Afghan Bound

by Henry Morgan

  The prospect of the journey filled him with awe, but for the first time in ages he felt a great sense of relief. With only himself to think about he was confident of his chances, although one thing was for certain; he wouldn’t make it through the mountains with a sidecar attached to the bike. Under the early morning sun he set about detaching the bike from the car. Searching for the tools he was amazed to discover his socks were still there, and still full of gold. So the Arabs must have considered the bike worthless, and hadn’t bothered to search it. They had let a fortune slip through their fingers. David smiled; things were turning out rather well.

  Once the bike was free David spent the rest of the day travelling in search of civilisation. He did as Malek had told him and headed west for Iran. It was no surprise then that the first village he came across was in North West Pakistan, two hundred miles to the south of his desired destination. The first thing he needed was Pakistan rupees, and the most obvious course to take was to sell the bike. It wasn’t difficult, any form of transport in this region raised the owner to the status of movie star. He managed to wrangle seven hundred rupees from the owner of a one-pump garage, and he suspected the man had got himself a bargain. The money meant he could at least buy a bed for the night.

  Unfortunately Jalpuri was devoid of hotels. In fact it was devoid of most things, although it did have two pushbike repairers and a cobbler. But an Englishman is not alone for long in such a remote part of the world. Within a few minutes an assortment of children had tried to sell him everything from half a bicycle chain to a broken cricket bat. It brought a wry smile to his face; they probably thought an Englishman wouldn’t know what to do with a complete bat.

  ‘You want room sir?’

  The sound of an English voice amidst so much jabbering immediately caught his attention.

  ‘You want room sir?’ she repeated. ‘Good room. Cheap room.’

  He looked into her pretty young face and answered instinctively. ‘Yes. Yes I do. Thank you.’

  The girl took him by the hand and led him through the throngs of milling children.

  ‘Ten rupees,’ she said, as they neared her rooms. ‘Cheap rooms. Plenty food.’

  Seven of them lived in three rooms above the village butchers; Yasmin, the oldest daughter, her three sisters, one brother, and two parents. Yasmin had taught herself English from the radio and any books she could get her hands on; mostly by begging them from tourists. Not that Jalpuri got many visitors.

  The entire household fell silent the moment they entered the house. Yasmin spoke to her father and gestured as if to hand him money. This smoothed over any initial reservations, and her mother motioned for David to sit and have some food with them. It was getting quite late and he was glad of the meal, although it was a lot spicier than anything he had tasted before. Afterwards the youngest girls took the dishes away for cleaning and David asked where he could sleep. Yasmin took him to a room at the back of the house, which was usually used by the young ones.

  ‘They sleep with my parents,’ she told him in reply to his questioning look. ‘They sometimes do that anyway.’

  ‘I don’t want to cause any problems,’ he protested.

  ‘You have not,’ she answered coolly, then turned and left.

  The bed was little more than matting in the corner of the room, but to David it felt like the best divan in the shop. He stashed his gold laden socks inside some clothes and made a pillow for himself. He climbed gratefully into his bed and was asleep in seconds.

  Sometime during the night, exactly what time he didn’t know, an exploring hand found its way beneath the covers. Although quickly awake, David lay frozen for a while to consider his actions. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the light, focusing gradually on a stooped figure near the bottom of the bed. The hand crept further along his leg, no doubt searching for any valuables it could find. With the benefit of surprise David lunged towards the figure, knocking it backwards with ease. In an instant he was atop the shadow, rolling, fighting, grappling, until suddenly he felt the unmistakable shape of a woman’s breast. Small yes, firm certainly, but a breast it definitely was. He seized her wrists and held them firmly above her head, and there in the faint light of a breaking dawn he saw Yasmin, breasts heaving, her body soaked with perspiration and her face a mask of fear and excitement.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he demanded.

  In a soft, almost childlike voice, she said in her broken English. ‘I never seen a white man’s thing before. I only wanted see yours, to see what it look like.’

  With such clear innocence she could only be telling the truth. David was shocked at her candid admission, but smiled warmly and shifted his weight off her lithe frame.

  ‘How old are you, Yasmin?’

  ‘I am old enough, sir.’

  David put her at about seventeen or eighteen, and very pretty. He should send her back to her room, but…

  He leant back against the wall and opened his legs, his prick rapidly rising in concert with his pounding heart.

  Yasmin remained motionless, her brown saucer-like eyes fixed to his now swollen penis. She licked her lips, her innocent expression one of undiluted hunger, and then inched nearer until her spellbound face was inches from the smooth and purple glans.

  ‘It is big,’ she whispered.

  The compliment added a further inch to its girth, bringing it ever closer to her lips. He wanted to reach out and guide her face down onto him; to feel his cock inside her hot young mouth. There was no need. Her tongue slipped from between her soft lips and flicked at his helmet, tickling and teasing as it did with the men of the village. As it did with the fat butcher downstairs, who gave the family free meat after he had first given his meat to the pretty daughter. As it did with the sandal maker and the manager of the farmers’ co-operative. It was a way of life for the pretty girls of the village.

