The march was like a nightmare for Cathy. Stunned by the blast, she initially did not know where she was or who these men around her were. She allowed herself to be half carried, half dragged up the ridge and then down a valley to another steep ridgeline. Her senses returned only slowly. At first she thought these men were helping her; that there had been a crash and they were taking her to a hospital. Repeatedly she ask in a dazed voice about the others in her crew, but found no one who could, or would, respond to her English. Only slowly did she remember the forced landing and the sudden explosions. It was the worst shock of her life when Cathy finally understood what had happened and realized that she had been taken prisoner by men she had to assume were at best Taliban and quite possibly Al Qaida fighters. The realization that her men must be dead washed painfully over her. It took all her willpower to put aside the feelings of guilt she felt and focus on surviving. She continued to pretend that she was still in shock in hopes of finding an opportunity to escape. Cathy waited until just before darkness, then she made her attempt. Pretending to stumble against the man on her right, she drove her knee into his crotch, bringing him to his knees. Then she tried to use her left elbow to smash into the face of the other man. That blow miscarried when he was able to hang onto her arm. As she struggled with the second man, the tall dark man walking in front of them spun around and brutally drove the muzzle of his rifle deep into her stomach. With the air knocked out of her, Cathy was easily brought down by the man with whom she was struggling. As Cathy screamed and cursed at them, more hands grabbed her, holding her arms, punching her in the stomach and breasts, and finally twisting her over onto her stomach, then pulling her hands behind her and tying them tightly with a length of rope. While one knelt on her back to hold her down, others tied each end of a short length of rope to each leg, creating an effective hobble if she should try to run away again. When she was again hauled to her feet, the bound and battered Cathy found the dark clad man standing in front of her, another length of rope in his hand. To her surprise, he addressed her in perfect English,
" What is your name, girl?"
Despite her surprise at his use of English, Cathy responded as she had been trained- with name , rank, and serial number.
" Harper, Cathy C. ,Captain , United States Army, 409-67-0221"
" No. You are wrong. That is not who you are. You are no longer Harper, Captain, United States Army. You are now the slave Cathy. I am your Master. A merciful master, once you have learned to obey. A merciless one if you do not. I know Western women like you , Cathy. I know that obedience will not come easy to you. But you will learn your place. With God’s help, I shall see to that."
For a moment Cathy was rendered speechless by the man’s bizarre words . Then she straightened her back and snapped defiantly back at him:
" I am an officer in the American Army. I may be a prisoner of war, but no man is my master."
" I shall be, God willing."
The Arab reached up and put one end of the rope he carried over Cathy’s head. The noose encircled her neck. He pulled it tight, tight enough to make breathing just a bit difficult. The other end he kept in his hand. Without another word he walked away, jerking Cathy after him by the noose around her neck. He led her like that for the rest of the night, pulling her along behind him as one would a reluctant donkey. He ignored her, never looking back at her. He simply walked forward forcing her to follow or to be dragged over the rocky trail. When Cathy tried to protested vocally or balked, the man walking behind her- the man she had kneed- would use the muzzle of his rifle to prod her forward, jabbing it painfully hard into her kidneys. Not as painful but even more humiliating was the way the man would grab her ass every time she began to lag even a little. Put off balance by the arms bound behind her back, jerked, groped, and prodded forward, her legs hobbles forcing her to shuffle along behind the Arab at a half run, Cathy was soon exhausted by the effort required of her. Her thermal underwear and flight suit quickly became soaked with her sweat despite the cold. Her lungs struggled for each breath in the thinner mountain air . Her strong leg muscles, accustomed to regularly running hard for an hour on the treadmill, felt weak as water. It was all her strong will could do to keep herself on her feet, moving forward. All thoughts of escape were put aside as she struggled simply to keep up with her captors. By the time they reached the cave in the early morning hours, Cathy was too exhausted to want anything other than to lie down and sleep. The Arab led her into one of the interior rooms of the huge cave and tied one end of the rope around her neck to the wooden frame of an elevated dirt sleeping platform. He did not speak; he only watched. Cathy collapsed onto the cold floor of the cave, quickly falling into an exhausted sleep. She lay there on the rocky ground, curled up into a fetal position on her side, her arms still tied behind her back, her feet still hobbled by the length of rope, tied like a dog on a leash.
