Afghan Bound Read online

  ‘Yes,’ Petr continued, ‘I may just buy her for myself. So you had better make a move before she’s shipped north.’

  Desire finally triumphed over guilt and David went across to unclip the chain that held the Afghan beauty against the wall. He turned to Petr, but before he could speak the Russian pointed to a room where they could have some privacy. Carefully guiding his prize by the chain, he led her past the others who were all either drunk, or drugged, or both.

  David laid her on the large bed that dominated the room before removing his own clothes. Her skin felt as soft as silk, and he ran his hands over her body until it was rudely stopped by the cold metal that was used to restrain her. Upon examination he found he could release the chain by opening a small catch.

  She was free now, probably for the first time in weeks. Whether through fear or through Russian conditioning, David wasn’t sure, but she made no attempt to defy him or to escape. Her hands made not to protect her nakedness, but slipped gently down to the tip of his straining penis. He lay back against the pillows and she rose to her knees, displaying all her beauty to leave him in no doubt that she was his and prepared to do his bidding, whatever that may be. While he considered his fancies she dipped her head and tenderly sucked his whole erection into her moist mouth.

  In the room outside the women were being fitted again with their rubber masks, ready to be returned to building eleven now that they had fulfilled their duties. The masks made it impossible for them to see where they were going and where they had been. The captives were brought here from all over Afghanistan, and part of the interrogation and eventual training for the brothels of Moscow was sensory deprivation. As an added insult they were returned to building eleven by male Afghans who had themselves been captured. Three of the men had wives among the group. They had been forced to serve their Russian masters while witnessing the indignities heaped upon their women.

  When the last female was finally locked in her cell Petr went back and knocked at the room where David lay with the Nutmeg. Quickly David reattached her clitoris chain and led her out to the main room where a guard tugged her away in the direction of building eleven. Petr poured a glass of the ever-present vodka which the Englishman accepted before flopping into a chair.

  ‘She is good, is she not?’ commented Petr while waving his glass as if proposing a toast. ‘I’ve been training her myself.’

  David let out a long sigh. ‘She’s fantastic. She just wanted to please me for as long as I wanted her to – whatever I wanted her to do.’

  ‘She’s got spirit too. Do what you want with her and she’ll take it. Yet I can’t get her to tell me where the safe houses are.’

  ‘What if she really doesn’t know?’ asked David wearily. ‘How do you know she knows anything?’

  ‘We know. Our informers were watching her for weeks, logging her activities and passing the information to us. The only worry I have is that she’s got to like the pain. No interrogation on earth will get it out of her then.’

  David almost choked on his vodka. ‘Got to like the pain? You must be joking. How could anyone in their right mind enjoy that torture?’

  ‘It’s true,’ answered Petr. ‘They all start out scared. We strip them and shave them. We hang them up by their tits and gag them for hours on end. The weak ones talk straight away, one swish of the cane and they would hang their own grandmothers. The stronger ones take a little longer. They fight the canings and the nipple press, endure the ball gags and the facemasks, but they all talk sooner or later. All, that is, except for a few. One in a hundred actually like it. We’ll hang them up by their feet, legs splayed, and you’ll see them shudder. It took me a while before I realised what they were doing, and that they were actually having an orgasm from the pain. You’ll never get any information out of them. The only thing to do is to pack them off to Russia for a life on their backs.’

  ‘And you think she might be one of those?’

  Petr shrugged. ‘The next few days will tell.’

  4.

  When David opened the door of the interrogation cell the following morning she was already strapped upside down from the ceiling. Karl was lathering her sex with soap ready to shave away any growth.

  She was silent and incapable of movement. Her wrists were held fast by manacles in the floor and the heavy rubber hood was strapped tight about her face. No doubt the ball gag was also in position.

  ‘Hey!’ shouted Karl at the sight of him. ‘It’s lover boy.’ He gave her breasts a hard squeeze and shouted at her: ‘Your boyfriend’s here.’

