Rape Stories

Warning!

Afghan Rape - Part 1

By conwic at aol dot com

M/F, Gang/F, very long tale with plot, prolonged captivity, fucking, anal, fisting, lots of bondage, fellatio, rimming, violence, caning/whipping, whipped with belt, branding.

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 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. This story is dedicated to Di and Mad Gerald.

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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 only 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 the officer 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. Line of sight tended to be short in these mountains. With no contact with any station, there was nothing more for her to do other than warn the two door gunners in back and take a good grip on the sides of her armored seat as the aircraft spiraled 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 squatted down behind a rock, pulled a woolen blanket over their bodies to foil the American’s heat sensors, and lay 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 since 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 farmers. Instead, he welcomed the appearance of the aircraft. He longed to meet his enemies 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 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 . Unable 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 young man with the old eyes who was the leader of the Afghans to him. Kehalis was the only one of the Afghans who understood, if barely, his Arabic. Kehalis was also, unlike him, a man 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 men on the ridgeline. Provided they acted quickly before more Americans arrived. Unlike the dark man beside him, Kehalis was a veteran of years of mountain warfare, having fought in several jihads in Afghanistan even though he was technically a citizen of Pakistan . As a Poshtoon, he had little concept of such arbitrary national distinctions and was 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 against the Americans. Orphaned as a young boy during the mujahideen‘s war against the Russians, he had been found by his Mullah in a refugee camp in Pakistan and raised in the Mullah’s madrassa, his religious school. The Mullah had been the father Kehalis had lost, feeding him, protecting him, and then 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 that than he did of questioning the sunrise. He knew nothing else, had no one else. It was his Mullah who had ordered him to fight jihad against the Northern Alliance and the Americans, and it was the Mullah who had ordered him to organize and lead a band of men 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 in peacetime 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 even more 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, but he hated the Arab for a 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 prou 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 the 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 skill 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. They would take no chances. Three of his men with one of the tube shaped 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 side to side movement 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 both to keep him from doing something foolish and to oversee both groups. 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. The Arab fidgeted beside Kehalis, compulsively checking and rechecking the magazine and safety of the shortened AK he carried, unable to contain his impatience for the bloodshed to begin .

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Captain Cathy Harper stood behind the left door gun, moving it nervously from side to side as she scanned the half mile or so of empty road that stretched out in front of her. She could hear CWO2 Johnson and the crew chief, SGT Grimes, talking as they moved around on the top of the UH-60, carefully pouring their reserve cans of hydraulic fluid one by one into the rotor system. That and the duct tape Grimes had wrapped around the leaking hydraulic line would, she hoped, be enough to get them back to the SF detachment they had left shortly before the rotor began to 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, 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. Cathy wanted to be judged on her abilities and intelligence, which she had in abundance - along with a strong, even selfish, will, the result of a rather spoiled childhood as the only child of a career Army officer and his equally career oriented Army wife. Rather than follow her Mother’s desires that she marry a promising young man and produce children, Cathy intended to follow in the footsteps of her deceased father. She had joined the Army after college ROTC, taking a commission with the rather naive idea that as an Army officer she would be judged on her merits alone by her male counterparts. 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 tended to fall all over themselves every time she smiled, to include some nominally married senior officers. Cathy could 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 less 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. 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 pain body building demanded were strangely fulfilling to Cathy, as much if not even more so than her professional duties. which had previously dominated her life. But this was a satisfaction that was physical, even sensual, rather than intellectual though. 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 almost sexual pleasure these workouts provided, Cathy showed fewer and fewer qualms about displaying her new body. As Cathy’s workout outfits grew smaller , the post gym experienced a steady increase in male patrons. Once again, she found herself taken as a sex object instead of a comrade by her peers. Eventually, Cathy was forced to buy a membership at a local gym off post in order to have some privacy in her workouts. Even chopping off her long hair for a short pixie cut to present a more "professional" appearance could not made Cathy look any less feminine or lessen the attraction men instinctively felt for her. All of which was a source of some frustration for Cathy. Just as she was for perhaps the millionth time thinking of the unfairness of it, her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a single gun shot. Before she could locate its source, there was second, louder explosion. A blinding flash rolled over her. Then it seemed to Cathy as if a giant hand had picked her up and thrown her backwards out of the aircraft. She hit the ground hard, the air knocked out of her. Then darkness replaced the light of the flash imprinted on her retina as unconsciousness engulfed her.