The Arab stood over her, intently staring at the face of the sleeping figure, thoughts of jihad replaced now by thoughts of earthly pleasure. He watched her face for a long time, the earlier anger on her face softened by sleep and the soft light of the lantern on the table. She was beautiful, he thought, far more so that any woman he had ever been with. She was strong as well as beautiful. And proud. Far too strong and too proud for a woman. She was everything he found both attractive and repellant in a woman. He would change that, he vowed. This would be his new jihad. He would make her into the perfect woman, submissive and beautiful. One who lived to serve the man God had placed over her. There were places he knew of , places in Yemen not too far from his homeland, where the old ways were still alive. There slavery was still practiced, as the Prophet, blessed be his name, had said it should be. There, in Yemen, the Law was still pure, unlike the law in his homeland where the Westerners and their Saudi puppets had corrupted it. If he could get her to Yemen, he could enjoy his slave in safety. To keep as a slave a Western woman - a woman who was also an officer of the infidel army as well as captured in battle- would be a deed worthy of his ancestors. And a strong blow for the true faith. And a deed which would win him much praise from those few righteous men with whom he could safely share his achievement. Men like Osama bin Laden, who, the Arab was convinced, was now hiding there in Yemen. Men with whom he could share his stories of jihad. And perhaps even his slave. Yes, to Yemen. There, God willing, he would have the time he needed to train this Cathy to accept her proper place. The thought made him smile. On a personal level, it would be a fitting revenge for the humiliations he had suffered from the whims of an American woman when he had been young and foolish. When he had been in love with the power and vitality of the Americans . Before he had found that there was no place for him there. But, like all women, he knew that she would bring dissension in her wake. He had seen through Kehalis’ pitiful attempt at deception. Kehalis wanted the blonde woman for himself, as though an unclean pig like him had any idea of what to do with such a treasure. For him to have Cathy would be a waste of God‘s largess. Kehalis merely wished to rut with her; he had no idea of how to truly possess her. To get her, Kehalis will no doubt try to stir up the other men, men of his treacherous blood, to betray him despite the money they would lose by killing him. It was in the nature God had given those fools to see only the prize to be taken today, never the larger prize. They would forget entirely about the money when Kehalis aroused their lust for the infidel woman. But Kehalis would not be able to keep Cathy for himself. Once aroused, the men would all want her and quarrel among themselves over her until all but one of them were killed fighting over her. And then that lone survivor would probably be deceived and killed by the blonde. No, he could not allow that to happen. God willing, he would prevail, using his guile to defeat their numbers.
The Arab leaned down and shook the sleeping woman, arousing her only with difficulty. Cathy instinctively shied away from him as soon as enough of her wits returned to make her aware of who he was and where she was. She tired to raise to her feet to confront him, but the rope tied around her neck prevented that, forcing to remain on her knees in front of the standing man, forced her to stare up at him as he towered over her. With her hands still tied behind her back, there was nothing else she could do. The Arab pulled a jambiya, large curved knife common to Arab lands, from his belt and held it in front of him as he leaned over her. Cathy instinctively braced herself. But, to her surprise, the tall man only reached into the open neck of her flight suit and pulled out her dog tags. He used his knife to cut through the plastic covering and the light metal chain which held it around her neck and then retreated a step and began carefully examining the information found on her two dog tags. Cathy was surprised and a little frightened at the ability of his knife to slice through the chain holding her dog tags like that,. Nevertheless, she sat quietly on her heels, determined not to speak until he did. She studied the man who held her. He appeared Arab to her rather than Afghan or Pakistani. taller than the local men she had seen. His countenance was dark; everything about him was , in fact, dark- his hair, his short beard, his eyes, his skin tone, and the clothing he wore. Seen in other circumstances, she might even have called him handsome in a dangerous way. Seen here, under these circumstances, he appeared very frightening to her. While she was intently studying him, he appeared to be ignoring her, seemingly intent upon reading the scant information- name, rank, religion, blood type- contained on her dog tags. After a moment, he casually pocketed the dog tags as if they were no longer of interest to him and turned his interest to his blonde captive.
" You did not flinch at the sight of my knife. You have courage .. for a woman. Nor did you speak without permission. You have learned your first lesson. That a woman - particularly a female slave- does not question a man.. I am pleased, slave. "
Cathy stiffened noticeably at his use of the word "slave".
" I am not your slave. I am a prisoner of war, and as such I am entitled to be treated as a soldier. NOT AS A SLAVE!. I don’t know who you think you are, but you better think twice before you do something you will regret later when you’re sitting in an American prison. "
" You are my slave, Cathy. You are no longer a soldier, if you ever were. All that you knew is gone. You are simply my property under the Law to do with as I wish."
" Who the fuck do you think you are? You can’t own another human being. There aren’t any slaves anymore. They’re.... not legal! And I am Captain Harper to you, not "Cathy". A Prisoner of War has the right to be addressed by her rank. You need think about your situation here. They’re looking for me now, you know. The American Army. What do you think will happen to you if they find you haven’t respected my rights as a POW?"