  ‘Ignore Karl,’ shouted Petr from the other side of the room where he was sitting at a desk. ‘Coming from Siberia he knows nothing about manners. They still shit in the same room where they eat. Come over here, I’ve got something to show you.’

  David sat at the other side of the desk where Petr was reading several papers on psychiatric techniques for the interrogation of prisoners. He passed a copy to David with instructions to read a few chapters.

  ‘How come these are in English?’ David inquired.

  ‘Yom Kippur,’ answered Petr. ‘We were supplying the Syrians on their push to the Golan Heights. The Americans as usual were backing the Israelis and were using the British SAS to get their information. Near Quineitra we overran a group of buildings the British were using to interrogate the Syrians, and found these.’

  David began reading while Petr continued talking.

  ‘Nothing new in them really. It’s basically sensory deprivation, although I like the use of the salt tank. Light cuffs and ankle chains, earplugs and blindfold. Then they are suspended in a tank of salt water and left floating, sometimes for days. By the end of it the prisoner doesn’t know which way is up, down or sideways. Total disorientation. They will tell you anything.’

  David looked at the suspended beauty in her heavy rubber face mask. Karl had finished shaving her and was playfully blowing on her tingling flesh.

  ‘Why put her through all this then? Why don’t you just use the tank?’

  ‘Because I don’t have one. If she continues to be stubborn I’ll have no choice but to use scopolamine.’

  Being a doctor David knew the dangers of the lethal truth serum. Mixed with morphine it induced a twilight sleep that some people never came out of. ‘You do know that you could end up killing her?’

  ‘I’m sure the Moscow state brothel, or I for that matter, will have no trouble finding someone else.’ With those heartless words Petr rose and called Karl across to help him collect a tarpaulin from the store cupboard. He had decided that today was make or break day where this particular prisoner was concerned. The tarpaulin sheet would be hosed down until it was saturated with water before being wrapped tightly around her. Then it would be allowed to dry naturally, which meant it would shrink tighter and tighter until she would feel her bones must crack. If the routine wasn’t well supervised it could cause serious injury, or even death.

  The two Russians disappeared into the cupboard, and David folded the notes into his pocket to read later. While the men were busy David’s attention turned to the beautiful prisoner. His penis stirred warmly as he remembered her expert attentions of the previous night, but Petr disturbed him by calling for help to move some equipment. Suddenly, before David could rise, a blinding flash and a huge roar burst from the cupboard. David was blown off his feet. He could do nothing as Karl’s arm spun wildly past his head to splatter against the wall behind. It was the sound of spluttering AK47’s that wrenched him back to his senses.

  He recognised the familiar clatter of gunfire and nervously edged his way to the window to see what was happening, although he already had a pretty good idea. All over the camp buildings were in flames and soldiers were running in every direction. The rebels could clearly be seen just yards outside the perimeter fence firing wildly into every building. With amazing presence of mind, David released the girl from her bond
age and grabbed the only weapon he could find amongst the debris of the room; a thin cane. Grabbing her by the wrist he rushed into the corridor and made for the outside door. Building eleven was now ablaze. There was no chance to save any of the other prisoners held in the cells, it was simply a matter of self-preservation.

  David frantically scanned the camp hoping for a sign of escape, but there was none. Suddenly, Nikolai, the KGB officer came racing round the corner on a motorcycle combination. David motioned anxiously to him but it was obvious he had no intentions of stopping. He sped past them, but had hardly travelled ten yards when his head was snapped back by the intrusion of a hot bullet through his spinal cord. He flailed over the handlebars. The motorbike careered into the side of building thirteen. Instantly David was moving. He pulled the dead rider out of the saddle, shoved the girl into the sidecar, and raced towards the shattered camp gates, praying to a God he had stopped believing in from the age of twelve.