  With a knowledge far beyond her years, her head bobbed along the full length of his shaft. Such pleasure was difficult for David to believe. He ran his hand along her thighs, searching for her entrance, seeking out that wet line. He found it unprotected by any knickers, and more slick than hot butter on muffins. He adjusted his position and dipped his head in order to lap at her as she lapped at him. The butter was salted and highly scented. It sent the blood pounding ever harder into his cock. With uncontrollable desire he tore away her nightclothes, exposing her fit brown body. Then he plucked her up and planted her firmly onto his lap, where his erection ran its way into her sex like the expert lunge of a fencer. Yasmin jerked her hips backwards and forwards, urged on by the finger wriggling inside her tight anus. Her small breasts trembled as she moaned throatily. Holding back his orgasm was no mean feat. The moment he felt her vaginal muscles grip he released his venom, sending it deep inside her belly in spasms of intense delight. She responded with great cries of relief and fell exhausted and panting to the floor. In the growing light of the morning he watched his come dribbling down the crack of her exquisite little bottom, the white fluid glowing in contrast to her smooth brown skin.

  She was unbelievably fantastic, and David wanted more.

  He moved to kneel behind her head, then with a leg on either side of her upturned face he lowered his hips and fed his limp cock into her irresistible mouth. Her bright smile revealed her pleasure at prolonging their lovemaking, and she eagerly licked at her own juice, copiously smeared along his flesh. Life was returning rapidly to his groin when he realised they were not alone. In the shadow of the door stood Yasmin’s mother, watching the proceedings and witnessing her daughter wantonly giving her body to him in the most carnal ways possible. How long she’d been standing there David didn’t know. It was too late to stop; he was too far gone, his erection increasing with every clever flick of Yasmin’s tongue. If she wanted to watch that was up to her; nothing was going to stop him spraying his come down her daughter’s throat.

  Yasmin’s m
other however had different ideas. She knew about her daughter’s behaviour; knew about the butcher downstairs screwing her for the cost of half a chicken, and about the co-op manager who liked to loosen her up a little with the handle of a hoe before screwing her over the sacks in the grain store. At first she had been shocked, but the extra food was very welcome and Yasmin came to no harm. She seemed to enjoy it even, and no doubt the hope of a few rupees was again in the back of her mind. It was in her mind too; she also wanted the money, and if she had to sit on the Englishman’s penis to get it, so be it.

  Yasmin seemed less surprised than David when her mother joined them. She had taken her clothes off and presented herself doggy fashion to him, and he was left in no doubt as to what was required. Yasmin, however, beat him to it. She covered his cock with saliva, guided it to the waiting cleft between her mother’s legs, and lifted her head to kiss his balls and watch him slip inside.

  After his initial exertions David took a long time in coming, much to the pleasure of Yasmin’s mother. With her long black hair she was still attractive, even after five children and a life of squalor, and it pleased David that she was enjoying it so much. He felt her vagina clench him several times before he finally discharged into her. His milky jism ran in tiny rivulets along her swollen lips before dripping into Yasmin’s grateful mouth below. The older woman shuddered with the afterglow of several orgasms that really required a soothing caress to bring her down gently. Cupping her breasts David eased her backwards and sat her down on her daughter’s face. He then stood astride Yasmin to face her mother and present his prick to her mouth for cleaning.

  Drained and satiated, David dropped down on his bedding and watched as the two finally tired of pleasing each other. The morning had arrived fully by the time they gathered their clothes and left him alone to snatch what sleep he could.

  Chapattis with lime and mango chutney greeted him for breakfast. Despite his initial reservations the efforts of last night insisted he took something. Yasmin brought the food, making no comment about their nocturnal activities; her mother was similarly discreet. If it wasn’t for the wonderful memory and his exhausted penis he may have doubted that anything had happened at all.

  6.

  ‘Do any buses come through here?’ David asked.

  ‘Two,’ said Yasmin. ‘One to Ouetta and one to Karachi. Ouetta is nearer.’

  The thought of Ouetta brought a smile to David’s lips; he’d seen quite enough of Ouetta.

  ‘Why you smile?’ she asked. ‘What is funny?’

  David shook his head. ‘Nothing. When does the Karachi bus leave?’

  Yasmin shrugged her shoulders. ‘An hour, or two maybe. Who knows?’

  David gathered up his belongings, careful not to show anyone the gold-filled socks, and made to catch the bus. Before leaving he handed Yasmin’s mother the ten rupees she had stipulated for the rent, in the other hand he gave her fifty rupees and the same for Yasmin. They hadn’t asked for the money the night before, but David knew their motives. It was a service he gladly paid for, and if it helped to bring a little happiness to the household and ease their burden a little then all the better. It was a long time since a hundred rupees had entered that house, and their smiles assured him it would be well, if not wisely, spent.

