Rape Stories

Warning!

Afghan Rape - Part 2

By conwic at aol dot com

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

The Arab was content to simply watch Cathy as he ate. Despite having just emptied himself into her mouth, he felt new stirrings as he devoured her body with his eyes. He drank in the sight of her bound feminine form kneeling so submissively before him, her full breasts shamelessly exposed , her body shaking quietly, her face downcast in shame, a posture of modesty he found becoming, if belated, on Cathy’s part. Never had he seen such a stirring image of beauty and submission in a woman. Never had he desired a woman more than he desired this Westerner. The desire to take her again was already hardening his cock. The rest of the day was only a blur to Cathy. Emotionally exhausted and preoccupied with a growing sense of self loathing, she remained kneeling, motionless, and in silence until she was ordered to move or speak by her Arab Master. She later knew that she must have eaten, drunk, relieved herself, but she remembered none of it. She did remember the leader of the Pashtoons, the man she thought of as frog-face, entering the room to speak with the Arab. She remembered because before he entered, the Arab had zipped up her flight suit and warned her to remain silent and on her knees. Cathy understood nothing of their conversation, but she did understand the look in frog-face’s eyes. The intensity of the desire she saw there shook her. Thoughts of the Arab’s story came unbidden to her mind. In her mind’s eye, Cathy saw her self staked out nude on the ground with frog-face bending over her with that look in his eye and a knife in his hand. The image sent a shiver through her. Instinctively, Cathy’s eyes sought reassurance in the presence of her Master- which is how she now thought of the Arab in her own mind- even as she obeyed his order not to speak or move. Cathy kept her downcast eyes on the Arab for as long as he and frog-face talked, trying by dong so to shut the ominous presence of the Poshtoon out of her mind. She also remembered that after frog-face had left, the Arab had unzipped her flight suit again, exposing her breasts as Cathy knelt there on the cold floor. pausing to run his hands over them. In a strange way, Cathy found his possessiveness reassuring. All of her life, Cathy had either taken the attention of males either for granted or as a curse. Now, ironically, she desperately desired that attention from a man, but not just any man,. She desired attention from the man who had repeatedly raped her. To keep his attention no matter what the cost to her self respect was in Cathy’s desperate mind her only hope of protection from the Poshtoons. Acting on survival instincts imprinted in her pre-historic ancestors, Cathy instinctively sought the protection of the dominant male - the Arab- by the most ancient of female stratagems, In her desperation, she traded sex for his protection.

For the next day or two- time had become blurred for Cathy in the semi darkness of the cave. Her world did not extend beyond the small room she shared with the Arab. Or beyond him. He gave her food and water twice a day, or at least, it seemed like twice a day to Cathy. He allowed her to go to the bathroom once a day in the makeshift hole in the corner. He always determined when she was allowed to relieve herself, not she. Nor was Cathy allowed any privacy when she did relieve herself. Because her flight suit was one piece, she had to strip it off when she relieved herself, and , since he had deprived her of undergarments, this left her in the nude. His eyes were watching her as she squatted there naked to piss or shit. Each day he had her wash herself at least once in cold water, again allowing her no privacy as she compulsively scrubbed her nude body to wash away his cum, her body shivering in the cold air of the cave. Unless he was taking his pleasure from her, he left Cathy bound, her strong arms tied behind her back at her wrist and sometimes at her elbow also. So accustomed to this cruel bondage did Cathy become that she began to loose consciousness of her arms. Her arms were immobilized for so long, her mind began to act as if she no longer had them. When the Arab did free her arms to allow her to eat or relieve herself, it took a mental effort on her part to make her arms obey her. The bondage changed the way she thought in other ways as well in that it accustomed Cathy to the feeling of being helpless. Obedience, not resistance, became her habit. He also kept Cathy on her knees most of the time, kept her in a deliberately demeaning position of servitude to reinforce the feelings of submission already increasingly present in the mind of the captive female officer If he were alone with her, he further demeaned the young blonde officer by keeping her half naked as well, seeking to further implant in her mind his dominance - his total ownership- over her. He would unzip her flight suit to expose Cathy’s proud firm breasts, the twin red nipples embarrassingly erect in the cold air. Inevitably Cathy’s firm breasts became magnets for his hands. Then, when his hands were casually weighting and squeezing her breasts, Cathy felt reduced to his toy, his sexual plaything .

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

If those times alone with her own fears were the worst for Cathy, the rapes she endured two or three times a day ran a very close second. As the Arab grew more confident of his mastery over Cathy, the manner in which he used her grew more humiliating for the captive female officer. Rather than raping her while she was bound and helpless to resist him, he began making her an accomplice in her own rape. He demonstrated to her his control over her, as well as his contempt for her, by first untying her and then simply ordering Cathy to strip herself naked.

