up at him, her confusion evident.  She found it difficult to even think, her mind overwhelmed by the  raw emotions produced as her body reluctantly responded to his rape. It took a while before she realized what he was demanding. He wanted her to call him “Master” as he raped her. He wanted her to acknowledge his mastery over her by that word, that hateful word. He again ordered her to call him “Master”, emphasizing his command by brutally impaling her again with his cock,  making her body shake with the force of his thrust. He held one of Cathy’s breasts in his grip, painfully squeezing the soft globe as he plowed in her.  He held his large curved knife against her cheek, its phallic form cold and menacing, crudely reminding Cathy of his power over her. She felt the speed of his thrusts increase along with their depth and force.  His cock was filling her, sinking deeper and deeper into her cunt no matter how hard she fought against it.  Desperate to end this nightmare of rape and pain, and to find some relief from the cock which was turning her insides into jelly,  Cathy gave in to him. She gave him  what he wanted in a last coherent moment,  screaming out:

 

“ MASTER... YOU’RE HURTING ME MASTER.. IT HURTS SO MUCH.. PLEASEE.. MASTER... NO MORE... NO  MORE. ... OHHH! “

 

  Hearing the words he wanted so much to hear  pushed  the Arab over the top.  His cock emptied his cum into Cathy, filling her with  a flood of his hot cum.  He held himself still between her legs, eyes unfocused, body rigid as he emptied himself into the sobbing female officer helplessly bound underneath him. He could feel his cock spurt again, and then again for a third time before it began to shrink.  He stayed  inside her warmth as long as he could, until he began to feel the cum leaking past his cock and out of Cathy’s cunt.  Slowly. he withdrew and put his cock back inside his pants. He looked down at  Cathy as she lay there, eyes tightly shut, her nude body shiny with her sweat and  shaking with her sobs; her breasts red from the punishment he had given them.  A stream of white cum- his cum- trickled out of her still open cunt onto the platform.  He slowly turned around to look toward the doorway. As he had  expected, he saw the doorway filled with the faces of the Pashtoons.  Except for the angry face of Kehalis, the men’s faces showed  only delight in a foreigner’s- especially a foreign woman’s-  humiliation. There was no  anger at the Arab for taking the  Western female soldier, only envy.  Their faces showed something else as well. They showed a hunger, a hunger  to experience the  bound woman themselves, to take her as the Arab had taken her, to make her cry out for them as she cried out for the Arab. To plant their seeds deep within her just as  he had planted his seed deep inside her. 

 

The Arab smiled  and gestured to them, dumbly showing the men that they were welcome to enter. He needed no knowledge of their strange language to make it clear to the watching men that he was offering them a taste of what he had just experienced  with Cathy.

 

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

  Kehalis had lain awake for hours after he had set the guard , listening for  some sound  from the side room into which the Arab had taken the blonde American pilot.  But he could hear nothing over the snores of the exhausted men sleeping around him. Nor could he could see anything  happening in the room but the faint light from the  lantern shining under the edge of the blanket the Arab had hung over the door to the room.  He carefully sneaked a look into the room once he was sure the other men were asleep. But he saw nothing except the American woman silently kneeling by the Arab’s bed while the Arab slept.  For hours after , Kehalis lay awake in the dark of the cave  unable to sleep, the gloves he had taken from Cathy held to his nose, their fragrance reminding him of  her.  He endlessly turned over in his mind what he was to do. It was not a simple question; he had to weigh his desire for  the woman against  his duty to his Mullah.  Kehalis knew that he could not  return to the strictly male confines of the Mullah’s madrassa  in company with a female, let alone a female infidel who was a member of his enemy’s Army, even if she was by grace of God a slave captured in jihad  The though of losing his place there  frightened him; the Mullah’s household was the only home he had ever known. But he  could not forget the feeling of the infidel woman’s  body under his hands, her golden hair, her warmth, her fragrance, or the beauty of her face.   Kehalis was still awake when he had  heard the screams he had been dreading.

 

  Before the other men could react, Kehalis  was up and at  the door,  brushing aside the  blanket to stare at the scene within. The sight of the dark man mounting the naked American woman froze him in place. He could not move; he could not  even raise the AK  he held clenched in his right hand.   He could only stare at the nude body on the sleeping platform, her arms and legs held underneath her body,  her agony filled face and  her pale nude body,  the first nude female body he had ever seen, vivid  in the dim lantern light, its paleness  in contrast to  the shadows around her and the black form of the Arab on top of  her.  Frozen in place by the sight of Cathy being raped, Kehalis watched the Arab thrust  again and again into the helpless woman,  watched him battering her bound body  with his cock as she tried to fight back against him, her bound body struggling underneath him, screams pouring out of the  red “O” of her lips.  Kehalis was struck by the beauty displayed before him, by the  femininity of  Cathy’s nude form as she fought frantically for her lost virtue.  He stared at her breasts, their twin red tips swaying erotically in time with the thrusts of the man’s cock.  In his eyes, her blonde hair  formed a golden halo around that  pain filled face, making Cathy appear almost angelic, an impression reinforced by  the ethereal paleness of her nude body.  Kehalis wanted to stop this, to save the beautiful woman being ravaged before his eyes; but, at the same time, he wanted even more to see her  brutally taken, to see her nude body ravaged by a man, even if that man was the Arab.   So he stood and watched, ashamed but at the same time enthralled, unable to do anything other than stare hungrily. He was only dimly aware of the other men crowding around him to watch Cathy’s rape with him.  It was the sounds of Cathy’s moans that filled his ears, not the men’s  crude, laughing comments as they cheered the Arab on.  It was only after the  grinning Arab had pulled out and turned toward him that  the spell was broken.  Kehalis was pushed into the room as the men behind him hurried to respond to the man’s beckoning gesture, hurrying to get a closer look at the naked, blonde American, the proof of her rape still running from her open cunt. Swept along by the other men, Kehalis suddenly found himself face to face with the Arab. That  brought him to a stop as the other men flowed around him to form a half circle around Cathy as she lay semi-conscious on her back, her raped  and bound body, the stuff men’s dreams are made of, drawing them irresistibly to her.  

 

 The Arab held up his hands in a gesture to restrain the men before they simply swarmed over the helplessly bound woman.

 

“  Kehalis, tell them to be patient.  In the name of God, most gracious, most merciful, I promise that all will enjoy this female slave of mine.  All will share in the prize that God has given me. Tell them this.”

 

  Kehalis did as the Arab commanded, his words prompting a cheer from the men around him.  At this point, Kehalis was too confused  events to even think of using his position as  translator to  betray the Arab.  He felt sick at his stomach at the prospect of  seeing  “his” blonde American defiled by men he  had grown up with, had know all his life.  In his mind he had never  considered this prospect; he had thought the Arab his only rival.  The Arab’s next words confused him even more.

 

“ And you, Kehalis, shall be first.   I bestow this honor upon you, my loyal lieutenant.  But first, let me prepare her to receive  you.”

 

    As Kehalis watched in  puzzlement, the Arab flipped Cathy over so that she lay on her stomach and breasts, her  bound thighs  and lower legs half way off the platform, her face to the wall, out of his sight.   What Kehalis now saw was a mass of blonde hair , her strong arms,  cruelly bound together at the wrists and elbows arching her  and  emphasizing  Cathy‘s well muscled back, and below them her taunt buttocks, the wrinkled star of Cathy’s anus clearly visible between  her two round, impossibly taunt ass cheeks.  The  grinning Arab patted Cathy’s round butt possessively as he said:

 

“  I know you prefer boys, Kehalis.   She will be closer to your  .. desires this way.  You can take her  like you would take a boy.. here.. in the ass. ” 

 

  Kehalis stared at him for a long moment. Truthfully, he wanted the woman’s ass; seeing her like this with her round ass and strong back displayed , aroused him.  Not as a boy would, but as a woman, a woman  unlike any he had ever experienced, one strong and still feminine.  But despite the man’s smiles, he knew the Arab’s  gift for  what it was,  a thinly veiled insult. Though his culture readily accepted that a man could find satisfaction with a boy,  the Arab  looked down upon Kehalis for seeking the company of boys just as he did for his poor Arabic and his provincialism.   Kehalis felt two conflicting lusts now. He lusted for the woman , but he also lusted for revenge for these insults. He was a Pashtoon.   Revenge for an insult real or imagined  was the highest law of his people.   Kehalis was very aware of the rifle resting heavily in his right hand.  He wanted very much at this moment  to raise the muzzle into the Arab’s grinning face and empty the entire magazine into  him. But Kehalis was equally aware of the Arab’s right hand  as it casually rested on the hilt of the large knife on his belt  Standing as they did within arm‘s reach of each other, the knife was the more dangerous weapon. the Arab could gut him with that knife long before he could shift his hand to reach the trigger of the AK. Nor could he look for help now from his tribesmen.  Their attention was on the woman. Now was not the time, he told himself.

 

“ Why do you hesitate, Kehalis?   Would you refuse my hospitality?  Or is it that she is too much the woman for you, Kehalis?  Shall I give her ass to your men instead?” the Arab continued mockingly.  “  I do not think they will refuse it.  Look at her ass. Her bottom is just like the one in that song you are so fond of, the song about a  boy with a bottom like a ripe peach.   Are you man enough to  take that ass? “

 

  Kehalis’ face flushed a bright  red with the anger and humiliation he felt as he stepped to stand between the woman’s bound legs.  He laid his rifle against the side of the platform, stripped off his coat, and dropped his pants.  Standing there in his long shirt, he bent over to run his hands over Cathy’s ass cheeks, feeling once again the warmth and firmness of her.  But this time there were no clothes between his hands and her flesh. He ran his hands over her bare skin,  slick with her sweat. As the men around him cheered, Kehalis parted Cathy’s ass cheeks, gripping  each of  those lily white ass cheeks with one of his  hands, the dark color of his hands- part race and part sheer filth-  contrasting vividly with the pale white of Cathy’s untanned ass cheeks.  As he gripped and knead  her firm ass, Kehalis could look down and  see the  woman’s raped cunt lips, her protruding, swollen cunt lips,  both an angry red from the pounding she had taken from the Arab‘s cock.  He stared at Cathy’s sex, his gaze running  from her ass hole down  her smooth, shaven cunt,  the white remnants of the Arab’s cum still visible on her cunt lips.  The wrinkled ass hole opened slightly - invitingly- under the pressure from his fingers.  It seemed so small to Kehalis.  He licked his lips as he stared down at the contrast between his dark hands and Cathy’s white ass. Then  he took his very erect cock in one hand and placed the tip at that tiny opening.  He paused briefly to spit on one of his hands and use that to lubricate his cock.  Then, with no more preparation than that, he began to force his into Cathy’s bowels.   His cock head  began to sink into that tiny opening,  cruelly stretching Cathy’s tight little sphincter ring. His hands tried to pull her ass apart as one would split a peach  to ease his way as he forced his cock into her.

 

  Until she felt his cock press into her tiny anal opening,  Cathy had lain passively on her face, too exhausted, too shocked, by her brutal rape to care about the men surrounding her, wanting only to shut her eyes to escape their hungry looks.   But as Kehalis’ cock began its invasion of her virgin ass hole, Cathy came out of her rape induced lethargy. Cathy began to buck and wiggled underneath him, frantically trying to escape from his cock‘s relentless advance.  Hoarsely, Kehalis called on another for assistance. As this man held Cathy down by her shoulders,  Kehalis tightly gripped her hips and leaned against her, placing  all his weight behind his  rock hard cock.  Hard as granite, his cock slowly overwhelmed her panicked  resistance and sank deeper into Cathy’s tiny ass hole despite her frantic attempts to resist him by tightening her sphincter muscles against him. 

 

“ AAAGGHHHHEEEE!   YOU’RE KILLING ME...  NOOEEE!  STOP IT!.... STOP PLEASEEE STOP”

 

  The Arab stood to one side now, arms crossed over his chest, savoring the sight of Cathy’s agony filled face as Kehalis  forced his cock into her ass.   He watched as Kehalis  half climbed onto her back, straddling Cathy’s buttocks for a better shot at her tight ass.  Without regard for the pain he caused Cathy, Kehalis fought to  impale her with his cock.  The other men were crowding closer around her now, their attention centered on  the one sided struggle between Kehalis’s cock and Cathy‘s anus, their hands timidly beginning to reach out to Cathy, to grip a breast  or to stroke her soft blonde hair.   But the Arab was satisfied with this position against the cave wall.  From there he could watch- and enjoy -the expressions on the faces of both Cathy and Kehalis.   Both appeared to be in the grip of an overwhelming  emotion. Their expressions  were almost identical even though produced by polar opposite emotions- Cathy’s by the pain and humiliation she was experiencing as a strange man fought to sodomize her in front of a screaming crowd of his fellows,  and Kehalis’ by an uncontrollable lust to possess a woman unlike any he had ever seen in his barren primitive life.  The look in Kehalis’ eyes the Arab had seen before. But the intensity of  Cathy’s agony was  unique in his experience, he could not compare it to anything he had ever seen.  The closest experience would be, he thought,  the agony of  child birth.

 

    Just as if she were giving birth,, Cathy  panted like a dog as she tried to deal with the overwhelming pain from the cock penetrating her guts.   Frantically she tried to escape the cock invading her ass chute, her powerful arm and leg muscles straining against the ropes binding her, her sphincter  fighting to expel the cock which was forcing its way inside her.  Pain, and the fear of more pain, gave new dimensions to her already considerable strength. But to no avail. She could neither break out of the ropes holding her captive nor  force his cock out  of her body.  His weight, pressing his rock hard cock deeper into her, defeated  her best efforts at resistance, strong though they were.  His cock was by now firmly seated inside her ass channel. Panic filled Cathy’s eyes. Her mind was overloaded by the waves of fear/pain coming  from her ass as Kehalis brutally forced his way even deeper inside her heretofore virgin ass, cruelly stretching her nether passage beyond belief. . Cathy felt as if  a baseball bat was being forced up her ass; she feared that he was going to split her  in two. She was sure that she must die, that his cock would tear her insides apart. Like a wild animal caught in a trap, Cathy struggled even more frantically. In her panic  her entire body became one knotted muscle as she fought against the ropes binding her, the hard hands running over her nude body, and the huge cock impaling her, stabbing deeper and deeper into her.  Finally,  unable to endure the uneven struggle any longer, Cathy’s body  took over from her mind,   Her body began to shut down, to surrender to Kehalis’ cock- too exhausted, too pain filled to resist any longer.  But her mind remained clear. And painfully aware of what was being done to her. 

 

“ AHHEEEE....  oh.. no .. please... stop... my ass.. can’t... AHHEEEE”

 

 

   When Kehalis  stopped to catch his breath,  perched like a jockey on top of Cathy’s upturned ass, her sphincter  muscle  had the opportunity  to expand,  allowing itself to adjust as best it could to the girth of  cock impaling her.  Once her sphincter had loosened slightly,  Kehalis’ path forward was clear.  It took only three or four jackhammer strokes with his cock  to fully penetrate Cathy’s ass chute, sinking  up to his  wiry cock hairs in her now loose ass chute.   Even after it had finally ceased fighting him, her sphincter still gripped the base of his cock tightly,  tightly gripping the base,  literally milking it as his cock moved  deeper into her ass.  But the head of his cock felt nothing as it sank deeper into Cathy. It felt to Kehalis as if the head of his cock had  sunk into  nothingness, into a wide warm emptiness.  

 

   As the Arab and his men watched, Kehalis began to ride the bound body of the captive female pilot.  His cock moved relentlessly in and out of Cathy’s ass hole like the  piston of an engine, brutally stretching the elastic flesh  of her asshole, forcing it  to accommodate  the girth of his cock. Once he was fully seated inside her, Kehalis stood erect, his feet braced shoulder width apart on the cave‘s floor. He gripped Cathy’s slick, sweat covered shoulders and pulled her back, dragging Cathy’s hips off the edge of the sleeping platform. He held her there, his hands  now gripping her by the ropes binding her lower legs to her thighs.  He used these as handles to pull her now pliant body back on to his rock hard cock  as he plowed into her ass hole with long powerful strokes.  He repeatedly slammed into her ass with all the power of his strong arms and legs, brutally and relentessly impaling Kathy on his cock. Involuntarily, the bound blonde  trapped underneath him arched her back in response to the power  of his  strokes, a low constant moan coming from the open “O“ of her red lips. The watching Arab could see Cathy’s bound hands clench helplessly each time Kehalis plowed deep into her ass, the neatly trimmed red nails of her fingers matching the bright red of the blood she drew from the flesh of her palms.  Her body was almost limp now; her head hung face down on the sleeping platform.  Cathy no longer screamed out angry or even pleading words, just incoherent animal like sounds.  A long moan came out of her open mouth, the  volume rising and falling wordlessly in time with Kehalis’ thrusts and withdrawals.

 

“ aaheee... aaheee.. aaaHHEE. AAAAHEEEEE!”

 

  Relentlessly Kehalis  sodomized the bound female officer, as the  men around him chanted and clapped their hands in time with his thrusts into Cathy’s open ass hole.  It seemed to Cathy as if Kehalis would last forever, plowing relentlessly  into her ass hole like some sort of mechanical  fucking machine.  Kehalis  reached and  stayed  on the edge of cumming for stroke after stroke, exhausting his strength in brutally battering Cathy’s body, but unable to reach his climax.  By now his agony was almost the equal of Cathy’s in their desperation to reach the end of  this brutal coupling.  He was  able to finally achieve release  only when he threw himself forward onto Cathy’s back, grasping her blonde hair with one hand to force her head 90 degrees to her left, allowing him to see  her tear streaked, agony filled face as he continued to rape her ass with short, intensely powerful dog-like jackhammer strokes.  Only then, after he had looked into  her eyes and felt her body give beneath him,  and had once again surrounded himself with her fragrance,  could Kehalis  find the release he sought.  He cried out in triumph and release as  he filled her ass chute with his hot cum before collapsing  onto her back.   Kehalis lay on Cathy’s wet, warm back for a moment, crushing her with his weight, too exhausted to move, until another man, impatient now for his turn,  pulled him away.  The Arab had only a glimpse of  Cathy before the next man covered her  nude body.  But the image of the open “O’ of her asshole,  man cum dripping out of it, was forever burn into his memory.

 

  The next man took her just as brutally as Kehalis had.  In a single thrust he impaled Cathy on his hard cock, sinking up to his pubic hairs in her.  He hunched over her, holding onto  the ropes tying  Cathy’s elbows together, using them as   grips when he pulled  her back onto his cock at the same time as he thrust forward.  The new rapist  plowed relentlessly into her by now wide open ass hole as Cathy, her body slack and unresisting,  made small moaning sounds underneath him.  She could manage nothing more. Each time he slammed his hard cock into her, it made Cathy’s body shake and knocked the air out of her lungs.  Unconcerned with her pain, the man took his pleasure like an animal, as quickly and as brutally as he could. Then he too spent himself inside Cathy, filling her with a new flood of hot cum before also collapsing on her nude back. He was in his turn pulled off her and replaced by a new man.  Cathy lost track of  how many men had used her,  sodomized her ass. It no longer mattered when one man  had finished and  when the next man thrust into her. It all became one long rape to her; the men became one.  It became one huge cock, endlessly and painfully sodomizing her.  She only knew that the feeling of impalement, the feeling of having her ass painfully full of cock, had become  her reality, her entire world.  Cathy lay passively underneath them, no longer resisting  the men sodomizing her.  Her sweat slick body had surrendered to Kehalis‘s cock; now her  will surrendered as well to the cock filling her.  Cathy became nothing more than their fuck toy.  

 

   An unresisting Cathy lay on her belly on the hard platform as man after man sodomized her.  She lay there passively as man after man mounted her and  plowed relentlessly into her ass hole.  The pain in her rear slowly became nothing more than a dull , empty ache.  As the Arab and Kehalis watched,  nine men  reamed open Cathy’s ass hole and  filled it with volumes of their hot, white cum.  Through it all, she lay there face down, eyes shut, her full red lips open, panting for breath between moans. Cathy’s strong body gleamed  in the harsh light of the lantern as if it had been oiled,  the light shining off the sweat covering her bare skin and creating a play of shadow and light that highlighted the arousing combination of strength and beauty she offered.  Bound and helpless,  her nude body  buffeted by the violent thrusts of men’s cocks, Cathy lay passively underneath her attackers, beyond tears, beyond words, totally exhausted.  

 

  As she lay there, her beauty defiled by the cum and sweat of the men brutally sodomizing her, Cathy heard a voice whispering in English into her ear. It took her several seconds before she could make sense of the words. Then she shivered as she realized that it was the Arab whose words she was hearing softly repeated over and over into her ear.

 

  “ This is my power over you, slave. I control your body, not you. I have defeated you in battle. You are my slave. I can do as I wish with your body.  I can give it to whomever I wish........ even these pigs, if it pleases me. This is my mastery over you, slave. ”

 

   Cathy lost all track of time long before the last man had spent himself inside her bowels.   Only half conscious, she knew only dimly that the men had stopped raping her.   She knew that only because now she felt an emptiness in  her cruelly stretched asshole instead of the familiar fullness of a hard cock.  She had been stretched by ten cocks, her ass hole  reamed out, made into an open, apparently bottomless pit, and then filled with what felt like a gallon of man cum.   A river of the white sticky fluid flowed out of  Cathy’s ass hole  to run down her red, abused cunt lips and slowly drip drop by drop onto the hard packed earth of the sleeping platform.  The now sated men stood around her in a half circle, staring down at her, at the obscene sight of her open, dripping ass. No one spoke as they stared down at what they had done to Cathy. One by one, they silently slipped away to their  blankets in the cave passage outside the room.   Even Kehalis slipped silently away, his lust satisfied, but his hatred for the Arab and his desire to possess the American woman greater than before.   Eventually the Arab was left alone with Cathy.

 

 

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

 

  Once the men had left her alone, Cathy had  fallen into an exhausted sleep.   But even in her sleep, Cathy could not escape her rapists. Her mind relived bits and pieces of her rape and sodomy throughout the rest of the night, replaying them over and over in her unconscious mind.  After some few hours of restless sleep, it was one of those nightmare images of her attackers- the image where they were  holding her down as the ugly one’s cock had forced its way into her ass - that  jerked Cathy back into consciousness , screaming:

 

“  NO.. LEAVE ME ALONE!  .....GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU BASTARDS!” 

 

   Bolting upright on the platform, Cathy’s eyes searched frantically around her for her attackers. It was only then that she realized that she was  alone in the small  room.  She was still nude, though a blanket had been thrown over her. Her ankles  had been untied from her thighs and tied together loosely at the ankles, allowing them to stretch out after the torture of their bondage. Her elbows had also been untied, though her wrists were still bound together behind her back.  The rope around her neck still bound her to the platform’s wooden frame. Her body ached each time she moved. Worse, her ass hole was throbbing, a dull empty ache that brought back unbidden memories  of what the Arab had done to her last night.  She shuddered at the memory of the anal gang rape he had put her through. 

 

  As if on cue, the Arab entered the room, a large water bottle and a piece of the local flat bread held in his hands.   Cathy shrank back from him as he approached her, but, tied as she was, there was no escaping him.  He put the water bottle and the bread down beside her and  took out his knife.   Rather than slash her rope as he had done last night- Cathy thought it was just last night, though it seemed an eternity ago- he used its curved tip to pry apart the knot and untie the rope binding her wrists. The rope around her neck remained, but he did untie the end  securing her to the platform frame. The rope around her ankles received the same treatment, leaving Cathy unbound for the first time since her rape.  When he stepped back,  knife still in hand, Cathy slowly stood, rubbing the rope burns on her wrists as she tried work the stiffness out of her body. Her arms and legs felt as if red hot pins were piercing them as her circulation, and with it sensation,  returned to the nerve endings. As her body slowly began to function again, the thought of escape, of attacking the dark man and bolting, ran through her mind until the sounds outside the doorway reminded her of the men between her and freedom.  The sounds also served to remind Cathy of her nudity. Instinctively, she tried to shield herself with her arms, much to the amusement of the Arab.   Seeing his smile and realizing the futility of her gesture, Cathy lowered her arms and stood there  in front of him, body defiantly displayed, glaring but silent. She half expected him to rape her again, but the tall man only gestured at the food and water.  Hungrily, Cathy attacked the dry bread, washing it down with huge gulps from the earthenware water bottle.  He let her eat all of the bread before he spoke. 

 

“ Relieve yourself there , in that corner. Quickly!”

 

 Only half believing that the Arab mean what he had said, but very aware of the pressure building up in her bowels and urethra,  Cathy awkwardly staggered the few steps to the small hole cut into the rock floor  at the corner.  Painfully aware of the man’s eyes watching her, Cathy squatted over it and relieved herself.  Once finished, she stood awkwardly and waited.

 

 

 

 

Tossing  Cathy  the ruined bra he had cut off her last night and a small yellow bar of soap, the Arab ordered:

 

“  Clean herself up, slave.   You look disgusting.”

 

  Cathy’s face reddened as he spoke. She knew she looked disgusting. She could feel the dried cum covering her skin on the insides of her thighs, all over her cunt, and between her ass cheeks.  Trying to preserve some dignity even now, Cathy turned her back on the Arab and slowly, thoroughly washed herself.  She scrubbed her shaven private parts raw trying to get the feel and the smell of the men’s cum off her. Then she did the same to her breasts and abdomen.  Driven by her revulsion at her rape, Cathy scrubbed and scrubbed at her skin,  determined to wash away at least the physical  traces of her rape and sodomy even if she knew she could never wash them out of her mind.  Compulsively, she scrubbed herself again and again until the Arab tired of her efforts. He threw her boots, her flight suit, and her flight jacket at her feet and growled:

 

“ Enough, slave!  Put these on. They will do until I can get you a proper garment for a woman, a  burkha.”

 

 Eagerly Cathy picked up the clothes thrown at her feet.  She virtually threw on the  baggy green flight suit in her eagerness to cover herself.   As she bent to put on her boots, she  carefully asked in a low voice,
 

“ What about my long underwear.  It is so cold here. ...”   Seeing his face darken,  Cathy belatedly  added   “Master” to her words. 

 

“ Enough. A woman does not question a man , nor a slave her Master.”

 

  For a moment, Cathy was tempted to revisit her argument that she was not a slave, but a prisoner of war. But  she  realized that there was no profit and considerable  danger in angering him. Instead, she bit her tongue  and  remained silent, hoping she could eventually reason with her captor if she just didn’t anger him. She completed dressing in silence, putting on her boots, and then the flight jacket over her flight suit. It felt so good to Cathy to have clothes on again.

