I awoke with a start. It was still dark out, although there seemed to be a shade of pre-dawn gray light filtering through the light curtains. I thought perhaps my master had summoned me to his bed to enjoy my naked body once again, but he was still sound asleep. Then I heard the sounds of men running through the building, of hammering on doors, of furious commands being shouted in Arabic. I was scared, but I dared not wake my master, who was by habit a deep sleeper - especially after having thoroughly made use of one of his slave girls. I was chained to the foot of his bed, nude. There was little I could do.
He woke up when the door of the room burst open and four men rushed in, wearing assorted, mis-matching military fatigues and carrying what looked like automatic rifles. My master jumped out of the bed and started toward the bathroom door, but they intercepted him before he could get that far. A moment later, I saw them tie my beloved master's hands together behind his back and begin to march him out of the room. I wondered what kind of men these might be, that they could assault the compound of one of the country's favored sons and treat him so.
As two of the men led David out of the room, another spied me huddled against the bed, my legs drawn up to my chest in a futile effort to cover my nudity. He smiled, said something to the others, and walked over to me, pulling me to my feet by my arm. The chain on my neck would not let me stand upright, forcing me to bend over in a humiliating posture. I heard laughing from the men. They forced my master to produce the key to my chain and unlocked it from the bed, leaving it on my collar as a leash. Then they tied my hands behind my back and led me out of the room behind my master. I noticed they had draped his robe over his shoulders and belted it in front to protect his modesty. I, however, was marched through the halls completely nude save for my collar and bonds. I walked as gracefully as I could despite being led by a leash, my hips swaying and my breasts thrust forward as I had been taught. I had no idea what these men might do to me, but I desperately wanted to interest them in my body, to make them see me as a sex toy with which they might amuse themselves. The alternatives, it seemed, could be much worse.
We were marched through the breaking dawn light outside and across the compound to the central building, which I knew from the times we had served at my master's parties or business meetings. There, in the large main dining room, a kind of makeshift command center had been set up. There were twenty or thirty of the irregular soldiers in the room, and others drifted in or out. Against one wall, bound and under guard, were the regular inhabitants of the compound - guards, servants, wives, and children. We were brought to one end of the room, where the apparent leader of the attackers had seated himself at one end of the central dining table. He was thin and bearded, with a rifle slung across his shoulders and a wild look in his eye.
First he spoke briefly with David, and then two guards escorted him over to the wall with the other prisoners. Then it was my turn. I lowered myself to my knees and spread them as widely as possible. He had probably never known a slave girl such as I. I would use every device I knew to win his interest.
"You are American?" he said in heavily accented English.
"Yes ? master," I said. He smiled.
"You American girls - you are all sluts," he said. "Yes?"
"Yes, master," I said, not wanting to contradict him. "I am a slut, master."
"All you want is sex. Always sex," he said. "You come here and you seduce our men with your slutty bodies."
I was afraid where this was leading. "Yes, master," I said.
"Sluts like you are a disgrace and a threat to our nation," he said bitterly. "We should kill you all."
My eyes went wild with fear. I did the only thing I knew how to do. I prostrated myself before him, falling onto my side and squirming over to him, where I began to kiss at his feet frantically. "No, master," I pleaded. "Please don't kill me. Let me serve you instead. Let me serve you and your men with my body. You can use me any way you want. I know I'm a worthless slut, but think of the pleasure you could have with me."
He looked down at me. "You disgust me, flaunting your body, begging to be raped. You Americans are weak. I despise you."
But he did not stop me from licking and kissing his feet and ankles. I looked up at him from where I lay, naked and bound, at his feet. "Yes, I am weak, and you are right to despise me. But why kill me, even if you hate me? Would it not be a sweeter victory to take advantage of my weakness, to enslave me and make me your own, or to give me to your men as one of the spoils of your conquest? If it is Americans you hate, what would be better than taking their girls and using us for your amusement, kicking our legs apart and raping us, or forcing us to serve you in ways you would never demand from your own women? And no matter how you abuse me, I will remain your devoted slave, always ready to please you or anyone you choose. Why throw away such a chance to demonstrate your superiority over us, to put us in chains and make us beg for your touch?"
I could feel him softening, and I was sure it had more to do with the sight of a pretty, naked girl, bound at his feet, desperately attempting to please him, than with any arguments I might make. He said something to an associate, who laughed and pointed at me.
"Think about all the ways you can use me," I said. "Think of all the ways you can humiliate me, or bind me, or take pleasure from my body. Imagine putting me on all fours and taking me from behind, or kneeling me at your feet to please you with my mouth, or bending me over a table and raping me. Think of all the things you can do with a naked, helpless slave. I offer you all those things and more, in exchange for my life. And when you tire of me, you can always kill me then, or sell me to someone else in exchange for something you do value."
He turned to his associate and said something, apparently a joke. Then he turned back to me and said, "OK, we'll give you an audition. If he's satisfied," he said, pointing to the man by his side, "you can live."
"Thank you, thank you, master," I said. I turned my body slightly and began kissing the feet of the man I must now please. "How may I serve you, master," I asked. "May I please you with my mouth?" I begged, licking and parting my lips as I knelt back on my heels, lifting my breasts to bring them to his attention. "Or do you want me on my back, or on my belly?"
