Chapter 2
I looked at Jamilah trying to get a sense of her feelings. Her voice didn't convey any emotion that I could discern. That bothered me because Jamilah seemed less conservative than the other women and I was hoping to make her an ally.
"What was decided?" I asked.
"The war took Al Hassan from us and left us alone to eke out an existence from the land. Then just three days after our Iddah (period of time a widow must wait before she can remarry; four months and ten days unless she is pregnant) you fall from the sky. It is Masha Allah (God's will) that brought you here; Allah brought you here to work the land for us so that we and our children don't end up the concubines of some warlord."
I couldn't help my mouth dropping open in shock, of all the things I expected her to say, them deciding I was going to be their slave laborer was not on the list.
Pappy Jimenez cautiously eased his C-130 into a looping left-hand orbit over the smoldering wreckage on the desert below. He was flying at ten thousand feet, so individual pieces of wreckage were unidentifiable.
"Sentry three-three- this is Cowboy four-seven-two, I have visual confirmation of a crash site at the coordinates you gave me. There is no ground activity near the crash that I can see but I can't risk flying low enough to make out details. I have enough fuel to loiter here for another hour, over."
Vickie closed her eyes for a moment as her worst fears were confirmed, and then her training and professionalism kicked in.
"Roger Cowboy, Saber two-six and two-seven are thirty minutes out; when they are on station proceed with your mission."
As soon as Vickie was off the radio with Pappy a Special Operations CSAR (Combat Search and Rescue) team was departing from a secret location less than a hundred miles from the crash site. While Victoria Salvatore was coordinating air traffic the CSAR team joined up with the A-10s from Kuwait. The CSAR was composed of a pair of special ops Blackhawk helicopters, a pair of Apache gunships and a MH53M Pavelow IV, a modified Jolly Green Giant helicopter operated by the Air Force Special Operations. The plan was for the Blackhawks to drop off the Special Forces troops while the Apaches and A-10s provided any close air support needed. The MH 53 would loiter above and extract the SF team and the downed pilots when the team found them.
The A-10s flew into the area of the crash site first; the lead pilot made a low level feint into the area and immediately drew fire from the ZSU-23s. The Apaches who had been laying in wait behind a small hill popped up and engaged the ZSUs with Hellfire missiles. Fifteen minutes later the Special Forces team was on the ground being vectored to the first transponder by Lieutenant Salvatore aboard the AWACS. Within an hour they found both transponders and Captain Costas's body; of Captain Nicholas Pappas they found not a trace.
Fifty-five miles to the southeast, Nick's shot up A-10 rested at the bottom of a hundred foot deep ancient water carved canyon, almost completely hidden by a rock outcropping.
I was still trying to digest Jamilah's pronouncement when Basheera entered my cell with a big pair of scissors. Without saying a word she proceeded to cut my flight suit away from my body.
"We must get rid of this uniform that identifies you as an infidel. Later, when you are able to work, we will give you some of Hassan's clothes. I think with a beard you will be able to pass for an Arab for the same reason we feared you were a Jew," Jamilah said matter of factly.
Basheera made short work of the flight suit: she also removed my boots and socks, hell, she even took my wristwatch before she and Jamilah exited the room. I was now reclining on the thin mattress wearing nothing but my boxer-briefs, alone in the dark once again. I stopped fighting sleep then, determined to rest, heal up and escape. My last conscious thought was of Vickie and the relationship that was just beginning to blossom between us.
I don't know how long I was asleep before the opening of the door awoke me. Jamilah entered the room carrying a candle and a pitcher of water. Behind her was a young woman I'd never seen before carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of something that smelled delicious. The girl was very pretty but walked with a pronounced foot-dragging limp. Jamilah introduced the girl as her daughter, Adara.
"Adara speaks some English and wants to learn more, in turn, she will help you with your Arabic."
I nodded and said hello to Adara. Like every teenage girl in the world she blushed and giggled when I talked to her. Jamilah handed me the cup and by sitting back against the wall I was able to drink. The same approach worked for eating, as there was just enough chain to move my hands up and down about fifteen inches. The food bowl contained Kabsa (lamb and rice stew) and pita bread that tasted as good as anything I'd ever eaten. I demolished the food in the bowl as I chatted with Jamilah and her daughter. Truth be told, I enjoyed the company after hours alone in the dark cell. I also took an instant liking to Jamilah and Adara; they were both smart and lively.