 

 “Turn around, slave, and put your hands behind your back”

 

 Cathy’s strong body stiffened as she heard that, muscles tensing. She had only a split second to decide whether she would fight or submit. Once again, her reason told her to submit, that there was no sense fighting until she could see an opportunity to escape.  Exhaling loudly, she turned her back to him and meekly crossed  her wrists behind her strong back.

 

  If Cathy had seen the wolfish smile that crossed the Arab’s face when she did that, she would  have  known that she had made the wrong decision.   Once she turned and offered him her wrists, the Arab moved quickly to  tie her wrists together behind her broad back.  Then he pushed her face down on the platform, crossed her ankles, and tied  her booted feet together.  When he had finished tying her feet together, the Arab took the running end of the rope which encircled Cathy’s neck and pulled it taunt.   He bent Cathy’s legs back and tied that end of the rope to Cathy’s booted feet, painfully bending the muscular  young woman  into the shape of a bow, feet  and  head forced  towards each other until they almost touched. When he released her, Kathy found she had to further arch her back just to keep from choking herself to death.  He stepped back to admire his work, leaving Cathy hog-tied on her stomach on the sleeping platform, her body painfully bent backwards so that her short blonde hair was no more than eighteen inches from the soles of her boots.   He watched as Cathy  fought against the ropes, enjoying the sight of  her strong body  moving  as she futilely struggled against the ropes holding her.  He waited patiently for Cathy to  realize that not only could she not escape the ropes holding her, but that she had to use all her  strength simply to  keep her legs held high, to keep them from relaxing and slowly  choking her to death. That reality quickly came home to Cathy as the rope tied to her booted feet tightened around her neck.  All she could do then was to struggle to keep still despite the unnatural position  into which he had bound her.  Once the Arab was satisfied that the blonde had enough sense- and self discipline- not to strangle herself, he  left her alone in the small room, taking the room’s only source of light, the electric lantern, with him, leaving Cathy  hog tied and alone in the silent darkness.

 

   After only a few moments, Cathy began to feel the strain of maintaining her bowed position.   As time dragged on  in the dark, the strain on her muscles grew.  Her legs began to tire first, the task of keeping her feet in their heavy combat boots stretched forward to relieve the pressure on the  rope around her neck growing more difficult with each moment.  Her legs- strong though they were-  began to cramp, then to shake from the strain.  Her back began to ache as well, as did her neck,  as a result of  its extended position she was forced to hold.   In time, Cathy’s body was covered in sweat as she struggled to remain still, her strong muscles in agony from the demands this placed upon them.  Eventually a soft moan escaped from her tightly compressed lips as her leg muscles weaken and slipped back a fraction of an inch,  tightening the rope around her throat by another millimeter.  Alone in the darkness, Cathy  began to cry, moving  beyond fear to terror, the terror of dying a millimeter at a time.  Her only solace the thought that they would be coming to rescue her any time now. They had to be coming......... they had to.

 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

  As Cathy  sweated, struggled and cried in the dark,  the Arab drank tea with the Poshtoons in the large central room of the cave.   The men were discussing again and again the attack on the helicopter, each man’s role in defeating the Americans growing  each  time he retold of the story.  Though he could not speak their language, the Arab could sense their mood easily enough. He could see that mood was happy even without the terse and begrudging translations provided by the dour Kehalis.  .  Those translations grew even more terse  as  the men’s boasting turned to last night’s anal rape of the blonde American.  More from their faces and their extravagant gestures- and the hardening expression on Kehalis’ face-  than from Kehalis‘ words did the Arab could sense that the men viewed him more favorably now, and that their taste of the woman had taken away most of their desire for her, at least for the moment. He did not think that  Kehalis would have much success turning the men against him over her now. That, he knew, could change quickly.  But for the moment, he decided that his main problem was the Americans rather than the men he nominally led.  Patiently, he waited  for the conversation to work its way from what they had done to what they must do next.  They must either flee to the safety of the tribal area over the border or remain here in hiding until the search died down. Even in his inexperience, he could see that the barren hillsides would provide them no cover from an aerial search if they simply tried to flee back to the border and safety.  It was obvious to him that they should stay here in the cave. The Americans would  no doubt search for their lost whore. But in a few days, there would be other emergencies , other problems, which would require their attention and divert the troops searching for her.  The search for the woman would no doubt be , if not actually forgotten,  reduced to a token effort with little chance of success.  Once the decision to stay here and hide had been made, the question of whether or not they would be found by the  American search was, to the Arab’s mind, a matter of God’s will. There was no use further worrying about it. They had water from a nearby stream,  but they would need food beyond the pocket full of bread and the sack of tea the men each carried with them if they were to stay here.  The question of  food, as well as proper clothing for his new female slave, were all that concerned the Arab now.  Patiently he  waited for the subject to work its way to food, his mind half on the Pashtoons and half on the woman he had left bound in the dark room. 

 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

  As the Arab sipped tea and Cathy suffered and prayed for deliverance, the Americans were indeed coming.   They had discovered the crash site shortly before dawn.   It had taken that long because, without any radio contact to tell them where the aircraft went down,  the aviation battalion had to search the entire return leg outlined in  Cathy’s flight plan.  Even with every available helicopter in the air, that had taken hours. By the time the aircraft  reached the area of the crash, the flames on the downed helicopter had died out, leaving only darkness.  Without on-board thermal sensors, the searching UH-60’s  from Cathy’s aviation battalion saw nothing on their first pass through the area but the indistinct greenish jumble of the mountains below them as seen through their night vision goggles.   It was only during the second sweep when the thermal gunner’s sight on one of the  attached AH-64 Apache attack helicopter detected the hot metal  of the crashed helicopter  that the searchers  learned for sure what had happened to the missing UH-60.  Forbidden to land because of the danger of an ambush set around the crash site, the air crews could only circle helplessly and wait while an infantry company was assembled and flown to the site to secure it.  Once the site had been secured, it took some hours before the searchers realized that there was a body missing. Which crew member was missing  and presumed captured was  unclear at that time due to the badly burned condition of two of the bodies.   After a local search turned up nothing.  additional troops were transported in, and a predator unmanned drones diverted from other duties to search the  surrounding mountainous terrain.  Mindful of the delay and desperate to keep whoever had taken one of the  aircrew captive  from reaching sanctuary in Pakistan, the ground commander made a fateful decision. He decided  to use their helicopters to leapfrog ahead of the presumed  fleeing enemy and land the troops close to the border with orders to search back northwest toward the crash site.   Aside from the predator drones high overhead, no searchers entered the valley of Kehalis’ cave that first day  after the crash.

 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

   Hours later when the Arab returned to the room, he saw Cathy still valiantly  struggling  to keep her legs from relaxing and tightening the rope around her neck as her leg muscles slowly weakened.  She seemed unaware of his return, too absorbed in her desperate struggle to notice him. He turned up the lantern and put it on the platform by her. He stared intently at Cathy’s face in the lamplight. It was covered in her sweat, jaw clinched , the lips a tight red line across her face, her eyes  tightly closed as Cathy struggled to remain motionless. He saw that she had turned on her side in her struggles, her body still tightly , cruelly bowed by the rope connecting her booted feet and the nose around her slender neck.   Cathy remained unaware of his presence until he reached out and ran his hand over her clothed body, feeling the tension there, the struggle of her will to control her tired muscles.  With a start, Cathy’s eyes flew open and a  soft “OH” escaped her mouth.

 

“ Do you have anything you wish to ask me., slave?”  He asked softly.

 

“  Yes, Master .. please .. release me.. I can’t take this any longer.. Master?”

 

  The Arab could see the desperation as well as the humiliation in her eyes as well as hear it in her soft voice.

 

“ You address me as Master. Do you understand what that means?”

 

“ Yes, I understand. Please.. untied me.. I can’t breath...my legs are so ..”

 

“ Tell me what it means, Cathy.”

 

 Cathy choked as she fought to get the words out.  Horrible as they were to her, she had to accept them.

 

“ Yes.. Master.  It means ... it means that you own me. That I am our property. That you can do anything you want with me.. with my body.   I am.. your.. slave.”

 

“ Very good, slave. But  I wonder, do you really understand what you are saying?”

 

“  Master, ?    Please Master, the ropes.  The pain is to much,; I can’t stand it?”

 

 Instead of answering, the Arab unzipped Cathy’s flight jacket and then unzipped the front of her flight suit. He pushed aside the flaps, giving his hand access to the bare skin underneath, to her soft breasts and tight abdomen .  He ran his hand under the flight suit and over Cathy’s warm skin.  She shuttered under his touch, while still trying to remain as still as possible despite the hand exploring her so intimately.  Then he  moved his hand to her left breast, kneeling her breast,  crushing it in his strong grip as he spoke to her, his fingers now finding and trapping her nipples, then crushing them between his thumb and forefinger.

 

“ These are mine.. to do with as I please. “

 

“   AHEE.. Yes, yes Master.  ”

 

  His hands moved down her flat tummy to Cathy’s shaven sex. He pushed  the three fingers in a knife hand  between her legs to reach Cathy’s cunt lips and clitoris with their tips.  Slowly, he began to friction her bare sex, the pressure of his fingertips pleasurable to her despite the pain surrounding her. 

 

“ And this, slave. Is it mine too?”

 

“  Umm.. ahee..Yes, Master. Yours.”

 

“ Fuck yourself on my hand, slave. I want you to cum for me, for your Master.”

 

 Desperate to ease  the pain she had endured for what seemed like an eternity, Cathy  reluctantly obeyed.  She willed herself to relax her tense muscles and then to move her cunt against the hardness of his fingers as far as the ropes allowed her. Against her will, Cathy could feel herself grow wet as she moved against his fingers, moved her slit up and down against the hardness of his fingers.  She found herself stretching her body, trying to make those fingers reach  her sensitive clit.  The resulting  irregular, teasing stimulation of her clit began to drive her crazy. Cathy moaned in response to the warmth radiating from her cunt,  aroused against her will despite - or perhaps because of- the sheer humiliation of  what he was making her do as by the simple pleasure it brought her body. She tried to detach her mind from her body and  simply do as he ordered mechanically, as a task without meaning.  But she could not. Her mind refused to ignore her body’s responses.  Then the tension on her noose as she struggled to move his fingers against her clit tightened the noose around her neck, making Cathy’s leg muscles convulse as she fought to bend her legs   toward her head to relieve the pressure all the while desperately continuing to thrust her cunt against his hard fingers with increasing force  She grew steadily wetter, her breathing more and more irregular. Cathy could not believe the arousal she felt as she fucked herself against his hand, as his fingers began to move against her, to take an active role, stimulating her clit, paying close attention to that acutely sensitive little nub of her ‘s.  Small, wet sounds began to come from between her thighs as his fingers reached deeper into her, pressing back against the increasingly forceful thrusts of Cathy’s hips, his fingers penetrating between her legs to stroke the length of her half open, soaking wet  cunt.  Then suddenly, the  strokes stopped, causing a frustrated Cathy to automatically tighten her legs around his hand, trying to get his fingers back into her cunt, craving the sensation of  their hardness against her.  Instead, he took two of his fingers and caught her clit, trapped it between them. With that , his hand began to move back and forth, slowly picking up speed,  the back and forth motion  pulling hard on Cathy’s stretched clit, painfully and powerfully stimulating it. Cathy’s back arched again despite her fatigue, and  as the Arab put his whole arm into manually fucking her trapped nub, she cried out:

 

“ OH... Oh.. Master.. I’m coming.. please...   AHHHH.. AHHHHEEEEE”

 

  Cathy’s body went into spasms , the muscles of her strong, athletic body tightening and then relaxing as the small climax washed over her, gone before she had time to enjoy it. His hand slowed and then stopped, still resting against her soaking wet cunt lips as Cathy tried  to catch her breath.   Despite her best efforts, as she had cum,  her tired muscles had convulsed, involuntarily straightening her legs and tightening the rope around her neck,  restricting her breathing even further.  She had to fight for each breath now.  Her face, already flushed red from her climax, turned even redder.  There was real panic in her voice as she pleaded:

 

 “ Master.  Please. I’m choking.. I.. help me.”

 

“  I am your Master, Cathy. You have no will against mine. I can bring you pleasure, and I can bring you pain. Even death.  It is as God wills. Surrender to me and accept that.“

 

  He gripped her flight suit with one hand for leverage and began to push his other hand, the one which had just brought Cathy to climax, deeper into Cathy’s cunt. The tips of his fingers- his hand formed into knife edge-  easily penetrated Cathy’s wet, relaxed cunt. The  extended  fingers slide inside her with little resistance, burying themselves entirely inside her warmth.   As the palm of his hand began to enter her, resistance increased.  Involuntarily Cathy clinched  the muscles surrounding her cunt.  Despite her efforts, the hand continued to penetrate her, stretching Cathy cruelly, even more  than the prior rape had. Already sore from that rape, the entry of his hand into her cunt caused waves of  new pain to shoot from Cathy’s cunt to her brain like an electric shock. She desperately thrashed, struggling against the hand impaling her, further cutting off her air. The Arab‘s hand stretched her wider and wider until finally his entire hand had penetrated Cathy‘s tightly clinched cunt, resting motionless in the wet warmth within.   Her body fought back desperately. Her abdominal muscles struggled against the new intruder, her legs pressed together tightly, the large muscles of her thighs bulging.  Her struggles  further  tightened the rope encircling Cathy’s slender neck.  Her air supply, already restricted, became  almost non-existent.  Her face reddened.  As the Arab slowly closed his hand into a fist deep inside Cathy’s womb, she began to feel increasingly light headed, the effect of oxygen deprivation on her brain.  Her mind was unable to think clearly now, aware only of  the fullness in her cunt.  She felt nothing but  the pounding he was administering to her cunt with his fist, penetrating her, expanding her womb as never before.

 

  The Arab formed his fingers into a tight fist. With all the strength of which his strong arm was capable, he drove that fist deeper into Cathy.  With short, powerful punches, he  pounded into her, brutally fist fucking her.  He could hear the wet, squishy sounds of his hand moving  against her tightly clinched thighs and the resisting  muscles of her wet cunt.  He could hear the weak, strangled cries of the woman he was so brutally fist fucking. He could even hear the  pounding of his own heart as he used  Cathy’s womb  for a punching bag.  He watched  her body jerk involuntarily with each punch, saw the outline of his fist move under the skin of her abdomen, saw the drool pouring out of Cathy’s mouth as her face turned redder and redder, her eyes desperately pleading with him to stop. But he did not stop.  Instead he pounded harder into her, feeling  Cathy’s womb began to give way, accepting his fist, closing around it, gripping it like a lover.  Cathy’s oxygen starved brain accepted  the pain of his assault, opening herself to his brutal assault on her cunt , accepting  it within her womb, accepting even the blackness which was closing in one her.

 

  As her body convulsed around his fist, the Arab let go of  her flight suit and drew his knife.  He thrust the back of the blade under the rope encircling Cathy’s neck and twisted it,  cutting her free, freeing her to breath again. At last, Cathy could draw a full breath.  Desperately, her body, so long starved for oxygen, sucked as much air into her empty lungs as it  physically could.  Her body shook with the struggle to  breath,. The muscles of her strong feminine body  were convulsed around the fist still buried deep inside as she struggle to regain consciousness and to draw in breath . His fist  had reached so deeply into her that Cathy’s oxygen starved body had given up the struggle to expel it.  Now that she could breath again,  Cathy’s  attention returned to that fist moving inside her.  But rather than fight against his fist, she now rode it, moved with it. Uninhibited by her conscious thought , accepting the pain washing over her, Cathy ’s strong body closed about the Arab’s fist as if it had been a cock and  rode his punches  to a second, earth shaking, convulsing climax. 

 

“  AAGGHHEEEEEE.... OHHEEEE... I.. I’m  ... agheee.. cumming... MASTER.. I’m cumming.”

 

   Long afterwards, Cathy lay there while her reason slowly returned , her body limp, her strength spent, her clothing soaked in her own sweat, and her cunt still full of the Arab’s fist.  While still steadily sucking  air into to her oxygen starved lungs,  Cathy was otherwise too exhausted to move, to even to think. Her body and her will were totally drained. She did not  move or even utter a sound when the Arab  pulled his still clinched hand out of her unresisting cunt with a loud plop.  She just lay there motionless, body limp and unresisting.

 

“ Now, I believe you understand what it means to be a slave.  To be my possession, my plaything, and no more.  Not an officer ordering men about.  Not even a free woman. But a slave, the possession of a man who is  by God’s will your Master .”

 

 The Arab left Cathy alone for a few minutes as she fought to recover her composure after this terrible experience. Coming on top of the brutal rape and sodomy she had endured  the night before,  her near death  experience  combining  strangulation and fisting had been a crushing one for Cathy. She felt as if she had died and been reborn, reborn as another person.  A  weaker woman, one without hope or courage. But a woman determined to survive.   It took her some moments before she even had the strength to cry. Then the tears  all poured out as her body  begin to shake.  But Cathy did not have long to mourn the destruction of  the woman she had been.  She felt the Arab untie her feet, carefully, she noted, preserving the rope for use on her later.

 

“ On your knees slave.” 

 

 Fearfully Cathy obeyed, sinking shakily to her knees on the cave floor in front of the tall man, her body in pain from every muscle and most of all from the terrible sore, hollow feeling coming from  her abused cunt.  Her uniform was still  unzipped, allowing her two round breasts to be exposed by  the  open vee of the unzipped suit.  He stepped forward so that his crotch was only inches from her face.  Cathy watched with resignation as he unzipped his Western style cold weather pants and extracted his very erect cock.  He let it hang there in front of her eyes. Cathy had no choice. She could not bring herself to look away. She stared helplessly at his cock, its tip almost touching her

 

“  Have you , how do you say it, ... sucked a man’s cock before?  “

 

 Cathy was too exhausted and too frightened to lie to him. In a resigned voice she answered him truthfully.

 

“ Yes, Master.:\”

 

“ But you are not married, are you?”

 

“ No Master.”

 

“ Then you are truly a woman of no virtue, aren’t you. A whore like most Western woman.”

 

“ Yes, Master.”

 

“ Yes what, slave?”

 

“ Yes, Master. I am a whore.”

 

“ Then suck me, whore.”

 

  He stood unmoving above her as Cathy opened her mouth and took his hard cock inside its warmth. She closed her lips around its shaft, using her tongue to caress the sensitive undersides of his  hard cock. With a skill not to be expected of one who had looked so  innocence when they had captured her, Cathy used  the tips of her teeth to stimulate him as well, her teeth’s hardness providing an exciting contrast to the wet warm softness of her lips and tongue as Cathy used all three at once on  his cock.  Orally stimulating a man had become Cathy’s preferred  style of lovemaking on the rare occasion when she found a partner she truly wished to please. She preferred it to intercourse because it gave her a  feeling of being in control, of setting the pace. Now that feeling of control had been turned on its head.   Now her oral service was a sign of her subservience, her loss of control.

 

  With her hands still tied behind her back and no help from the Arab towering above her, Cathy had to work to keep his cock in her mouth. She forced herself to open her throat, allowing his cock to penetrate her throat until  its head was banging against her tonsils. She had to fight to control her  gag response. She moved her head slowly up and down on his shaft, careful to keep from losing possession of it, wrapping her lips tightly around the fleshy shaft’s width to keep it within her warm, wet mouth.  Cathy worked hard to please her rapist, worked harder than she had ever worked before to please any man.  She wanted desperately to please the man towering above her, but her motives were as confused as the emotions battling for dominance in her overloaded mind.   She was consumed by a fear of the man whose cock she was servicing.  But Cathy’s mind  had gone beyond the point of simple fear. She had become so desperate to avoid his anger that she was subconsciously internalizing his aggression against her and  finding,  if not a pleasure, a feeling of security in preemptively debasing herself.  To avoid his wrath, Cathy was desperate enough to try to become whatever the man  wanted her to be, no matter how degrading. If he wanted her to be a whore, she would be one.  With increasing speed she worked her mouth up and down on  his shaft- now moving quickly and lightly using her teeth against the sides of his cock ; now moving slowly, lavishing attention on the underside of his cock with the tip of her active tongue.  Struggling to fulfill his image of a Western whore, Cathy  became one. She used all her skill to stimulate his cock.  She held nothing back, no matter how vile it was to her.

 

  The Arab grunted in pleasure as he fought against the strong urge to simply grab Cathy’s head and fuck her face. He willed himself to remain still, allowing the American woman to service his cock  while he remained passive. She was, he acknowledged, most skillful. Never had a woman serviced him so well, not even the  expensive whores  in New York or London whom he had frequented during his youth.  The sensation of  the alternating hardness of her teeth and the softness and warmth of her lips and tongue sent shivers up his spine. He raised his eyes from the disheveled mop of blonde hair bobbing relentlessly up and down on his cock to fix his eyes on the cave’s ceiling, trying to prolong the  pleasurable sensations of her warm, wet mouth caressing his cock for as long as possible.   It was a struggle.   To distract himself, he ask:

 

“  You are very skillful, slave.  So skillful and so practiced that it is clear you must truly be a  whore. Not just an immoral woman typical of your degenerate culture, but a whore who sells herself to men. Is this how you  service your commanding officer to gain his favor ?  Is that how you rose in rank in your Godless army?   Or are you a common whore, earning money like this, by servicing the cocks of the men in your  Army?  

 

  Her mouth full of his cock, Cathy did not answer him, preferring  to concentrate on sucking and licking his cock, reluctant to give up possession of his cock to reply  to the Arab‘s insults.   But the Arab would not allow her to remain mute.  Grasping her short blonde hair in one hand, he pulled Cathy’s mouth off his cock and turned  her face up to stare into his. 

 

“ I ask you a question, slave. What kind of whore are you? Did you whore for anyone in your Godless Army, anyone  with the money to buy you, even privates,  or did you only whore yourself for the  men placed over you, men of  high rank, a general perhaps?”

 

  Cathy stared up at him,  acutely aware of the hard cock bobbing there inches from her face as she looked into the Arab’s dark, cruel eyes.  She was very afraid. She did not dare to tell him the truth, that she was no whore, that she was simply a  woman with as much right to seek and give pleasure as a man.  In abandoning  resistance for submission, Cathy had for the first time really looked at the man who was her captor.  That had gained her enough insight about this man to realized that the Arab wanted to hear  “his” truth, not the truth.  He wanted to hear her say that she was a whore. So, that is what she must tell him. To avoid another gang rape, she would become anything he wished her to be. But before answering him, she had to guess what kind of whore it was that he wished her to be.  The frightened, confused young female Captain  had to decide whether he wished her to be a common whore who fucked men for money or a whore who fucked her superiors for  promotion before she responded.  She knew her life might depend on saying what  he wished to hear.  She chose the later alternative.

 

 “  I was a whore for my senior officers, Master.  I  fucked colonels and ..... a general.”

 

   The Arab smiled at down at her, apparently pleased with her response.   He continued to hold her head still with his left hand while he took his erect cock in his other hand.   He slowly rubbed his cock’s head over Cathy’s cheeks and then across her lips,  stroking her face with it, the strong scent of his cock filing her nostrils.  Holding it at the base, the Arab began to  strike Cathy’s face with its fleshy head.  The sound of  his rock hard cock flesh slapping her cheeks  echoed in the absolute silence of the small room as he spoke.

 

 “ I am pleased to hear your words, Cathy.   Kehalis will not be so pleased though.  I understand a woman servicing the man in authority over her.  It is God’s will that women  submit themselves to men, even in your degenerate land.  But a women.. a whore.. who trades sex for money disgust me.  She is an abhorrence to the eyes of  the righteous.  If you had been such a whore, I would have given you to him and his men. The same men who raped you last night.  Given, not just allowed them to use your body without really hurting you as was I did last night. Given  you to them to do with as they wished.  to rape the life out of. You are most fortunate that I chose to take you  under my protection,  slave.  If I were not here to protect you, do you know what those men would do to a Western whore like you?   A beautiful , blonde Western whore who wore the uniform of their enemy. “

 

  Cathy shuttered, the images of what they had already done last night filling her mind.  She could only numbly shake her head in response.   Ignoring her lack of response, the Arab continued  speaking. He also continued rubbing his cock head  across her  face as he spoke.

 

  “  Another rape like last night would be only the beginning.  It would be much worse for you without me there to protect you.  They would all use you, all ten of them. First again like before like a boy and then, when your bottom was no longer tight enough to please them,  they would take you like a woman.  Once you were too used to stir even their desire any longer, they would certainly kill you.  But not quickly.  They are a  cruel people, as cruel as their land,  even if they are a people of the Book.  In their minds, an enemy God is so gracious as to deliver into their hands,  especially an infidel like you,  is one meant to be slowly tortured to death.  They would find as much pleasure in torturing you, in seeing your pain, as they would  in raping you.  At night, around the fire, these men enjoy telling stories of  how their grandfathers and great grandfathers used to torture Englishmen they had captured long ago when this land was ruled by the English.  I think that the Pashtoons  miss the English.  Their fathers’ had the occasional Russian to torture, but according to the Poshtoons they were not of the same..... quality.  These men have never had any opportunity to use their skills on Westerns.   Until God delivered you into my hands.  If I allow them, they would be very  imaginative in how the killed  you.    Very!”

 

  As he spoke, he continued to rub his cock head over her face, now rubbing it against her soft cheeks and  parted full lips, pressing his cock firmly against her face, its flesh warm and pungent.