In response, he unbuttoned his pants and smiled. "Thank you, master," I said, and knelt up off my heels to begin my work. With my hands bound behind me I was somewhat limited in my techniques, but I expected I could do enough with my lips and tongue to bring this man pleasure he had never known from his girlfriends, wives, or prostitutes. After all, I was a trained pleasure slave. I moaned in apparent pleasure as I bobbed my head up and down, closing my eyes to focus the physical sensations of intimate service. Never before had I pleasured a man in such fear for my life. Nothing existed in the world for me but his manhood, which I worshipped passionately with all the offerings of a slave girl. I felt him stiffen and prepared for his climax. But then he pulled my head off of him, pulled me to my feet, and threw my upper body over the dining table. I felt my body crushed against the table as he entered me, powerfully and triumphantly, the force of his body impressing on me my inferiority, my identity as a mere instrument for the fulfillment of his pleasure. He held my hips tightly as he spent himself in me, as I gasped and moaned more in relief than in anything else. When he withdrew from me, I turned and sank to my knees before him, taking him once again lovingly into my mouth. I raised my eyes to him, hoping to see in them a clue to my fate.
He stroked my hair approvingly as I continued to clean him, lovingly coaxing every drop from him. When I was finished I leaned my head against his thigh and asked, "Did I please master?" The man looked at the commander and said a few words.
"You have been found acceptable for use by my men," he said.
"Thank you, master!" I said, covering his feet with kisses once again. "Thank you. I will be a perfect, obedient slave to them, master."
"My men have worked hard and have had little in the way of comforts," he continued. "It will be fitting tha
t they take pleasure from the body of our defeated enemy. As long as you are pleasing, you will be allowed to live. If you fail in the slightest, you will be killed, or worse."
"Thank you, master," I repeated. "I will be a marvel to you and your men."
Two guards lifted me by the arms and conducted me to an adjacent room, then being used as a kind of refreshment room, where food and drinks ransacked from the grounds were available and a TV was playing. The eyes of the soldiers already in the room fixed themselves on my naked body when I was brought in. I knew I would have to satisfy all of them, and many more, but I was deeply grateful for the chance. I was a slave girl, and pleasing men was the sole object of my existence. The punishment the commander had intended to mete out to me was nothing more than my rightful station in life, open and available for the uses of men.
After some discussion about how best to make use of their unexpected prize, I was tied on my back over a small table, my ankles roped to the two legs on one side and my wrists to the legs on the other side. My legs were wide open for assault from the front, and in addition, my head hung back over the far edge of the table. I was sure I was not a particularly attractive sight, but I knew I was an inviting target for the men's lusts. Quickly one of the men positioned himself in front of me and began to take advantage of my vulnerable position. Bound as I was, I could do little to participate in my rape, but I could still use my inner muscles to massage him. I closed my eyes and moaned in an expert simulation of a slave girl's rapture, hoping by that means to further excite my attacker. But although I began solely as a stratagem to please my master of the moment, I soon felt myself becoming truly heated, and was ashamed to feel my body responding to its brutal, casual usage. As a slave, I knew myself subject to this kind of unilateral, disciplinary use, simply bound for the masters' convenience and used as a passive vessel for their pleasure. And I knew that this was a perfectly appropriate use of me, a natural expression of my submission and their dominance. So by the time my rapist clutched me to him and climaxed within me, my cries were more real than fake, and I was disappointed to feel him leave me.
However, I was not long to be left unattended. A moment later, another man had taken his place. My head hanging over the table as it was, I could not see him as he made use of me, but could only lose myself in the physical sensations of my ravishment. And then I was interrupted by another man who had positioned himself in front of my face, where my mouth hung open invitingly. He quickly began to make use of my mouth and throat as I licked at him greedily. In this position, it was less a matter of me pleasing him with my mouth than of him simply having his way with me, taking advantage of the curve of my throat to plunge deeply within me, but I did what I could with lips and tongue to increase his pleasure. The intense humiliation of being bound helplessly and used simultaneously by two unknown assailants pushed me to the brink of climax, and my body began to shake in helpless orgasm. I heard the men laugh. I was sure I was confirming all of their prejudices about American women - that we were wanton sluts who wanted nothing more than to be tied up and raped. But while I knew it was not true of most of my sisters back home, I knew equally well that it was true of me.
Those two men were replaced by others, and others still as the morning wore on. I was joined in that room by David's three other slave girls, who were tied in a variety of positions where they might be freely available to the men, and I could soon hear their gasps and moans mingled with my own. One or two were crying as they were forcibly entered and made use of, but even they could not help their bodies from responding to the men.
We remained in place for the majority of the day as the rebel commander let all of his men enjoy the prize of the day's successful assault, but eventually the stream of soldiers trickled down, presumably as they returned to the duties of war. I learned then and over the next days that these men were part of a large rebel force that was seeking to overthrow the now-corrupt aristocracy of oil barons who essentially owned the small principality. They were not Islamic fundamentalists, as I am sure they were portrayed by the Western media, but were closer to secular nationalists, upset more at American support for the oiled class than at any attacks on religious values or traditions - although they were more than ready to accept the support of religious zealots as well. At the moment, they had engaged in a series of surprise attacks on government and aristocracy strongholds, and were waiting uneasily as the larger surrounding nations - and the United States, with its nearby bases in Saudi Arabia - decided how to respond.