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The attack had gone exactly as Kehalis had hoped. As is the case with any good ambush, the enemy had been defeated by the first volley. The RPG men had both done their work well. The first RPG shot had struck the top of the helicopter just at the feet of the two men working there, literally dissolving them from the waist down with the blast of the RPG‘s shaped charge. Designed to destroy a tank, the grenade’s charge had also shredded the top of the helicopter and ignited the craft’s fuel tanks, engulfing what was left of the two men in a funeral pyre. The machinegunner inside the aircraft had been more fortunate. Kehalis watched as that gunner was blown out of the open door on the opposite side of the aircraft. The uniformed figure hit the ground hard. He 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 AK bullets from penetrating , the exploding rocket grenade had reduced the man’s left leg to a bloody stump. 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 given 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 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 eleven 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. 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, at least until her reached her breasts. Her breasts felt soft and full, warm to his touch even through her uniform. He was close enough to smell her fragrance as he ran his hands over her body. An arousing, intoxicating scent lingered about her, one unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He felt his cock harden involuntarily as he crouched above her, her musk filling his nostrils, her warmth against his hands. His hands moved downward, discovering again the firmness of her body, exploring her by touch alone as a blind man would. She stirred as his hands ran over her body. She was beginning to regain consciousness. Reluctantly he took his hands off her. He noticed that she wore soft gloves which were the same brownish green as her uniform. He stripped these off her hands, revealing slender white hands, the nails at the tips of her fingers painted a bright red. Kehalis brought the gloves to his face; he could smell her scent on them. Rising, he quickly slipped the gloves into his pocket as he turned to get his men moving.

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

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The march was like a nightmare for Cathy. Stunned by the blast, she initially did not know where she was or who these men around her were. She allowed herself to be half carried, half dragged up the ridge and then down a valley to another steep ridgeline. Her senses returned only slowly. At first she thought these men were helping her; that there had been a crash and they were taking her to a hospital. Repeatedly she ask in a dazed voice about the others in her crew, but found no one who could, or would, respond to her English. Only slowly did she remember the forced landing and the sudden explosions. It was the worst shock of her life when Cathy finally understood what had happened and realized that she had been taken prisoner by men she had to assume were at best Taliban and quite possibly Al Qaida fighters. The realization that her men must be dead washed painfully over her. It took all her willpower to put aside the feelings of guilt she felt and focus on surviving. She continued to pretend that she was still in shock in hopes of finding an opportunity to escape. Cathy waited until just before darkness, then she made her attempt. Pretending to stumble against the man on her right, she drove her knee into his crotch, bringing him to his knees. Then she tried to use her left elbow to smash into the face of the other man. That blow miscarried when he was able to hang onto her arm. As she struggled with the second man, the tall dark man walking in front of them spun around and brutally drove the muzzle of his rifle deep into her stomach. With the air knocked out of her, Cathy was easily brought down by the man with whom she was struggling. As Cathy screamed and cursed at them, more hands grabbed her, holding her arms, punching her in the stomach and breasts, and finally twisting her over onto her stomach, then pulling her hands behind her and tying them tightly with a length of rope. While one knelt on her back to hold her down, others tied each end 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, 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 noose 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 grab her ass every time she began to lag even a little. Put off balance by the 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 herself 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. Cathy collapsed onto the cold floor of the cave, quickly falling into an exhausted sleep. She lay there on the rocky ground, curled up into a fetal position on her side, her arms still tied behind her back, her feet still hobbled by the length of rope, tied like a dog on a leash.

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The Arab stood over her, intently staring at the face of the sleeping figure, thoughts of jihad replaced now by thoughts of earthly pleasure. He watched her face for a long time, the earlier 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 as well as captured in battle- would be a deed worthy of his ancestors. And a strong blow for the true faith. And a deed which would win him much praise from those few righteous men with whom he could safely share his achievement. Men like Osama bin Laden, who, the Arab was convinced, was now hiding there in Yemen. 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 an American woman 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 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. 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 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, 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 very frightening to her. 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 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. 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 it 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. In reality, 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 anything 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.

Hungry to taste his prize of war, 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 fear in the heart of this strong, young female officer. He had defeated her, an officer in his enemy‘s proud army. 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 defeated her himself. Anyway, she could not fight ten men. She was going to be raped. Either by him or, 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 done many times. His method 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 on 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 jambiya, allowing the bra to fall to the floor of its own weight, leaving Cathy half naked . The Arab traced 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 golden 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 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 screamed 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 the trailing end of the rope 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 tying it there, wrapping the rope around Cathy’s thigh and above her ankle. 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 even more painfully erect than before. 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 her globs 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!"

