Rape Stories

Warning!

Afghan Rape - Part 3

By conwic at aol dot com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

" Bend over, slave"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

" Please, Master. I beg of you. Untie me!"

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

She made no move to resist as the Arab lifted the skirts of her burkha To her infinite relief, he untied one end of the crotch rope which had so tormented her all day. The relief was immediate, a dull ache replacing the raging fire between her legs. Leaving her hands bound as they were to her waist, he retied the rope hobble around her legs to make it impossible for her to stand, let alone walk, even if Cathy had possessed the energy to try. Then he left her alone, his fatigue sparing Cathy another rape. Cathy immediately curled up again on the cold ground. All she wanted now was the oblivion of sleep which she soon found. She did not stir until the Poshtoon she had nicknamed frog face shook her awake just at dawn. To her surprise, she found that she now had a blanket over her. The man tried to hand her a piece of nan. But, with her hands bound as they were at her side, Cathy could accept the bread or bring it to her lips. Awkwardly, he held the nan for her as she ravenously devoured the hard bread. He also offered her water from his own bottle which Cathy eagerly took. Just as she had gulped down a mouthful of the cold water, they both heard the Arab begin to stir. Kehalis snatched away the blanket that had covered Cathy as well as the bread and the water bottle and retreated a few feet to join the other Poshtoons. Cathy stared after him, puzzled by his actions, trying to understand the implications for her of what had just transpired. When the Arab came to her side to offer her bread and water, she did not mention what had taken place. He apparently had not noticed the exchange, for the Arab simply began his customary ritual.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

" You BASTARD! Leave me ALONE!"

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

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

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

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

" Damn you, YOU BASTARD! Why ? Why do you hate me so much? What have I done to you?"

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

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

" No, I am your Master! YOU ARE MINE!"

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

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

The Arab was fascinated by the sight laid out before him. Cathy’s shaven cunt was spread out in front of him like a feast. The effects of the cunt rope were clearly visible. While skin remained unbroken, Cathy’s entire sex was a deep, angry red color in contrast to the pale white of the rest of her skin there. The soft cunt lips - where the rope had bitten most deeply into her- were swollen to at least twice their normal size, making her cunt look invitingly like a ripe fruit which had been split open. Her clit was also a bright, angry red, so terribly swollen that it protruded like a little finger from the folds which usually concealed it. The sight of her suffering cunt drew the Arab on. He reached out and gently ran his hand over the raw red flesh between her legs. Cathy flinched as his hand touched her there. An electric jot of pain shot through her as he traced his fingers over the red, raw folds of her cunt’s outer lips. Even his gentle touch was painful to her. Inwardly, Cathy shuddered as she realized just how vulnerable she was right now and what he could do to her already extremely sore cunt. The thought of his hard cock penetrating her sent a shudder through her bound body. As if the Arab had read her thoughts, he began to hurt her, using the hard fingers of his hand to lightly slap across her ultra sensitive cunt lips. Cathy could not suppress a small cry of pain when his fingers struck her. Encouraged by her response, he used his thumb and two fingers to capture her very red clitoris and then to squeeze the swollen, sore nub. Cathy’s body thrashed helplessly under the pain as she struggled to keep silent. A sharp flick across the clit’s tip with the fingernail of his other hand ended her silence.

" AAGHEEEE! YOU BASTARD....... STOP IT!"

" But I am just beginning, slave. "

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

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

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

" Perhaps I will spare you , slave,. Satisfying me need not be painful. You can service me another way. With your mouth. Spare yourself the pain. Beg your Master to be allowed to service his cock with your worthless mouth, slave!" Memories of the time in the cave filled Cathy’s mind as he spoke. Memories of her humiliation flooded over her. Images of crawling at his feet, even of slavishly sucking his cock while he petted her head like she was some pet animal came unbidden to Cathy‘s mind. It sickened her that those terrible images excited her more than they repelled her. And it frightened her. Unable to restrain herself, Cathy gave him the one answer she knew would enrage him:

" GO TO HELL, YOU BASTARD!"

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

" We shall see how brave you are now, whore!"

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

" ARRGHEEEE!..... ARRGHEEE!..... NO... DON’T....... ARRGHEEEE!.. BASTARD..... BASTARD.... NO.. PLEASEE... .. ARGHEEEE! "

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

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

But the Arab was no longer prepared to be satisfied by words or even by the feeling of her soft tongue on his cock. Aroused beyond endurance by the sight of Cathy’s body reacting to the pain he was inflicting on her, the Arab fell to his knees between Cathy’s legs and brutally sank his cock deep into the swollen mass of Cathy’s puffy, red cunt. He brutally raped her in a continuance of the torture, now using his cock instead of the belt as his instrument of torture. His intent remained the same, to gain his pleasure by inflicting pain upon his female captive. A brief cry of surprise and pain escaped Cathy’s lips as his cock brutally filled her, penetrating up to his pubic hairs with that first thrust. He hunched over her bent form, his hands gripping her firm breasts like handles as he repeatedly and with all his strength plowed his cock into her cunt. He rutted into her with all the force his body could muster. Like a madman. he fucked her, using his rock hard cock as a weapon, repeatedly stabbing her with it. He penetrated into Cathy’s most intimate depths, his cockhead brutally battered against her uterus, demanding entrance. At the same time that his cock was invading her womb, his hip bone was battering against her swollen, ultra sensitive clit, the force of his thrusts and the abrasive effect of his wiry pubic hairs proving almost as painful as the belt to Cathy’s tortured nub.