As soon as I finished my second cup of water the urine I had been holding at least eight hours demanded I set it free.
"Jamilah, I have to go to the bathroom," I said.
She raised her eyebrows at me and I knew what her question was. I mimicked peeing with my forefinger and a hissing noise. My pantomime cracked Adara up. Jamilah shushed her and sent her out of the room. When she brought over the chamber pot I tried to convince Jamilah to release one of my hands so I could take care of things myself. She refused, telling me that Basheera had the keys and would make any decisions like that. I sighed and closed my eyes as her surprisingly soft hand fished my dick out of my underwear. It took me a few seconds to overcome my suddenly shy bladder then with a sigh I let loose. Jamilah's giggle sounded exactly like her daughter's as she felt me pulse in her hand as if my penis was a fire hose. She held me cradled in her hand even after I'd finished voiding my bladder.
"You member is very large Neek," she said. "Fatima says your Arabic name should be 'Sayyid Nuhayd'."
"Sayyid Nuhayd? Ana mush fahim (I don't understand), ' I replied.
"Mister Big," she giggled.
I couldn't help but blush at what she said as well as the response my dick was having to her light caresses. I was guessing that old Abu Bakr wasn't very well endowed if she thought my slightly larger than average unit was that big.
"Will you ask Basheera if one of my hands can be freed?" I persisted.
"Why, you do not like this?' she asked in a hurt sounding voice.
I was careful where I tread because I counted on staying in her good graces. I needed to gain all the women's trust and even their affection if I wanted my freedom any time soon.
"I like it very much but you will not be here all the time. What do I do in the middle of the night?"
Jamilah saw my point and said she'd mention it to Basheera. She tucked me back into my shorts, went to the door and called for Adara to reenter. We chatted for a couple of minutes as they collected the water and dishes. I had them both giggling again when I told them they looked as if they were college student sisters instead of mother and daughter. After they departed I lay there thinking about how, regardless of culture, at the core people were just people. Jamilah and Adara were normal healthy women craving some interaction with a male who appreciated them. I was determined to grow that feeling with them; after all, it wasn't exactly a punishment to be around two pretty and intelligent women.
Basheera Al Hassan quickly completed shaving her faraj (vagina), finished her evening bath and redressed. As is customary among Arabic females, she and all the women in the household were meticulous about their personal hygiene, and shaving the pubic hair was part of that cleanliness. Basheera was a handsome woman, although modesty and responsibility kept her from acknowledging the fact. At thirty-eight, she was the oldest of the wives and the family matriarch. As such, she felt deeply responsible for the welfare of the other women and their children. That concern was the reason for her hard edged behavior. She had despaired keeping the family together, because without Al Hassan, they were unable to run the farm properly. That's why the arrival of the infidel pilot was truly an answer to her prayers.
Basheera was also a very smart woman. She knew that it would be very difficult to keep the mallah captive, yet he was critical to their survival. She had to find a way to keep him or they were all doomed. As she brushed her long black hair a plan started developing in her mind. The plan would require sacrifices on her part, but she was a strong woman and times were desperate.
I had no sooner arranged myself in a comfortable position on the straw ticked mattress than the door opened and in walked Fatima, the fourth widow, (the one I had yet to meet) and Adara. Fatima was carrying a bucket of steaming water, the other wife had a bucket also, and Adara had some folded towels in her hands. Fatima gave me that sweet smile of hers.
"Marhaba, Neek, Shonak? (Hello, Nick, how are you?)."
I returned her smile as she used the slang word for how are you, I replied with my favorite Arab expression. "Marhaba, Fatima, Safiya Dafiya: (everything is fine (literally means: sunny and warm)). I turned to the unidentified wife. "Ismy Nuhayd Nick. Ma ismok?" I gave Fatima a sidelong glance as I told the girl my name was Big Nick and asked hers. To my delight Fatima's eyes became saucer sized and she blushed furiously. "Ismy Tahani, ' the girl said, eyes downcast. Finally, I looked at Adara. "Hello, Adara, my beautiful desert flower."
Adara looked at me thunderstruck as she processed what I said. I could tell by Adara's blush that Fatima asked her what I had said. As she slowly translated, Fatima gave me a surprised look then gestured to the buckets.
"Thank you, Neek, that was a very nice thing to say to an ugly lame girl," Adara said. "Now it is time for your bath. We do not sleep unclean in this house."