His body hovered over Cathy, the Arab smiling down at her as she railed against him. He drank in the beauty of Cathy’s helpless body, by now covered in sweat from her futile struggles despite the cold. He plowed deeper into Cathy’s strong young body. His cock throbbed almost painfully, seeming to swell in size with each new thrust. He knew he would not last much longer in Cathy’s warm 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, drunk on the pain/pleasure he was taking from Cathy. At that moment, the Arab felt a curious detachment toward his act of rape. It was as if he were a spectator watching another man rape the blonde American rather than the man raping her. He took in Cathy’s face- taking in the blonde hair framing her face, making a halo around it in the reflected lantern light, 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 at him in her pain. He watched over his own shoulder as Cathy fought frantically but without hope against the cock brutally impaling her, her strong body moving erotically if unwillingly against him . He watched his cock sink into Cathy, thrust in and out of her cunt, feeling the warmth and firmness of Cathy’s cunt but oddly detached from the act of the rape itself. He felt no pity for the victim. Instead, he savored 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 totally replaced by moans as the now exhausted Cathy became increasingly incapable of coherent speech. The volume of her moans rose higher and higher, becoming 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, he knew, had he seen anything as erotic as the woman struggling against him. His cock began to throb 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

" 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, my 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 cock, her mind was overwhelmed by a feeling of ... fullness as his cock reached ever deeper inside her. Cathy stared up at him, her confusion evident in her expression. Slowly she realized what he wanted. He wanted her to call him "Master" as he raped her. He again ordered her to speak, emphasizing his command by impaling her again and again with his cock, making her body shake with the force of his thrusts. He held one of Cathy’s breasts in his grip, painfully squeezing the soft globe as he plowed in her. . He held his 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 trapped 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 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- trickling out of her still open cunt onto the platform. He slowly turned around to look toward the doorway. As he had hoped and 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 when 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. He lay awake in the dark of the cave unable to sleep, Cathy’s gloves 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 . That thought frightened him; the Mullah’s household was the only home he had ever known. But he could not forget the feeling of the infidel Captain’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 finally 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, reducing the captive woman to an agony filled face and an apparently limbless female torso, Cathy’s pale nude body was vivid in the dim lantern light 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, battering her bound body with his cock as she fought back against him, her 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 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 unable to do anything else. 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 their 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 signs 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 us. 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 by this turn of 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 back 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 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 was a thinly veiled insult. Though his culture readily accepted that a man could find satisfaction with a boy, the Arab still looked down upon him for seeking the company of boys just as he did for his poor Arabic and his provincialism. Keahlis 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 nothing so much at this moment as 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. 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 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, God be merciful, not 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 strongly 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, the protruding, swollen cunt lips an angry red from the pounding she had taken from the Arab‘s cock. He stared at Cathy’s private parts, 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 as he forced his way into her.

Until she felt his cock press into her tiny anal opening, Cathy had lain passively on her face, too shocked by her brutal rape to fight the men surrounding her, wanting only to shut her eyes and escape the hungry looks of the men around her. 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. 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 hard cock. Hard as steel, his cock slowly overwhelmed her 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"

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 as he fought to impale her with his cock. The other men were crowding close 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 grip a breast or 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 based on polar opposite emotions- Cathy’s on the pain and humiliation she was experiencing as a strange man fought to sodomize her in front of a screaming crowd of his fellows, Kehalis’ on 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 except... perhaps.... the agony of death.