 

 “  There was the story they told me about one Englishman, a Captain like you once were, Cathy.   Once they had finished taking their pleasures from him, he was staked out naked on the rocky ground.  It was summer here, a time of great heat I am told.   Besides the stakes holding his hands and feet, two stakes were driven into the ground, one on each side of his head, to force him to stare up, into the sun.  Then they carefully cut away his eyelids without harming his eyes themselves, so that he could not close his eyes to protect them from the sun, but had to stare endlessly into its brightness.   When they had done that, they had one more thing to do. They forced his mouth open very wide.  The Poshtoons  carved a stick forked at both ends which  they wedged one end  against the teeth of his upper jaw and the other end against the teeth of his lower jaw, so that he could not close his mouth.  Then they  sat and watched  him, watching the sun  burn his eyes away,  watching it burn his naked body to a dark red and beyond, listening to his screams as they would to a musical instrument.  They sat around him all this time, drinking tea and talking among themselves, comfortable in the shade, as they watched him suffered.   After a while, perhaps the second day, perhaps the third, after he became quiet, they would kick him in his manhood.  They would compete to see whose kick could provoke the loudest scream from the bound Captain. As they tortured him, they were careful not to let him die of thirst.  That would have been too quick for the Poshtoons.  Nor did they simply give him water to keep him alive. That would have been too merciful. To keep the Englishman alive and  aware of his pain, they gave him liquid by relieving themselves in his open mouth, the forked stick keeping his mouth open, forcing him to swallow their  foul urine.   No doubt his own people have long forgotten the Englishman since this happened  70 or more years ago.  But the Poshtoons have kept his memory very alive in their stories, or at least kept alive the memory of his long and painful death.   I wonder how long you would last under their torture , Cathy.  If I allowed them to have you.  Would their grandchildren  still tell and retell the story of your death in 70 years?“

 

  Thoroughly terrified by the man’s words, Cathy  could not keep back her tears.  They streamed down her face as the horrible image of suffering the dark man had described came alive in her mind’s eye.  But it was not the male body of the English Captain she saw being tortured.  She saw herself in that Englishman’s place; saw her naked body staked out in the sun, saw herself cruelly blinded by the burning sun, saw her female body - the body she was so proud of - slowly burned beyond recognition by that relentless sun.  It was her cunt that she saw being brutalized by the men’s kicks.  And, most vividly of all , it was  her open mouth into which she saw the grinning men pissing, their hot, foul tasting,  yellow liquid, saw them  filling her mouth with their piss as she desperately fought for breath.  The image of dying in such a  manner filled Cathy with absolute terror, a terror born as much of the ignominy of such a death as the pain it promised.   By this time, Cathy had begun to distinguish between the  English speaking, obviously educated Arab and his crude, nameless hired thugs, the Poshtoons.   After the anal gang rape she had experienced at the hands of the  Poshtoons,  the Arab’s story about their cruelty seemed  be quite believable to her.  The Arab had  no trouble in planting in Cathy’s confused, fear deranged mind the idea that the Poshtoons wanted  to rape and torture her to death, and that he was her  only protector against them.  Overwhelmed by all the abuse she had experienced and desperate for some ray of hope,  even his primitive “ Good cop/Bad cop” approach was effective.  Cathy was frightened enough to grasp at his offer to be her protector, even when that offer came from her rapist.  She  to herself that she had to  submit  to him, to serve him sexually, to save herself from what she was convinced would be a  painful and degrading death  at the hands of the Poshtoons.  Anything, her  survival instincts told her, was preferrable to death. Cathy bent her head and  begged:

 

“    Please don’t let them take me again!  Please, Master!”   

 

“  I shall protect you Cathy.  But only for as long as you are my  slave.”

 

“  I will be your slave, Master.  Just don‘t let them kill me like that.”

 

“ Then you must show  your Master  your  submission, slave.”

 

  The Arab  let go of his cock, allowing it to hang there almost touching her face. He used one hand to undo the belt to his pants and to push them and his thermal underwear down to his thighs, fully exposing his cock as well as exposing  his heavy balls and  thick pubic hairs to Cathy’s eyes for  the first time.  She could only stare at his sex, it filling her field of vision as the hand in her hair gently urged her face forward, into his crotch.  Cathy did not resist as he pushed her face into the wiry hairs surrounding his cock.  His unwashed odor of maleness filled her nostrils, overwhelming her.

 

 “ Beg me for the privilege of worshiping  your Master’s cock, slave!”

 

  Her face burning in humiliation and disgusted by her weakness, Cathy nevertheless managed to choke out the words the Arab wanted to hear.

 

  “ Master...... please.. let me ...suck your cock.”

 

“ Lick me, Cathy.  Lick me, my slave.”

 

  Obediently, or more accurately, devoid of a will of her own, Cathy did as he ordered. Using the flat of her tongue, she licked the length  of his cock as it hung before her  before moving upward into the thick mat of dark hair surrounding its base. She licked him , her salvia soaking his cock hairs, turning them into a dense wet mat,  their strong male taste over powering her taste buds . He gently pushed  Cathy’s head lower, moving her tongue downward towards his full ball sack.  Again, Cathy used her tongue to  caress him, licking  his ball sack with the flat of her tongue, wetting the skin with her drool, and  then using the tip to find and explore the balls with in that sack.

 

“ Good, slave. Continue.”

 

  Her salvia covering his ball sack felt cool to the man towering above her.   He shivered as her tongue worked at finding and teasing first one then the other of his balls.  Despite his efforts to remain silent,  a gasp escaped his lips as Cathy took his entire ball sack into  her wide open mouth and  held it there in  the warmth of her mouth as she worked her tongue over the bottom of his ball sack.  He was close to cumming now, too close. The Arab pulled her mouth away, letting his balls swing free again in the cold air of the room.  He smiled as a soft “Oh”  came from Cathy’s lips when his ball sack escaped her mouth.  Then he let go of her hair and turned away from Cathy, turned his back to present his naked buttocks to her. 

 

“ Continue.” He ordered, unsure of exactly what  the American woman’s response would be.  His treatment of Cathy  was based on  instinct  guided  by his cultural prejudices.  He was  ignorant of  the psychology of  captivity, specifically  the tendency of captives to identify with and strive to please their captors, what psychologists termed the Stockholm Syndrome,  The Arab did not understand exactly why Cathy’s initially spirited resistance had changed into resigned submission. But he did understand that a strong hand and harsh punishments  were the way to break a woman’s will. And he was eager to test  the extent of Cathy’s new submission.  He could think of no more degrading act than what he was now ordering her to perform.  This would be a true test of her submission.

 

  There was a brief hesitation as Cathy  struggled to come to grips with his demand. Then submission.  Cathy leaned forward slightly and begun to lick his unwashed buttocks. She ran the flat of her tongue over each of his hard buttocks in turn, leaving each  shiny from her spit, as the man’s ass cheeks clinched tightly in response  to the soft touch of her tongue.  That accomplished, Cathy could not longer delay.  She closed her eyes while doing her best to similarly shut her mind to what she was about to do .  Bracing herself, she pressed her full lips  against  his ass hole. The unwashed smell was overpowering to her senses.  Cathy quickly licked his ass hole, intimately caressing him with the flat of her tongue.  That done, she sat back on her heels and silently waited , desperately hoping the man would find that one lick to be enough. Only his silence followed. Sensing his impatience,  driven by her need to please the man who held her life in his hands,  Cathy sighed and  leaned forward. She began to work the flat of  her tongue on his asshole, licking the wrinkled star of his asshole  again and again, even thrusting against it with the tip of her pink tongue, the tip briefly penetrating into the filthy depths.  It seemed an eternity of humiliation to Cathy before the man  finally said “enough” and turned back towards her, returning  his cock to her lips.

 

   Eagerly  Cathy accepted his cock back into her mouth, relieved to be allowed the  slightly  less humiliating  task of sucking the dark man’s  cock rather than his ass hole.  She opened her mouth and took his erect cock deep into her warm mouth. Once again, she began to use her tongue and teeth to service his cock, desperate   to please her ......... captor...  Master ......rapist... protector??   Cathy was no longer sure what their relationship was.  The black and white she had expected of a prisoner of war experience had been shattered into a whole spectrum of strange colors.  She only knew that she had to obey him, had to please him.   So she applied every oral  skill she knew, every trick, to that end.

 

  The feeling of Cathy’s tongue pressing into his ass hole had sent a jolt of electricity through the Arab. As erotic as the soft touch of her tongue against his anus was, it was the total submission  of his female captive through this debasing act which  threatened to push him over the top.  He could barely keep his cock from shooting before he had reentered her soft mouth.  But once safely inside her mouth,  her slavish worship of his cock was no longer enough. Instead he had to take her, to show her the power he held over her.   He grabbed Cathy’s head in both hands and held it stationary as he began to fuck Cathy’s mouth, treating her mouth as if it were her cunt.  He brutally rammed his cock deeper into her throat, battering its head against the back of her throat now.  Helpless against his fury, Cathy could only strain to hold her mouth open, open for him to rape, and  struggle to breath as his cock assaulted her.  She did not fight back against him as he raped her mouth;  instead she  opened her self to him, submitting  to his cock, accepting his assault. Accepting his violence against her  as her due.  The strong young  woman arched her back, thrusting herself forward into his battering ram of a cock, not away from it. She used her strength not to fight against him, but to hold herself open to him, to enable her to endure the battering of the Arab’s  jack hammer cock. 

 

   Again and again the Arab’s rock hard cock plowed into Cathy’s mouth, his hips banging hard against her now bruised and bloody lips as he raped her mouth.  She knelt submissively before him on her knees, upper body erect, leaning into his thrusts as he rode her.  Cathy’s breasts,  exposed by the unzipped flight suit,  bounced with the force of his thrusts, her thick red nipples erect in a masochistic response to the punishment and humiliation he was heaping on her.  Her eyes were tightly shut ; her ears were filled with the loud, wet - and humiliating- sounds of his cock moving in and out of her mouth.  Tears streamed down Cathy’s flushed cheeks as she fought for breath under the assault of his cock   She felt as if his cock was killing her, choking her. Her head began to swim as she fought for breath.

 

   Cathy welcomed the feeling of his scalding hot cum  striking her throat, welcomed the bitter taste of  that cum on her tongue. It came as a real relief to Cathy because  she hoped that the flood of his cum marked an end to his assault.  Desperately, Cathy choked down the man cum filling her throat and mouth,  struggling to breath as she frantically swallowed mouthful after mouthful of his sticky cum.  Through it all, his cock continued to shoot successive wads of cum  into her mouth, replacing each mouthful as fast as she could swallow it. It seemed to Cathy as if he would drown her in a flood of his cum.  It overflowed her mouth, running out between her lips despite her best efforts, and streaming in a thick white mass down her chin. The taste and feel of his cum filled her mouth even after she had choke down the cum itself,. It overwhelmed her taste buds, making Cathy fear that she would never be able to rid herself of that sticky, scummy  feeling and the strong, salty  taste.  She feared that it would stay with her forever as a reminder of  his rape of her.  Then, not satisfied with  filling her mouth with his cum, the Arab  pulled his half erect, still dripping  cock from Cathy’s mouth and rubbed it over her tear stained cheeks. He marked her face with his cum, smearing the scent of his cum over them, marking her as his in the most primitive, animal like manner.  

 

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  After he had finished, Cathy remained kneeling submissively on the cave floor where he had left her, afraid to speak or even to move without her  Master’s permission.  The Arab sat facing her, on the far sleeping  platform. He  watched  her in silence as he ate from a bag of dates he had taken from his pack. Cathy kept her head down cast, her eyes averted. She could not look him in the face. She could still taste- and feel- his cum in her mouth and covering her tongue.  She could  feel his cum drying on her face, the cum covering her chin in a thick coat as well as the cum he had smeared on her cheeks. She felt ashamed of  the degrading way she had serviced his cock. At this moment, she felt very much like the whore he had claimed she was.  But Cathy felt even more ashamed of  her own weakness.   She couldn’t  believe that she had done those degrading things, said those awful words to him.  What  was wrong with her?  He was her enemy. She was a soldier. She should be trying to kill him.  But she was so weak, so disgustingly weak, that she end up sucking his cock instead. 

 

   The Arab was content to simply watch Cathy as he ate.  Despite having just emptied himself into her mouth, he felt new stirrings as he devoured her body with his eyes.   He drank in the sight of her bound feminine form kneeling so submissively before him, her full breasts shamelessly exposed , her body shaking  quietly, her face downcast  in shame,  a posture of the womanly modesty he found  so becoming, if belatedly so,  for Cathy.  Never had he seen such a stirring  image of beauty and submission in a woman.   Never had he desired a woman more than he desired this Westerner.  The desire to take her again was already hardening his cock.

 

   The rest of the day was only a blur to Cathy. Emotionally  as well as physically exhausted and distracted by a growing sense of  self loathing, Cathy  remained kneeling on the cave floor, motionless, and  in silence until she was ordered to move or speak by her Arab Master.  She later knew that she must have eaten, drunk, relieved herself, but she remembered none of it.  She did remember the leader of the Pashtoons, the man she thought of as frog-face,  entering  the room to speak with the Arab. She remembered because before he entered, the Arab had zipped up her flight suit and warned her to remain silent and on her knees.  Cathy understood nothing of their conversation, but she did understand the look in  frog-face’s eyes.  The intensity of  the desire she saw there frightened her.  Thoughts of the Arab’s story came unbidden to her mind. In her mind’s eye, Cathy saw her self staked out nude on the ground with this man bending over her with that look in his eye and a knife in his hand.  The image sent a shiver through her.   Instinctively,  Cathy’s eyes sought reassurance in the sight of her Master- which is how she now thought of the Arab in her own mind-   even as she obeyed his order not to speak or move.  Cathy kept her downcast eyes on the Arab  for as long as he and frog-face talked, trying by dong so to shut  the ominous presence of the Poshtoon out of her mind.  She also remembered that after frog-face had left, the Arab had unzipped her flight suit again, exposing her breasts as Cathy knelt there on the cold floor. pausing to run his hands over them.  In a strange way, Cathy found his possessiveness reassuring.   All of her life, Cathy had either taken the attention of males either for granted or as a curse.  Now, ironically, she desperately desired that attention from a man, but not just any man,. She desired  attention from the man who had repeatedly raped her. To keep his attention no matter what the cost to her self respect was in Cathy’s desperate mind her only  hope of protection from the Poshtoons.   Acting on survival instincts imprinted deep within our pre-historic ancestors, Cathy instinctively sought the protection of the dominant male - the Arab- by the most ancient of  female stratagems,  In her desperation, she  would willing trade sex for his protection. 

 

  For the next day or two- time had become blurred for Cathy.  Kept  in the semi darkness of the cave, she knew neither sunrise now sunset. . Her world  did not extend beyond  the small room she shared with the Arab. Or beyond him.  He gave her food and water twice a day, or at least, it seemed like twice a day to Cathy. He allowed her to go to the bathroom once a day in the makeshift hole in the corner.  He always determined when she was allowed to relieve herself, not she. Nor was Cathy allowed any privacy when she did relieve herself. Because her flight suit was one piece, she had to strip it off when she relieved herself,  and , since he had deprived her of undergarments, this left her in the nude.  His eyes were watching her as she squatted there naked to piss or shit.  Each day he had her wash herself at least once in cold water, again allowing her no privacy as she compulsively scrubbed her nude body to wash away the cum, her body shivering in the cold air of the cave.   Unless he was taking his pleasure from her, the Arab left Cathy bound,  her strong arms tied behind her back at her wrist and sometimes at her elbow also.  So accustomed to this cruel bondage did Cathy become that she began to loose consciousness of her arms.  With her arms were immobilized for so long,  her mind began to act  as if she no longer had them.  When  the Arab did free her arms to allow her to eat or relieve herself, it took a mental effort on her part to make her arms obey her. The bondage changed the way she thought in other ways as well in that it accustomed Cathy to the feeling of being helpless.  Obedience, not resistance, became her  habit.  He also kept Cathy on her knees most of the time, kept her in  a deliberately demeaning position of servitude to reinforce the feelings of submission already increasingly present in the mind of the captive female officer  If he were alone with her, he further demeaned the young blonde officer by keeping her half naked as well, seeking  to further implant in her mind  his dominance - his total ownership- over her.  He would unzip her flight suit  to expose Cathy’s proud  firm breasts, the twin red nipples embarrassingly erect in the cold air. Inevitably Cathy’s firm breasts  became magnets for his hands.  Then, when  his hands  were casually weighting and squeezing her breasts, Cathy felt reduced to his toy, his sexual plaything .

 

   When the Arab  slept or left her alone in the room,  as he did for the 4 or 5 hours a day he spent in the company of the Poshtoons talking or praying the required five times a day, he put Cathy into even stricter bondage. First by binding her feet together and then by tying  another piece of  rope around her neck and securing the other  end of that rope  to the sleeping platform’s frame, anchoring her firmly in place.  Her tight bondage was clearly unnecessary in order to prevent her escape.  It was simply another way of demonstrating to Cathy her helplessness.   But knowing his purpose did little to protect Cathy from those very feelings.  She was helpless- helpless to control her own body, helpless to prevent her  Master from doing whatever he pleased with her body.  Cathy began to feel that she was his possession, his slave- not just his prisoner.  Those times when she was alone and in bondage in the dim light were the most difficult ones for Cathy.  It was then that her feelings of helplessness and  her guilt tore at her, sapping her of what  will to resist she had left.  These feelings,  intensified by the  pain of her prolonged bondage, eroded her will and  reduced the captured female officer to a hollow shell of the strong willed, proud woman she had been only forty eight hours ago. 

 

  If those times alone with her own fears were the worst for Cathy,  the rapes she endured  two or three times a day ran a very close second. As the Arab grew more confident of his mastery over Cathy, the manner in which he used her grew more humiliating for the captive female officer.   Rather than raping her while she was bound and  helpless to resist him, he began making her an accomplice in her own rape.  He demonstrated to her his control over her, as well as his contempt for her, by  untying her  and then simply ordering Cathy to strip herself naked .   To her own mortification, Cathy did not resist even though she had the opportunity, futile though the resistance might ultimately be.  Cathy was trapped, bound as securely by her  fear of the Poshtoons and by her need  please the Arab in hopes that he would protect her from the Poshtoons, as she had been by the ropes.   However  reluctantly, she  obeyed his commands, stripping herself naked just as he ordered. The shamed blonde officer slowly unzipped her flight suit and stepped out of it, her naked body trembling, forcing herself to stand  there before him naked but for her black flight boots. Unlike the first time Cathy stood naked before him, the captured female officer no long stood proudly at attention , defiantly looking him in the eye, her anger apparent in her clinched fists and jaw. Now she stood before him in a posture of  submission,  her eyes  downcast, her  strong body bowed,  her fear and humiliation apparent in the way she moved and spoke.  Nor did she resist when he used her body for his pleasure. At his order, Cathy would sink to her knees and service his cock. He would remain standing above her, unmoving, forcing Cathy to take the active role in servicing his cock. Forcing her to degrade herself by servicing him  as if she were a whore.  Nor was he content to inflict only physical abuse on his blonde captive.   Before allowing her to taste his cock, he sometimes forced her to beg for it- to humbly ask her Master for his cock just as he time and time again had forced her to beg him to give her food or water.  Only after she had done that- had totally humiliated herself by repeatedly saying  variations of “ Master, please let me suck your cock” was she allowed to service his cock.  Then, feverishly gripping his ass cheeks in both her hands, Cathy would  swallow the entire length of his hard cock again and again, slavishly using her soft tongue and lips to please him, eagerly swallowing every drop of his hot cum when his time came.  Nor did she resist his use of her cunt.  Whether he lay her on her back on the sleeping platform or  simply bent her over face down over the platform, Cathy’s body submitted to his cock. And submitted willingly. At those times her Master took a very active role, and Cathy a very passive one. He took Cathy  roughly and quickly, paying no attention to her  comfort- or her satisfaction.  He simply raped her.  As he did so,  the captured female officer would  lay passively underneath him, her  strong body  unresisting, accepting  the battering of his cock without complaint or resistance.  The Arab brutally fucked Cathy, using his cock as a  weapon to be used along with slaps from his open hand  to overwhelm the unresisting blonde and bludgeon her even deeper into submission. The only words spoken  were his,   cruel vocal assaults  matching his physical onslaught in their brutality.  He battered the passive  Cathy with words like “ Whore”, “  bitch “,and “ slave” , words  which were as painful to Cathy as the hard thrusts of his cock. Cathy did not respond to his vocal assault either; the only sounds that escaped her lips were involuntary,  grunts and moans forced from her tightly sealed lips by the pounding of his cock.  During all his rapes,  Cathy lay submissively beneath him, so used to the enforced helplessness of her rope bondage that she had apparently lost the will to fight. Her strong arms lay rigid but unused  along her side, her hands clenched in helpless rage.  Through it all, Cathy’s confused mind  struggled to make sense of  both the terrible anger  of the Arab’s rape and of her own confused feelings about them.  For she felt conflicting emotions about his rapes-  pain and fear to be sure, but also a guilty excitement as his cock moved inside her.  That feeling of guilty excitement left the captured pilot with  a feeling of deep rage which was now directed against herself.  The fact that she was becoming aroused by the Arab’s  rapes disgusted her. But, despite Cathy’s self loathing, each time he raped her cunt , she found herself responding sexually,  climaxing hard as he brutally pounded her cunt with his cock.   He had opened a  window into the darker recesses of her soul and  awaken the monster hidden there.   A monster that  craved the pain  and the forced sex he inflicted upon her.

 

     Soon a deep feeling of shame dogged Cathy, giving her no rest. She wished that he would simply tie her up and use her,  simply forced her to her knees and rape her.   As long as she had no control over  what the Arab did to her, she felt that she had no reason to be ashamed of the way she felt when his cock filled her.  But to allow him to rape her without resisting  his attack when she had the capability to do so and , even worse, to have climaxed during his brutal rape was something of which Cathy was deeply ashamed.  She felt she had dishonored herself as an officer; that she was weak, a shameless whore.  Cathy began to feel that she did indeed deserve the pain he inflicted upon her, that it was a punishment for her weak and perverted nature. With each rape, Cathy’s feelings of  guilt and confusion increased, further debilitating her ability to resist  the Arab.   Bit by bit, the Arab eroded away her will and self-respect until both were hanging by a thread.

 

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      As Cathy spiraled into depression and self-loathing,  fortune began to turn against the Arab.  It was on the afternoon of the third day after Cathy’s capture  as he was sitting with  eight of the Poshtoons, drinking tea and listening to them boasting  of the great victory  over  the Americans which they had won and of the even greater ones they would achieve  in the future.  Sated and relaxed, the Arab was boasting  in his Arabic to the uncomprehending Postoons about Cathy, when an exhausted Kehalis and  his single companion  returned early from their overnight trek to purchase food and the women’s clothes the Arab desired.  Along with those items, Kehalis also brought back very bad news. News  that  the Americans’ search was expanding, not  tapering off as they had expected.  From the rural grapevine that somehow managed to transmit news by word of mouth at a rate faster than  any man could travel in this mountainous country,  Kehalis had news of  a huge ground sweep  moving slowly up the mountain valleys  from the border .  The  village was full of talk of hundreds of American soldiers,  bulky with their protective vest and  bent under the weight of their rucksacks as they slowly moved up all the valleys of the province, searching every hut and cave.  He had also heard talk of other men moving in the hills. Men who were bearded and dressed as Afghans, but were infidels, dangerous men who led bands of hired Afghans in searching the high places the American soldiers could not reach.   Nor was this only talk. Twice on his journey, Kehalis had had to seek cover from low flying helicopters. 

 

   As he had expected, Kehalis’ news produced chaos among the rest of the Poshtoons as each loudly blamed someone else for not foreseeing this followed by  even louder suggestions of betrayal and coming disaster.   Only Kehalis and the Arab remained silent.  None of the agitated men suggested trying to use Cathy  to buy themselves free passage. Since all had  joined in the  rape of Cathy’s ass,  none of the men  believed  that they could afford to allow her to live to tell her story. One suggested killing their female captive and  hiding the body.  With that done and their weapons  hidden, he argued, there was nothing to indicate that they were the ones who had downed the American helicopter.  Then they could break up into small groups and return south to their village, trusting to their ability to avoid or bluff their way through the American search cordon.  That suggestion found favor.  It was clear that all the men wanted mainly to be out of Afghanistan,  to reach the sanctuary of the tribal region across the border. On whether they should kill Cathy or simply leave her at the cave for the Arab to deal with, they were divided.  They left unsaid the obvious fact that the Arab had no chance of masquerading as an Afghani.  They did not say that they would either have to desert him,  leave him alone to fend for himself in a strange land whose language he did not speak , or simply kill him to cover their tracks. That was left unspoken if obvious in the way the men now avoid looking the Arab in the eye.  

 

  The Arab waited until the men had grown silent before he loudly addressed Kehalis:

 

  “ What do you say, Kehalis?    You fought against the infidels with the Taliban.  And were one of the few  of your band not chosen for martyrdom by the  infidel Amerikas.   What would you have us do?”

 

      Kehalis was too tired to rise to the Arab’s implications of cowardice for his previous survival. He simply  responded in a low voice.

 

 “  We cannot fight  Amerikans face to face.  I have seen them fight. They are too strong.  God wills. To try to fight or make our way south to our village would be  foolishly.  I do not think that we can stay here.  The villagers say the Amerikan soldiers search everywhere. They will come here, maybe two days, maybe later. But they will come. We must  take the woman and move deeper into  the mountains, out of this province, perhaps  into Wardak province.   Perhaps there, God Willing, we can find shelter.  But perhaps they will even follow us there.  I do not know how far  the Amerikans will go to get back their woman.   I say that we do not kill the Amerikan woman. It will do no good.  They will still pursue us,. And if they know we killed  her, they will  seek to avenge her death. Our fate is in the hands of God the Merciful.  We should not anger him by killing a helpless woman, even if she is an infidel.”

 

  The Arab had expected Kehalis to argue against harming the woman, but the next part of Kehalis’ response was quite a surprise to the Arab, especially after he had just goaded the man with his gibe about his lost opportunity for martyrdom.

 

“ Nor will I leave you here alone while I flee.  I promised the Mullah, as did all of us, that in the name of God, the gracious, the merciful, we would help you on this jihad, would see you safely, God willing, back to Pakistan.   I  will not violate my oath to my Mullah.   I could not return to his house if I so had dishonored myself. “

 

  The other men grew silent as Kehalis translated his words into Poshto for them, and they began to sink in.  The alternative he offered  was not a pleasant one.  Wardak was populated by men who, though Poshtoons,  were not of their  tribe. Their  changes of finding help there were uncertain. Despite the value the entire Poshtoon culture placed on  offering hospitality and sanctuary, times were hard and every man’s hand  was ready to turn  against  anyone not of his family or tribe.  Especially if there was Amerikan money involved. And to go deeper into the mountains with the winter snows yet to begin, snows which could possibly block the passes behind them and trap them there without food, was to take a terrible chance.  Though his stock had risen with the attack on the helicopter and his invitation to share the blonde American woman,  loyalty to the Arab was a fragile quality among these men.  But loyalty to their Mullah was not. To break their promise to him was a serious matter. He held the money the Arab had promised them for accompanying him on this private jihad of his.  To confess that they had abandoned the Arab might mean that the Mullah would refuse to pay them their money. However, in the back of each man’s mind was the reality that the Mullah would know only what they told him. If they all said that God had willed the  Arab to meet his  martyrdom on this jihad despite their best efforts,  the Mullah  would never know anything different.  The question in their minds was, would Kehalis remain silent or tell the Mullah the truth?  A silence fell over the group as each man considered this. It was this silence the Arab had been waiting for.