I protested long and loud about not needing anyone to bathe me. Adara dutifully translated my objections to Fatima who completely ignored them. Fatima soaped up a roughly woven terry cloth rag and gently began washing me. She started with my head and worked her way down. Tahani dipped another cloth in the clean water and rinsed behind Fatima. Lastly, Adara toweled me dry. They had it down to assembly line precision. Thankfully, Fatima skipped over my underwear and gently washed my legs. As tender as her touch was, I still moaned in pain as she bent my left ankle. She took the rinse rag from Tahani and rinsed my legs herself.
I had to admit I felt much better now and thought they'd leave so I could go to sleep. That was not to be the case, however, because Fatima grabbed the waistband of my shorts and started pulling them down. I once again closed my eyes in frustrated embarrassment when I heard Adara voice a soft gasp. Fatima washed my balls and between my legs as if I were a baby; I was beyond mortified.
Fatima Al Hassan could not help but notice once again the pilot's big zakar. She had only seen one other in her life, that being the much smaller instrument of Abu Hassan. Fatima was only twenty-five years old, less than half the age of her husband. That age difference and having other wives made it so that Fatima had rarely had a chance to lie with Al Hassan. Even worse, he had not made her with child, and Fatima desperately wanted children.
She was thinking about children as she idly stroked Nick's penis with her soapy hand. Nick making a choking sound brought her back to reality. She glanced up quickly and saw both of the younger girls looking raptly at the growing stalk she held.
"It is a natural thing for him to grow like this," she said to Adara, "but I am not sure Jamilah would want you watching."
Adara protested leaving, but finally agreed to stand at the door to act as a lookout. Fatima then proceeded to give both the naïve girls an anatomy lesson. As she talked she smoothly and firmly stroked Nick's penis. Fatima knew that Hassan had only taken Tahani twice before he disappeared, once to dispense of her virginity and one other time when he could become aroused. It was in becoming aroused where the years had taken their toll on Hassan. Tahani was a last desperate attempt to regain his vigor and produce a male off spring. The inability to conceive a male heir was Hassan's greatest shame. Four attractive wives and twenty years of trying had produced only three daughters, two by Basheera and one by Jamilah. Sadly, Hassan couldn't give Fatima even a daughter.
Fatima smiled wryly when she remembered that she was the last person before Nick to be chained to the wall in the small cell. She had spent a week down here as punishment for complaining to Hassan about his inability to make her with child. Fatima was broken out of her reverie when Nick groaned and his cock pulsated in her hand. She watched in awe as four huge jets of spend arched up into the air; thick and pearly white, they landed on his stomach. It was so different from the thin watery seed of al Hassan, she knew immediately that Nick didn't suffer Hassan's potency problem.
She efficiently rinsed his groin and pulled up his underwear as the goggle-eyed teens looked on. Fatima was amazed that she had done something so brazen. She knew she had started just to show the younger women how worldly she was, but she ended up in a trance as she stroked his large, strangely cloaked zakar. It had been educational for all of them. Fatima handed the teens the water buckets and sent them on their way. She glanced at Nick's face as she left the room, his eyes were tightly closed and his head turned towards the wall. She thought he was a very handsome man and she now knew he was virile too. Best of all, he belonged to them. If he was going to take Hassan's place working the farm, why couldn't one of his duties be impregnating her? She went to her room, her mind awash with possibilities.
After the women left, I lay there filled with shame at the ease with which Fatima had made me orgasm. It was as if my traitorous cock had assumed a life of its own. Granted, it had been almost two weeks since Vickie and I had last been together, but I still should have more self-control than this. I was an old fashioned guy who valued monogamy; I didn't take commitments lightly and I had committed myself to Vickie. Sighing in frustration, I made myself as comfortable as possible and fell into a fitful sleep.
I woke up when I heard someone opening the door to my cell. I turned my head in that direction and saw a burka and veiled apparition holding a candle. The woman sat the candle on the floor and moved over next to my sleeping mat. She tested the shackles securing me to the wall then knelt down beside me out of my reach. The dim light and the all-concealing burka left me no clue of whom my visitor might be. I groaned aloud as once again one of my captors pulled down my underwear and started manipulating my dick.