  All around mortar shells thumped and exploded, sending deadly shrapnel whizzing through the air. Miraculously none of it found its way in their direction. At the gate and almost free, a rebel Afghan jumped into their path with rifle levelled. Unfortunately for him his timing was wrong and the sidecar cracked into his legs, shattering his shinbones and tearing one foot from ankle.

  For the next two hours David did not release his grip on the throttle. On and on they drove until the adrenaline rush finally abated and some semblance of calm descended. For several more hours they plodded gently across the arid desert until eventually fatigue forced them to stop.

  They were now in the mountains north of Farah, and desperate for food and water. The girl in particular required clothes, because she was still naked and the sun had been beating down incessantly on her for most of the day. As luck would have it, the sidecar had a small compartment for the storage of tools. Inside was a bottle of water and a large military shirt, obviously thrown in there for use as a rag. It gave her some welcome respite from the sun. They both took small sips of water, well aware that it may have to last them for some time. David rummaged further inside the sidecar in the vain hope of finding food. What he did find was more clothing, which he was about to hand to his companion when he noticed a glint. At first he thought it was more tools, but in the bright afternoon sun he saw it flash a blinding gold. Carefully, in order not to attract the attention of the girl, he lifted the clothes and there, hidden beneath, lay six gold ingots the size of music cassette boxes. Quickly he removed his shoes and socks and put three ingots inside each sock. Then he returned them to their hiding place beneath the rags.

  Turning to the girl, David pointed to a shady place amid the rocks and started in its direction. Without warning the weight of a large stone come crashing down upon his head. It stunned him momentarily, but he was left with enough strength and wherewithal to twist and grab her hands before she could bring down the blow that would finish him.

  In the ensuing struggle David ripped a sleeve from her shirt and managed to use it to tie her arms behind her back. Despite all she had been through she was remarkably strong, and he now wished he had left her clitoris chain attached instead of removing it back at the camp. Finally he was able to drag her back to the bike, where he tore the other sleeve from the shirt and tied her to the sidecar. Almost without thinking he reached for the cane he had thrown into the sidecar earlier and with ferocious swings of his arm he caned her bottom with twenty resounding lashes. Without her ball gag for restraint she squealed with pain and in broken English begged him to stop. Exhausted by his efforts David threw the cane to the ground and sank down heavily in the shade. He rubbed his sore head and cursed his potentially lethal lapse. He couldn’t afford any more mistakes.

  When he had recuperated enough he cast an eye across her red striped bottom, catching glimpses of her secret lips that peeked from between her legs. She was exposed to the glaring sun and David had a genuine concern that she would burn. He was considering covering her modesty when he spied a droplet of liquid glistening on her thigh. It had dropped from her sex where another pearl hung like a teardrop. It was true then. As Petr had suspected, she enjoyed the pain, wanted it, needed it as much as food and drink. He moved closer and smoothed his hand across her bottom. It felt hotter than the desert.

  He knew he shouldn’t, but… he positioned her over the sidecar. Releasing his cock he eased it into the oasis between her dunes. Her reaction was immediate and enthusiastic. With a rhythmic thrust of her hips she impaled herself further upon his length until her orgasm replaced her movements with involuntary spasms. David continued his pounding, searching for his own precious release which, when it came, buckled his legs to leave him slumped on the ground beneath slowly lengthening shadows.

  By the time the sun had all but gone the girl had fallen asleep across the bike. It looked very uncomfortable bur her sheer tiredness meant she could sleep anywhere. Before he put his own head down for the night, David checked her bonds and took one last look at the gold stashed in his socks. It was obviously Nikolai’s nest egg for after the war. He must have been melting down any gold he could get his hands on since the conflict started. Had he survived he could have lived like a king back in Russia. David was unable to feel sorry for the KGB man. He had treated him terribly when he’d arrived and was obviously a nasty piece of work. Tucking away his treasure he couldn’t help remembering the old adage: ‘live by the sword, die by the sword’. It seemed a fitting epitaph for a cruel man. With a contented smile he closed the tool locker and settled down to get some rest.