 

“  Kehalis spoke truly. All of you have sworn an oath.  But I release you from it now.  Let those among you who are afraid slink back to their villages and the protection of their wives. I would not have them in my company.  I value only men of courage who do not fear the infidels, but trust in the strength of God. Let only those men of courage come with me. I have a plan  to further twist the tail of the Amerikan donkey. But it requires men  of courage. If we must flee the Amerikans,  then let us go West , not deeper into the mountains where an uncertain fate awaits us.  I have a friend  to the West,  in  Paktika. He is a powerful man, who will shelter us and help us escape the Amerikan army.  God willing, with his aid we can follow the poppy smugglers route into Iran. The Amerikans cannot follow us there.  Thus, we will deny the infidels what it is they want most- their woman. We will keep her for Islam!  We will wait in Iran until it is safe to return to Pakistan.  Then we can cross back into Pakistan somewhere in  Baluchistan.  The Amerikans and their hirelings in the Pakistan Army will be watching the border with Afghanistan closely. But no one will be suspicious of men traveling north from Baluchistan to the  tribal areas.  You can return, well rewarded, to your village. I will take my slave and go south to the sea to return to my land.  There she shall live her life out  as my slave.  A fitting fate for an infidel woman who fought against God, and a great blow against the pride of the Amerikan infidels. There she will never have the opportunity to tell anyone about who you are or what you did..   Do this for me, do this for your faith.  Do this and  you will have fulfilled your oath to your Mullah.  And I will richly reward you for your courage; I shall give you twice what  you were promised in Pakistan.  In Amerikan dollars, when we part in Baluchistan. “

 

“ The men of that province are not of our tribe. How can we be sure that one of them will help us?”

 

“  My friend will help me.  As you have been loyal to me, so shall I be loyal to you. You will be safe under my protection.  In the name of God,  the all knowing and most merciful, I promise this to you.  This will succeed. The Amerikans will not expect us to flee to the West, away from the tribal area.  Tell them what I have said, Kehalis, tell them exactly what I have said just as I spoke the words.“

 

 

 

 

   The Poshtoons’ response to being called cowards manifest itself exactly as the Arab expected, with threats and shouts, few of which Kehalis even bothered to translate. As they all knew, their sound and fury signified nothing more than the men‘s shame.  Once that was out of the way, the serious argument about what to do continued for some hours, the men‘s native verbosity compound by the need to translate everything back and forth between Pashto and Arabic.  In the end there was an agreement.  The Arab’s words had  succeeded in  persuading the men to leave Cathy alive.  For the Faith. But he  persuaded only three of the Poshtoons - Kehalis and the two youngest men- to follow him tomorrow morning into what was for them the unknown of Pakika province.  But he was satisfied. with that number  In fact, he was pleased that most of the men had refused to join him. He had Kehalis with his language skills,  who he knew was accompanying him not for the promise of additional money or even to fulfill his oath to his Mullah, but  because  where the  blonde captive went , Kehalis went.  She was his weakness.   The other two Pashtoons would be useful to help watch the woman, but were not as essential to his evolving plan as Kehalis.  Three men - two of which were clearly expendable- were as many as he could use. The group he had taken into Afghanistan  was clearly too large for what he had in mind now.  The seven who refused to come with him had  had enough of his Jihad.  They wanted only to return to the safety of their  dusty village and the money- his money- which  the Mullah held for them. Tomorrow they would hide their weapons and leave the cave  in ones or twos on their own, each hoping to  bluff their way south through the  American cordon  between them and the border with Pakistan.   Broken into such small groups, carrying no incriminating weapons, and unhindered by the presence of the woman, they might slip past or talk their way through the Americans.  If God wills, they might even provide a useful distraction for him.   Otherwise, he had little interest in their fate.  They were no danger to him if captured. Neither they nor their  Mullah knew his real name.  Even if they told the Americans where they thought he was going, it would help, not harm , him.  For the Arab had lied to them. He intended to  seek help in the city of Ghazni, in the province of that name- not in Paktika as he had told the Poshtoons.

 

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   But even the Arab had no concept of the size of the juggernaut bearing down on him and his men.  If he had had access to the Arabic satellite television  news network- or even to the BBC news in Arabic,  he would have know that Cathy’s capture  had become the new obsession of the twenty four hour news channels.  Millions of Moslems were avidly following his story, vicariously  identifying with  the unknown man who had bloodied the Americans nose.  On the American side, the numbers were even higher if the emphasis was quite different.  Like Scott Grady,  the American pilot shot down by the Serbs in the early nineties, Cathy’s saga had become a living soap opera for millions  of American TV viewers.  Though the American Army had not released  Cathy’s identity, the news that a female Army helicopter pilot was MIA in Afghanistan and thought  to have been captured by  Islamic guerillas  had quickly leaked to the media.  When that information became pubic,  the media launched itself into a feeding frenzy.   The dead men in Cathy’s crew were forgotten as the media’s talking heads focused solely- and wildly-   on the probable  fate of a Western woman soldier in the hands of  Islamic fundamentalists.   Their lascivious speculation  about what she was enduring quickly fueled  a popular demand  from all segments of the American population, save the feminists, for the military to save the captured female whatever the cost .   This demand for  a happy ending quickly  manifest itself in  a chain of phone calls starting with the President , moving through the Secretary of Defense ,  to the  Central Command CinC, the regional commander  responsible for South West Asia, and from him to the general officer commanding the American effort in Afghanistan.  Almost as quickly, the  only troops readily available, the 1st Ranger Battalion, were on their way from the U.S. to Bagram airport in Afghanistan  with the 3rd Ranger battalion alerted to follow them in 48 hours. There the Rangers joined the three battalions of  the  101st Airborne Division which were already being fed piecemeal into the expanding search for the lost female pilot.  Within 48 hours, these four battalions-  over 1800 men-  were in the field,  formed into a giant cordon stretching across every valley and ridgeline in Paktia province. Supported by AH-64 attack helicopters  circling overhead, the line of troops was slowly moving north, away from the border, toward the valley where Kehalis’ cave lay.  Far to their north, were placed stop positions located on every road  and trail and manned by every Poshto speaking special forces team in country along with their Afghan  mercenaries.  Other members of Task Force 11, special forces soldiers as well as separate teams of Navy SEALS  and British SAS, were detailed  to search the mountainous areas the regular soldiers could not reach.. Some of these teams were also tasked to establish ambushes on the mountain trails leading from the search area to the Pakistani sanctuary.  The best of the best, members of SOCOM’s elite Delta Force,  remained on standby along with dedicated helicopters, huge twin rotor MH-47’s, to respond within minutes to sightings of  suspicious groups by the CIA predators circling silently at high altitude over the entire search area.  The orders for all of these forces were very simple- find the missing  female Captain, no matter how long it took or how many Afghans’ lives they had to turn upside down - or end- to do it.

 

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    When the Arab returned to the room where he had left Cathy, he carried with him the heavy black burkha, the local variation of the sack like, all enveloping woman’s garment common throughout  the Moslem world as well as a hijab or veil. These had been brought back by Kehalis at his request.  As he pushed aside the blanket and stepped  inside the room, the light from his lantern dispelled the blackness of the room, illuminating  a disheveled feminine  figure  bent into a half circle by a cruel hog-tie.  The captured American pilot  lay exactly where the Arab had placed her hours ago.  This was not surprising since before he left her in the darkness, he had  taken care to render Cathy incapable of  any movement. Her wrists being already tied behind her back,  he had  pushed her onto her stomach on the cold cave floor, crossed her ankles, and tied her booted feet together. Then he took another piece of rope and used it to tie wrists and ankles together, leaving Cathy totally immobilized, lying helplessly on her stomach, her back painfully bent.  The pain from her arched back and her tortured shoulders had began almost as soon as he had left her alone in the darkness.  It only grew worse over time; the increasing pain denying the dead tired women even the  oblivion of sleep. All she could do was lay motionless in the darkness, the pain of her cramped muscles becoming her whole reality.  It had been over  4 hours since the Arab left her, time enough for her hands and feet to become numb and her shoulders to feel as if they were on fire.   The Arab knelt by the bound female flyer and held her face up so that he could look into it.   Holding the light near, he stared into her eyes, drinking in the pain so clearly visible on Cathy’s tear streaked face.   In his mind, her pain only enhanced Cathy’s beauty, her agony adding depth to the luscious features of her face.  As he wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb, he began the by now familiar catechism:

 

 “   Do you wish to ask a favor of your Master, slave?”

 

 Cathy reacted as she had been  conditioned to response, the words coming naturally to her lips, words which she would never have thought that she would ever speak:

 

“ Yes, please Master.    Please untie me.  It hurts so much.  And I am.... so thirsty , Master.”

 

  The Arab smiled at her compliant response.  He was pleased to see that the American woman had learned to show him proper respect despite her initial resistance.  Just as he did when he was breaking one  of his mares to the saddle, he had taught Cathy obedience through pain and simple rewards.  As he looked down at the captive blonde, his chest swelled with pride in his success at mastering the arrogant American soldier woman.   Slowly and deliberately, he untied Cathy’s hands and feet. Then he rose and retrieved the water bottle as Cathy struggled to her knees, trying to regain feeling in her deadened limbs. 

 

“ Stand up, slave.”

 

 Cathy had to struggle to stand, having to support herself as she pull herself upright by using the sleeping platform. It took her a long time before she could stand at a loose position of attention before the Arab, her eyes downcast.  Cathy eagerly took the water bottle offered her, drinking deeply of the cold water.  She still had the now empty bottle in her hand when the Arab said:

 

“ Strip!”

 

   Cathy slowly put the water bottle down on the sleeping platform and unzipped her flight suit. Unable to look the Arab in the eye, she stripped her flight suit off and dropped  it on the floor beside her. In her mind, Cathy began to brace herself for another rape.

 

   But instead of approaching her, the Arab threw a heavy black garment at her. Automatically Cathy caught the sack like garment in both hands.  Bewildered, she stared at it. 

 

“ Here. This is a burkha. It is the outer garment an Islamic woman must wear to conceal her body.  Though you are an infidel, this will be what you will wear for the rest of your life.  Slave, you will wear this at all times, and most especially  when any man  other than I may see you.  You will no longer display  your body or your face  like the shameless Western whore you were.  You may no longer tempt men.  Humility and submission are the virtues you shall now practice.  For your body belongs to me alone as your Master. You will cover yourself at all times... as the Prophet commanded.   And,”  He continued , picking up the discarded flight suit that lay at Cathy’s feet,  “  You will not wear this ever again. You have no further need of  this ... this man’s uniform...or of any uniform since you are no longer a soldier.  Now, you shall perform the duties appropriate to a slave woman.  You will  please and obey me as I have taught you .  When we are alone, you shall wear only garments appropriate for a woman of your beauty .......  which I shall chose for you... not these ugly things. ”

 

  As she heard his words, something snapped inside Cathy.  He was not just taking away a flight suit, but taking  her last remaining connection- her last lifeline-  to the  woman she had been before her capture.  He had stripped her of her honor as a woman and an officer. He had taken her dignity along with her body.   He had turned her into a slave and a whore, taking everything from her but her last desperate hope that she would eventually be rescued and could return to that past life.   Now, he would take that last hope from her. And  replace it with this ugly thing... this token  of female servitude.  At this, Cathy finally rebelled.  Driven to desperation, the proud, combative woman she had once been resurfaced. Without thought, blinded by her own rage, Cathy launched herself at him.  She threw the only thing at hand - the black burkha- at him as she leaped at him.  An anguished cry escaped her lips.

 

“ BASTARD!  I WON’T LET YOU TAKE IT!  I’M A SOLDIER, NOT YOUR FUCKING SLAVE!  I’LL KILL YOU FIRST, YOU BASTARD!!”

 

 

The heavy garment covered the Arab’s face, blinding him, before he could react.  By the time he had both his hands up to his face tear the thing off his face, Cathy had  thrown herself  upon him, her weight dragging both of them to the cave floor with Cathy sprawled on top of the Arab. With her right hand Cathy shoved the burkha  back into his face, its folds blinding as well as half suffocating him. With her other hand Cathy grabbed  for his belt, her hand  desperately clawing  for the carved hilt of the knife on his left side.   The only thought in her mind at that moment was to use that knife to rip her rapist’s heart out.

 

  Thought blinded by the burkha and flat on his back, the Arab reacted quickly to Cathy’s desperate grab for his knife. Just as Cathy’s hand found and closed on the knife‘s hilt, his left hand closed over her hand.  His hand held  her’s, trapping the knife half out of its sheath, neutralizing the weapon and reducing the fight to a wrestling match.   As she fought frantically  for enough leverage to  draw the knife. Cathy continued to  press the  heavy burkha  against the Arab’s face with her right arm, holding that arm fully extended , her body half sitting on the Arab’s, trying to trap him against the floor with her weight while at the same time trying to stay as far from his one free hand as possible.   That hand  was searching  blindly for  Cathy.  It was only a matter of seconds before his claw like fingers found her face.  Desperately, Cathy bit into his index finger, the salty taste of his blood in her mouth filling Cathy with a feeling of joyful exhilaration.   The Arab let go a muffled scream, the first sound, except for their heavy breathing,  to break the silence of their combat and  jerked his bloody, torn finger from her mouth,. But Cathy’s feeling of triumph was short live. Immediately, his hand returned to take an iron grip on Cathy‘s throat.   They held each other, their torsos at arms length, their legs intertwined.  With one hand, Cathy struggled to draw his knife; he fought to keep it in its sheath.  With her other hand, she fought to keep the blanket like burkha over his face, trying to literally smoother him with it just as he had tried to figuratively smoother her spirit with it.   He held an iron grip on her throat, trying to choke her. They remained like that for what seemed to Cathy like an eternity.  Throughout that time, the Arab’s grip on her throat slowly tightened .  He had the “V” between his fingers and thumb pressed against her windpipe; his thumb stretched out to press against the artery that lay just beneath the skin on the left side of her neck. . Cathy fought desperately to break his grip, trying to twist  her neck out of  his grip while still holding the burkha over his face.  But she could not escape his grip. The effects of her prolonged bondage as well as her exhaustion had taken their toil, draining her of her usual strength.  The Arab’s weight and size told against her as well. Inch by inch he beat her back to seize the upper hand. Cathy slowly weakened, her muscles straining first to hold their own, then, failing that, fighting a desperate but losing battle against the Arab’s greater strength and weight.  Besides her difficulty in breathing,  Cathy‘s vision was fading as his fingers pressed against the artery in her neck, the primary artery supplying blood to her brain.  Realizing that she had to do something to regain the upper hand, Cathy let go of  the burkha that still covered the Arab’s face and grabbed at his hand, frantically digging her painted nails into the back of the hand that had a death grip on her throat.  Again she drew blood but could not break his  grip.  Ignoring the pain as she clawed the back of his hand,  the Arab took his opportunity to shake the burkha  off his face and look his attacker in the face.   He then used his advantage to roll them both over, putting himself on top now, trapping Cathy against the floor with his greater weight as he continued to hold her throat  in an iron grip.

 

  He looked down at Cathy and smiled, baring his white teeth in a terrible death’s head grin as he gradually overpowered her.  One of his hands still griped  Cathy’s, neutralizing  it by trapping it  on his knife hilt.  He pressed down with all his weight on the other hand, his grip tightening on her throat.  Cathy’s face was turning red now, and soft gurgling sounds escaped from her open mouth as she fought for breath.  Giving up her attack on the hand choking her,  she now desperately clawed at his face, striking for his eyes with her red nails,  desperate to find anything that would make him break the grip that was strangling her.  But her arm was too short. Her brain starved of blood, Cathy’s field of vision narrowed toward blackness. All she could see  was that terrible grin of his, filing the narrow field of vision, mocking her as he choked the life out of her.  As Cathy slipped into unconsciousness, her last rational thought was that  at least she would be free of him now.  With that thought in her mind she welcomed the death that was she thought was closing in on her.

 

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  But Cathy would not find escape in death.  Once she was unconscious, the Arab had loosened his grip, allowing blood to once more flow to her brain and air to her lungs.   Though surprised and bloodied by the intensity of her attack, the Arab was unwilling to call for help from the Poshtoons. His pride would not allow that. He was too ashamed to let them see that the female slave  he had  mocked as his brood mare had turned on him and drawn  his blood.  Nor did he wish  to give  the besotted Kehalis  an opportunity to put himself forward as  her champion.  He would, he resolved as he looked down at her lush nude body,   punish her secretly, by himself.  He further vowed to himself that he would do more than merely punish this Western bitch. He would break her. He had, he realized,  been too sparing of the whip. That failing he vowed to correct this night.  Never again would she have the spirit to raise a hand to him no matter what degrading  task to which he set her.

 

  While Cathy’s nude body  lay unconscious on the floor , the Arab prepared her punishment.  He used the butt of his rifle to break off two of the legs of the crude table, each about 30 inches long.  He arranged each of Cathy’s arms over her head and put one of the table  legs across them.  Then he tied each of  her wrists to the table leg, positioning the wrists about 12 inches from the center of the jagged leg.  He did the same to her legs, tying each booted foot to the  other table leg in an identical manner.  After studying her for a moment, he ran another piece of rope from the piece of wood holding her arms to the frame of  the sleeping platform That left Cathy totally immobilized on her back, incapable of rising  from the floor even if she had been able to  somehow turn over and get to her knees.  Satisfied that she was not going anywhere,  the Arab stood over her and simply stared at her bound, nude form for a moment. Then he added one final touch.  He stuffed the rag of her bra, which she had been forced to use as a washrag, into Cathy’s mouth and secured it there with another  short piece of rope, effectively gagging her.  Then he left her there, her nude body resting on the  cold rock floor of the cave, while he bound his bloody hand.   A few moments later, he left the room, leaving the still unconscious Cathy alone, lying there on her back..

 

   Cathy was alone when she had regained consciousness.   Once she realized that she was still alive, and still a captive, she looked frantically around  for the Arab. To her immediate relief, she found that she was alone. Hopes of an escape filled her desperate mind. But an instant later she realized that she was  securely bound , unable to even stand up.  She fought frantically against the ropes holding her, her strong bicep muscles flexing powerfully under the soft skin of her arms. It did no good.  Her arms were bound to something immovable above her head. She could not free them, nor could she  bend her elbows to bring the ropes  where her teeth could get at them.  Her feet were similarly spread and tied. She could not stand.  Frantically, she bent her knees and used the soles of her boots to push herself backwards until her face was under the  long rectangular piece  of wood to which her wrists were tied.  She raised her head to try to chew the knot free only to suddenly realize that there was a gag filling her mouth, that she couldn’t even use her teeth.  Overcome by  frustration, Cathy began to cry, her coiled  body slowly relaxing back onto the cold stone underneath her as she accepted  yet another  defeat.  Then she waited, her nude body still but for the occasional sob that shook it.

 

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   Cathy had no idea how much time had passed  before she saw the Arab standing to over her.  In his hand he held something long, a slender tree branch, Cathy thought..  As Cathy watched in increasing fear,  the Arab drew his large curved knife and used it to deftly  trim the long  branch.  Carefully he stripped off the smaller branches and most of the bark until it was changed from a harmless branch into an something recognizable as a rather ominous looking light cane.  Cathy’s eyes widened as he gave the  supple  cane a  few test  strokes in the air, its passage producing a distinct “whoosh” with each stroke.  Cathy tried to say something,. But only a muffled “ NNNEEEE”  escaped the gag.  However, the hardening of her expression and the daggers shooting from Cathy’s eyes spoke eloquently enough  of what she wished to tell him.  He smiled down at her at this and said:

 

“ This will do nicely.  The cane is the traditional means of... ..disciplining...  disobedient  females.  A cane is very effective in teaching such  women the need to submit to the man.   ”

 

 Unable to reply because of her gag, Cathy could only glared angrily up at him.

 

 “ I shall whip you until you scream for me to stop. Until you are willing to promise me anything  if only I will stop your pain. I would enjoy hearing those screams. But my poor men need their sleep this of all nights. So I shall keep the gag in your mouth. But do not worry. I know what you would say to me. “Have mercy Master. I shall never betray you again, Master. Please Master, I will do anything to prove my loyalty to you. “     But I shall continue to whip you anyway.  I shall only stop when I have decided you have suffered enough. Nothing you could say would soften my heart now, you treacherous  American whore. “

 

  The Arab bent down and grabbed the table leg securing Cathy’s feet. He used it to causally flip her over onto her stomach., knocking the wind out of Cathy for a moment. When she recovered enough to look over her shoulder, she found him standing by her knee, a foot or so to her side , with the cane raised above his head.  She saw him swing and heard the “whoosh” as the cane came down. She  even heard the  loud slap  his cane made as it struck  her buttocks.  It was only then, after the twin sounds, that she felt the pain.  It  was unbelievable!  Cathy felt as if her ass was on fire. She screamed into her gag, the faint OOOMMPHEEE” which resulted in no way reflecting the intensity of her pain.  The blow drove the air from her lungs; it made her body go rigid in shock.  The second blow followed quickly on the first,  the pain from it joining with and intensifying  the pain of the first stroke.  Cathy’s body went rigid as she forgot to breath, her entire body was consumed by the intense pain of these two strokes.  Then nothing.  Frantically, Cathy looked over her shoulder, her body still tensed, bracing itself for another stroke of his cane.  But he was gone.  Just as her body began to relax, she heard another “whoosh” and suddenly  was consumed by  another wave of pain.  The pain burned its way from her ass to her brain like an electric shock, all the powerful muscles of her gym toned body going rigid  in response.  Frantically, she twisted her head to look over her other shoulder. There she found the Arab, his arm raised for another blow.  Unable to look away or even to close her eyes,  Cathy watched the cane come down at her. This time she heard no “whoosh”, just the meaty sound of its impact on her burning ass cheeks.  With no air in her lungs to use to scream, Cathy  took the blow in silence, her only response the tears which once again flowed freely down her agony filled face.  Then another blow followed that one. And another.  She struggled against the pain at first, but then accepted it, stopped fighting it and allowed it to wash over her.  Rather than be driven mad  by the pain, she felt cleansed by it, cleansed  of  the weakness she had felt up until now.  It fed her hatred of this man. And  it made her stronger, stroke by painful stroke.

 

  Above her the Arab looked down at the pattern of red stripes he had implanted on Cathy’s taunt ass cheeks.   He moved slowly, spacing each blow irregularly, enjoying the sight of Cathy’s muscular but very feminine body alternately convulsing and then relaxing under his blows.  He was moving from side to side every three or four blows now, his strikes with the cane creating a criss-cross pattern of thin dark red stripes on Cathy’s perfect ass. He worked first across the middle of her round ass cheeks. Her muscles were taunt  and hard under the canes blows.  They looked magnificent to the Arab as he used his cane to lay stripe after stripe across them.  At the same time, he enjoyed knowing that these involuntary  muscle spasms which made her ass so deliciously taunt must be greatly increasing the pain Cathy felt from each stroke of his cane.   Seeking unmarked skin,  he moved his point of aim down to strike the sensitive area  at the top of her legs, just under the curve of her delicious ass.  Shortly, both areas had  a pattern of darkening red lines over laid  by more recent red lines going in the opposite direction, an effect produced as he struck first from her left side, and then from her right. By now, he saw, the American whore had learned to breath between blows. True to his words, she was screaming into her gag, the words impossible to understand through her gag.  But she was not screaming the words the Arab wished to hear. If he had looked closely at her eyes, he would have seen her new strength there,  not the fear and pleading he had grown used to seeing  in Cathy’s face. But he did not see that, blinded as he was by the tears streaming down her face. He merely smiled down at her, besotted with the cane marks on her perfect skin, seeing - and enjoying- the physical signs of the pain he was inflicting on his female captive but blind to the effect it was having on Cathy‘s spirit.

 

    His arm was becoming tired now.  He shifted the cane into his left hand and stepped across Cathy, his back now to her head as he targeted her ass with another hard stroke.  Slowly, he cut a new pattern  into her ass, his left handed strokes overlapping  the strokes from his right hand in an  double “X” pattern across both ass cheeks.  Cathy’s ass was by now a raw, deep red, a mass of overlaid and criss-crossing stripes dotted  with the bright red of the many small drops of blood seeping from the cane’s wounds.

 

    Through it all, Cathy could only lie there and endure the  pain washing over her body.  Her tear streaked face was pressed into the stone of the cave’s floor. Below her, the cold unyielding stone drained the warmth out of her body with its cold embrace.  Her abused ass felt as if it were literally on fire with a burning heat which grew hotter with each stroke of the cane.  Her muscular, nude body lay bound and helpless between these two extreme.  Her strong body still  instinctively - if futilely-  fighting  against the ropes holding her.  The pain was like nothing she had ever experienced.  A constant  low keening cry streamed out of her mouth through the gag, an agonized  “OOOMMPHEE”.   Cathy desperately tried to relax her ass muscles to lessen the effects of the cane. But that was impossible, her mind could no longer control her body.  Every muscles in her strong body was tensed, straining with mindless desperation to escape the pain tearing at her , struggling wildly each time the cane fell.  Her nude, bound  body was reacting instinctively, fighting like a trapped animal to escape the pain consuming it.  The pain only grew with each new stroke. The nerves in her ass were now so raw and sensitive  that the pain of each new stroke  was worse than the one which came before.

 

  Breathing heavily now, the Arab paused for a moment to catch his breath.  He stooped to grab the stick securing Cathy’s feet and used it to flip her over onto her back.  A new wave of pain shot through Cathy as her wounded ass hit the rough stone floor.  Then, to her surprise, the cold of  the stone floor tempered the red hot heat consuming of her ass, giving Cathy a moment of relief.  During that moment she thought that her ordeal was over.  Then she saw the Arab lift the cane again, this time obviously preparing to use the horrible instrument of torture on Cathy’s vulnerable breasts.  For a moment, Cathy’s determination wavered, faced as she was with the prospect of her breasts, the symbol of her femininity, being threatened.  Prevented from speaking by her gag,  Cathy shook her head “NO”  as she implored him to stop with her eyes.  Instead, the Arab  took a step forward as he swung the cane in a downward arch, its tip singing through the air as Cathy watched it  speed toward  her exposed breasts.   The tip hit her left breast just across the erect red nipple, sinking deeply into the sensitive flesh with a sickening “ whomp”.  The pain was incredible.   It was even worse than the pain she had endured as her ass was repeatedly caned. The pain took Cathy’s breath away. It was a eternity before she could even scream out her pain into the gag.

 

“ OOOMMPHEEEE!”

 

  Cathy watched through her tears as the Arab stepped causally over her bound body to her other side and then looked down at her, the cane held  loosely in one hand.   His face filled her field of vision as he bent over to speak to her in a mocking voice..

 

“ Is this where you  beg me to stop?  Where, if I took the gag from your mouth,  you would tell me “ Have mercy Master. I shall never betray you again? “

 

  The cruel sarcasm of his words had an  unintended effect.  A wave of hatred washed over Cathy, pushing the pain to the back of her mind.  Since her capture she had submitted to this man, degraded herself to pleasure him.  All to survive.  All because she feared not so much what he could do to her , but  death itself.  But at this moment, she  overcame both those fears.  After all he had done to her, there was nothing  left for him to do, nothing left to threaten her with, except death.  And she had come to realize that she would rather accept death before she would further degrade herself.   Cathy glared stoically up at him, the hatred plain in her eyes, determined not to beg or crawl for this man- no matter what he did to her.

