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.
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
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 .
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
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.
///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
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.
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
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.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
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.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
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.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
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.
///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
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.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
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.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
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.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
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.
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
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.
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
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.
Review This Story || Email Author: conwic