He did not raise his voice or show any outward signs of anger as he replied, which strangely frightened Cathy more. Instead he spoke slowly and distinctly as one would speak to a very young or particularly slow child.
" The word of God, the Qur’an- what you foreigners call the Koran- tells us that unbelievers captured in battle by the warriors of Islam become slaves. They and all they possess become the property of the chosen Believer. The law is merciful as it is laid down by God, most gracious and most merciful. The law allows such slaves to have their freedom bought back by ransom or by the surrender of the remaining Unbelievers. Or eventually to be manumitted by the Believer whose slave they are, if the slave truly embraces Islam, the one true faith. But I do not see either your President paying for your freedom or surrendering to the Faithful. Nor do I see a Western whore like you surrendering to the truth of Islam and accepting your proper role as a woman. The Law also states that a woman taken by the right hand of a Believer -captured as a result of battle- are slaves. They too can be freed by ransom or accepting the True Faith. But they have another alternative; they can seek freedom through marriage, seek it by becoming a pleasure to their Master. Perhaps that alternative is one you should consider. For you most assuredly are a slave. You are not longer Captain Harper of your Godless army. You are the slave Cathy. Nothing more. And I am your Master. That is how you will address me, as Master. I control everything about your life now. I control whether you live or die, and everything you do - or that is done to you. Every breath you draw is a boon from me. Every necessity you receive, food or water or even being allowed to relieve yourself, is a gift from me, not a right. To receive any of these necessities, you must humbly ask for them from me. And to do so, you must address me as Master. Only that word will find my ear. I am deaf to all others. "
" No, I am a prisoner of war. You cannot make me a slave. This is the 21st century. There is no slavery now. No one can own another human being. Slavery died centuries ago. I am a prisoner of war."
" Your slavery is God’s will, Cathy. No mere passage of time can change the will of God. Nor can man forbid what God in his Holy Law, the Shari’a, has permitted. What was his will before is his will now. As the Faithful enslaved your Frankish crusaders and freed the Holy places in the time of the true Caliphate, so today shall the Faithful enslave you and those crusaders like you who fight against the Faith and shall once more cleanse the Holy places. I grow impatient with you, slave. It is God’s will. And it is not the place of a woman to question God’s will. Do you desire water.. food ..after your journey?
His words made Cathy realize how thirsty she was. And hungry after the long night march. But she still shook her head and replied,
" I will not call you Master! Never! You cannot deny a prisoner of war food and water under the Geneva convention. "
" You are not a prisoner of war. You are a slave. You have no rights. Do you want a drink of water, slave?"
Cathy struggle to control her temper. She knew she should not provoke the man. He was obviously a madman. But she could not bring herself to call him "Master". And she hated the demeaning way he called her "slave". Even his use of "Cathy" made her feel that he was talking to a child rather than a grown woman and an officer in her county‘s Army.
" Yes, I do. But I will not call you master to get one. I have no master. I am not a slave. I am a prisoner of war, and I demand to be treated as one. Starting with being addressed by my rank."
The dark man simply shrugged and picked up a large water bottle from a crudely built table near the sleeping platform. As Cathy watched, he took a long drink. Then he set the water bottle down just out of her reach on the cave floor and lay down on the sleeping platform above her. In moments, he seemed by his regular breathing to be asleep. Cathy struggle with the rope on her wrists, but could not loosen it in the least. She tried rubbing it against the sharpest thing she could find within her reach, the corner of the platform, but the ropes held. She gave up eventually. She simply sat on the floor, leaning with her back against the platform and her legs out in front of her, her eyes unable to look away from the water bottle. With it right in front of her eyes, but out of her reach, her thirst quickly grew from a discomfort to a torture. The dark man’s words confused her. He had shown no interest in learning anything of military value. He had not ask her a single question about her mission or her unit. This ran counter to everything Cathy had been taught to expect if she was taken prisoner. She did not understand what he wanted from her. Or how she was supposed to resist him other than the obvious answer of escape. Between her thirst and the terrible uncertainties running through her mind, she could not get back to sleep, tired as she was. She was still staring at the water bottle hours later when she heard the man begin to stir.