 

“ I ask you a question, slave.  Even if you cannot speak, you can still answer by shaking your head.”

 

  But Cathy  simply stared up at him, her blue eyes blazing even as the deep red stripe from the cane formed across her perfect breast.

 

   Displeased at receiving no response to his taunting question, the Arab stood, raised his cane over his head,  and brought the tip down in an arch across her other breast.   Cathy watched the blow fall, her body involuntarily tensing as the tip of the cane whooshed its way  down toward her vulnerable breast. The cane hit her above the nipple, across the  upper portion of her breast.  The pain exploded inside her skull as the tip sank deeply into her soft breast.  Her nude body arched upward as the well developed muscles of her legs, back, and arms convulsed  under the wave of pain filling Cathy.  Again the Arab bent over her to speak. This time he loosened the gag to allow her to reply before he spoke.

 

“ Is this when you beg me to be allowed to kiss my boots ?  Or did you have something else  that you wish to beg to be allowed to kiss?”

 

  Cathy had to suck in a deep breath before she could reply. Then, through her tears she angrily stammered:

 

“ Go to Hell, you BASTARD!  Go ahead.  Stick it in my mouth.  I’ll bite your cock OFF!  I won’t be what you want me to be!  I won’t be your slave any longer. I don’t care any longer what you do to me, you sick FUCK!  Go ahead!  KILL ME! ”

 

   The Arab first response to her  defiance was surprise.  Then anger.  He was consumed by rage. His anger at Cathy for her defiance had joined with another deeper anger born when he was a young man living in the United States. A rage directed  at other  women -  at the American women  of his youth-  motivated him now.  By frustrating him now, Cathy  unknowingly focused all the hatred of as misspent lifetime on herself, becoming the sole object of an anger that had festered inside the Arab for twenty years.

 

“ YOU INFIDEL WHORE! You  may beg for death, but I shall not be so merciful.   You will live... as my slave..... for  a long , long time. And I shall  make you suffer  for your arrogance  every hour of  every day for all that time.”

 

  Before Cathy could reply, he pushed the rope gag back into place, silencing her.  Then he stood and swung  his cane at Cathy’s right breast.  Aiming at the sensitive red nipple in the center of her breast, he brought the cane down  exactly on target, the tip actually striking the nipple itself with a meaty “ whomp”.  As the new wave of pain consumed her, Cathy’s body again  arched upward at the waist in an involuntary muscular response.  Two emotions contended in Cathy’s brain.  The terrible pain radiating from her wounded breast contended against the raging hatred she felt toward the Arab, but for the moment at least, the pain won.

 

“ OOMMPHEEE!”

 

“” Defy me at your peril, whore.  This is but a small taste of the unending punishment that I as God’s servant   hold for  such deceitful women as you.”

 

  The Arab moved quickly from one of Cathy’s sides to the other, alternating his blows  between breasts. He moved unhurriedly, giving Cathy ample time to feel each terrible blow on her breast before she experienced the  pain of the next blow. It seemed like an eternity to Cathy, but only a few moments passed before her breasts were a bright red overlaid with deep red stripes .  Along each of the stripes,  small individual drops of blood appeared along the path of the cane to add a third shade of red to Cathy’s breasts.  

 

   The Arab stopped , his arm tired, his breathing heavy. He stood over Cathy, staring down at her nude body.  He savored the total vulnerability of her nude bound body, his cock growing rock hard within his pants.  Her strong arms bound above her head; her smooth legs spread and bound.; her flat belly  rising and falling as the sobbing blonde desperately fought for air.   Cathy’s breasts had been turned into red, raw pain globes, the soft breast flesh cruelly  marked by his cane.   The Arab’s eyes feasted on those pain filled globes for a long time before they were drawn irresistibly down Cathy’s nude body toward the shaven vee between her spread and bound legs.  He extended the cane ,  using its tip to trace a path over her stomach to that region. He used the tip to probe her vulnerable sex, to trace over her clit and along her well used cunt lips. 

 

“  Nod your head, slave, if you wish to humbly  beg me to spare you this new pain. “  Extending the sole of his boot  and holding it over her face, he went on. “  Nod, and accept your subservience .  Kiss my boot and humbly beg your Master’s forgiveness.”

 

   Cathy looked up at him, stared  directly into his eyes, her own eyes brimming with her tears, and slowly, empathically  shook her head  “NO”.  Then, her lips set in determination,  she turned her face to the side away from him and waited.

 

   The cane appeared to rise and fall in slow motion as Cathy watched helplessly out of the corner of her eye.  The tip of the cane sank into  the center of Cathy’s sex, into the apex of her femininity.   It sliced across both her delicate clitoris and her sensitive  cunt lips to send a tidal wave of pain crashing through Cathy’s body to her over loaded brain.  Her bound body arched upward in response to the terrible pain as a cry recognizable as one of pure pain escaped through her gag.  The pain was much worse than anything she had experienced, even  worse than what she had experienced as he whipped her soft, sensitive breasts.   Having known only pleasure there, her sex was even more sensitive to pain than any other part of her body.   Her nude body was still in its arched position, every muscle in her strong body rigid, when the second blow arrived, again cruelly bisecting her clit and cunt lips. Landing directly on top of the already abused flesh, his second stroke produced pain even worse than Cathy had ever imagined could exist.    Her mind was simply unable to deal with the pain of this second stroke. Cathy mercifully lost consciousness before the Arab’s cane delivered its third stroke deep into her exposed cunt.  This time the terrible pain was lost in the blackness that had covered her before it could reach her over loaded brain.

 

  When she regained consciousness again, Cathy found  herself on her stomach , her breasts hanging over the edge of something, staring down at the floor with her bound arms outstretched in front of her.  At first, she was so groggy that all she could do was simply watch  the wooden bar securing her  wrists rock back and forth in front of her. Her mind seemed detached from her body.  Floating.  It took Cathy long seconds to connect that funny motion of her arms with the sharp pain she felt and from there to realize what was being done to her.   Slowly, as her mind came back into focus,  Cathy realized that her whole body was moving back and forth, and that the pain she felt was coming from her cunt, from a man’s cock pounding against her abused and beaten cunt.  She was being raped!  Again!   Her head came up, and she tried to protest. The words came out disjointed, as if she were drunk.

 

“ NO!  Leave me alone.......  BASTARD!.. Leave me.. alone... “

 

  She was cut off by the feeling of intense pain as a hard hand slapped her red, raw ass cheeks with a loud “ crack”.    In a breathless voice she recognized as the Arab’s. she heard:

 

“ Quiet Slave!  Or I will gag you.   Or.. do you wish the Poshtoons to take you again.  If so... just call out to them.  ..........you shameless whore!”

 

  Cathy froze as his words penetrated the fog surrounding her brain. The Poshtoons.   A shudder ran through her body as she remembered their gang rape of her ass.  Even being raped by a man she hated was better than being sodomized by them!  Anything, she decided,  was better than another sodomy!  She lowered her head and gritted her teeth as the man’s cock continued to plow into her . Each time he sank his painfully erect cock into her, he rubbed against the three red stripes, the wounds the cane had left  on her clit and cunt lips, the most delicate and private parts of Cathy’s body.  Try as she did, Cathy could not prevent a small gasp from escaping her tightly compressed lips each time his hard body touched her there.

 

  The Arab stood above her, plowing into her cunt from behind her as Cathy lay draped over both side of the second sleeping platform. On one side, her bound hands brushed against the floor as her body moved back and forth under the impact of his powerful thrusts. On the other side,  Cathy’s toes barely touched the stone floor as he stood between her spread and bound legs, fucking her open cunt.  When Cathy had passed out, he had been unable to  resist satisfying the need which  whipping her had stirred inside him.  He had simply thrown her limp body over the sleeping platform and  taken her, pausing only briefly to strip his clothes off.  He savored the feeling of her naked flesh against his.  He leaned over her, pressing his bare chest against  the naked skin of Cathy’s bare back.   As he thrust into her and held himself motionless deep inside her, the Arab ran his hands around her body to grasp Cathy’s nude, hanging breasts.  As his hands closed over the tortured, bruised breast flesh, he felt Cathy tense under him, a low, deep moan escaping from her lips.

 

“ AHH!   You Bastard!  I hate you...   UGGHEE!  NO!..”

 

  Cathy could feel  his cock throb deep inside her whipped cunt. His cock  felt familiar to her, even good, as it thrust in and out of her.  Every movement of his cock brought her new pain, but that as much as the fullness excited her. She fought against surrendering to him this time. She would not, Cathy vowed, let her own body betray her. Mustering all the hatred she felt for him, Cathy struggled to shut out the pleasure filling her cunt,  determined to deny the Arab his victory.  Gritting her teeth even harder, she fought to hold her body still as his hated cock moved inside her.

 

   The Arab felt her body go rigid under him.  Realizing instantly what she was doing, he began to punish her for it. Brutally, he mauled her cane stripped breasts,  his hard hands gripping and twisting the swollen, sensitive flesh of her breasts as he plowed harder and harder into her open cunt.   Cathy’s head came up and a moan escaped from her lips, followed by  low, intense, hat filled  words directed at him.

 

“  AAGGHEEE... OHH.. AGHEEEE.. BASTARD... BASTARD....NO... I WON’T.. YOU CAN’T MAKE .. ME.......YOU CAN’T MAKE ME CUM.... YOU .. BASTARD!”

 

 

 

    Angered by the defiance of her words, the Arab  pulled his erect cock out of her loose, well lubricated cunt. Underneath him, Cathy heard the “plop” of  its escape and felt the awful emptiness it left. And felt a brief moment of triumph.  Then she felt something else. She felt his hands painfully grip her ass cheeks, spreading them for his cock. She felt the head of his hard cock pressed against her ass hole.   Then she heard his voice, low and venomous:

 

“  Foolish woman.  Very well, slave. If you will not be the woman God created you to be, I shall use you like the man you pretend to be.”

 

 

 Frightened, Cathy arched her back, struggling with all her considerable strength to try to deny him entry there. Still very sore from her earlier gang sodomy, the thought of him taking her that way- in her ass- terrified Cathy.  She desperately clinched the muscles of her sphincter closed, fighting him every inch of the way. But  the Arab was not to be denied.  Taking advantage of her looseness from her earlier rape, he wedged the head of his cock inside the tiny opening and then leaned all his weight on  his hard cock.  Pressing down, he drove his cock into her ass chute  like a wedge splitting  a log.  Sensing  that Cathy was about to scream, he let go of her hips and grab her bruised and sore left breast  with one hand while at the same time closing the other hand over her open mouth, muffling the scream of agony just as it began to pour out of Cathy. 

 

“ AGGgrrheeeeee!

 

   He held her like that with only her hips touching the platform, her upper body arched between the cock impaling her ass and his hands on her face and breast. Relentlessly, he thrust deeper into her resisting ass chute.   Using her own weight against her, he pushed Cathy’s torso down onto his cock, forcing it ever deeper into her.   Cathy struggled wildly as he penetrated her, her muscular body flexing as she struggled to escape his cock,  her bound hands clawing the air  in front of her as she desperately fought the slow, relentless advance of his cock up her ass chute.  Her cries changed to crude grunts, one uttered each time his cock gained an inch inside her ass. Slowly he penetrated her despite her desperate struggle.  Cathy fought hard against the painful penetration of her ass hole by his cock, but could  do nothing to keep him out.  No matter how tightly she clinched her sphincter muscles, she could not force his cock out of her ass. All she succeeded in doing was to give the Arab exquisite pleasure as her ass muscles tightly tightened around his shaft,  milking it, bringing him closer and closer to climax as they  tried to crush his shaft in their hand like grip.   The only thing keeping him from cumming now was the distraction of the pain in his hand.  Cathy was biting hard into the palm of the hand he held over her mouth, taking any opportunity to inflict whatever pain she could on the man who had inflicted so much pain upon her.   But as she inflicted this pain on the Arab,  he inflicted a far greater agony upon her.  The pain of his penetration of her taunt ass  combined with the pain from the raw nerve endings in her ass and breast as they were rubbed raw and squeezed, producing an intense agony which washed over  the struggling young female Captain in successive tidal waves of  pain.

 

  The two of them fought like that for long moments. The intensity of their struggle covered both their bodies with sweat.   Cathy gave as good as she received, drawing  blood but unable to deny him possession of her ass.  Desperately she fought both against the Arab’s penetration and against the unwanted feelings of arousal  his sodomy was producing.  The Arab fought his way deep inside her ass. He forced open  her ass, opened it  to his cock despite the desperate resistance of her strong young body,. She fought his cock every inch of the way, but could not in the end keep him from using her now wide open asshole like it was a cunt. The Arab pounded jack hammer thrusts in and out of her asshole as he held her body painfully arched in his powerful arms, the sweat flying off them both as their bodies struggled.  As they fought, both their voices were kept low as they both, for different reasons, wished to  avoid attracting the attention of the Poshtoons, They produced an alternating chorus  as they  fought:

 

“  INFIDEL WHORE..... BASTARD......  NOO! .....  SLAVE... SO TIGHT..  OOHHH!   STOP... BASTARD...No..NOOOO!”

 

   Finally the Arab could take no more of  the hot tightness of Cathy’s ass.  He threw her face down on the platform and collapsed onto her naked back.  Burying her cock as deeply in her bowels as he possibly could, he came, filling her with his hot cum.  Cathy struggled wildly against his weight, crying out “NO!” as she felt the hot liquid fill her, felt him empty himself into her.  The struggle over, the two of them lay exhausted, the Arab on top of Cathy, their nude bodies stuck together, her back to his chest, by the sweat covering their nude bodies. His cock remained inside her as it slowly shrank. Cathy could feel  the wet warmth of his cum as it ran out of her still distended asshole and onto her cunt.  Cathy had denied him a total victory. She had not climaxed during the rape of her ass.  His rape had aroused her, leaving her now feeling unsatisfied and empty. Too exhausted to fight any further but kept awake by the unsatisfied itch in her loins, Cathy lay wide awake underneath him,  tears filling her eyes and conflicting thoughts her mind.  Repeatedly she whispered  the word “Bastard” over and over again as she lay there trapped underneath him.

 

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     Neither had not been quite as silent as they had intended. In the cave’s main hall,  Kehalis sat listening to the silence  that came from the Arab’s room.   He sat near the door, his back to the cave wall, Cathy’s gloves clinched in one hand, his AK in  the other.   He had been sitting in this same position for over an hour, ever since he had  heard the first “wack” of the cane striking Cathy’s bare flesh.   Through all that time, his mind had take the sounds coming from that room and  given them form, converting them into images in his mind.   Based on his memories of that first night, the night he had sodomized Cathy,  Kehalis saw exactly what was being done to Cathy in his mind’s eye. He saw everything down to each obscene detail.  He saw the agony in Cathy’s face as vividly as if he had been there in the room with her.  He felt the warmth and tightness of her asshole closing about his cock. But he couldn’t go into that room.  He wasn’t really sure what he would do if he could- whether he would try to save her from the Arab or try to join him in his assault on her. He only knew he could not enter.  He was afraid. Afraid of what the Arab would do but more afraid of Cathy‘s response.   For along with those images of her face from that first night came an image of the  look on her face when he had last spoken to the Arab.  The memory of the revulsion he had seen on her face and the way she had looked to the Arab for protection kept him outside.   Listening.

 

 

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   In stead of  sleeping alone as he had, the Arab stayed  where he was, on top of Cathy, for what was left  of the night.  Draping a blanket over them both, he lay against Cathy’s back as sound asleep as Cathy drifted in and out  of a doze.   Hours later, Cathy felt the man stir. She watched groggily as he turned up the  lantern and hastily dressed in its light.  Still lying on her stomach bound hand and foot to the table legs, there was noting else she could do except watch and wait.  AS she watched, it struck her that the Arab was not putting on his Western style clothing. Instead he was, with obvious reluctance,  putting on dull earth colored wool clothes like those worn by the Poshtoons.  Although Cathy could not know it, these were indeed  odd garments he had bought or bartered from the Pushtoons.  His change of clothes was the first indication Cathy had that something  was about to happen.   What it was, she had no clue.

 

    As Cathy watched, the Arab picked up her discarded flight suit.  He held it in front of Cathy by the collar and drew his  knife.  As a silent, tight lipped Cathy watched helplessly,  the smiling Arab used his knife to shred her uniform, totally destroying it. He cut the flight suit into long strips  and, once that was done,  folded the strips over and cut them again,  totally destroying Cathy‘s uniform.  He held the small strips of cloth directly in front of Cathy’s face and slowly let them drop one at a time as Cathy watched in total frustration.   That done, he threw the hated burkha  at the bound woman and gloated:

 

  “   Now you will wear this, slave, or you will wear nothing!  Make  your choice!”

 

    He moved to stand beside the  blonde woman.   Before he made any move to untie her , he  first tied a length of rope around Cathy’s waist. That done, he untied the ropes that held her wrists to the table leg, leaving one end of those ropes still dangling from each of Cathy‘s wrists. Her legs remained bound to the table leg   He used that table leg to pull her booted feet off the sleeping platform and dropped them to the floor, leaving Cathy in a sitting position.   Pointing at the black bundle beside her, he ordered:

 

 “ Chose! Will it be the burkha, or do you wish to  walk through the mountains.. with the Poshtoons...  naked?   “

 

  Cathy’s mind seized upon his words.  “ Walk through the mountains”?   She would be out of her; perhaps she would have a chance to escape.   In any case, she had no real choice. She could not face the Poshtoons - or the cold-  without clothing.   As she reluctantly picked up the garment, Cathy said:

 

“ I’ll wear your damned sack.   But I’m finished  being your slave.   I am your prisoner, not your slave.”

 

  She shakily stood and lifted the heavy wool burkha over her head and let it fall over her.  It covered her entirely except for her face. Even her blonde hair was  hidden by the garment’s hood.  Underneath the rough woolen garment, Cathy was nude except for her boots. It was heavy and uncomfortable, as well as scratchy against her bare skin. She hated it, not  just for its discomforts but because it was the symbol of  centuries of female oppression and  forced subservience. But it was warm. For that at least she was grateful.   She turned to face him, her  new- if still fragile-  defiance  clear in both her stance and  her expression. 

 

  The Arab regarded her in silence for a moment.  He saw her new attitude of  resistance, but  decided that it would be easily corrected.  A strong hand would stop this before the woman became troublesome.  He  drew his knife and stepped. closer   He used the knife to cut a slit in the thick wool of  the burkha at Cathy’s side and then fed the running end of each of the ropes tied to her wrists through  the slit. Holding the knife against her, he ordered:

 

 “ Bend over, slave”

 

   Cathy did not move for a long moment.  She stood her ground, staring  back at the Arab without wavering, the hatred she felt toward him evident in her eyes. Then she slowly,  turned away and bent over  at the waist, bracing her arms against the  platform.  He  took hold of the long skirt of the burkha with one hand and pushed it up over her hips.   Swiftly he tied  each loose end of  the ropes to the rope belt he had tied around her waist earlier, forcing Cathy’s hands away from the platform and against  her side. Now her helplessly clinched hands were held tight against her side, incapable of moving more than an inch or so in any direction.   The ropes holding her hands were largely invisible, hidden underneath the burkha or  covered by its sleeves. When he had finished tying her hands,  Cathy  moved to stand erect. Roughly, he pushed her back  into her bent position over the sleeping platform. 

 

 “ Not yet, slave.  I have one more thing to do.”

 

  Cathy bristled  at his use of the word “slave”, but could do nothing with her hands and legs bound.   Then, to her surprise, the Arab tied a rope around the  rope belt just below her belly button. She felt the rope pulled between her spread legs. The Arab pulled it tight, forcing the rough rope hard against her cunt lips and  crushing her sensitive clit. Cathy immediately came erect and let out a surprised grunt as the rope dug deep into her sensitive, shaven  sex.  She gave another grunt as the Arab pulled the rope even tighter and tied it off to the back of the rope belt.  He stared down how at the rope  bisected Cathy’s whip striped ass cheeks, making them into a  crude pair of cruelly abrasive thong panties.   That done, he knelt and untied Cathy’s legs from the table leg. As soon as her legs were free, He bound them again, tying  one piece of rope between each leg to make a crude hobble.  When that was done, he was satisfied that Cathy could neither run away nor fight.   He took a moment to run his hand over Cathy’s bare leg and up to where the rope covered her cunt lips, patting her with demeaning fondness on her sore ass cheeks before he stood.  Only then did he let the burkha fall to again cover Cathy‘s nakedness.  He let her stand up and turn to face him again.

 

“  We have a long journey in front of us. I know how a Western whore like you is constantly in need of a man to satisfy her lusts.   I shall not have as much time to spent ... satisfying... your female lusts  on this journey  as I did here.   The rope will  both give you that satisfaction you  Western whores are always in need of and teach you a lesson about curbing your lusts. ”

 

  With those strange words, the Arab reached up and tied a square of black clothe the size of a large handkerchief over her face, covering Cathy’s mouth and nose. Only her eyes remained visible.  It was, Cathy realized, a veil.

 

“ This  is the hijab.  You will wear it with the burkha when you may be seen by a man who is not your Master.  “

 

  At this he gave her a shove forward.  Cathy stumbled, her stride stopped short by the rope hobble tied between her legs.  She quickly realized that she had to take small steps, to shuffle her feet,  or fall flat on her face. That she could- and quickly did-  adjust to as the Arab prodded her into the main room of the cave and then out the cave‘s mouth into the bright sunshine of the morning. .  Cathy found that  she could  learn to walk with her rope hobbles.  But she  found that the friction of the rough surfaced rope tied between her legs was a more complex problem.  With each  step she took, the rope rubbed against her clitoris and over her soft cunt lips, producing a  painful  but stimulating sensation.  It was not terribly painful now.  More arousing, as the Arab could see by the embarrassed look on Cathy‘s face.  But  Cathy found  that the sensation of pain/pleasure the rope produced became more intense with each step that she took.  Already Cathy could see that  the sawing motion of the rope across her clit and cunt lips would soon became  a true torture.

 

    As she stepped from the cave, the sunlight blinded her. This was the first time that Cathy had seen sunlight since the day of her capture, an eternity ago.  The feeling of being surrounded by light after her days in the semidarkness  lifted her spirits. Those spirits rose much higher as she saw the bulk of the Poshtoons split away  and disappeared over a ridge line. With their departure, much of the overwhelming sense of dread that she had lived with in the cave was lifted.  Cathy ‘s fear of another crushing gang rape like the one she had endured on that first night in the cave  was, if not lifted,  greatly reduced by their diminished numbers. Now there were just three Poshtoons with  the Arab, frog face and two very young  men, just teenagers to Cathy’s eye.   She was surprised not to see any weapons among these men, though she assumes that  they had  weapons in the blanket wrapped bundles each man, except for the Arab, carried.  Cathy began to hope again, to dream that  soon she had  could find  an opportunity to escape from these men. 

 

  They moved at a steady pace across and then along the ridgelines . Cathy was hard put to keep up with the men despite the  blows she received from the Arab’s stick each time she lagged back. Exhausted from the ordeal of her capture and rapes and with her leg muscles still cramped from her prolonged bondage , Cathy was further handicapped by  her rope hobble, which forced her to take three short steps for the men’s two longer ones. And the rope tied between her legs soon began to really trouble her.  Her clit and her cunt’s lips were rubbed raw by the rope within the first mile Cathy walked. After that, each step became an increasing torture for Cathy.  The rope was rubbing against her ever more sensitive clit, painfully masturbating her with each step she took. It was a struggled just to walk.  To her embarrassment, she began to feel herself grow wet between her legs. Part of the wetness was because her  body , covered as it was by the heavy wool burkha, had began to sweat  copiously from the effort required to keep up with the pace the men set.  Cathy could feel the sweat running down her naked torso, its saltiness stinging as the slat ran inot the cane marks and onto  parts of  her cunt rubbed raw by the rope’s friction,.  But she could feel something else wet down there as well.   To her humiliation, Cathy knew that this other wetness wasn’t just her sweat; she knew that it was the juices of her aroused cunt which were mixing with the sweat running down her leg.  Despite the pain- or more properly because of it-  Cathy was becoming sexually aroused.  By mid morning she could not walk fifty feet  before the tension in her cunt built up to a  mind shattering climax. Though she fought hard to control her body, Cathy could not stop these unwanted climaxes. Cathy’s body defied her will, finding a masochistic arousal in the pain filling her body.   Repeatedly and against her will, Cathy came, each climax more painful than the last. As these climaxes washed over Cathy , her body shook and her knees grew weak, barely able to support her weight.  Each climax was produced in exactly the same way- by the constant, painful friction of the rope against her raw and ultra sensitive clit.  There was no way for Cathy to avoid the pain and stimulation of the rope. Each step she took brought yet another painful caress from the rope tied so cruelly between her legs. The  masochistic pleasure  she felt from the rope’s caresses  was intensely humiliating to the young female captain. She could not understand why her body was so weak or why it now craved pain more than pleasure.  She could not understand why she was reacting like such a pain slut.  But despite her humiliation, her body continued to  find  a  perverse pleasure in the constant, painful friction of the rope,  continued to  subject her to agonizing climax after agonizing climax, climaxes which shook her body and her soul.  The intensity of these climaxes grew with their number.  Now, at each new climax, it took all Cathy’s will power simply to keep from collapsing onto the hard cold ground.

 

  In spite of the rope’s pain and the intense humiliation of her involuntary climaxes, Cathy felt a weight being lifted from her mind just by being in the open, away from the hated cave and the memories associated with it.  Simply being in light again after experiencing that place of darkness raised her spirits.  She could see by the way the men, even the  Arab, constantly scanned the sky and the surrounding ridgelines that  they were afraid. That too raised her spirits.  Their obvious fear became her hope.  And that hope was all that allowed her to continue in the face of  the pain filled climaxes shaking her body and sapping her strength.  Perhaps, she dared to hope, American troops were coming for her soon. Perhaps rescue was near. That was the thought which kept her going despite the pain. With that prospect in her mind, Cathy struggled  on  despite the ever increasing levels of pain and  unwanted arousal induced by her rope bondage.  At times, that hope seemed close to fulfillment. Twice, one of the men called out a warning . Each time she was immediately and roughly thrown to the ground and held there as a blanket was thrown over both her and the man holding her down.  Underneath  the blanket, she could hear the faint sound of helicopter rotors just audible over the heavy breathing of the Poshtoon holding her down. A sound so familiar and so welcome that she forgot even the painful burning  between her legs as she desperately listened to the approaching sound. But each time, the copter was apparently too far away to see them hidden under their blankets in the rough landscape.  Her heart in her throat, Cathy could only listen as the welcome sounds faded away to silence.  With each letdown, Cathy struggled to keep her spirits up, telling herself that next time they would find her.  Next time. 