With every nerve ending already on fire from the lashing she had received, the impact of his jackhammer thrusts were nothing short of torture. But this was a torture which inflicted more than simple pain on her. Again Cathy began to feel the unwanted, heat fill her. And it steadily grew greater with each brutal stroke of his cock. Each thrust was more frenzied than the last as he tried to pound the helpless female officer into submission. Never had the Arab taken more pleasure from a woman—whether willing or unwilling. The feeling of her hot, swollen cunt gripping his cock was driving him to a frenzy. Each thrust became more brutal than the previous one. As he viciously impaled her on his cock, he could feel her firm, muscular body softening in response, opening itself up for him, surrendering to the force of his attack. He could feel the citadel of her womb beginning to give way to the battering ram that was his cock. The force of his initial attack had knocked the breath out of Cathy. Trapped on her back between his weight and the unyielding stone floor, she had to struggle simply to breath, struggle to pull a little air into her lungs before the force of his thrusts knocked it out again. Her entire cunt was in agony. She felt as if sandpaper was being used against her clit. The cock being driven so deep inside her felt huge to Cathy; it felt like a stake the size of her arm impaling her, stretching her womb beyond endurance. Her cunt was on fire, and the flames were about to devour her. The combined sensations of her pain and his penetration had driven Cathy beyond arousal just as the belt had taken her beyond pain. The unholy combination was like a white hot force, consuming her. Its intensity threatened to drive her mad.

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

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

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

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

" AHHH! PLEASE.... PLEASE..LET ME CUM... YES...AHHH! yes.. ... finish it.. finish it.. you bastard... you SOB... AAAHHH!"

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

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

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

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

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

" This woman. Is she the Amerikan woman from the helicopter?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

" It is a surprise, General. A big surprise."

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

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

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

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

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

After he had used a pair of pliers on her nipples to turn her twin breasts into pain globes, the Arab had taken Cathy, raped her as she hung there helpless and in extreme distress. Desperate to give her exhausted arms even a moment’s respite, Cathy had willingly wrapped her bound legs around him and held on as hard as she could. As she gripped him with her leg muscles, her cunt muscles tightened around his cock, squeezing it like a vise. The pleasure was as intense to her as it was to the Arab. For a few moments, they had shared intense pleasure. The Arab as his cock was gripped and milked by the tightest cunt he had ever experienced, and Cathy as she received some measure of relief as she supported her weight on his hips while his cock deliciously filled her pain filled cunt. At the same time she received even more pleasure as the grip of her legs drove her clit down hard against his thrusting cock. Already in a prolonged state of intense arousal from his belt and the pliers‘ steel jaws, Cathy was desperate for relief, any relief. The stimulation of her clit quickly drove Cathy over the edge. She could not stop herself . She came hard as he raped her, her climax frightening in its intensity. The intense pleasure filled her for one long moment but then left her as abruptly s it had come, bringing Cathy’s spirits crashing down and leaving her with a foul aftertaste of intense shame. That feeling of shame grew in intensity as, after he had pulled out and left her hanging there, Cathy could feel his cum slowly trickling out of her cunt onto the insides of her thighs and eventually drying into a sticky white patch there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

" God... NO!... NOT THAT!.... PLEASE!.... NO! "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

" How fitting. Like your old life , burned away in the fire of my jihad. With this iron, I make you my slave forever. Not soldier...not prisoner... slave." He knelt in front of her. As he raised the hot iron to her cunt, Cathy’s exhausted body went into a frenzy, every muscle of her very strong yet very feminine body visibly straining against the ropes, her sweaty skin rippling as the lantern light defined the peaks and valleys of her struggling body in alternating patterns of light and shadow.

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

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

" AARRGGHHEEEEEE!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

" Surrender to me. Surrender! Call me Master, Cathy!"

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

" Yes, Yes, I..... I give up . I am your slave....and whore...your pain slut!

" Master.. Bastard...it‘s all the same. Alright.....I surrender , Master!"

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

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

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

" Very good! The mark is clear and sharp. Do you wish to see your brand. slave?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

" What is that which fascinates you so?"

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

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

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

" Reclaim? You cannot be serious.! That is madness!"

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

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

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