She watched him rise and move to the other sleeping platform against the opposite wall of the room. He appeared to take no notice to the bound American woman. She watched as he opened the small rucksack lying on the platform and took out a piece of the local unleavened bread and ate it, then begin to nibble on some dates. After a few moments, he picked up the water bottle from where he had put it on the floor and took a long swig. Cathy could stand it no longer. Why, she thought, did it matter what she called this man. If she had been captured by members of a real army, She would have had no problem addressing a senior officer of their army as "sir" or by his rank title. How was that different than calling this man by the title "Master"? She told herself that simply saying the word " Master" did not mean she was accepting his dominance over her, only yielding to superior force for the moment, until the opportunity presented itself to escape. She had to have water if she was to survive. And as long as she gave him no information which might endanger American forces, what did it matter what she said? Slowly. Cathy convinced herself that playing along with this madman was the wisest course of action. In reality, the young female officer had over the last few hours made the very basic gut level decision that she wanted to live. From that followed the need to do anything demanded of her by her captor, however repulsive to her. Cathy rationalized that to survive, she would have to give up her pride and humor this madman, though only for the moment, only until she could escape or was rescued. Though she almost choked on the words, she forced them out:
" Master, may I have some water?"
The Arab looked at her impassively, successfully concealing the feeling of triumph that he felt at that moment. Though it was only a small surrender, he knew that it would set the pattern for the future. With each surrender, her will to resist would weaken. It would be progressively harder and harder for her to refuse each succeeding command until she eventually reached the point where she had surrendered her will to him entirely.
" Yes, slave, you may have water".
Setting the water bottle down on the sleeping platform , he crossed to Cathy. He drew his knife; her eyes widened at that, but she remained silent. Bending over, he cut the ropes tying her wrists behind her strong back. As Cathy rubbed her hands to try to bring some feeling back into her numb fingers, he crossed the room and retrieved the water bottle. When Cathy was ready, he gave it to her. She greedily drank, the water running down her chin. She lowered the bottle to take a breath and then took another long drink, emptying the bottle.
" Do you want food, Cathy?"
She could have refused, and she knew it. She could have disputed the way he addressed her, his demeaning use of her first name as well as his use of "slave". But there seemed no point in it. Perhaps, she thought, if she did not resist openly, he would treat her better. The awful word came a little easier this time.
" Yes , Master."
He gave her bread as well, allowing her to eat the rest of the piece he had taken from the rucksack but no more. She ate the bread hurriedly, as if she were afraid he would snatch it away from her, crouched there on her knees, still tied to the platform by the rope around her neck , feeling like a leashed dog. When she finished, Cathy remained on her knees, waiting for him to tell her what to do next. In her exhausted and frightened state, his simple reward of bread and water for calling him "Master" began to seem to Cathy a sign of hope. She began to think that by giving in to him on little things like that, she might be able preserve her life and maybe even her dignity. Then his next four words crushed that hope even before it had fully formed.
Hungry to taste his prize of war, The tall Arab looked down at her and said:
" Take off your clothes."
Cathy stared at him in shock. She neither began to disrobe nor neither did she defy him. Instead, she stared up at him from her kneeling position, her expression like that of a small frightened animal caught in a trap, her mind trying to cope with this sudden shift in direction. A few hours ago, he knew that she would have angrily, and rudely, refused his command. Now she did not openly refuse him even if she did not readily obey. He had instilled fear in the heart of this strong, young female officer. He had defeated her, an officer in his enemy‘s proud army. He was confident that her total submission would follow.
" You are in no position to defy me, Cathy" He began in a reasonable voice. " If you do not take off your clothes yourself, I shall simply use my knife to cut all of the clothing from your body. I shall then leave you naked. Is that what you wish? To be naked in the cold? To be naked in front of my men? Are you such a shameless whore that you would do that, knowing that they would see your nakedness as an invitation to rape you? Or do you think that you can overpower me and then fight your way through the ten men waiting on the other side of that wall. No, you foolish woman, you cannot escape me. You have no choice but to obey me"
A feeling of helplessness washed over her. Much as she longed to simply tell him to go to Hell, Cathy could not deny the truth of his words. She had no choice. She saw no weapon at hand, and , even if there had been, by the time she got the rope off her neck and got to the weapon, he would have called for help or defeated her himself. Anyway, she could not fight ten men. She was going to be raped. Either by him or, he implied, gang raped by the men outside. A Hobbsian choice, but a simple one. One rape was preferable to ten. Fighting him now was futile. Cathy again rationalized that she had to survive until they came to rescue her. She had to endure the dishonor of rape and whatever else he did to her until that time. Although she didn’t realize it then, once she had made the decision to live at all cost, Cathy had given up any control of the situation. By rejecting death, she had given up her only sure escape from the Arab- Death.
The young blonde Captain tried to steel herself to endure the worst. She could have begged him for mercy. But her pride prevented her from doing that. Perhaps another, more experienced woman might have tried to regain some control by seducing the Arab. But that option did not even occur to Cathy. She remained motionless, a single tear trickling down her cheek, her hands clenched in helpless rage at the choices before her.
" Take off your clothes!"