 

   From his position at the head of the group, Kehalis  constantly stole glances at Cathy  throughout the march.  Unable to do more than steal a glimpse of her during the time in the cave, he  could not keep his eyes off her now even though, hidden as she was in her burkha and veil, he could see  little enough.  He could see the escalating pain though, see it in her eyes and in the way her body moved.   He also saw the way her body would periodically shake and her steps falter as  the rope between Cathy’s legs drove her to climax after climax.  Knowing nothing of the rope, Kehalis did not understand what he was seeing.   To his mind, it was simply unintelligible that this woman was sexually aroused by the mere act of walking..  What sort of  wanton women were these Western infidels, he wondered. 

 

   By mid-day  the little group had reached  a narrow rutted road. They  walked along it, slowly descending as they moved out of a narrow side valley into the wider plain of the valley floor. Here Cathy began to see the first signs of human occupation,  isolated two story houses built of stone and fortress like in appearance.  They were passing by fields that were obviously under cultivation though barren at this time of the year. . Cathy began to feel a new hope, a hope  that  surely someone would see them and get word to her rescuers.  Distracted as she was by the burning between her legs- the twin pain and pleasure produced by the rope which was cutting so cruelly into her femininity-  it took Cathy a while before she realized that there was little here to be seen.  They were a group of four men and one woman, all dressed  like the locals and carrying no visible weapons.  Covered as she was from head to foot by the burkha and veil, Cathy realized  that she must look like a Afghan woman shuffling along on a dirt road.  That her burkha and veil made her into just the sort of  faceless and formless figure that no male Afghan would pay any attention to.  She was invisible to anyone she could expect to meet. Not even her short blonde hair was visible. Every time she tired to shift the burkha’s hood a little to reveal at least a blonde forelock, one of her watchers angrily jerked it back down again and gave her a blow with his fist  for her efforts.  In  the empty mountains  any humans would have stood out for only those with something to hid traveled through that difficult terrain. But  here on this road, her captors could lose themselves and her among the locals moving about in their daily routine.  Even now, Cathy saw that they were not the only group in sight.  Far ahead of them, Cathy could see another small group also trudging along the rutted road.  And, as they turned a curve, she saw out of the corner of her eye that there was another group behind them, this one consisting of men with farm implements over their shoulders. The other groups kept their distance though.. It was as if  no one here cared - or dared- to look too closely into anyone else’s business. Slowly, it dawned on Cathy that the Arab intended to hide her in plain sight.  And that he had a good chance of succeeding.  With that depressing thought, her spirits began to fall once again. Her hope of rescue, so intense a few hours ago, began to fade.  As hope faded,  the burning between her legs went from being a painful distraction to a painful obsession.  Cathy began to  focus more and more on the terrible, maddening burning between her legs, the humiliating combination of pain and  arousal that drove her to climax after climax with each step she took.  As the rope moved roughly over her ultra sensitive clit, she felt the wetness between her legs become a flood. Her liquid arousal was literally pouring out of her cunt in response to  the rope brutally stimulated her red, raw clit and cunt lips. The cunt juices joined the stinging sweat streaming off her  exhausted body to make a pungent womanly  musk which she knew must draw the attention of the men around her.  But by then Cathy was becoming so exhausted that  she no longer cared.  Her legs were barely able to support her weight as she staggered on. Still,  the Poshtoons  continued to drive her on with blows and curses. 

 

   Eventually, the pain in her cunt became so intense that Cathy could no longer climaxed. Now, it was purely a matter of pain.  With that awful pain came the  fear  that the rope was destroying her poor abused cunt. She feared that the rope had literally ground  her clitoris into a bloody stump and her cunt lips into  equally bloody pulp.  Cathy  was haunted by the fear that the wetness she felt between her legs was  blood,; that it was her blood running down her legs along with her sweat instead of  her cunt juices.  Every step she took was sheer torture.  Cathy could not  think about anything but what the rope was doing to her sex as, with each step she took,  it bit deeper and deeper into the most sensitive  part of her body. Each step flooded her body with an unbearable pain.  A pain which Cathy was forced to bring  upon herself.  That, she decided, was the cruelest part of her torture.  For she had to go on.  Each step- she hoped- brought her that much closer to rescue though at a terrible cost in pain. For, by  this point,  Cathy’s entire universe had been reduced to nothing more than that awful burning between her legs.  

 

    Just when Cathy was ready to simply collapse, ready to give up, convinced that she could go no further even to save herself, their march finally ended.  Kehalis abruptly led them off the road  and up a narrow side valley.   The night- and with it the cold- was almost  upon them as they  finally stopped in the meager shelter of  a ravine. Once the their prayers had been completed, the men settled into a cold camp. No fires were built.  The only food was nan, the hard unleavened local bread each of the Poshtoons carried.  As soon as they had stopped, Cathy simply dropped to the cold ground and curled up into a fetal position, too exhausted to move, too tired to think about  food or even about escape.  Only one thing interested  the exhausted young Captain. She was desperate for  relief from the pain between her legs.   When the Arab  said:

 

 

 “  I see that the rope has taught you something about  the desires of the flesh.  Do you see now the pain your whorish desires can bring?   Do you now desire an end to that pain, slave?   If so, you know the only way to seek it.  Beg for relief from your Master, slave!”

 

  Cathy gritted her teeth in despair. She would rather die than call this hated  man “Master”.  But the pain was so intense.  Her cunt was still on fire!  Her resolve weakened. She heard herself whisper the words he wished to hear.  The words she had vowed never to speak again.  Self loathing filled her even before she had finished speaking  the words

 

 “ Please, Master.  I beg of you.  Untie me!”

 

“ Very well done, slave,” He gloated, “ I shall indeed have mercy on you.”

 

 She made no move to resist as the Arab lifted the skirts of her burkha   To her infinite relief, he untied one end of the crotch rope which had so tormented  her all day. The relief was immediate, a dull ache replacing the raging fire between her legs.   Leaving her hands bound as they were to her waist, he retied the rope hobble around her legs to make it impossible for her to stand, let alone walk, even if Cathy had possessed the energy to try. Then he left her alone, his fatigue sparing Cathy  another rape.   Cathy immediately curled up again on the cold ground.  All she wanted now was the oblivion of  sleep which she soon found.  

 

   She did not stir until the Poshtoon she had nicknamed frog face shook her awake just at dawn.  To her surprise, she found that she now had  a blanket over her.   The man tried to hand her a piece of nan.  But, with her hands bound as they were at her side, Cathy could neither  hold the bread or  bring it to her lips.  Awkwardly,  he held the nan for her as she ravenously devoured the hard bread.  He also offered her water from his own bottle which Cathy eagerly took. Just as she had gulped down a mouthful of the cold water, they both heard the Arab begin to stir.  Kehalis snatched away the blanket that had covered Cathy as well as the bread  and the water bottle and retreated a few feet to join the other Poshtoons.  Cathy stared after him, puzzled by his actions, trying to understand the implications for her of what had just transpired.   When the Arab came to her side to offer her bread and water, she did not mention what had taken place.  He apparently had not noticed the exchange, for the Arab simply began  his customary ritual.

 

 “ Slave, do you wish food?  Water?   Then beg for them from your Master.“

 

  Cathy was still  very hungry and thirsty despite what she had received from Kehalis.  But after her weakness last night in addressing him as  “Master“ , Cathy felt the need to defy the Arab if for no other reason than to keep herself from falling back into the course of least resistance, the weakness she had fallen into in the cave.  She had decided  that she had to resist him in every matter, no matter how small it seemed. Even if she had not received that pittance of nourishment from Kehalis, she would have made the same answer. Cathy  replied in a hard, even voice, every word strongly accented:

 

 “ I will not ..call you... Master.... ever again!  I .. am ..not....your ..slave.  Or .. your .. whore!

 

The anger that showed in his face  was more than worth the hunger and thirst she would endure to Cathy.  But he still had the last word.  As she watched, he poured out on the ground the water  he would have given her.   That done,  he  replied:

 

 “ Then suffer my punishment for your pride and arrogance, slave!  “

 

   He knelt beside Cathy. Pushing her over on her stomach, the Arab  reached between her tights and found the loose end of the crotch rope. He pulled hard on the rope, sinking it as deep inside Cathy sore, swollen cunt as he could.  As Cathy’s body arched in agony, he retied the end of that rope to the rope around Cathy’s waist. The pain that coursed through her bound body was intense Then he retied the leg hobble so that she could once again walk.  He stared at the  angry expression in Cathy’s  haggard face, her veil having become  disarranged in her sleep.. Then he added one more refinement to Cathy‘s bondage. He took a dirty handkerchief out of his pocket.  as Cathy watched in disbelief, the Arab unbuttoned his coat and reached in with the handkerchief. He wiped the clothe over his skin, reaching into his armpits and even into his unwashed crotch.  Then he folded the cloth over once so that the side he had used to wipe himself was on the outside. Gripping her jaw with one hand, he forced the  cloth into Cathy’s mouth. Using part of a boot lace, he secured it there so that she could not spit it out.  Then he rearranged her veil to cover her face except for her eyes, the anger burning in them like twin embers.  As Cathy  glared angrily up at him, the strong male taste filling her mouth and making her gag, he stared impassively down at her and spat:

 

 “  Get up, SLAVE!  We have a long way to walk to reach safety.  And you have much to learn about the humility  becoming a woman.  If God wills, both will be accomplished this day. “

 

   Still stiff with the cold, Cathy struggled to her feet. The next few hours were a nightmare for Cathy.  With her clit and cunt lips already sore and swollen from the previous day,  it took very little time for her to reach the same level  of unrelenting pain that she had experienced at the end of yesterday’s trek.  Initially, Cathy again experienced several climaxes  from the rope’s friction against her sore sex. But those doubtful pleasures, humiliating though they were, were soon replaced by  pure pain.  Her cunt was on fire.   But for the gag, she would have filled the air with her pain.  But she was denied even that small release. Cathy was forced to suffer in silence,  lost in the effort of struggling through the pain of each step only to then  have to face the new pain of  the next step.  Forced to keep walking by the men surrounding her, she could find no escape from the pain engulfing her..   Enclosed as she was within the confines of her black burkha,  she suffered alone, the only outward sign of her agony visible being the tears streaming from the corners of her eyes.

 

  Perversely, Cathy’s pain completed the Arab’s disguise of her as an Afghan woman.  Her hobbling stride, the pain obvious in every step, gave her the look of some ancient crone hobbling along hidden underneath the  enveloping black sack of her burkha.  She became even more invisible to any Afghan male eyes. That had become  painfully obvious to Cathy when she and her captors passed several groups of Afghans  going in the opposite direction on the narrow road.  Cathy did all she could to attract their notice as they walked  past her.  That wasn’t much since she was gagged under her veil and had only her bound hands and her eyes to signal with.  Her desperate efforts availed her nothing but a hard blow to her kidneys. Of those Afghans they passed , only one person- another woman also hidden away in the folds of her burkha- took any notice of  Cathy. And she quickly looked away as soon as she realized that anything was wrong there.  It was obvious to Cathy that she would find no help from the local population. The frustration  she felt at the Arab’s continued success in keeping her captive filled Cathy’s mind,  becoming in its way as demoralizing to her spirits as the terrible burning pain in her loins. 

 

  The little group  followed the farm road for five or six miles beyond where they had spent the night. Then, before they would reach a main road, and the checkpoints such major roads always held,  the small group turned off that  farm road and followed  a well beaten track toward one of the  many medieval looking stone fortress that dotted the area.  As the others waited, Kehalis  went forward alone to the stout door barring entrance to the building’s courtyard, to make contact with the inhabitants who were no doubt already watching them.   Though none of  the Arab’s group, including Kehalis,  were known here, the mention of a name and use of a certain passage of the Qur’an as a recognition phrase  - both of which had been given to the Arab by  his  “friend” in Pakistan, his Al ‘Qaida contact in Pakistan’s Inter-service Intelligence Agency-  gained  them a wary welcome within the stone walls.   The men of this family, opium farmers by trade,  were the contacts given to the Arab by his Al’ Qaida contact for  getting in touch with the Ghazni Warlord- the “friend“ that the Arab had spoken of.   This family was just one of the many which  supplied the Warlord with the raw opium that was the source of his money, and thus, his power.  This Warlord ruled the town of Ghazi as well as most  of the province of the same name.  A ruthless man of considerable guile, and thus greatly respected , he was  the only man able to effectively enforce his will  in this lawless part of Poshtoon Afghanistan since the fall of the Taliban.   A self proclaimed general, he possessed  several hundred armed men of  reasonable loyalty, far more than the National government possessed in this or any Poshtoon   province.  Lacking the military force to challenge him, the American supported,  central government - the old Northern Alliance- had  little choice but to leave him and his local fiefdom alone in return for  frequent protestations of loyalty from the Warlord.  The American army had done the same, concentrating on  the growing Taliban and Al’Qaida activity closer to the border.  So far this de facto neutrality had even extended to the Warlord’s opium trade.  In the best Afghan tradition, the Warlord cleverly sought to profit by the fighting raging around him, keeping a foot in both the American and the  fundamentalist camps and happily taking  money from both.  He sold information to the Americans on the whereabouts of their Taliban enemies, or at least those scattered remnants lacking the money to buy his silence.  Al’Qaida however, was different. They had the money to buy his help.   His chief service to them was  in arranging  for hard pressed  Al’Qaida fighters to escape Afghanistan, using the same trucks and  the same little traveled routes the Warlord  used to transport his opium out of the country.  This was the man that the Arab was relying upon to arrange the first stage of his escape to Yemen with Cathy.  Though the Arab had never met the Warlord, he was sure that, for enough money, the Warlord would indeed be his “friend”.    

 

   Once he had seen to securing Cathy , the Arab  through Kehalis began  the necessary negotiations to meet with the Warlord.  As with everything else in this barren country, that meant spending hours  drinking tea and talking before any real business could be accomplished.  Here, to his annoyance, The Arab had to negotiate with these farmers simply for access to the Warlord himself.   He found it frustrating - and expensive- to  be forced to go through such underlings, but  had no choice.  As the talk dragged on into the night, The Arab increasingly begrudged  the time spent here in council with these opium farmers when his slave, Cathy, was only a few yards away.  It had been almost forty eight hours since he had last taken  her.   He was anxious to get back to the small room where he had left her.  Anxious to see - and feel- the effect the rope had  left on the soft flesh of Cathy’s cunt.  After two days of rope torture, he judged that she would be more submissive now and more willing to service him.  Memories  of how she had pleased him back at the cave began to fill his mind.  Distracted by those memory of Cathy’s tongue slavishly caressing his cock,  he was only  half  listening as Kehalis translated another long winded declaration from his  host. Those memories of Cathy were making his cock painfully hard.  Quietly, he shifted his legs to hid the obvious erection in his pants before he formed his reply.

 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

   It was hours later when the Arab finally returned to the small storeroom which had been set aside for him and his captive, a room he had requested because it was one of the few  in the two story dwelling which had a lock on the door.  Normally used  to store the family’s opium crop, it now held only a  half dozen small  crates, each holding around 1000 rounds of  Russian made small arms ammunition .  Cathy lay stretched out on her back on a blanket in front of a small pile of these crates.  Cathy’s hands had been untied from the rope which still encircled  her waist.  Each of her arms had been stretched out along opposite sides of the pile and then  retied  to the rope handle of  one of the heavy ammo crates at the back of the pile.   Unable to reach the  knots or to move the heavy crates, Kathy  had  eventually given up struggling against the ropes holding her and drifted off into an exhausted if uneasy  sleep on the hard stone floor.   Setting his lantern on the crates, the Arab stared down at  the burkha covered sleeping figure  before kneeling beside her and gently shaking her awake. 

 

  Cathy started out of her sleep without a sound. Her eyes glared at him, but she remained silent  as he removed the veil,  uncovering her face, and pulled the sodden gag from her mouth.  Straddling her, the Arab  gathered up the skirts of her burkha and carefully  pulled them over her bare legs, obviously intent on getting at  the nude body concealed beneath the shapeless garment.

 

  “ You  BASTARD!  Leave me ALONE!”

 

“ You are mine, slave. To use as I please.  You have no right- or power- to stop me from enjoying your body, slave.   Nor can  you stop me from planting my seed in your womb.  Soon you shall  bear me a son.   The slave son of a slave mother.”

 

  The thought of bearing this man ‘s child chilled Cathy’s soul.  To disguise her terror at that disgusting  thought, Cathy defiantly replied:
 

“ You Bastard!  Is that why you had them fuck me in the ass?  So you  wouldn’t get an Afghan bastard instead?”

 

“ Very good, slave.  Yes, exactly, so my slave would not have an Afghan bastard.  I shall  be the one to  make you pregnant, slave, not some dirty Pushtoon  pig.”

 

“  Damn you!  Why ?  Why do you hate me so much?  What have I done to you?”

 

“  I hate you because you are who you are, an American.   Once, I wished to be part of your American way of life.  I admired your wealth, your power. I was fascinated by your ways, especially by your women.  But after I experienced your ways, I saw that  there was nothing there for me.  Your way of life is an abomination to God. It is a return to the .. ....the jahiliyyah, the Godless barbarity.... the paganism....... which existed before the Prophet. It and you are  the enemy of the Faith.  I am a Believer, and I am an Arab.  Once God led my people to conquer the earth in his name.  Now, God has turned his face from us, from me, because you and your whores, the traitors to their Faith  like Saudi prince which you have set over us, have corrupted us with your blasphemous ways, your movies, and  your television.   For that, I hate you.  And I hate you for what you are.  A willful and arrogant woman, an abomination in the eyes of God and man.  You are my jihad.  In the name of God blessed be his name, I fight to destroy  the jahiliyyah  of your country’ by destroying the prideful, blasphemous woman that you were”

 

“ You ‘re insane!   Leave me ALONE!    YOU BASTARD!  LEAVE ME ALONE!”

 

“ No,  I am your Master!  YOU ARE MINE!”

 

“  I AM A PRISONER OF WAR... NOT YOUR SLAVE... GOD...  I HATE YOU.    I HOPE THAT I’M THERE TO SEE THEM WHEN THEY CATCH UP WITH YOU.  I WANT TO SEE YOU DIE, YOU BASTARD!”

 

  

   In response, the Arab roughly pulled the heavy black burkha higher,  exposing the shocking  red of Cathy’s shaven sex, swollen and angry from the rope. Underneath him, Cathy fought back as best she could, rocking from side to side, trying without success to throw him off her bound legs.  Helpless to stop him,  Cathy was in her frustration reduced to futilely screaming an endless, meaningless stream of profanities at him as he worked to strip her.   He wrestled the burkha  higher, progressively uncovering  Cathy’s flat stomach and then her bare breasts, the thick red nipples already hard.  Then, with a final mighty effort,  he pulled the multiple folds of the heavy burkha  entirely over the struggling woman’s head, baring her entire torso,  leaving only Cathy’s bound arms covered by the burkha’s blackness.  With her hands and feet bound, there was nothing Cathy could do to stop him. Her nude body  was once again totally exposed, totally vulnerable to the Arab’s hands and cock.  Her head leaned back against the thick folds of the burkha , forcing Cathy to look up into the Arab’s cruel eyes.  He sat astride her, his weight resting on her bare legs, staring down hungrily at her strong,  very feminine body.  She defiantly stared back at him, her eyes burning with her hatred, her fear, at least momentarily, outweighing her hatred.  She seethed at her own helplessness, at her inability to stop him from treating her body as his property.  He ran his hands slowly over her soft breasts and  then down over the flatness of  her stomach to  her waist.  There he untied the rope encircling her waist and discarded it along with the other smaller piece of rope, the one still soaked with her sweat and cunt’s juices.  Casually discarded the short piece of rope which had so tortured Cathy’s cunt over the last two days.  He shifted his position and continued down her body.  When his roving hands reached her still booted feet, he paused to  untie the ropes binding Cathy’s feet together.  As soon as one was free, Cathy cursed and tried to kick the Arab.   With a maddening smile, the Arab blocked her  kick with his arm and captured her foot.  As Cathy struggled helplessly on her back, he forced her leg to bend back until it’s booted foot just touched one of the crates, then tied that foot to the rope handle of  the ammo crates at the top of the pile.  Then he did the same with Cathy’s other booted foot.  That left her totally immobilized, trapped on her back, her body bent at the waist with her legs tied above her in an  open vee .   At the apex of that vee was her  abused cunt, the bare flesh  angry and swollen from the rope’s abrasive caresses.   The Arab knelt in front of her cunt. His hated face smiled down at Cathy from between her raised legs as his roving hands traveled slowly over the large, taunt calf muscles of her legs, moving inexorably downward towards her tender cunt.

 

  The Arab was fascinated by the sight laid out before him. Cathy’s shaven cunt was spread  out in front of him like a feast.  The effects of the cunt rope were clearly visible.  While skin remained unbroken, Cathy’s entire sex was a deep, angry red color in contrast to the pale white of the rest of her skin there. The soft cunt lips - where the rope had bitten most deeply into her- were swollen to at least twice their normal size, making her cunt look invitingly like a ripe fruit which had been split open.  Her clit was also a bright, angry  red,  so terribly swollen  that  it protruded like a little finger from the folds which usually concealed it.   The sight of her suffering cunt drew the Arab on.  He reached out and  gently ran his hand over the raw red flesh between her legs.

 

  Cathy flinched as his hand touched  her there.  An electric jot of pain shot through her  as he traced his fingers over the red, raw folds of her cunt’s outer lips.  Even his gentle touch was painful to her.  Inwardly, Cathy shuddered  as she realized just  how vulnerable she was right now and what he could do to her already extremely sore cunt.  The thought of his hard cock penetrating her sent a shudder through her bound body.  As if the Arab had read her thoughts, he began to hurt her, using the hard fingers of his hand to lightly slap  across her ultra sensitive cunt lips.  Cathy could not  suppress a small cry of pain  when his fingers  struck her.  Encouraged by her response, he used his thumb and two fingers to capture her  very red  clitoris and then  to squeeze the swollen, sore nub.  Cathy’s body  thrashed helplessly  under the pain as she struggled to keep silent.  A sharp flick across the clit’s tip with the fingernail of his other hand ended her silence.

 

“ AAGHEEEE!   YOU BASTARD....... STOP IT!”

 

“ But I am just beginning, slave.   “

 

  As he spoke, the Arab  pressed the thumb of his left hand against Cathy’s ultra sensitive clit  gripped by the thumb and fingers of his other hand.   He used that thumb to rub  the sensitive nub of  her clitoris  in a circle,  effecting  a painful stimulation that , to Cathy’s shame and anger, aroused her despite the pain.

 

“ AGHREE!.. NO..NOT THERE  ...  STOP IT..  DON‘T DO THIS TO ME ! “

 

  The pain grew more intensive as did the pleasure as he bore down harder. Even the lightest pressure on the swollen, abused flesh of her cunt was  unendurable.  What he was doing now  was sheer torture. The thought of what his cock would feel like pounding against her clit sent shivers through her. 

 

“  Perhaps I will spare you , slave,.  Satisfying  me need not be painful.  You can service me another way. With your mouth.  Spare yourself the pain.  Beg your Master to be allowed to service his cock with your worthless mouth, slave!”

 

  Memories of the time in the cave filled Cathy’s mind as he spoke.  Memories of her humiliation flooded over her.  Images of crawling at his feet, even of slavishly sucking his cock while he petted her head  like she was some pet animal came unbidden to  Cathy‘s mind.  It sickened her that those terrible images excited her more than they repelled her.  And it frightened her.  Unable to restrain herself, Cathy gave him the one answer she knew would enrage him:

 

“  GO TO HELL, YOU BASTARD!”

 

  His reply was direct. He slapped her hard on the clit with the edge of his hand, driving a wedge of pain through her body directly into her brain.   Cathy screamed.  She watched through her tears as the Arab stood and stripped off his clothes.  When he was nude, he stripped the wide leather belt out of the lopes of his borrowed Pushtoon trousers, and wrapped it around and around his right hand. until only about six inches of the belt hung loose.  Then he knelt in front of the terrified female officer.  He stared intently at the vulnerable red slit between her legs.

 

“  We shall see how brave you are now, whore!”

 

  He raised his arm and brought the tip of the belt down between her legs with all the force his arm could muster.  It landed at an angle across the dark red of her swollen cunt lips, cutting into the already abused flesh like a red hot poker.  Before Cathy could even scream, the second blow had landed. This one struck her directly on her clitoris, the leather belt crushing the highly sensitive nub.  The pain roared through her bound body. Then Cathy finally  found her voice.

 

“” ARRGHEEEE!..... ARRGHEEE!..... NO... DON’T....... ARRGHEEEE!.. BASTARD..... BASTARD.... NO.. PLEASEE... .. ARGHEEEE! ”

 

  He paused briefly and then brought the belt down again and again.  The sound of the slap of the belt’s tip against female flesh alternated with Cathy’s increasingly hoarse screams of pain as the Arab worked his way  up and down her exposed cunt, paying particular attention to her clit.   Slowly and methodically, he used the belt on her cunt, employing it  to viciously attack the very center of Cathy femininity.  His blows quickly turned her already raw flesh an even deeper, angrier shape of  red.  Already too sensitive to bear even the gentlest touch,  her cunt lips and clitoris now radiated  waves of raw pain, channeling them through her bound body to overloaded her tired mind. Sobs alternated with and then replaced screams as the belt worked its way up and down Cathy’s  raw, pain racked cunt.  The pain totally filled Cathy‘s consciousness , driving all  thought from her mind, leaving only raw pain there.  It was unendurable.  Cathy felt as if her cunt was being consumed by fire.  Tentacles of that fire shot from her cunt upward, moving in waves to explode in her overloaded brain.  Each time the belt struck her burning cunt,  the fire grew worse, far worse than she had ever imagined or desired. The pain was rapidly eroding the foundations of her sanity.  Eventually, Cathy  broke, screaming out  all the words she thought the Arab wanted to hear, offering him anything if only he would make the pain stop.