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

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

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

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

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

" What do you say, Kehalis? You fought against the infidels with the Taliban. And were one of the few of your band not chosen for martyrdom when they fell before the Amerikas. What would you have us do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Poshtoons’ response to being called cowards manifest itself exactly as the Arab expected, with threats and shouts, few of which Kehalis even bothered to translate. As they all knew, their sound and fury signified nothing more than the men‘s shame. Once that was out of the way, the serious argument about what to do continued for some hours, the men‘s native verbosity compound by the need to translate everything back and forth between Pashto and Arabic. In the end there was an agreement. The Arab’s words had succeeded in persuading the men to leave Cathy alive. For the Faith. But he persuaded only three of the Poshtoons - Kehalis and the two youngest men- to follow him tomorrow morning into what was for them the unknown of Pakika province. But he was satisfied. with that number In fact, he was pleased that most of the men had refused to join him. He had Kehalis with his language skills, who he knew was accompanying him not for the promise of additional money or even to fulfill his oath to his Mullah, but because he knew that where the Arab went his blonde captive also went. She was his weakness. The other two Pashtoons would be useful to help watch the woman, but were not as essential to his evolving plan as Kehalis. Three men - two of which were clearly expendable- were as many as he could use. The group he had taken into Afghanistan was clearly too large for what he had in mind now. As he expected, the seven who refused to come with him had had enough of his Jihad. They wanted only to return to the safety of their dusty village and the money- his money- which the Mullah held for them. Tomorrow they would hide their weapons and leave the cave on their own, each hoping to bluff their way south through the American cordon between them and the border with Pakistan. Broken into 2 or 3 man groups, carrying no incriminating weapons, and unhindered by the presence of the woman, they might slip past or talk their way through the Americans. If God wills, they might even provide a useful distraction for him. Otherwise, he had little interest in their fate. They were no danger to him if captured. Neither they nor their Mullah knew his real name. Even if they told the Americans where they thought he was going, it would help, not harm , him. For the Arab had lied to them. He intended to seek help in the city of Ghazni, in the province of that name- not in Paktika as he had told the Poshtoons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

" Stand up, slave."

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

" Strip!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

" OOOMMPHEEEE!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

" OOMMPHEEE!"

" Defy me at your peril, whore. This is but a small taste of the unending punishment that I as God’s servant hold for such deceitful women as you." The Arab moved quickly from one of Cathy’s sides to the other, alternating his blows between breasts. He moved unhurriedly, giving Cathy ample time to feel each terrible blow on her breast before she experienced the pain of the next blow. It seemed like an eternity to Cathy, but only a few moments passed before her breasts were a bright red overlaid with deep red stripes . Along each of the stripes, small individual drops of blood appeared along the path of the cane to add a third shade of red to Cathy’s breasts.

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

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

Cathy looked up at him, stared directly into his eyes, her own eyes brimming with her tears, and slowly, empathically shook her head "NO". Then, her lips set in determination, she turned her face to the side away from him and waited. The cane appeared to rise and fall in slow motion as Cathy watched helplessly out of the corner of her eye. The tip of the cane sank into the center of Cathy’s sex, into the apex of her femininity. It sliced across both her delicate clitoris and her sensitive cunt lips to send a tidal wave of pain crashing through Cathy’s body to her over loaded brain. Her bound body arched upward in response to the terrible pain as a cry recognizable as one of pure pain escaped through her gag. The pain was much worse than anything she had experienced, even worse than what she had experienced as he whipped her soft, sensitive breasts. Having known only pleasure there, her sex was even more sensitive to pain than any other part of her body. Her nude body was still in its arched position, every muscle in her strong body rigid, when the second blow arrived, again cruelly bisecting her clit and cunt lips. Landing directly on top of the already abused flesh, his second stroke produced pain even worse than Cathy had ever imagined could exist. Her mind was simply unable to deal with the pain of this second stroke. Cathy mercifully lost consciousness before the Arab’s cane delivered its third stroke deep into her exposed cunt. This time the terrible pain was lost in the blackness that had covered her before it could reach her over loaded brain.

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

" NO! Leave me alone....... BASTARD!.. Leave me.. alone... "

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

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

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

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

" AHH! You Bastard! I hate you... UGGHEE! NO!.."

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

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

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

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

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

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

" AGGgrrheeeeee!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

===>CONTINUED: PART 3

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