Please do not read if under 18 years of age or offended by sexually explicit stories and situations.
(c) 2003 Couture
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Sarah was a young twenty-two year from Akron Ohio. She had a slender athletic body, conditioned and honed razor sharp by the US Army. She enlisted so she could pay for college. She never expected to get called into combat. She certainly didn't expect this.
She tugged futilely at her bonds. Her body ached all over, but her joints hurt most of all. She couldn't even remember how she got here. The last thing she remembered was patrolling the streets of Baghdad with her unit. There had been a blast- a bomb of some sort. Rule number one was: Stay with your patrol. Somehow Sarah got separated. There had been an Arab woman motioning her to the safety of her house. As soon as she entered, something was held over her mouth. She smelled an acrid chemical scent that burned her lungs. There was panic and hyperventilation - and then - and then - nothing.
She woke up to blackness, and realized there was something covering her eyes. Then the sickness came. She had dry heaves for the first ten minutes. Afterwards, she tried to reach up to pull the hood away or at the very least wipe the puke from her mouth, but her hands where tied above her head. One of her ankles was secured to the floor, while the other was secured about mid-thigh. Worse, they were tied so that they were spread apart.
Sarah was scared as hell. She had never been more scared in her life. She was helpless and totally vulnerable for whatever the people who held her had planned. Her gun, even her very clothes had been taken away. Her dog tags were gone as well. She wasn't even a number, she was just a body.
Her thick tongue reached out to sooth her dry cracked lips. How long had she been here? Her stomach growled and made her wonder when she had last eaten.
She heard a door behind her slam, and then footsteps came closer and closer. She almost wet herself. Who were they? What did they want? Name, rank, serial number, name, rank, and serial number she repeated in her mind. I'm a good soldier. I'm a good soldier. But she wasn't good. She was scared as hell.
The young soldier gasped when the hood was jerked off her head. She blinked her eyes as they became accustomed to the bright light of the room. It was a relief to see a woman and not a group of Iraqi soldiers. "Sarah Conway, Private US Army, 854660," she said by rote.
The woman just smiled. Sarah recognized her as the woman she had tried to help in the street.
"Oostatha Faiza," the Arab woman said, pointing to herself.
Sarah was unable to point due to her hands being bound and drawn behind her back. "Sarah - Sarah Conway," she said. It felt strange to talk without the use of her hands.
"No," Faiza spat. "Jew terrorist."
Sarah shook her head, causing her matted hair to fall into her eyes. "No - private- US Army . . ." She felt the spittle running down her face, but there wasn't enough give in he bonds to even wipe it off.
The Arab woman smiled cruelly. "Thirsty terrorist?" she asked, holding a small cup to Sarah's parched lips.
Yes, thank God. Sarah leaned forward for a sip despite the pain to her shoulder joints. To her dismay, the cup held some sort of thick beige liquid. What was this? Some cruel sick joke? Some crude form of torture?
"Make Jour face new and fresh. Hides flaws and blemishes," Faiza laughed.
"I have rights," Sarah cried. "The Geneva conventions say . . . the Geneva. . ."
Faiza interrupted the hapless girl by trying to force a tennis shoe into her mouth. "Just chew it."
Sarah turned her head to avoid the onslaught. "I'm a prisoner of war," she laughed. "I have rights. . ."
"Jew terrorist pig," Faiza said, spitting in Sarah's face again. "Jew have no rights." And then the hood was replaced.
Sarah quickly lost track of time. There was random lights and loud Arabic music. It was impossible to sleep for more than a few minutes. She was tied up in various degrading and sexually revealing positions. Even though she was very flexible from years of dance classes when she was younger, it did little to help her body bear the strain from the awkward ways in which she was bound. Worse, in order to relieve the strain, she was forced at times to thrust her pelvis forward, and every time it happened, there was almost always a hand or probing fingers waiting for her. She fought against it for a time.
Every once and awhile the hood was pulled off. The Arab bitch was always there smiling and trying to get her to eat or drink something that would make her sick or kill her. This time it was a quart of oil and a Backstreet Boys CD.
"Please . . .mercy . . . water . . .food . . . sleep. . ." Sarah rasped. Her lips were broken and as thick as her tongue.
"Not yet," Faiza said. "Jew not ready." And replaced the hood. This time she bound Sarah with both knees mounted to the posts at thigh level.