 

“ ARGHEEEE!...  PLEASEE MASTER.. ARGHEEEE!.. STOP.. PLEASE ... ENOUGH...I’LL SUCK YOUR COCK... LET ME TASTE YOUR CUM IN MY MOUTH... OOHHEEE!...  PLEASEE..  ANYTHING...FUCK MY ASS.. FUCK MY MOUTH... OHHEEE!..ANYTHING.. MASTER.. ANYTHING BUT THIS! ”

 

   

 But the Arab was no longer prepared to be satisfied by words or even by the feeling of her soft tongue on his cock.   Aroused beyond endurance by the sight of Cathy’s body reacting to  the pain he was inflicting on her, the Arab fell to his knees between Cathy’s legs and brutally sank his cock deep into the swollen mass of Cathy’s puffy, red cunt.  He brutally raped  her in a continuance of  the torture, now using his cock instead of the belt as his instrument  of torture. His intent remained the same, to gain his pleasure by inflicting  pain upon his female captive.  A brief cry of surprise and pain escaped Cathy’s lips as his cock brutally filled her, penetrating  up to his pubic hairs with that first thrust.  He hunched over her bent form, his hands gripping her firm breasts like handles as he repeatedly and with all his strength plowed his cock into her cunt. He rutted into her with all the force his body could muster.  Like a madman. he  fucked her, using his rock hard cock as a weapon to beat down her resistance. Repeatedly he stabbed her with it.  His cock penetrated into Cathy’s most intimate depths,.  His cockhead brutally  battered  against her uterus, demanding entrance to her womb.  At the same time that his cock was invading her womb, his hip bone was  battering against  her swollen, ultra sensitive clit, the force of his thrusts and the abrasive effect of his wiry pubic hairs proving almost as painful as the belt to Cathy’s tortured nub.  With every nerve ending already on fire from the lashing she had received, the impact of his jackhammer thrusts were nothing short of torture. But this was a torture which  inflicted more than simple pain on her. Again Cathy began to feel the unwanted, heat fill her. It steadily grew with each brutal stroke of his cock, filling her with his heat. Each of his thrusts was more powerful,  more brutal, than the last as he fought to pound the captive female officer into submission.  Never had the Arab taken more pleasure from a woman-- whether willing or unwilling.  The feeling of her hot, swollen cunt  tightly gripping his cock was driving him into a frenzy.   As he brutally impaled her on his cock, he could  feel her firm, muscular body softening in response, opening itself up for him, surrendering to the force of his attack. He could  feel the citadel of her womb beginning to give way to the battering ram that was his cock. 

 

    The force of his initial  attack had knocked the breath out of Cathy.   Trapped on her back between his weight and the unyielding stone floor, she had to struggle simply to breath,  struggle to pull a little air into her lungs before the force of his thrusts knocked it out again.  Her entire cunt was in agony. She felt as if sandpaper was being used against her clit. The cock that was being driven so deeply inside her  felt impossibly huge to Cathy; it felt like a fencepost  the size of her arm was impaling her, not a man’s cock. He was stretching her womb beyond endurance.  Her cunt was on fire, and the flames were about to devour her. The combined sensations of her pain and  the fullness of his penetration drove Cathy  beyond  arousal  just as the belt had taken  her beyond pain.  The unholy combination  was like a white hot force consuming her.  Its intensity threatened to drive her mad. 

 

  Above her, the Arab fought to maintain control of himself. He forced himself to slow the pace of his wild thrusts into the captive blonde. Finally, he made himself stop his thrusts altogether, made himself remain totally still, his hard cock buried deeply inside Cathy. He felt his cock soaking  in the wet heat inside her cunt. He savored the grip of  her sex, the way her swollen flesh  seemed to squeeze his cock.  Eager for more tactile contact,, he used  his hands to  knead Cathy’s breasts, his strong fingers sinking deeply into the firm flesh of her breasts, squeezing and crushing them.  Desperately, he willed himself to slow down to prolong his rape of Cathy.   Eyes barely able to focus, he stared down at Cathy’s beautiful pain filled face and  whispered:

 

 “ Yes.. feel my cock, slave.  Feel your Master’s cock.  Feel it fill you with my seed!  You are mine!”

 

  Each word cut into Cathy like a knife.  She dumbly shook her head as she lifted her tear filled eyes to stare dumbly up at him. The conflict inside her was evident in her face.  One part of her wanted only  to surrender to the power of the cock filling her, to open her body and her soul to him and submit to his brutal domination. As she had submitted in the cave.   That would, she knew, bring more than just an end to the unendurable pain.  It would bring her pleasure. It was a  humiliating, masochistic  pleasure, but one she had learned to crave during her captivity.  Another part of her rebelled at giving in to this perverse pleasure. A voice inside her screamed  not to give up.  To fight him for her soul, if not her body.  What was left of her pride and spirit -  as well as her intense hatred of the Arab for bringing her to this humiliating state- urged her  to fight.  She was a soldier, she told herself, she must resist!  Even if she could not deny him her body, she could at least deny him her soul. That was what the angry little voice inside her brain screamed at her to do. 

 

   As she struggled with her emotions, Cathy felt his cock began to move inside her once more. Slowly his cock picked up speed until his cock was once again brutally pounding into her like a human jackhammer.  The burning in her cunt grew worse.  Her whole body now felt as if it were on fire.  Trapped between his powerful thrusts and the fires of her  pain, Cathy  felt as if she was being consumed. Her body was drenched in sweat. She could hardly breath, hardly think. Her cunt felt as if it were about to explode.  She could not stand it a second longer.  Hating herself - and him- for what she was saying, Cathy nevertheless  could not stop herself:

 

“  AHHH!   PLEASE.... PLEASE..LET ME CUM... YES...AHHH!  yes.. ... finish it.. finish it..  you brown bastard... you SOB... you Bastard..AAAHHH!”

 

    The effect of her words on the Arab was instantaneous.  They spurred him on, driving him to again increase the frenzy of his thrusts, driving his cock  harder and deeper into Cathy.  His cock filled her totally as her uterus gave way, opening herself to him in the most intimate of ways.  All the muscles of Cathy’s body went rigid as she felt his cock penetrate her last defense, felt the hot flood of his cum flooding into her womb.  Her strong young body convulsed  as she too climaxed in response,  every muscle in her strong body  contracting as a powerful climax swept over her.  Then, just as quickly, the tension drained from Cathy’s strong body, leaving her limp beneath him, every powerful muscle slack, totally exhausted  by the painful  intensity  of the  ordeal  he had put her through as well as by the  power of  her climax.  Cathy closed her eyes, feeling  tremendous relief at the end of her ordeal, but  also feeling an  intense disgust at  herself for the way she had  given in to the Arab.   Self loathing swept over her as quickly - and completely- as had the climax. She was filled with disgust at her own weakness and with greater disgust at the  masochistic  pleasure she had received. She did not understand  how she could have reacted like that.  How, she ask herself, could she find pleasure in her own rape?   That was not, she vowed, like her.  She wasn’t “that” sort of woman. Tears welled up in her eyes as Cathy once again bitterly resolved not to let this happen next time.  Next time?  Oh God, she thought,  there will be a next time!

 

  The Arab collapsed onto her legs, his body drained by the force of his ejection. He let his cock remain inside Cathy as it slowly shrank, savoring the warmth and grip of her cunt even now.  He was sated.  His physical satisfaction was complete.  But  he remained dissatisfied with Cathy’s continued resistance.    Now the Arab’s thoughts  turned to a  way  to break this slave‘s will as well as to punish her for defiance and to  mark her as his, his  possession.   Something that would never  let her forget that she was his slave.  Something that would  mark her as a slave forever.  And something Western, something she would understand and fear. For long minutes he stared down at Cathy’s tear and sweat stained face, his hands  still moving possessively over her warm, sweat covered skin as he wrestled with this in his mind. Then a smile came to his face as the solution came to him. 

 

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

    The next morning, he locked Cathy in the small room and  went to join his host for the morning prayers. There he was surprised to be told that  a meeting with the Ghanzi Warlord had already been arranged.  The speed in which the arrangements had been made rang multiple alarm bells in the Arab’s mind, but there was no going back now.  In a few hours, he and Kehalis were in their host’s Toyoto pickup being driven to  the meeting by one of their host‘s sons. Accompanying them was another man who had been introduced to him as  the general’s representative. Twice, they were stopped at checkpoints, both  manned by  heavily armed Poshtoons led by the dreaded bearded infidels,  American Special Forces soldiers.  Though the  papers carried by the Warlord’s lieutenant  easily got them through the checkpoints, the Arab was very  surprised to see that the search for Cathy had reached this region. He had thought he would be safe here.  He was still mulling over what this meant when they arrived at the meeting site, another farmhouse fortress.  

 

    The Warlord was a small man, even for a Poshtoon.  Dark and damper with a full beard, he was dressed  in mufti for this meeting rather than his ornate general’s uniform. Still, there was no mistaking  the air of command he possessed, or the  subservient attitude  of  those around him.  As always, the meeting began with tea and small talk, with Kehalis translating as usual.  But the Arab quickly  discovered that he and the Warlord had no need of Kehalis. They shared a common language. Both spoke English, like so many educated men in the third world.   Negotiations moved rapidly after this discovery eliminated the  translator.  It also gave the Arab great satisfaction to see Kehalis, who spoke no English,   reduced to a dumb spectator, a pleasant reversal of their usual relationship.   As bluntly and as quickly as possible for one of his culture, the Arab stated his desires,  transportation to Iran for himself and one other, a woman.   The reply he received was not the one he had expected.

 

“ This woman.   Is she the  Amerikan  woman  from the  helicopter?”

 

“ Of what matter is that?  She is my property, given to me by the hand of God the Merciful, an infidel taken in battle.  By the Qur’an she is my slave .”

 

“  That is so. But I will not take her to Iran. It is too dangerous. The Amerikans are looking everywhere for their woman. They are mad with rage.   They  have torn apart  the countryside near the border searching for her.   Now they are here, hundreds of them with their mercenary pigs.  Even I have to smile and show them papers to travel in my own land. There have been a hundred battles as the Amerikans stuck their long noses everywhere in their search.  No one has been able to stand against them with their accursed bombs.  The infidels have killed or imprisoned hundreds of believers.  Including the others from your band. All those lost because of a woman. It is madness! I will not be destroyed because of an infidel woman.  I will have nothing to do with her.“

 

“ They have captured the Poshtoons who accompanied me?  What do they know ?”

 

“ Martyred mostly, may they find their reward in paradise. But three were taken as they tried to reach their homes across the border. They talked.  The Amerikans know about the Mullah.  The Pakistani Army has arrested him. I do not know if our friend can keep him from being handed over to the Amerikans. They have  names and pictures of the fighters with you, including  this one. “ The General gestured carefully with his eyes at Kehalis  as the Poshtoon watched uncomprehendingly.  “ The Amerikans know little about you. They have, God be praised,  a bad drawing, but no name. They know about the cave you hid in. They might have found something there. I do not know. Who knows what they can do with their science and machines.  For  our mutual friend , I will help you leave this land.  But the dangers will be high- and so  will the cost.  Very high.  The girl I will not transport for any amount of money.  It would be better  if she were killed, and her body never found. “

 

  “ Then there is nothing to worry about. No one- except our friend- knows who I am.  Once I am safely gone to my home far away, there will be nothing to betray you.  Or, God willing,  there will be nothing from me. The three men with me are another matter  Even if they go with me to Iran,  they have nowhere else to go from there but back to their village  and into the arms of the Amerikans. Their capture would be of little danger to me, but great danger to you.  I leave them to you to decide what must be done about them. It is of no consequence to me what happens to them. Your fee I can pay- once I have reached  Iran.  I can also pay more, if the woman comes with me.   It is safer for you if I take her far away, to a place where no  infidel will ever hear her story.  For even the dead can tell tales.  What if they found her body ?  Even if   hidden , they might still find it.  Only God who knows all knows what secrets  the Amerikans can learn from her body with their blasphemous science.   And only God in his infinite wisdom knows what vengeance they might take if they discover that she is dead. “

 

 “ It is not possible.  You only.  The fee is one million dollars, in Amerikan dollars.  Half now. The rest when you reach   Iran.    You  speak truly about the three fighters.  I shall take care of them. They will leave with you, but, God willing, they will not reach Iran.“

 

    The Arab let out a small sigh at the Warlord’s response. On one hand, by beginnings negotiations, the Warlord had revealed that he probably did mean to give him safe passage rather then turn him over to the Americans.  Better to help me both to protect their mutual friend, and because  there was more money to be made in  helping him than in betraying him.  Despite the promises he had made to Kehalis, the Arab did not care about what happened to  the Poshtoons.  However, he did care about what happened to his slave.  His escape would cost him Cathy. That he would not accept.   His mind raced desperately through his options. But, he had to acknowledge that  none was likely to succeed if what the general had said about the search was true.  The Arab’s mind ran along two parallel tracks,  on the one hand coolly negotiating  about the cost and terms of  his escape while at the same time desperately trying to find  a way to keep Cathy his. 

 

  They bargained through the afternoon before arriving at agreement.  By then, the Arab had  formulated the outline of a plan to deal with the fate of Cathy.  It was a daring plan, but one which required him to make a painful decision .  Difficult as it was for him to accept, it was even more difficult to gain the Warlord’s agreement.  It was long after dark before the Warlord finally agreed- for an additional consideration.  The Arab did not begrudge him the added money, even though  he knew that the Warlord stood to make an additional and substantial profit from this plan.   Having experienced wealth all his life, money was of little matter to him except as a means to an end.   What mattered to him now was his continued possession of Cathy.   

 

    It was near midnight before  he was ready to leave.  He and the General stood by the waiting pickup, taking their leave.   That was when he brought up  a subject that had  now become a very urgent  matter to him.   Hurriedly, he  found a piece of paper and drew on it two scrawls, one a short straight line and the second appearing to be the letter C.

 

“   In the name of  God the Merciful,  I must beg another  favor of you , General.   A small one for a man of your power.   Can you have  an ironworker  forge these two for me, each perhaps about  25 centimeters long and narrow in width.   Preferably in a good quality iron,  each with a short handle.  And have it brought to me before I depart for Iran.  I will be eternally grateful.”

 

  The Afghan Warlord looked at the piece of paper with a puzzled expression. “ I do not understand. What is this?”

 

 “ It is a surprise, General.  A  big surprise.”

 

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

   The next two days while he waited for the Warlord’s fee  to be collected and forwarded passed very quickly for the Arab.   The delay was inherent in the need to move the money through channels which could not be traced.  Conventional bank transfers were out of the question. Instead, the Arab’s family made use of  a loose network of money lenders and  exchangers covering the Middle East and Africa.  Over the centuries, this informal network of money men  had evolved throughout the Arab world, adhering to the Qur‘an‘s prohibition against charging interest but still growing rich by charging a “fee‘  for their services instead of interest.  The network depended upon bonds of trust between  money lenders built over generations rather than upon paper trails or regulators. Once money was put into the hands of  one of them, that sum- minus their fees-  could be  covertly transferred  from country to country and from money lender to money lender  in a tangled maze that left no trail to lead to its ultimate destination.   Part of the Arab’s money was destined for  the Afghani lender favored by the Warlord.  Once in his hands, the money would no doubt disappear, only to  reappear eventually in  a numbered Swiss bank account. The other half of the money went to a money lender in eastern Iran who would hold it until the Arab called for it personally.  

 

   While the Arab waited, he spent almost all of the time  in the small storeroom with Cathy.   Aside from his daily prayers, he did little each day other than rape and torture her.  To his surprise and rage,  the Arab found that Cathy’s will had not  been broken once and for all by that prior evening’s intense abuse of her cunt.  Her will to resist him had returned once again by the time he got back from his meeting with the Warlord.  And it continued to return, again and again, after each agony and humiliation he inflicted upon her. Unlike Cathy’s total, if temporary, submission in the cave after the shock of her anal gang rape, the blonde female officer’s will  now proved to be more resilient.  Despite the suffering he inflicted upon her,  Cathy steadfastly refused to  once again call him Master.  She would, under torture, submitted her body to his, but not her will. She continued to deny him the satisfaction of acknowledging him as her Master to his increasing frustration.  Unable to resist openly, she opposed him with her own form of guerilla warfare,  doggedly  fighting  the battle of wills that raged between them since her capture.  Recognizing the Arab’s advantage of power, Cathy resisted passively. The Arab found this passive  resistance  more frustrating than a straightforward battle.  In his mind, he held overcoming her physically to be an easy task, since, after all, he was a man and she but a  woman, despite her strong physique.  But she denied him that direct confrontation. Instead, she drove him to a frenzy of rage by what he perceived to be her irrational insults and  her refusal to accept the reality of his world and  her place in it.  What was especially maddening to him was the way Cathy  repeatedly goaded him, denying  the fact of her slavery and  refusing to address him as “Master“.   It seemed to the puzzled Arab as if she was deliberately daring him to hurt her.  It was as if she welcomed the pain he was inflicting on her.  This made him feel vaguely uneasy. He feared that somehow he was losing control,  that  his slave was somehow controlling him.   In his frustration,  the Arab became even more vicious, striking back at Cathy  with new and  increasingly painful forms of bondage.   He went to these extremes partly to demonstrate to Cathy  his power over her and partly to reassure himself that he was still the one in command here.  In doing so, the Arab discovered that the pleasure of  inflicting pain on Cathy had become an addiction.  The more pain he inflicted on Cathy, the more he needed to inflict to achieve his own satisfaction.  So, aside from short periods when she was allowed - under his watchful eye-to relieve herself and to wash  her nude body, Cathy spent the entire time tightly bound in  near total immobility, her body painfully bent and stretched  beyond human endurance as he variously  hogtied and suspended her.  Whatever the position into which he bound her, he ensured that Cathy’s bondage was intensely painful and that it  left her cunt and ass hole vulnerable to his cock as well as his cane and leather belt. 

 

   For Cathy these days were a nightmare of pain and humiliation.  Of the two, Cathy discovered that it was easier to deal with the pain. And  more rewarding in that the pain brought her repeated orgasms.  Pain had become her familar, if not her ally.  The humiliation was harder to deal with.  The reality that she had repeatedly climaxed  from the rape and pain he had inflicted on her totally shattered Cathy’s self respect and striped her of her pride.   It filled her with  shame to realize that she was becoming - perhaps had already become- a pain slut.   Cathy begun to realize that she was, by her refusal to speak the words the Arab sought,  inviting him to inflict more pain upon her.  At some level, she knew that, knew she  was courting the cruel  bite of his belt, his cane, his pliers, and his cock.. And that  frightened her beyond words.  But she remained defiant.  She told herself that she would not surrender to the Arab and  call him her Master  because it was her duty. But that was at least a partial lie. She was  as unable to stop herself  from finding  pleasure in the pain he was inflicting upon her as he was.  Cathy was trapped in a vicious circle.  Each refusal to speak the words he wanted to hear brought Cathy more pain.   And that pain then fed her hunger for even more pain in a cycle that went on for days. And through it all, Cathy welcomed the pain, lying to herself, telling herself that the pain would be the fire which  would cleanse her of her weakness. That it would be  the fire that would make her  strong enough to endure her captivity.  But even in her denial, Cathy realized that the pain was a two edged sword, one as capable of destroying her as of saving her.

   It was during the second day of Cathy‘s bondage hell that the iron work the Arab had requested from the Warlord arrived at the farmhouse.  When the package arrived, a nude Cathy hung suspended from the  rafters, her sweat soaked body criss-crossed with red stripes,  the marks of the pain he had inflicted upon her.  A network of  stripes of varying shades of red covered her nude body in a complex network,  each stripe representing a stroke of  his belt or of his cane laid across her strong back, over the soles of her bare feet, across her flat stomach , and  even across her  firm, tender breasts.  The twin nipples  of those breasts stood unusually erect. They were red and swollen, still throbbing with pain from the crushing grip of the Arab’s pliers.  He had used their serrated steel jaws to stretch as well as crush both of her tender nubs as he had penetrated her cunt with his fingers, then his whole hand, the wet obscene sounds they produced in her cunt as humiliating to Cathy as the painful feel of fullness they produced was exciting.  She hung suspended above the bare stone floor, swaying slightly,  her  lower legs bent  back and tied behind her muscular thighs. leaving her knees hanging less than  a foot above the dirty floor. With no support from her legs, all of Cathy’s weight  rested on her strong arms.  The Arab had tied each of Cathy’s wrists  to a piece of rope hanging from  rafter, leaving her suspended, her arms spread in a wide “V“ above her head.  For long stretches of time, she hung limp and exhausted from those ropes, her arms painfully bearing her full weight. That suspension made it almost impossible for her to breath. Periodically,  the  biceps of her muscular arms would tense into knots as Cathy fought against  the pull of gravity,  struggling to lift her body just enough  to take the weight off  the exhausted muscles of her diaphragm and allow her lungs to fill with one more breath. Strong as she was, Cathy’s muscles burned with exhaustion from the hours she had spent in his suspension. Each breath of air required an increasingly  desperate effort on her part as her muscles grew more and more exhausted.  When the eye traveled down Cathy’s  sweat soaked, striped  body it was inevitably drawn to  the apex of her bound legs, to Cathy’s cunt .  It was clearly exposed by her half open legs,   a bright red color and  obscenely swollen  from the Arab’s abuse.  Her cunt  glistened  obscenely in the harsh light of the lantern,  covered by an erotic  mixture of  Cathy cunt juices and her sweat.  Also visible in mixture was the trickle of whitish man cum which slowly leaked out of her  open, red cunt lips, the leavings of  the Arab’s last rape.

 

    After he had used a pair of pliers on her nipples to turn her twin breasts into pain globes, the Arab had taken Cathy, raped her as she hung there helpless and in extreme distress.  Desperate to  give her exhausted arms even a moment’s respite, Cathy had willingly wrapped her bound legs around him and held on as hard  as she could.  As she gripped him with her leg muscles, her cunt muscles tightened around his cock, squeezing it like a vise. The pleasure was as intense to her as it was to the Arab.  For a few  moments,  they  had shared  intense pleasure. The Arab as his cock was gripped and milked by the tightest cunt he had ever experienced, and Cathy as she  received some moments of  relief as she supported her weight on his hips , allowing her to fill her lungs with air while his cock  deliciously filled her pain filled cunt.  Cathy  received even more pleasure as the tight grip of her legs held her red, abuse clit hard against his thrusting cock. Trapped in a prolonged state of intense arousal  from his belt and the pliers‘ steel jaws,  Cathy was desperate for  relief,  any relief.  The friction against her clit from his moving cock quickly drove Cathy over the edge. She could not stop herself . She came hard as he thrust into her,  her climax frightening in its intensity. 

 

    The intense pleasure filled her for one long wonderful moment but then left her as abruptly as it had come, bringing Cathy’s spirits crashing down  and leaving  her with a foul aftertaste  of intense shame.   That feeling of  shame  grew in intensity as, after he had pulled out and left her  hanging there, Cathy could feel his cum slowly trickling out of her cunt onto the insides of her thighs and  eventually drying into a sticky white patch there.

 

   At the moment the Arab ignored her, sitting  at a small table set in front of her to unwrap the package.   He carefully examined the two small pieces of iron, one a simple line, the second shaped like the letter “C”.   Then  he weighed them in his hand, pleased with their heavy, solid  character.   Finally satisfied, he reached across the table for a can of sterno, opened it, and set the jelly like substance alight.   Carefully he balanced the two pieces of iron on the top of  the can, their ends directly above the blue flame.  He watched the two pieces of iron for some time until they slowly began to change color  before he rose  and picked up a dipper from the bucket of  water by the table. He grabbed a fist full of  Cathy’s short blonde hair to being her head up and then threw the dipper full of nearly freezing water  directly into Cathy’s face.  When her  burning eyes had  focused on his, he spoke, the amusement evident in his voice:

 

 “  I want you awake, slave.  I have something to show you.  Something very interesting. “

 

  Warily Cathy watched as he  stood behind the small table and picked up the pliers he had used on her earlier.  Gingerly, he used it to grip the short handle of the straight piece of hot iron. as Cathy watched, he lifted the iron and  held it up to her. then, when he knew that he had her attention, he slowly pressed it against the top of the wooden table.   There was  the smell of burning wood.  When he lifted the  iron, Cathy could see a straight, narrow black line about an inch long had been burned into the surface.  The Arab returned that iron to the sterno and used the pliers to pick up the iron which was  shaped like a “C”. Carefully, he maneuvered its edge until it was overlapping one end of the straight line.  He pressed it into the table’s surface and held it there for a moment. When he removed it, the “C” had been burned in to the table top as well, underneath and overlapping the first line.

 

  “ That is the letter “H” in my language, in  Arabic.  It is my mark.  I shall burn this into your skin..... just as I have burned it into the wood.  It will mark you  as mine....as my slave....as mine  for as long as you live! ”

 

  Cathy replied in a voice so weak that he had to strain to hear it.

 

“ Not your’s..... not slave..  POW.  Harper, Kathy  C. Captain, United States Army , .. 409.. 6.. 67.. ”

 

“  Do you not understand, slave?   I am going to BRAND you!  Mark you like an animal.  Brand you as my White mare.  Brand you because you ... ARE MINE!  BECAUSE  I AM YOUR   MASTER!”

 

  Only now did the reality of what he was preparing to do  finally sink into Cathy’s exhausted brain.  He was going to BRAND her, to burn  a permanent mark into her skin. A mark she would bear for the rest of her life.  His mark!

 

“ God... NO!... NOT THAT!.... PLEASE!.... NO! ”

 

 “ The only question, slave , is not if but where I shall brand you.   High on your back perhaps?  Or on your ass?   No, slave, not either of those places. I want you to be able to see my mark. I want it to be a reminder to you of my power over you. On your breast perhaps?   No.  There is only one place.  ON YOUR WHORE’S CUNT!”

 

“  GOD, NO... . not there! PLEASE!  NO!”

 

  But the Arab ignored her protests as he began to prepare her for the branding. First he piled several of the heavy ammo crates on either side of Cathy. Then he tied  each of her legs to the rope handle of the bottom crate, spreading and immobilizing her legs.  He knelt between her legs and ran his hand over the short stubble that had begun to appear  on Cathy’s shaven cunt.   He drew his knife and  knelt between her open legs. He used one hand to scrape Cathy’s own sweat off her abdomen  and rub it into the stubble as an improvised shaving cream. After a moment’s thought, he also scrapped some of his cum off her thighs and  added it to the sweat. Then he began to scrape off the  stubble of her pubic hair with the sharp edge of  the knife, stopping several times to gather more sweat and cum to use as lubricate the blade’s path.  Cathy gave out a soft moan as the knife moved slowly over her cunt, her back arching in response as she hung in her bonds.  Soon her pubic area was once again smooth and hairless as well as warm and soft to his touch .  He stepped back to retrieve the  first iron.

 

“ GOD..... you’re going to do it.. God no...YOU BASTARD... LEAVE ME ALONE!  LEAVE ME ALONE!”