Through gritted teeth, Cathy managed a terse " Yes, Master." She braced herself mentally for the impending rape, repeating over and over in her mind the mantra, "you can do this, you can do this". She began to unzip her flight jacket, working slowly and clumsily. Once it was off, she tried to stand, forgetting about the rope around her neck. As she crouched there halfway up, the Arab stepped forward and untied the end of the rope secured to the sleeping platform, finally allowing Cathy to stand. He also cut the rope hobble between her feet with his knife. Slowly, reluctantly, Cathy unzipped her flight jacket and dropped it on the floor. She then unzipped the front of her one piece flight suit and shrugged it off her shoulders, allowing it to drop to her booted feet. Woodenly she stepped out of the flight suit. Cathy sat on the edge of the sleeping platform to unlaced her boots. Her boots and socks joined the flight suit in a pile on the cold floor. She pulled the top half of her white thermal underwear over her head, pulled it clear of the rope still hanging from her neck, and dropped it to the floor. Hooking her thumbs in the elastic waist band of the bottom half, she pushed it down to her feet and stepped out of it. Now she stood clad only in her green sports bra and panties. Cathy stood straight and proud at attention in front of the Arab, her face clearly showing her humiliation at being forced to strip herself. At this point, she had gone as far as she could on reason alone. Overwhelmed by feelings of humiliation and anger at what he was doing to her, she simply could not bring herself to take off her bra and panties, to strip herself naked physically as well as emotionally for this man. Everything she was rebelled against what her mind told her was inevitable. For a second, Cathy forgot reason and even survival, and rebelled, allowing her hot temper to take over.
" NO, I WON’T DO IT FOR YOU; YOU WANT ME , YOU’LL HAVE TO DO IT YOURSELF, YOU BASTARD!. I AM NOT YOUR WHORE!"
The Arab did not bother with reason now. His open left hand struck Cathy hard with a resounding "SMACK" loud enough to echo in the confined spaces of the cave. He struck her hard enough to make her see stars. The blow shook her, as much for the fact that she had never been struck by a man before as for the force of the blow itself. Instinctively, she raised her hands to fight back, but the sight of the big knife that had suddenly appeared in the man’s right hand froze her in place. He held the curved tip of the knife just under her chin, inches from her jugular ,the tip already drawing a trickle of blood from her soft throat.
" Are you willing to die, you American whore? To die right here, right now?"
Cathy knew she was not; she wanted very much to live. She let her arms drop to her side, returning to a rigid position of attention, her eyes fixed on the cave wall opposite, unable to look at the Arab for fear of losing it. She had , Cathy reminded herself, to survive. To live to fight another day. Don’t throw away your life now when you can‘t win, she told herself.
The Arab had been disappointed by Cathy’s resistance in the face of his overwhelming advantage. He had moved too fast. And, because she was a Westerner, he had spoken to her as if she were rational, were a man. He had been foolish for, as the Qur’ an clearly taught, women were not rational. They were ruled by their emotions, most particularly their base desires. This woman was clearly no different. She was but a foolish woman, made even more foolish because she was filled with decedent Western ideas just like the others. He saw now that his blonde captive would only submit to him when he used force, not reason. Training her to acknowledge him as her Master would be no different than training any dumb beast; no different, he decided, than breaking a spirited horse, a task he had done many times. His method was the traditional one for Arabia, depending upon the whip and the spur to break the horse’s will. This, he decided , was the way to treat this woman. He smiled to himself at the prospect of such a challenging but pleasurable task.
The Arab traced the knife down Cathy’s bare torso until it rested between her breasts, the cold steel against her warm skin. With a flick of the curved tip, he cut the fabric in front of the bra between the cups , allowing both cups to fall to the side, held in place now only by Cathy’s erect nipples, revealing the soft curve of the insides of Cathy’s rounded breasts. He traced the tip over her left breast as Cathy shivered at the cold touch of the steel on her warm skin. Another flick of the tip and the left strap was cut, revealing her left breast in all its glory. He traced the tip across her torso above her breasts to the right strap. It parted with just a touch of his jambiya, allowing the bra to fall to the floor of its own weight, leaving Cathy half naked . The Arab traced the blade back to the centerline of her body and then down the soft skin, passing between Cathy’s breasts and over her flat stomach. Cathy’s stomach retreated at the touch of the cold metal of the blade. She did not dare to breath as the blade traveled over her. A flick of the knife’s tip and Cathy’s panties joined the bra on the floor at her feet. She did not dare to breath until the man and his knife stepped back. She tried to avoid looking at the Arab, but even so she could feel his eyes traveling over her now nude body. The Arab walked around Cathy, inspecting the nude woman standing before, her body rigid, heels together, her arms held close along her body, her hands clinched into tight fists, her entire body trembling from the cold as well as from the fear evident in her face , nude now except for the rope still tied around her neck, its trailing end hanging down her back. In the lantern light Cathy’s nude body showed the fading golden of her summer tan except for a strip of pale white at her hips matching in size and shape the green panties lying on the floor at her feet. Traces of red accented her nude body- the bright red of her lipstick, her painted nails, her painted toenails, and the paler red of the two red, erect nipples capping her breasts. In the dim light her nude body was a study in light and shadow. The shadows highlighted the play of the muscles under the skin of her strong arms and legs as they flexed involuntarily and cast teasing shadows over the half hidden vee where her long, muscular legs met. The light accented the two proud breasts which jutted from the captive officer’s torso without the slightest hint of sag and highlighted the smooth flat expanse of her stomach. The Arab silently watched her, enjoying the sight of her breasts rising and falling with each breath as well as the small shivers which periodically shock the nude body standing at attention in front of him. He reached out and weighted one of Cathy’s breasts, enjoying the way she flinched when he touched her.