  No sooner had he started his journey to the bus stop than he was surrounded by what seemed like the entire population of the village children. It was as if they had been waiting to ambush him when he came out of the house. Taking a handful of coins from his pocket he threw the lot in the air, and while the kids ran after them in one direction, he fled in the other. Thankfully the Karachi bus was already waiting when he rounded the corner because some of the kids had anticipated his plan and were in hot pursuit. He dived almost headlong into the bus, providing great amusement for his fellow travellers who smiled and jabbered and made silly gestures as if they were cliff divers from Acapulco.

  The journey was long and hot, with air conditioning coming with the complements of those who had smashed every window on the vehicle. As well as allowing a breeze to blow through the bus, the missing windows also made it easier for char-sellers to pass up cups of tea whenever they stopped – which was frequently. On the road between Jalpuri and Karachi David was offered everything from tea, to marijuana, to young girls. He refrained from all bar the tea. The money he made from the sale of the Russian motorcycle was diminishing with alarming speed, and he would need some for a hotel when he arrived – if he arrived.

  About twenty miles north of Karachi, on a rough and bumpy road with lush vegetation on both sides, the bus came to a sudden and grinding halt. David was unperturbed until the driver turned in his seat and shouted very loudly in Urdu, sending the bus into sudden pandemonium. A split second later the door of the bus was flung open and shots rang out. Panic was replaced with a strange calm as everyone ducked back into their seats to await instructions from the two men who had climbed onboard. They brandished guns that David had become all too familiar with these past weeks – they were AK47’s. The calm was broken as the men barked their orders and people began leaving their seats, some receiving the butt of a rifle to the side of the head for no reason other than they had not moved fast enough for the bandits’ liking. As if recent events had desensitised him, David was able to remain if not relaxed, then quite self-possessed. He noticed a third bandit was lining the passengers up on the roadside and signalling for them to put their arms above their heads. The first man who had entered the vehicle was now making his way along the bus shouting at anybody left to join the others, while his friend searched frantically in their belongings for any valuables. As he neared, David felt his stomach knot with fear. Recognition was slow in coming to the gunman. He shouted several times at David and raised his gun in readiness to strike, before realising he was a foreigner. He called to his partner and signalled quite clearly that David was to open his bag. He wisely did as he was told. The two men looked into the small holdall, but saw nothing but socks and some food that Yasmin’s mother had kindly packed for the journey. One of the men dipped into the bag, and David thought his gold was about to change ownership. The smile on the bandit’s face appeared to confirm David’s fears, but when his hand lifted from the bag it held not the gold but a chapatti. The bandit took a large bite and signalled for David to empty his pockets. Both gunmen grinned broadly as David revealed over four hundred rupees. They snatched the money from him and finished emptying the bus, leaving him in his seat. He didn’t know why they left him there, but liked to think it was preferential treatment for being a foreigner.

  Once the terrified passengers had left the vehicle and lined up as ordered, two bandits went amongst them while the third covered them with his gun. They took everything the passengers had, most of which was worthless. In fact the money they had taken from David alone was more than they would accrue from the rest put together. Certainly the young woman who decided to make a run for it had little to offer in the way of financial assets. What she did have, however, was a very pretty face and a perfectly formed body. Despite her mother’s warning screams she began her run. Suddenly the atmosphere changed. One of the bandits made after her while the other two cheered and encouraged. The girl had little chance, and was caught almost immediately. She put up a surprisingly spirited fight as she was dragged, screaming and crying, in front of the other passengers. Her mother ran forward, pleading with the men to let her go. During the struggle clothes were torn and the daughter’s breasts fell into view. The mother protested all the more, and was silenced by the butt of a gun to the head. A few male passengers inched forward as if contemplating a rescue attempt, but the sudden crack of gunfire sent them scurrying back into line.

  On the ground the older woman stirred. She rolled onto her back, too weak to struggle to her feet, and watched helplessly as two of the men stripped her daughter naked. When they were ready, the gunman who seemed to be in charge frog-marched her over to the bus and pres
sed her against the hot metal. David looked down from his seat, directly into her pleading eyes. As the gunman released the canvas rifle strap from his shoulder he caught sight of David watching, and let forth a torrent of abuse and jabbed the weapon up at him with clear intent. David reluctantly looked away, and left the girl to her fate. Even the slap of the rifle strap on her pepper-coloured buttocks would not make him risk looking down again – nor would her whimpering during the invasion of three bandit cocks.

  Eventually the noise abated and David chanced to glance outside in time to see the three men vanishing into the thick undergrowth. They had the poor girl with them. One rifle strap had been used to tie her hands behind her back, and another was wrapped around her slender neck. No one made any attempt to follow them – David included.

  The last person back on the bus was the girl’s mother. David avoided her eyes. He felt ashamed at his lack of valour, but what could he really have done against three armed thugs? He knew the only hope for the girl was the police in Karachi, but the city was still a good hour away on these roads, and those bandits would be long gone by then.

  The engine spluttered into life. The rest of the trip was endured in silence.

  7.

  Karachi loomed ominously in the distance. The bright skies that had followed them for the last two hundred miles stopped short of the bustling port. Fumes and smoke from factory chimneys draped the city in smog and effluvium, clogging the lungs of the population teeming in the streets.