 

 “ Your God will not help you now.  If you want mercy, pray to me, as your Master”

 

  At his words, Cathy looked at him for a moment, her eyes burning with a mixture of hatred and desire. Then she  turned her head away; her silence gave him his answer.  She still refused to call him Master, even now, not even to save herself from his brand.   Whether it was her pride or  her growing addiction  to  pain  that motivated her, even Cathy could not know for sure.  She only knew that she  was determined that she would never again call him Master.  She knew that  this  meant more and more terrible  pain from the Arab, but  she did not care.   Indeed,  she  welcomed it although Cathy could never admit that, even to herself.

 

   He put the fingers of his left hand lightly against her leg. He could feel Cathy trembling. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered the red hot iron toward her soft skin.  He felt her body stiffened as the iron made contact. He pressed it into her skin, holding it against her for a count of three.  When he pulled it away, he  had left a straight line an inch long, red in color and getting darker by the second , positioned about  three or four inches above her clit.  He was pleased to see that there had been no charring of the skin. He paused to watch the brand take shape on her skin.

 

 “ Good.. Good.   Though I think perhaps I may use this iron on you a second time to thicken the stroke.  What do you think, slave? “

 

  Cathy did not reply to his casual but chilling  comment.  She was too busy biting into her lower lip to suppress the shaking of her body. Tears streamed down her face. The pain as the hot iron was applied had been unbelievably intense, though of mercifully short duration. As the nerve endings in the effected skin were cauterized, the pain had disappeared, though the pain would soon reappear as her body struggled to cope with the brand. But for the moment, it was shock rather than pain that engulfed Cathy. 

 

  That changed as the Arab returned the first iron to the fire and used his pliers to pick up the second,  “C” shaped iron.  He held it a few inches from her face, the heat coming from it so intense that Cathy could feel it.  Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened to speak, to scream, but no words came from her- only a soft strangled cry from deep in her throat. 

 

  He used  one finger  of his left hand to lift one of the tears streaming  down Cathy’s face. As Cathy watched  he held that finger just above the red hot iron, turning it slowly until the tear dropped of its own weight off  his fingers and  onto the iron.  Cathy watched her tear disappear in a brief hiss. 

 

“  How fitting.  Like your old life , burned away in the fire of my jihad.  With this  iron, I make you my slave  forever.  Not soldier...not prisoner... slave.”

 

  He knelt in front of her.  As he raised the hot iron to her cunt, Cathy’s exhausted body went into a frenzy,  every muscle of her very strong yet very feminine  body visibly straining against the ropes,  her sweaty  skin  rippling as the lantern light defined the peaks and valleys of her struggling body in alternating patterns of light and shadow.

 

“  NO!.. GET AWAY FROM ME.. YOU BASTARD.. I HATE YOU .. I”LL KILL YOU ....GET AWAY.. LEAVE ME ALONE!  NO!.. NO!”

 

  But the ropes held despite her frantic struggles.  He held the hot iron still just above her skin as she   struggled against the ropes, her body swaying as her arms fought for purchase on the ropes holding them.  As he waited for her to stop struggling, the Arab held the hot iron so close to her skin that Cathy could feel the heat. It drove her on in her hopeless struggle to escape.  Calmly, the Arab waited for her to tire, and, as he waited,  savored the sight of her magnificent body futilely struggling against her bonds, every muscle  clearly defined as she  desperately fought his bondage.   When Cathy struggle finally ended and her body fell still, exhausted by her struggles, he carefully lined up the “C” of the iron  under the line of the first brand and firmly pressed the iron into her soft skin. He held it there for several seconds as  Cathy’s body went rigid, her bladder emptying itself, spewing her  hot piss onto the stone floor as she screamed like a Banshee in her pain.   But with the pain came something else. Yet another climax shook Cathy’s  bound body.   She had climaxed from the pain alone.

 

“ AARRGGHHEEEEEE!”

 

 

 He pulled the iron  away, leaving the new mark burned in red into her skin , its top merging with the first brand to produce a perfect representative of the Arabic letter “H”.   His  mark of  ownership had been burned into her skin. There was no way she could ever rid herself of it. It was there forever!.  Lovingly, he ran his finger over the  raised, red letter, well pleased with his work.  He raised his knife and pressed the flat of the long steel blade against the new brand, the cold metal of his knife drawing the heat from the wound, stabilizing the burn at its current level.

 

  Cathy hung limply in the ropes, too drained now from  fatigue and the onset of shock to struggle any longer.   All her strength,  seemed to drain out of her body, her muscles turning to water.  Overwhelmed by her exhaustion, the sobs shaking her, and the weight hanging on her diaphragm,  Cathy found the effort required to breath to be more than she could manage.  She became lightheaded from the lack of oxygen.  All she wanted  was to be left alone. The  knife at the junction of her legs was perversely a source of tremendous relief to Cathy. The coolness of the metal pressed against her brand  seemed to draw the heat - and with it the pain- out of her tortured  cunt,  But, it was a short lived comfort. As soon as  the Arab removed his knife , the pain began again, a dull throbbing sensation that seemed to come directly from her clit.

 

  Cathy  did not know how long she hung there, her head back as she panted for breath, tears streaming down her face, sobs periodically racking her body, her cunt throbbing .   It seemed an eternity, but was in reality a matter of two or three minutes.  The next thing she knew was the feeling of the Arab’s hands on her bare breasts. She reluctantly raised her head in response only to find no one in front of her.  Then the familiar feeling of his hard cock  probing against  the sphincter of her ass hole told Cathy all she needed to know. He was going to sodomize her again!  Fear filled her. But with the fear came a desire for the pain, the source of the sexual satisfaction she had begun to crave.  She did not think she could endure another sodomy, but that did not stop her from baiting him. She knew that her words could only anger him and goad him on to rape her ass .  But she screamed them out for that very reason.

 

  “ OHH.. BASTARD...  YOU‘RE NOT MAN ENOUGH TO BE MY MASTER... OOHHH... YOU‘RE A .........AAGGHRRREEEE!!”

 

 Angrily the Arab gripped and twisted her swollen, sore nipples, sending another wave of pain crashing through Cathy as he  whispered in her ear, his breath hot against her sweaty skin.

 

 “  You know the proper way to ask a favor of your Master, slave.   Call me as Master !   Beg me to let you use your mouth to pleasure me! ”

 

  For a moment, Cathy almost responded as he wished. Almost called him Master. But something within her wouldn’t let her.  Instead she  responded in a way she knew would anger him.  It made no sense even to Cathy.   But she could not help herself as she replied:

 

“  You‘re nothing but a coward, you bastard... you‘ll never.. NEVER, be my Master!”

 

 “ Those are not the words that I wish to hear, slave.”

 

  With those words, Cathy felt his cock penetrate her, felt it began to impale her. Her body responded instinctively. She clinched her butt muscles, trying desperately  to hold the star shaped opening  closed.  But after her other sodomies, her sphincter was too weak, and her strength already exhausted by her earlier struggles. She could not keep his cock out.  Cathy felt him penetrate her, sink deep into her ass. The burning pain began in earnest then.  She tried to raise herself up to escape his cock, the exhausted muscles of her arms struggling to pull her weight up off his cock.  But he grabbed Cathy by her two, sweat slick breasts, his hard fingers finding and capturing her erect nipples, and used her breasts as handles to pull Cathy back onto his cock. He forced Cathy’s sweat slick body downward, using her own weight  to impale her upon his hard cock.  Too overwhelmed by the waves of pain engulfing her to scream, Cathy could only grunt with the pain as his cock sank deeper and deeper inside her bowels.  It filled her, stretched her, just as  it had on that first night when they all had raped her ass.  Pain from her impaled ass joined with the pain from her branded cunt to overwhelm her overloaded brain. It seemed to Cathy’s confused mind as if the Arab was  impaling her on  a burning fence post instead of  his cock. Desperately, but futilely, Cathy struggled to escape the cock impaling her.

 

  The Arab grunted at the  unbelievable tightness of her ass  as her sphincter  gripped- crushed-  the base of  his cock.  He thrust harder into her, pressing his bare chest  against the warm, sweaty skin of Cathy’s naked cane stripped back, at the same time  squeezing her firm breasts with his hands.  He could feel her moving, trying to escape his cock by pulling herself up on the rope.  He used his grip on Cathy’s breasts to pull her back down onto his advancing cock again and again.  Repeatedly he forced her torso downward at the same time as he thrust upward with his cock, spearing deeper into her as she struggled to escape his cock..  He heard her cry out as his cock sank deeper inside her warm ass, burying itself  totally in her  ass chute.  He wrapped his arms firmly around her naked torso and pulled her down on his cock.  He made repeated jack hammer thrusts up into the tightness and warmth of her bowels as he hugged her to his chest.  Each thrust brought another cry from Cathy.   He could feel her arms weakening as  her weight slowly sank downward to swallow the entire length of his cock.  Soon, her weight rested almost entirely on his cock as she hung limp in his arms, her own arms no longer capable of supporting her weight.  The Arab paused in his thrusts to allow his cock head to soak in the loose warmth of her bowels while the base of his cock was squeezed hard by her  overstretched  sphincter muscle.  He shifted his hold on her sweat slick torso. He left one hand still gripping her breast  while the other hand traveled slowly down her  warm, wet abdomen to the new brand. He ran his fingers over the raised surface of the brand,  tracing its design before trailing the tips of his fingers over her clit and then back to the brand. alternating sources of pain and stimulation for Cathy as she hung helpless, her back pressed  against him. As his climax approached, he shifted his hand downward, capturing her erect clit between his thumb and  the tips of his first two fingers. As he pounded his cock deeper into her ass in pile driver like thrusts, he stroked her clit in time with his thrusts.   He pressed his lips against Cathy’s ear and whispered to her:

 

“  Surrender to me, slave. It is God’s will that woman obey man!  Accept that  I am your Master! “

 

 Cathy could make no reply beyond a weak moan, her body still limp against his.  He continued , his voice growing even more insistent, his breath hot in her ear..

 

“ Surrender to me. Surrender!  Call me Master, Cathy!”

 

  Dimly, through the pain, Cathy heard him.  In a dim corner of her mind,  it registered that  this was the first time she could remember him using her name since that first night. for a reason that Cathy could not understand, this seemed important to her at the moment.   His cock felt so strange inside her, as if it were  on fire. It grew and throbbed inside her, stretching her in impossible ways.   Multiple waves of pain washed over her. Pain from his cock  stretching her unmercifully , pain in every muscle of her arms and torso from her prolonged suspension, and a  throbbing pain from the brand he had burned into her skin above her cunt.   His hand still gripped her left breast,  adding to the pain overwhelming her by cruelly crushing and stretching the nipple, a nipple already extremely swollen and sore from being crushed by the steel jaws of his pliers.   Cathy struggled for each breath, the lack of oxygen making  her head feel light.  The room seemed to be spinning around her as the Arab held her stationary and impaled upon his cock. Yet, at the same time,  she could feel something else, the stirring  of excitement within the pain as he manually stimulated her clitoris in unison with the thrusts of his cock.  Her excitement grew with the pain until it engulfed her entirely.  She felt herself again losing control of her own body as the excitement within her grew. She could feel the beginnings of her orgasm building inside her.  Already buffeted mercilessly by the violence of his sodomy, her body began to shake even more violently as her own climax overtook her. Her mind was overwhelmed by it all. She could not think clearly; she could barely speak.  But at the same time she had a moment of  revelation.   She wanted... needed ... pain; it excited her more than anything else she had experienced.  She had to have it. However much she hated the Arab, she was addicted to the pain he provided.  But it was the pain which was really her Master, not the Arab. The brand had been the last blow, the one which had burned away her self-respect and replaced it with  her addiction to pain. With belt , rope, cock , and finally branding iron, he had turned her into a pain slut. He had enslaved her  even if her slavery was to her own secret masochistic desires.   Cathy knew what she wanted to say, yet the words made no sense, except perhaps to her.

 

“ Yes, Yes,  I..... I give up .   I am your  slave....and  whore...your pain slut!   Master.. Bastard...it‘s all the same.  I surrender , Master!”

 

  Still, he heard the words he desired. that was enough for  the Arab.  Almost immediately, his body stiffened as he emptied himself into Cathy’s  bowels, filling them with his hot cum while her words echoed loudly in his mind.

 

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

  The next morning Cathy remembered nothing of  what took place after he had sodomized her and had only confused images of what had taken place before that.  She woke to find  herself on her back, still nude but  covered by a heavy blanket.  The previous night was a blur to her, a  confusing slide show of   frightening images.  At first she was unsure whether she had truly experienced them or if it had been a terrible nightmare.  It was the dull throbbing from between her legs that  brought the night back into focus for her. Suddenly Cathy remember. She remembered  the agony of hanging from the ropes for hour after hour,  the pain of the sodomy , and, most vividly of all, she remembered the feeling of the hot irons on her bare skin.   He had branded her!   It was no dream!  Instinctively, Cathy reached for her throbbing sex only to find that the Arab had bound  her hands and feet to  boxes, leaving her spread eagled on her back.  Frantically she struggled to see or touch the brand,  desperate to know what  kind of damage he had inflicted upon her. But to no avail.   She could do neither. All she  could do was wait as image after terrible image of what her branded body must look like came unbidden to  her mind. 

 

  When the Arab eventually returned to the room,  he immediately  ripped the blanket off her.   He stared down at her intently, his eyes fixed on the brand between Cathy’s legs.  He smiled and said:

 

“ Very good!  The mark is clear and sharp.   Do you wish to see her brand. slave?”

 

   Desperate to do just that, Cathy gritted her teeth and  replied, “ Yes,......... Master.”.   Strangely, she found that the words seemed to come easily enough when she was too tired, or too sated,  to desire the arousal his pain brought her.

 

  He  used his curved knife to cut her free, using a single slash to sever each of the four thick ropes binding her limbs.  Stiffly, Cathy got to her feet and  reached for the small mirror he held out to her.  She had to angle it to catch the light  of the lantern in the windowless room. Then suddenly, there the brand was, an angry red contrasting against the pale white of her shaven pubic area.  As an Arabic  symbol, it meant nothing to Cathy, looking to her like an English  letter “C” with a line across its top.    But the fact that he, her captor and her Master,  had burned his mark deep into her flesh did mean a lot to Cathy.  It totally changed the way she viewed herself and her world. It made her slavery real to her in a way that no words ever could.   Carefully, Cathy ran  one finger over it. She could already feel the raised surface of the brand against her finger, but  not, she realized, the finger touching the brand.   The nerves there had been burned away.   Burned away, she thought, with the rest of the life she had known.  She felt like his slave. Therefore, she was his slave!

 

  Cathy had little time for reflection  on her new status as a slave though.  The Arab gave her a cream to rub on her brand. Otherwise, he warned her to leave the  brand alone as it healed.   Then he handed  Cathy the burkha and ordered her to put it on along with her boots. Carefully, with every muscle of her body in agony, she pulled the heavy wool garment over her head. To her relief, it hung freely, not touching the branded area.   Once she had tied her boots, the  Arab ordered her to bend over.  Without a thought of resistance, even  token resistance, Cathy simply did as he ordered.  At the same time, she mentally braced herself for another rape or, even worse, more sodomy. But to her surprise, the Arab was only concerned with lifting the burkha to tie a piece of rope around  her waist to use, as he had before, to secure her wrist ropes.  To Cathy’s great relief, the Arab did not tie the rope against her cunt lips as he had on the march here. He did however, again hobble Cathy with a short length of rope running  between her legs below her knees. He also gagged her and put the veil on.  Once Cathy was securely and helplessly bound and gagged, the Arab led her outside to where a new looking double cab pickup truck waited.  Hobbled  as she was, Kehalis and one of the other Poshtoons had to lift her into the back of the pickup.  Once there, the Arab pointed to a sleeping mat  on the bed of the pickup and told Cathy  to lay there on her back to avoid  disturbing the brand.  Gratefully, Cathy did as she was told.   Kehalis covered her with a blanket once she was on her back and stayed with her in the bed of the pickup.  The way he stood above her, staring down at her with such obvious hunger  brought back memories of her gang rape.  Even after  his  unexpected act of kindness to her Cathy still reacted  with fear anytime he or any of the Poshtoons approached her.   Instinctively, Cathy looked to the Arab for protection, but from her position on her back in the truck bed, Cathy could no longer see him.  She could hear his voice though, talking in Arabic to the man above her.  The knowledge that her Master was nearby made her feel a little better about the Poshtoon’s presence.

 

“  In the name of God, guard her well, Kehalis. I trust you with my most prized possession. I do not believe that she will give you any trouble on the trip, but watch her closely.  You will have no trouble with the checkpoints.  I shall meet you  at the trucks after I have spoken with the General.”

 

  With those words, he waved  the General’s man into the front seat and slammed the door behind the man. Then, before the truck began to move, he stepped behind the porch column and remained there until it was out of sight.  As he waited, he muttered to himself:

 

 

“  Go with God, Kehalis.   Soon  you shall have  your reward.  I shall have to wait a little longer for mine.”

 

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

   This was the first time he had been alone with Cathy.  And probably the last. With the Arab left behind at least for the moment, Kehalis realized  that this was  his best opportunity to carry out the plan he had finally decided upon after days of agonizing.   He would  take the woman and the truck at gunpoint and  flee to Iran with her.  Beyond that, his plan was vague; he would trust in God.  He was prepared to betray his Mullah’s trust, to give up the only home he had ever known, to  turn against  his own people, even to kill them if necessary, though he prayed it would not go that far.  All to possess an infidel woman. All to possess a woman who hated him.  He stared hungrily  at Cathy,  drawing resolve from the knowledge that she would soon be his.

 

   Cathy found the trip very uncomfortable. She was jolted repeatedly as the tuck made its way over the rough roads.  And  Frog face rarely took his eyes off her.   Of the two, Cathy found  the Poshtoon’s  stare the   more annoying.  But, Cathy told herself, he was unlikely to do anything to her as long as the Arab was just a few feet away in the cab of the truck.  She was exhausted, but found sleep impossible in the tossing truck.  Instead, Cathy stared up at the sky, her mind wandering back to happier days, to flying.  

 

  Cathy suddenly realized that the truck had stopped. She heard a man’s voice, speaking what she thought was the local dialect. Then a response from inside the truck.   Desperately, Cathy looked around her, but could see noting from her position. Gagged, she could not cry out for help.  Nor could she even move, bound as she was. Her pleading eyes found  Kehalis.  He looked down at her and shook his head  “No”  in a  distracted way, seemingly unconcerned about this interruption in their journey. 

 

    Cathy heart had began to sink once again just as the shots rang out, impossibly loud in the mountain stillness.  She was still staring at Kehalis when at least three rounds struck him in the chest.  After wishing so long for rescue, Cathy’s mind hardly registered  that it was finally coming.  Instead her attention was concentrated  on trivial things, on  the puffs of dust that rose from the front of Kehalis’ coat as the bullets hit his chest and then on the blue sky that appeared in her view after his body disappeared over the side of the truck.  It was not until two shouting men  tore open the tailgate and jerked Cathy out by her feet that  the realization hit her. She  had been rescued!  

 

  As they pulled her off the truck, the two men grabbed her under her arms and carried her toward the side of the road, Cathy heard a tremendous explosion. A wave of heat struck her and the men carrying her, sending the three to the ground.   When Cathy looked up, she saw the truck engulfed in flames.   The fire encompassed the entire cab. Through the broken windows, she could see four black figures sitting upright  within the flames as the men by the roadside continued to pour automatic fire into the burning truck, turning the truck into a sieve and making the charred figures inside move in a macabre dance of  death.  With that sight, the realization  slowly began to form in her mind that he was dead. The Arab was dead. They were all dead. She was finally free.  Free of her Master; free of her slavery!  It was over!  She was free!

 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

  The news through out the world that night spoke of little else but the rescue of the captured American pilot.   The  story the public was told was simple and welcome.  Afghan troops commanded by a regional strongman aligned  with the American backed Afghan government had  caught the kidnappers at an isolated  checkpoint and shot it out with them.  The four remaining members of the gang which had brought down Captain Harper’s helicopter had been killed along with the unidentified driver of the vehicle in which they were escaping. The  female Captain had been rescued alive though suffering  from undefined injuries which occurred during her captivity.  The happy ending had been achieved; victory had been achieved.   Behind the scenes, the commanders on the ground in Afghanistan were less sure that the matter was at an end.  Only the body of one Poshtoon ,  Kehalis’, had been recovered and positively identified.  The other three along with the driver’s had burned beyond recognition with the truck. Those bodies had been buried on the same day as their death as required by Islamic law and then the graves’ location conviently lost by the Warlord’s troops. All they really had was Cathy’s testimony that  the gang’s leader, the man she knew only as the Arab, and the two remaining Poshtoons were killed in the ambush of the truck.  But their reservations were ignored  by the men in Washington in favor of the simpler, happy ending being put forth by the media. the search was over; victory had been achieved. In the mean time, Captain Harper had been quickly turned over to American Army authorities and had been flown to a U.S. Army hospital in Germany.  This , of course, did not end the public’s appetite for the story.   Over the next few weeks,  Cathy’s  face, her life’s story,  and every detail of her ordeal had been fed to a fascinated public, both American and foreign.  A few of the details were even true. Widely portrayed   as the “ Hero of Afghanistan”  in the media , Cathy quickly became America’s most prominent example of that post modern phenomenon, the  victim as hero. It was a media circus of the highest order.

 

  For Cathy the whole matter  was more of a nightmare than  a circus.   At first she was totally passive, barely able to do the simplest task without prompting. . Without the Arab to give her orders, she was briefly at a loss about what to do, even about how to feel about her regained freedom.  Only slowly did she regain her energy and composure.  Then she went through a period  of denial.  Deeply ashamed  of  capture and of  the masochistic responses the Arab had awaken in her through his abuse, Cathy at first just wanted to  return to her old life without fanfare, to essentially pretend that this had never happened. But this was impossible.  She could not put the experiences of her captivity from her mind, but neither could she  come to terms with it.  Cathy felt literally trapped,  compelled to hide her awful secret.  So, she lied or more charitably gave her debriefers a sanitized  version of her experiences.  Convinced that the Arab was dead, Cathy felt safe telling  her version of what had happened.  There was no way she could deny the evidence of rape and torture visible on her body,  especially  the brand  burned into the apex of her legs.  So, reluctantly she told them the bare facts about the rapes and the torture she had experienced.  But she told no one, most especially not the Army psychologists who treated  her, about her reaction to that rape and torture, about her new addiction to pain.   Cathy was too ashamed to confess even to herself that dirty little secret. She could not admit even to herself that the pain and humiliation  the Arab had inflicted on her had  brought her the most intense sexual pleasure of her life.  That was one secret Cathy was determined to keep.  To her surprise, Cathy found her debriefers reluctant to  question her closely and quite willing to accept her  terse account at face value. They took the unstated but obvious gaps in her story  as an indication of  her stoic courage rather than of  deception.   The less Cathy said, the greater her reputation became with her debriefers and, through their leaks, in the media.  Much to her dismay, Cathy was on the cover of both Time and Newsweek in the same week.  Playboy called with an offer. A TV movie was in the works.  Despite her mixed feelings about her worthiness, there was no way of escaping her new celebrity status.   Or its seductiveness. At first Cathy felt trapped by the spotlight of her fame. But, in a few weeks, she had begun  to bask in it. Along with the  fame, she also began to embrace the macho GI Jane persona created for her by the media.    With her old persona destroyed , burned away during her captivity, Cathy needed something to replace it.  So, she eagerly embraced the media’s invention.  It became the face she presented to the world, the disguise she hid behind as she tried to come to grips with the humiliating  truths she had learned about herself.   Unable to confide her addiction to anyone, Cathy was equally unable to  escape it.  Lacking a partner, she began to secretly torture herself.  At first she simply used clothes pins or rubber bands on her  extremely  sensitive nipples, masturbating herself to a climax while she wore them.  Afterwards, Cathy would lay there on her back, only vaguely satisfied, her fingers tracing the brand burned into her cunt, the brand she now kept hidden under a new thatch of  blonde  pubic hair, as she relived portions of her captivity  in her mind.  But soon the pain from the clothes pins and rubber bands was not enough for Cathy. She made a copy of the Arab’s pain belt out of two  pieces of clothesline and  started wearing it under her gym clothes when she resumed her exercise regime.  She drove herself harder than before, working out for hours each night, the pain belt hidden under her shorts.  Cathy finally found the intensity of pain she needed during these workouts, particularly as she ran for an hour or more on the treadmill with the rope belt digging deeper and deeper between her cunt lips with each stride.  Soon she was cleared to return to duty, apparently having made a complete recovery, physically and mentally.  At her request, Cathy was allowed to change her specialty from  transport helicopters to attack helicopters. As a result, she was given orders to report to Fort hood Texas to be trained to fly the AH-64D Apache gunship.  When returned to duty, Cathy brought her rope belt with her, wearing it under her uniform every day, all day, except when she was actually flying.   At Fort Hood, Cathy devoted all her time to either the gym or  learning to pilot the AH-64D, never dating during the entire time she was there.  Cathy felt no need to date; her pain belt provided her with everything she needed.  She shunned  company, both male and female. She made no friends there, but Cathy did graduate at the top of her class  She made a particular point to wear her pain belt under her  Class “A” uniform on  “Sixty Minutes”  when they  interviewed her upon her graduation.

 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

   Two days after Cathy’s rescue, in a postscript to the story not covered by  CNN, a heavily guarded truck  crossed the border from Afghanistan into Iran.   In the cargo compartment of the truck was 40 kilos of the Warlord’s  best opium on its way to a market in Europe.  In the cab of the  truck was the Arab, accompanied by the keeper detailed by the Warlord to collect the remaining half of his fee for the Arab’s escape into Iran.  As they drove the last leg of the journey, the  keeper, a Major in the Warlord’s army, noticed  that the Arab  had in his hand a  small plastic card which he had been staring at for most of the trip   Emboldened by his boredom, the Major ask:

 

 “  What is that which fascinates you so?”

 

   Without speaking, the Arab handed him the card.  The Major recognized the card immediately. It was a military  ID card. The Major could not read the  English words on it, but he did recognize the American eagle on it, and  he most definitely recognized the picture of the attractive, solemn looking uniformed blonde woman in the card’s center.  Hurriedly, he handed the  card back.

 

“ You would do well to destroy that.   If anyone  else saw it.........”

 

“ No, I shall keep it.  I may need  this card to find her again. And someday, God willing, I shall find her. again and reclaim my property. “

 

“ Reclaim?  You cannot be serious.!   That is madness!”

 

“ No, it is my jihad.  I shall reclaim my slave.  In the name of God, I shall take back this woman.  She will once more be my slave, and I her Master.”

 

 

 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

THE END - for now at least.

 

 

  If you would like to see the story continued, send me an e-mail at conwic@aol.com letting me know what you think should  happen next.