" Spread your legs, slave! Show me your ... " The man hesitated as he struggled to remember the crudest American term he could from long ago, " cunt.!"
Cathy glared at him , her full red lips tightly compressed in her anger and humiliation . An involuntary moan escaped Cathy’s lips. She could feel her face turn bright red in her humiliation. But she obeyed, spreading her legs until her feet were should width and her vagina visible.
Her pubic area had been shaven clean. He could see the pale red lips of her sex against the white of the surrounding skin. While traditional among Arab women, Cathy was the first Western woman he had ever seen shaven this way.
" Why are you shaven there? Is that the fashion for American whores now?"
Cathy had trouble replying. She knew that she was on the verge of either breaking into tears or throwing herself on the man- or both. But she managed to get a grip on herself and to stammer:
" no.. NO! For cleanliness . I ‘ve always done that in the field. In basic, they taught us that..."
The unexpected open handed slap cut Cathy ‘s explanation off in mid sentence and rocked her head to one side. The second blow by the back of the same hand jerked her head back to the front. Her ears rang from the blow while she stared with pure hatred at the screaming Arab.
Cathy obeyed, standing still as he bound her hands together behind her bare back with a length of rope. Her muscular body was rigid , her body arched, as her strong arms instinctively fought against the ropes binding them. The Arab smiled at this image of untamed beauty bound which the captured blonde officer presented. It was, he decided, much like the reaction of an unbroken mare when she felt the saddle on her back for the first time. He took a second length of rope and tied one end around her left arm just above the elbow. The Arab took the other end and ran over her other elbow, then pulled the rope as tight as he could, drawing her elbows together until they were only an inch or two apart, almost close enough for her elbows to touch. A wave of pain shot through Cathy’s shoulders as he tightened the ropes, pulling her muscular arms in a direction they were never designed to go. Cathy screamed in pain as she struggled against the ropes crushing her elbows together. It felt to Cathy as if her shoulders were being ripped out of their sockets. The ropes that pulled her elbows together also forced Cathy to arch her back, involuntarily thrusting her perfect breasts forward almost as if she were offering them to her tormentor. The Arab picked Cathy up and set her on the edge of the elevated sleeping platform. He grabbed the loose end of the rope tied around Cathy’s neck and ran the trailing end of the rope over and then under the wooden frame on the opposite side of the platform and pulled it tight, trapping Cathy on her back on the platform and incidentally forcing Cathy to rest her weight on her cruelly bound arms. More pain shot through her tortured shoulders as her own weight pressed her elbows even closer together. As Cathy struggled futilely, the Arab tied off the rope and stood back to admire his work. His enjoyment was cut short as Cathy lashed out with her bare foot, striking him in the chest hard enough to knock him backwards but to do any serious damage. Angered at her impudence, he momentarily retreated out of the range of Cathy‘s legs, only to return with 2 more lengths of rope. Working carefully from a position to Cathy’s side, he captured each leg and secured it, forcing her lower leg underneath each thigh and tying it there, wrapping the rope around Cathy’s thigh and above her ankle. When he finished, Cathy was totally helpless, unable to use either her arms or her legs in her own defense. Now able to admire his work in safety, the Arab stood between Cathy’s legs so that he could look down upon Cathy’s nude, vulnerable body. He ran his hands over her soft, bare skin, tracing his way down from her shoulders to her soft breasts and over her flat stomach to her full hips, delighting in the feel of her warm skin. Cathy could only endured his hands in silence, unable to protect herself or to escape his touch- trapped , vulnerable, her nude body his for the taking.