  Deep sleep was the only outcome possible from such a day, and as the scorpion which had scurried across David’s leg during the night did not wake him then it seemed fair that the two Arabs creeping up on the sleeping couple wouldn’t either. Both lay unconscious and oblivious to the rope nooses being lowered gently over their heads.

  The nooses were attached to poles and could be tightened by the handler when he pulled the rope tight through the eyes that ran along its length. When the Arabs were ready they pulled in unison and both David and the girl were woken with a start that turned to panic at the feel of a rope around their neck. The tribesmen were more concerned with David than the female, but no matter what he tried he could not reach them along the lengthy pole. After a minute or two of struggling David resigned himself to his situation and allowed himself to be led away, followed by the other Arab and the now untied girl.

  The Arab campsite was no more than half a mile over the hill from where they had decided to rest, and David cursed again his stupidity at not checking the immediate area for any such dangers.

  At least twenty tents stretched out in front of them, each apparently guarded by a group of gun-toting men sitting on their haunches. The two captives were led through the middle of the camp straight to the largest tent. Inside, they were placed before a man who by his attire and manner was obviously the chief. They were made to lay prostrate in front of a huge mound of silk cushions upon which the chief sat.

  In thick guttural Arabic the chief spat orders that brought guards running with swords drawn. The two were forced to sit up and the ropes removed. Immediately the chief’s eyes darted to the girl whose shirt had been ripped open to expose her ample breasts. Taking a length of silk he wrapped it around her carefully, allowing her to cover her body properly for the first time in weeks.

  ‘Please forgive my men,’ he eventually said in perfect BBC English. ‘They try hard to please me.’ David slumped visibly at the sound of his voice, warmed by the knowledge that he had obviously been educated in England.

  ‘So tell me,’ continued the Arab. ‘What brings the two of you to these mountains with so few supplies or clothes?’

  It was time for David to take a gamble. He didn’t know where the sympathies of his captors lay, and the wrong words now could prove fatal.

  ‘We were separated from our aid convoy,’ he lied.

  ‘And the motor cycle? My guards
tell me you were on a motorcycle. A Russian military model. Military?’

  David searched despairingly for a reply, but all he managed was panic. The Arab remained calm and spoke in Fushto to the Afghan. Immediately she rose to her feet and he did the same. A few more words brought her to remove her recently acquired sari and the shirt. Naked once again she remained perfectly still while he cast a scrutinising eye over every inch of her body. When he had finished his gaze returned to her neat smooth sex where the metal pin still forced her clitoris to attention. With a careful hand he played with the stainless steel while he examined the red stripes that criss-crossed her buttocks. He had seen that method of control before.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said, returning his attention to David. ‘Are you an acquaintance of Petr Ustinov?’

  Another wave of panic swept over him. Should he say yes or no? Which was the right reply?

  ‘Petr Ustinov?’ he repeated, stalling for time. ‘I—’

  ‘Yes, Petr Ustinov. He’s a Russian. I have also been under his care, when he ran an interrogation block in Kandahar.’ He gestured towards the clitoris pin. ‘It’s a trademark of his. I have a similar piercing in my foreskin. The bastard. I was lucky to escape.’ He told the girl to dress and returned to his cushions to await David’s answer.

  From the Arab’s speech it was obvious he was no friend of the Russians, and David saw a glimmer of hope for his safe passage through this latest episode.

  ‘Ustinov’s dead,’ he announced. ‘We were in a camp at Herat when the Mujahadeen attacked. I think we were the only ones to get out.’

  The news brought a definite change to the atmosphere, and the Arab chief clapped his hands to bring people running from all directions. In a moment the girl was taken away and the chief motioned for David to recline with him on the numerous cushions that were scattered about. Platters of food were laid out for them to pick at.