Just as if she were giving birth,, Cathy was panting like a dog as she tried to deal with the overwhelming pain of 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. 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 had torn her insides apart. Like a wild animal caught in a trap, Cathy struggled even more frantically, her entire body 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 to the girth of Kehalis’ cock. Once her sphincter had loosened even slightly, Kehalis’ path forward was clear. Then 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 the now loose ass chute. Even after it had finally ceased to fight him, her sphincter still gripped the base of his cock tightly, milking the base like a small, tightly gripping hand . But the head of his cock felt no resistance as it sank deeper into Cathy. It felt to Kehalis as if his cock had sunk into emptiness, thrust into a wide warm oven. As the Arab and his men watched, Kehalis began to ride the bound body of the captive female pilot, his cock relentlessly moving in and out of her increasingly open ass hole like a piston. Now that he was fully seated inside her, Kehalis stood erect, his feet braced shoulder width apart. He pulled back on Cathy, dragging her hips off the edge of the sleeping platform. He held her there, his hands gripping the ropes tying her lower legs under her thighs. He used these a handles, to pull her back toward him as he plowed into her ass hole with long powerful strokes. He slammed into her ass with all the power of his strong arms and legs. Involuntarily, the bound blonde underneath him arched her back in response to each deep, hard stroke. The watching Arab could see Cathy’s bound hands clenching helplessly each time Kehalis plowed into her ass, the neatly trimmed red nails of her fingers drawing blood from the flesh of her palms. Her body was almost limp. Cathy no longer screamed out angry or pleading words, just incoherent 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 Captain, 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 inhuman fucking machine. Kehalis reached and stayed on the edge of cumming for stroke after stroke, brutally battering Cathy’s body, but unable to reach his climax. By now his agony was almost the equal of Cathy’s. He was only able to finally achieve release 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 so that he could see her crying, agony filled face as he raped her ass. Only then, after he had looked into her eyes, felt her body shuddering beneath him, and once again surrounded himself with her fragrance could he find release. Crying out in relief, he filled her ass chute with his hot cum and then collapsed onto her back. Kehalis lay on her for a moment, 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 again. But the image of the open "O’ of her asshole, his 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 rope tying Cathy’s elbows together, using it as a grip as he pulled her back onto his cock at the same time as he thrust forward. He plowed relentlessly into her by now open ass hole as Cathy, her body slack and unresisting, continued making small moaning sounds underneath him. She could manage nothing more. Each time he slammed into her, he made her body shake and knocked the air out of her lungs. Uncaring of her, the man took his pleasure as quickly and as brutally as he could. Then he too spent himself inside her, filled her with a new flood of hot cum, collapsed on her nude back, and was in his turn pulled off her and replaced by a new man. Cathy lost track of when one man had finished and of when the next man thrust into her. It all became one long rape to her; the men became one. It was all 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 no longer struggled against the men sodomizing her. Her sweat slick body had surrendered to Kehalis; now her will surrendered to this man as well. She became nothing more than their fuck toy. An unresisting Cathy lay on her belly on the hard platform while man after man sodomized her. She lay there passively as man after man plowed into her ass hole until 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 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 as if it had been oiled, the result of the light reflecting off the sweat covering her bare skin, the sweat a mixture of her own and the sweat dripping off the men mounting her . 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. Stretched by ten cocks, her ass hole had been 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 quickly fallen into an exhausted sleep. But even in her exhaustion, she 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 mind. After some few hours of restless sleep, it was one of those nightmare images of her attackers- the scene 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 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 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. It also reminded 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 proudly 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, her cunt, and 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 some danger in it. Instead, she bit her tongue and remained silent, hoping she could 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 the running end of the rope encircling her neck to Cathy’s booted feet, painfully bending the muscular young woman into the shape of a bow, feet and back 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 until 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 powerful arm and back muscles moving under her smooth skin as she struggled. 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 form 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 in 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. 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 with each retelling of the story. Though he could not speak their language, the Arab could sense their mood easily enough. He could see that it was happy even without the terse and begrudging translation 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‘ translation, the Arab could sense that the men viewed him more favorably now, and that their taste of the woman had taken away their curiosity about 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 be , if not actually forgotten, reduced to a token effort with little chance of success. Once the decision to stay here and hid 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, the Americans were indeed coming. They had discovered the crash site shortly before dawn. It had taken that long because, without any idea when 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 when the thermal gunner’s sight on one of the three attached AH-64 Apache attack helicopter detected the hot metal of the crashed helicopter to the east of the presumed flight path 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 until 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. more hours were lost while additional troops were transported in and CIA 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 hard on 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.

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

Hours later when the Arab returned to the room, he saw Cathy still 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 you own me. You can do anything you want with me.. with my body. I am.. Your.. slave."

" Very good, slave. But I know Western woman. I wonder, do you really understand what you are saying?"

" Yes, Master. I am your slave. Your property. Please., the ropes, Master?"

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 trying to remain as still as possible to keep from tightening the rope at her neck. He kneed her breasts like they were bread dough as he spoke to her, his fingers trapping her nipples and crushing them in his grasp.

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

" 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?"

" Yes, Master. Yours."

" Then fuck yourself on my hand, slave. I want you to cum for me."