Basheera held Nick's sturdy member in her slender, long fingered hand, her resolve suddenly wavering. Basheera had never liked sex, and that part of Hassan being gone bothered her not in the least. From the first painful ripping asunder of her maidenhead until the last time Hassan had taken her twenty years later, it was something she endured as an unpleasant wifely duty. Basheera shook those thoughts out of her head as she felt the infidel's manhood harden in her grasp. She steeled her resolve and swung astride his waist, carefully keeping her weight off his injured legs. This too, was a duty, and because it was for her sister wives and all their children, it was even more important than accepting Hassan's unwanted attentions.
She spit on her hand as Hassan had always done, rubbed the spit on his zakar and then slotted his member at the lips of her faraj. She tried to lower herself down on him but his size and her dryness prevented penetration. Basheera rose back up and disgustedly did the only thing she could think of, she transferred a great amount of saliva directly from her mouth to his shaft. She noted with interest his sigh of pleasure and the ripple that went through his body as her mouth touched him and filed it away for future reference. It was, after all, her intent to make him more accepting of his fate by giving him some pleasure.
When his zakar was well coated, she again sat up higher and put him at her entrance. This time the head gained some purchase in her, so she started to settle downward. Her journey lasted only a couple of inches before friction once again stopped her. The feeling of another man inside her was very strange and, she realized with a start, not so unpleasant. She was at a loss on how to proceed when her faraj suddenly started lubricating itself. Tentatively she rose up slightly and sat back down, she smiled in relief as she felt more of his cudgel enter her. She repeated the lifting maneuver a few more times until he was fully in her; she had never been so filled in her life as the thick shaft stretched her yielding inner flesh.
Once she was fully seated on him, Basheera paused to consider what she should do next. Hassan had never tried sex in this manner; he had only ever taken her quickly and violently with him on top. As she pondered, something in her made her flex her thighs and raise up then let herself drop. Yes, that was the answer; she would have to provide the motion that stimulated him to spend in her. She started a rhythmic up and down motion she felt would cause him to quickly inzal (ejaculate). As she rocked above him, amazing things started to happen. On the up stroke she could feel the flared head of his zakar cause pleasurable feeling of fullness within her, and when their groins meshed, a little twisting motion stimulated the little bud at the top of her sex.
Another thing that surprised her greatly was that the infidel did not shoot in her quickly. Usually Hassan had emptied himself in her channel in only a couple of minutes. Basheera took it as a challenge and sped up her movements. Basheera was starting to pant now, some because of her exertions, but mostly because of the wildly unknown feelings coursing through her body. Her breasts felt as if they had grown too big to fit in their skin and her lower body tingled deliriously. When she felt her prisoner start to thrust up against her she automatically increased her movements to match his. Then the miraculous happened, for as he started to strongly spew into her, a rapturous feeling flooded every fiber of her being. She bit down on the heel of her hand to keep from screaming in pleasure as her body jerked spasmodically.
Later she would rationalize that the incredible events were surely Allah's reward for her sacrifice, for she had never even imagined that so much pleasure could result from sex. She finally regained her composure and carefully moved off him. She cleaned him up with a rag she'd brought for that purpose, moved the chamber pot closer to him and unlocked the shackle holding his left hand. He made no effort to move, his face turned away from her towards the wall. Impulsively, she moved her veil aside and kissed his cheek before darting out the door.
I lay there after the woman left once again stewing in my guilt. I now knew how it felt to be taken against my will and I was ashamed at my body's response to what amounted to rape. The only upside I could see to the experience was my freed hand and the nearby chamber pot. Then more guilt flooded me as I thought, "No, that wasn't the only upside." I hated to admit it but while it was happening it felt incredibly good. Whoever my assailant was, she had one of the tightest, hottest vaginas I'd ever been in. Whoever it was, she was also completely shaven down there, which was a big surprise. The little kiss on the cheek in the end was an unexpected show of affection too. I guessed from the kiss and the shaven vagina that my visitor must have been the more cosmopolitan and modern Jamilah. Especially since Jamilah was the one I told about needing my hand freed; she must have gotten the keys from Basheera.
The thought that Jamilah was attracted to me led around to me
thinking about continuing to cultivate her as an ally to help me
escape. Using her like that seemed a cold and heartless thing to do
though, and I was not yet desperate enough to do it. I awkwardly used
the chamber pot and settled back to sleep. It was much easier to get
comfortable with one hand free. I was deeply asleep instantly.