Sarah was in such a pathetic condition, her knees grew weak and buckled within moments. Legs spread lewdly, her crotch sunk towards the floor. Faiza smiled and tested the girl by probing her cunt. There was a grunt below the hood, but the resistance had ceased. Yes, it was time.
She set up everything she would need on the table beside the bound American, and then she started with a sponge bath. The pale skinned girl stunk. She had even wet herself during the course of events.
After the American was clean, Faiza dipped her finger in scented oil and ran them over the young girl's sex, exploring its innermost regions. Sarah groaned. Her hips rolled in spite of themselves. 'No, please, not like this,' she begged silently.
Faiza picked up a straight razor and began to shear the curly pubes from the helpless soldier. Afterwards, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. 'Not so fearsome now,' she thought to herself, as her eyes ravished the slim pale naked body bound tightly in front of her.
She dipped her fingers in the oil again. This may be the American's last time. And the thought made her hot. She thrust her fingers in Sarah's bald shiny defenseless sex. She fucked it. She filled it with her fingers. Slowly adding them one after another, until Sarah's cunt bulged obscenely from Faiza's hand.
Even as the hood was taken off and Sarah realized it was a woman who was taking her, she didn't try to fight. Back home there was a handsome young college boy waiting for her, but here, this pitiless Arab woman might be her only ally in this cruel, hot, inhospitable country. Sarah's orgasm blossomed, and her body shuddered briefly before her consciousness slipped away.
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The American passed out. Good. It made the next part easier for Faiza. She was reluctant to do it, but it was necessary. Well, maybe not necessary, but surely prudent. She heated the needle red hot, and then pierced her prisoner's labia. She sealed them tightly with small gold rings. Afterwards, she cleaned the area with an antiseptic and proceeded to nurse the girl back to health.
Sarah awoke with cool water on her lips. Briefly, she entertained the hope it had all been a dread, but her aching limbs and a new soreness suffusing her cunt told her otherwise. But the water, the water was good. She sucked it from the sponge. God, it was good.
"Nice, jes terrorist?"
Sarah nodded her head. And sucked greedily. A little more water and her stomach growled. How long had it been she had last eaten? It felt like she couldn't even remember her other life.
"Jew like better than makeup and oil, jes?"
"Yes." The water made it not so difficult to talk.
"Jew kill for this, maybe I understand," Faiza said, showing Sarah the glass of water. "Jew kill for other," she pointed to the various things she had tried to force the American to eat or drink. "It make jew evil. Make jew a terrorist."
"You don't understand," Sarah said. "Your country harbored terrorists and Saddam Hussein had very bad weapons." She did her best to keep her language simple to make the woman understand.
"I think on this," Faiza said. She left the room for a few minutes. Maybe, must maybe I've gotten through to her, Sarah hoped.
However, when Faiza returned it was several newspaper clippings, which she placed on the floor. Then she picked Sarah up and helped her to her feet. But it wasn't to freedom that Sarah was led, it was to several chains hanging from a wench attached to the ceiling. When Sarah realized what was happening, she struggled anew. But, she was weak and still bound. Faiza had no problem securing her and then hoisting the newly bound girl up. Lastly, she positioned the articles so that Sarah could read them below her. "And jew should think on it too," she said before leaving.
It was horrible. Sarah had never felt so weak and helpless, so at the mercy of someone else's whim. Her arms were bound behind her, and her weight was being supported by her shoulders and knees. Within minutes her back was killing her. A little later, her knees began to separate, and the pain settled into her thighs and sex. It was then that she noticed the rings in her sex. Oh God, they had ruined her. She broke down crying, sobbing, and praying for rescue. She read the articles. They were from the Washington post and they said there were no weapons of mass destruction and there were no Al Quada links. Things she knew already. She knew she was going to have to be much more careful with what she said. Faiza was much smarter than she gave the woman credit for.
When Faiza returned, Sarah hung limply. There wasn't even a spark of fight left in her when she was let down.
"Jew eat and drink," Faiza said. "Maybe relax before we talk again."
That was fine by Sarah. Especially if talking led to being bound like that again. She lay in Faiza's arms, and let the Arab woman give her sips of water. Faiza's robe was untied and her breasts swung pendulously above Sarah's face. It was a little disconcerting, but the American dared not to object, not when the woman was singing a foreign song and wiping Sarah's forehead off with a wet sponge, instead of hurting her or starving her. How could the woman be so motherly one moment and so cruel the next? She even accepted the little morsels of food Faiza fed her.