That night, I was reassured to find myself summoned to the bed of the local commander, upstairs in the master bedroom on the second floor. I was allowed to drink some water, eat some food, and take a shower to make myself more presentable for my new master, as I now saw him. I never found out what happened to David, or to the other prisoners I had last seen lined up against the wall of the main dining room.
I entered the commander's room completely naked, wearing only my collar, a chain leash, and the thin ropes that held my wrists together behind my back. He first looped my leash through the bedframe and locked it in place, but I was surprised when, instead of simply kicking my legs apart and tasting the fruits of my submission, he untied my wrists and invited me to join him on the bed. I think, for all his skill and experience in leading men, he was unsure about how to use a slave girl. I undressed him slowly, licking and kissing at his body, finally taking him into my mouth and lavishing my talents on him slowly and lingeringly. He reared up, holding my head in place with his hands, and I gazed up at his face as I swallowed, continuing to caress him with my tongue, hoping to see some trace of contentment or pleasure in his eyes. I think he was pleased with his girl.
He made me sleep, bound once again, on the floor by his bed, and in the early morning he jerked on my leash to command me back onto its surface. This time, after letting me lick and kiss at him, he rolled me over onto my back, thrust my legs apart, and plunged into me violently, abusing me as the American slut he so hated, but also forcing me to cry out in joy, a vanquished slave girl responding helplessly to her master.
I spent the next two weeks in that one building, most of it in another second-floor bedroom where the soldiers could make use of me when not engaged in their more bellicose pursuits. I would be chained by my leash to the bedframe to prevent escape, but otherwise was left free, unless one of my rapists chose to tie me up in some fashion using the handcuffs and ropes available. Some of the men seemed experts in the arts of abusing a helpless, naked girl, tying me in positions that both caused me pain and opened me up creatively for their exploitation, or cruelly arousing me with their caresses or with physical implements and then refusing to let me achieve satisfaction. But for the most part, they were relatively unimaginative, the vast majority preferring either to have me serve them with my mouth, kneeling before them, or to push me over onto my belly and breasts and take me from behind like a dog. Whatever their tastes, of course, I knew to serve them with absolute obedience and with all the intimate techniques that I had learned. I knew that I was still under threat of death, should I fail to be pleasing.
For the first few days I could still hear the moans or cries of the other slave girls, similarly employed in other rooms on the second floor, but soon they were transferred to other groups of troops for their comfort and amusement, either as gifts from one commander to another or, perhaps, in exchange for guns and ammunition. At the beginning, too, there was a constant stream of men demanding my body, which I of course gave to them freely, but that began to tail off during the first week; as the commander told me later, he feared that my constant availability was making his men soft, and from that point he would only grant rights to my body as a reward for specific accomplishments.
Most nights I spent in his room, chained on the floor by his bed after having served him, but there were also nights when he allowed me to remain in the bed after he had made use of me. Then I would kiss and caress him gently as he fell asleep, and he would awake to find my lips
and tongue warm and wet on his body, attempting to show a slave's gratitude for the kindness he showed me. Although each night he seemed to try out some new way of dominating and abusing me, using his new sex toy to experiment in the many pleasures that can be extracted from a naked, willing girl, there was also something innocent in him, in the almost naive joy he took each time he thrust my knees apart and entered me, once again establishing his dominion over my body. For my part, I did everything in my humble powers to bring him the pleasures a man may enjoy from a woman, not only because I feared him as the master of my fate, but even a little because of that innocence.
The end came quickly at the end of those two weeks. I was lying in his arms in bed, asleep, when we were both awakened by the low throbbing of helicopters. He sprang up and grabbed his rifle, but then two windows burst in and the room was filled with a sudden flash of light, sound, and smoke. I was knocked off the bed into a corner of the room, where I curled up in shock and fear; my master was thrown to the floor, dazed. Suddenly heavily armed men in uniforms burst in through both windows, releasing the ropes they had used to descend from their helicopters, instinctively covering the room and its entrances with their weapons. These were professionals, the real soldiers, I knew. Two of them quickly cuffed my master, and two came over to me, covering me with their guns.
"Please, masters," I said, struggling to my knees and opening them instinctively, "don't hurt me. I'll do whatever you want."
"You're an American?" one said in a flat Midwestern accent.
"Yes, master."
"What are you doing here?"
I swallowed. "I'm a slave girl ? a sex slave. I've been held here by these men."
"OK, don't worry," he said matter-of-factly. "We'll get you out of here." He fetched a pair of pincers from another soldier, which they used to cut the padlock holding my leash in place. They cuffed my hands behind my back with plastic cuffs as a precaution, and then one of the men lifted me up and began to carry me down out of the room and down the stairs. He handled me casually, but I noticed he could not resist brushing a hand over my breasts as I lay helplessly in my arms.
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