Desperate to ease the suffering she had endured for what seemed to Cathy forever, she reluctantly obeyed. Cathy willed herself to relax and then to move against his fingers, as far as the ropes allowed her. Soon Cathy could feel herself grow wet as his fingers stroked up and down her slit, reaching and stimulating her sensitive clit irregularly, teasingly. Cathy moaned, moved as much by the sheer humiliation of this as by the simple pleasure it brought her body. She tried to relax her body and do as he ordered, but the tension on her noose made Cathy’s muscles convulse as she fought to keep her legs bent toward her head while moving her cunt against the hard fingers She grew steadily wetter, her breathing grew more and more irregular. Cathy could not deny the arousal she felt as she pressed herself against his hand, as his fingers stimulated her harder now, paying more attention to the little nub of her clitoris. Small, wet sounds began to come from between her thighs as his fingers reached deeper between her legs to stroke the length of her half open cunt. The strokes stopped, causing Cathy to tighten her legs around his hand, trying to get back that sensation. Instead, he took two of his fingers and caught her clit, trapped it between them. With that , his hand speeded up again, its back and forth motion pulling hard on her clit, 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 her cunt. The knife edge of his hand penetrated Cathy’s wet, relaxed cunt, the extended fingers sliding inside her with little resistance. As the palm of his hand began to enter her, resistance increased. The width of that hand stretched Cathy cruelly, even more so than the prior rape. Already sore from that rape, the entry of his hand made new pain shoot from Cathy’s cunt to her brain like an electric shock. 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. Her abdominal muscles struggled against the new intruder, her legs pressed together tightly, their large muscles bulging. Unfortunately, her struggles also further tightened the rope encircling Cathy’s slender neck. Her air supply, already restricted, became non-existent. 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 confused, unable to think clearly any more, aware only of the pounding he was administering to her cunt with his fist, penetrating her, expanding her womb as never before.

The Arab had formed his fingers into a tight fist. With all the strength of which his strong arm was capable, he drove that fist 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 was accepting the pain of his assault, opening herself to the brutal assault of his fist , accepting it within her womb, accepting even the blackness 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 blade under the rope encircling Cathy’s neck and slashed it, 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 also convulsing around the fist still buried deep inside as she struggle 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, forced to concentrate on struggling to find oxygen. Now that she could breath again, Cathy ‘s attention returned to the fist moving inside her. But rather than fight against his fist, she now rode it, moved with it. Uninhibited by her confused mind , accepting the pain washing over her, Cathy ’s abdominal muscles 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."

Cathy lay there as her reason slowly returned , her body limp, her strength spent, her clothing soaked in her own sweat, 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 opened his fist and pulled his 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 a Captain ordering men about. Not even a free woman. But a slave, the possession of a man who is truly and by God’s will your Master ."

The Arab left Cathy alone for a few minutes as she fought to recover her composure. 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. A woman desperate to survive. It took her some moments before she even had the strength to cry or for her body to begin to shake in reaction to what he had done to her. 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, the teeth’s hardness a stimulating 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 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 skill 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 there until its head was banging against her tonsils. She had to fight to control her gag response. She moved her head 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 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. Feverishly 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 misspent 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 who she now called "Master" 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 chose the later.

" 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. 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 imaginative!"

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 moans 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 filling her mouth 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 to her to be quite believable. The Arab had no trouble in planting in Cathy’s confused, fear filled mind the idea that they desired to 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 there, her salvia soaking his cock hairs, turning them into a dense wet mat, as their strong male taste over powered 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 as well 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 control a woman. 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 . Bracing herself, she pressed her full lips against his ass hole, the unwashed smell overpowering 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 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 blonde 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, still 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 she had suffered. Her eyes were tightly shut ; her ears were filled with the loud, wet sounds of his cock moving in and out of her mouth. Tears streamed down Cathy’s flushed cheeks as she fought to breath under the assault of his cock His cock was killing her, choking her. Her head began to swim as she fought to breath.

She welcomed the feeling of his scalding hot cum striking her throat, bitter taste of that cum on her tongue. It came as a real relief to Cathy; 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 running in a thick stream 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 feeling and strong taste. She feared that it would stay with her forever as a reminder of his rape of her mouth. Apparently not satisfied with filling her mouth with his cum, the Arab now pulled his half erect, still dripping cock from Cathy’s mouth and rubbed it over her tear stained cheeks. He marked her cheeks with his cum, smearing the scent of his cum over them, marking her as his in the most primitive, animal like manner.

===>CONTINUED:  PART 2

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