Cathy closed her eyes, trying to shut out what was happening to her. But the Arab would not allow her that luxury. He covered her breasts with both his hands and began rolling his thumbs over the large red nubs of her nipples until each stood even more painfully erect than before. He took each of Cathy’s erect nipples between a thumb and forefinger, cruelly crushing the sensitive nub until Cathy arched her back in agony and cried out in her pain. Even then, the Arab increased the force he was applying to those sensitive nubs until they were crushed flat and white as a sheet, until Cathy opened her eyes and locked them onto his, silently pleading for mercy. She stared up into the black holes of his pupils, really seeing for the first time the hatred within. Unable to look away, she stared up at his face as he tortured her nipples further, cruelly twisting them until he drew tears from Cathy’s eyes. Through it all , the Arab stared unyielding back at her. He wanted Cathy to see his face as he took control of her body and used it to pleasure himself. He wanted her to see in his face the pleasure he took from raping her. In this he succeeded, the things she saw in those dark eyes driving her to a renewed struggle against the ropes holding her helpless. A low animal like moan escaped from her mouth as her strong body fought futilely against the ropes.
The Arab enjoyed watching Cathy struggle , enjoying the play of the well developed muscles of her arms and legs as she fought against the ropes. He watched with increasing arousal as her body arched and twisted, her breasts rising and falling erotically as she struggled. Unable to restrain himself, he captured those globes in his hands. Then her twin globes still lay under his hands, their softness an arousing contrast to the strength displayed by the rest of her body. His hands reluctantly left her globs and traced their way across Cathy’s flat stomach to her vulnerable, shaven cunt. He parted the outer lips with his thumbs, exposing the red flower within. She was dry to his touch, but this was of no importance to him. The sight of her soft red flesh , the small nub clearly visible at the top, drew his fingers deeper inside the helpless Cathy. He pushed two, then three, fingers into his struggling captive, thrusting them as far as into her cunt as he could, exploring her body. As the captive woman’s body arched upward and she cried out in response, he forced his fingers even deep inside Cathy, immersing them in the warmth of her body, careless of the pain he was causing her, but enjoying it at the same time. For her pain was to be his pleasure. That was the lesson he was to teach this arrogant Western whore this day.
He stripped off his coat, throwing it on the floor with her clothes. Otherwise, he remained fully dressed. He unzipped his pants and brought out his erect cock. From her position flat on her back, Cathy could not see his cock. If she could have seen the length and hardness of his member, she would have been even more afraid than she already was. Instead, her eyes remained locked on the face hovering above her. She felt his cock’s warmth- and its hardness- as he pressed himself against her cunt lips, running the head of his erect cock over Cathy’s soft cunt lips and against her sensitive clit before stabbing it deep inside Cathy in one hard thrust. The force of his thrust drove the breath from her lungs.
" AAHHHEEEE ........ STOP IT, YOU BASTARD... ... GET AWAY FROM .. NOoooo!"
He held the helpless Captain down, a strong hand gripping each of her hips as he drove himself even deeper into her. Trapped between the Arab unyielding cock and the equally unyielding cave wall, she could only lie there and scream as she felt his cock force its way inside her. She tried to resist him, tried to close her legs top keep him out, but her muscles were no match for his greater strength - and desire. Already his cock had reached deep inside her. He had reached all the way to her cervix and was battering against it with his cock head. Again and again, he impaled her on the length of his cock. Cathy felt as if his cock was tearing her insides apart. It felt to her as if that cock had been sheathed in sandpaper and its head sheathed in iron. Every brutal stroke shook her body, driving drove the breath from her lungs. Relentlessly, the Arab battered his way deeper and deeper inside the helpless Cathy. He used his cock as a weapon to overwhelm Cathy, used it like a battering ram to shatter Cathy’s defenses. Trapped between his hard cock and the unyielding stone of the cave wall, Cathy could find no escape. With her arms and legs bound beneath her, she had no way of fighting back against this rape of her body and soul. All she could do was lie helplessly beneath him as he impaled her again and again on his cock. The only way she could give expression to her feelings of rage and helplessness was through her voice. Cathy began to scream:
" AGGHEEE.. NO.. NO, YOU BASTARD... LET ME GO! STOP .. STOP.. BASTARD! NO.. NO ... NO!"
His body hovered over Cathy, the Arab smiling down at her as she railed against him. He drank in the beauty of Cathy’s helpless body, by now covered in sweat from her futile struggles despite the cold. He plowed deeper into Cathy’s strong young body. His cock throbbed almost painfully, seeming to swell in size with each new thrust. He knew he would not last much longer in Cathy’s warm tight cunt. He stared down into Cathy’s upturned face, his eyes drinking in the agony so evident on her face. He felt as if he were drunk, drunk on the pain/pleasure he was taking from Cathy. At that moment, the Arab felt a curious detachment toward his act of rape. It was as if he were a spectator watching another man rape the blonde American rather than the man raping her. He took in Cathy’s face- taking in the blonde hair framing her face, making a halo around it in the reflected lantern light, saw the pain in her deep blue eyes, evident in the tears running down her cheeks and the red round "O" of her mouth as Cathy screamed out at him in her pain. He watched over his own shoulder as Cathy fought frantically but without hope against the cock brutally impaling her, her strong body moving erotically if unwillingly against him . He watched his cock sink into Cathy, thrust in and out of her cunt, feeling the warmth and firmness of Cathy’s cunt but oddly detached from the act of the rape itself. He felt no pity for the victim. Instead, he savored Cathy’s screams of pain and outrage along with the softer moans of pain that escaped her lips each time his cock rammed into the depths of her womb. Slowly the screams of anger died out, to be totally replaced by moans as the now exhausted Cathy became increasingly incapable of coherent speech. The volume of her moans rose higher and higher, becoming screams of pain, perhaps even screams of arousal, as the power and depth of his thrusts built towards a climax. Brutally, the tall man slammed his cock into Cathy, the impact of his hips battering against her cunt and thighs, making Cathy’s nude body shudder and reaching depths which neither had never experienced before. He stared down at her, his sweat soaking his clothes and falling from his face to mix with the sweat covering Cathy’s nude, slick and shiny body. Never, he knew, had he seen anything as erotic as the woman struggling against him. His cock began to throb as he moved one hand from where it had been crushing her left breast and ran it across her cheek, feeling the warmth wetness of the tears on her soft cheek. He stared down into her blue eyes, his cock throbbing, as he drank in the agony so evident there as well as in the rest of her face. He began to speak, the volume and intensity of his words steadily rising
" Yes, speak to me slave. Scream... scream out your pain so that everyone can hear you. I want them to know what I do to you. Especially that pig Kehalis. Scream for him, my slave. SCREAM ! Scream out who is taking you, who is raping your whore’s cunt. TELL THEM WHO I AM, SLAVE! "
The Arab drew his curved knife from his belt, laying the cold steel against Cathy’s tear streaked cheeks. Cathy was lost in the sheer power of his cock, her mind was overwhelmed by a feeling of ... fullness as his cock reached ever deeper inside her. Cathy stared up at him, her confusion evident in her expression. Slowly she realized what he wanted. He wanted her to call him "Master" as he raped her. He again ordered her to speak, emphasizing his command by impaling her again and again with his cock, making her body shake with the force of his thrusts. He held one of Cathy’s breasts in his grip, painfully squeezing the soft globe as he plowed in her. . He held his knife against her cheek, its phallic form cold and menacing, crudely reminding Cathy of his power over her. She felt the speed of his thrusts increase along with their depth and force. His cock was filling her, sinking deeper and deeper into her cunt no matter how hard she fought against it. Desperate to end this nightmare of rape and pain, and to find some relief from the cock which was turning her insides into jelly, Cathy gave in to him. She gave him what he wanted in a last coherent moment, screaming out:
" MASTER... YOU’RE HURTING ME MASTER.. IT HURTS SO MUCH.. PLEASEE.. MASTER... NO MORE... NO MORE. ... OHHH! "
Hearing the words he wanted so much to hear pushed the Arab over the top. His cock emptied his cum into Cathy, filling her with a flood of his hot cum. He held himself still between her legs, eyes unfocused, body rigid as he emptied himself into the sobbing female officer trapped underneath him. He could feel his cock spurt again, and then again for a third time before it began to shrink. He stayed inside her warmth as long as he could, until he began to feel the cum leaking out of Cathy’s cunt. Slowly. he withdrew and put his cock back inside his pants. He looked down at Cathy as she lay there, eyes tightly shut, her nude body shiny with her sweat and shaking with her sobs; her breasts red from the punishment he had given them. A stream of white cum- his cum- trickling out of her still open cunt onto the platform. He slowly turned around to look toward the doorway. As he had hoped and expected, he saw the doorway filled with the faces of the Pashtoons. Except for the angry face of Kehalis, the men’s faces showed only delight in a foreigner’s- especially a foreign woman’s- humiliation. There was no anger at the Arab for taking the Western female soldier, only envy. Their faces showed something else as well. They showed a hunger, a hunger to experience the bound woman themselves, to take her as the Arab had taken her, to make her cry out for them as she cried out for the Arab when he had planted his seed deep inside her.
The Arab smiled and gestured to them, dumbly showing the men that they were welcome to enter. He needed no knowledge of their strange language to make it clear to the watching men that he was offering them a taste of what he had just experienced with Cathy.