Chapter 3

Posted: August 16, 2006 - 09:54:54 am?

I woke to my second day of captivity trying to find a spot on my body that didn't hurt. I couldn't find one. Surprisingly as long as I was off my feet, my knees and ankles felt better than my neck, back and head. I knew it was typical to have aches and pains that my body suppressed yesterday, but knowing it intellectually and feeling it for real were entirely different animals. I was happy as hell when Jamilah and Adara entered my cell with breakfast.

"Sabah alkhair (good morning), Neek. Did you sleep well?" Jamilah asked.

I returned her greeting. "Sabah alnur, Jamilah, I slept well but I am in much pain this morning. Perhaps you could get my medicines out of my vest?"

Jamilah said she would ask Basheera about the medicines after breakfast. She told me that they were going to empty the vest and bury it along with the other trappings identifying me as an American aviator. I nodded, and greeted Adara who rewarded me with a sweet shy smile. Jamilah gave not the slightest indication that she had been my nocturnal visitor. She even commented that she was glad Basheera had decided to leave my hand free. Either she was a good actress hiding what happened from her daughter or my midnight paramour had been Basheera.

Basheera did allow me some of my pain meds. Jamilah brought in my vest while Basheera stood in the doorway. I started removing my medical supplies and giving them to Jamilah along with an explanation of each. Jamilah asked me why I had so many medical supplies. The women seemed interested that I was a doctor of sorts. Finally I dug out the plastic baggy that I'd prepared and took out the pills I wanted. Thinking a little bribe wouldn't hurt, I fished the ten South African Krugerrands out of their secret compartment and passed them to Jamilah. Even Besheera's eyes went wide at the sight of the shiny gold coins. The gold was something I carried on the advise of my commanding officer, there were five of the one ounce variety and five half ounce ones.

"You might as well have these before you destroy the vest," I said.

"These will help us greatly Neek as we need food, seed and other supplies," Jamilah gushed.

Jamilah left carrying my vests and its contents, she stopped at the door and gave Basheera the coins. Basheera stood in the doorway a few seconds then spoke to me for the first time.

"Shukran, Neek," she said softly.

My day was much less insane than the preceding one. I made it through two meals and a bath with no one grabbing my joint. I was even left alone to sleep through the night.

On day three I felt much better. My headache was gone, and except for some residual stiffness, everything except my left knee and ankle was feeling much better. The women of the house were in a collective good mood that day, making me feel even better. Adara spent most of the day in the cell with me; she had been assigned the task of improving my Arabic. I would never pass for a native of course, but Basheera had a plan to account for that.

Adara was a delight, she was so eager to learn and so serious in her role as my teacher. I liked her for what she was, a smart and sweet young woman. She liked me because I never thought of her handicap as detracting from her beauty or value as a person. It was Adara who started breaking down the clothing taboos. We were sitting on my sleeping mat, she with a notebook in her lap, me sitting against the wall teaching her grammar. Suddenly my curiosity got away from me.

"Adara, I want to see your hair, I think it must be very pretty like the rest of you."

She blushed and kept her eyes down on her book. "That is forbidden, Neek; a woman must stay covered so as not to lead honorable men to impure thoughts."

"But I'm not a follower of Islam, so my soul is damned anyway," I replied.

She pondered my reply for a few seconds then unwrapped the scarf from around her head. Her hair was even more beautiful than I thought it would be; it was long, thick and a deep dark brown.

I couldn't help reaching out to touch the mass of walnut tresses that flowed down her back. My touch was motivated by curiosity, not lechery. Adara shied away for a second, then with a sigh, leaned her head back against my hand. I knew that my stroking her hair was probably about the only contact she'd ever had with a man, and sadly, because her defect was considered a curse, it might be all she ever received. It was a serious shame because she was an amazing young woman in every measure that mattered. I decided then and there that I was going to do all I could to make her feel as special as I thought she was. A thought that I might be getting too close to these women nagged me from some hidden recess of my mind but I ignored it.

I met the daughters of Basheera on this day also. Their names were Kalila and Zahrah, Kalila was seventeen and Zahrah was sixteen. Both of them were beautiful and both of them were petrified of me because I was a man. Jamilah told me their fear was based on the fact that they were of an age to marry and they were full of fear of being taken from their home as minor wives of some fanatic. Basheera, it seemed, had filled their heads with ideas of marriage being an odious duty.

The Hassan women had worked out an efficient system for taking care of me, with most of the tending done by Jamilah and Fatima. Adara was with me almost constantly acting as my interpreter. I was well fed twice a day and bathed about as often. The women were almost fanatical about cleanliness. My only real complaint aside from being a prisoner was not being given any clothes to wear other than my underwear and a pair of green boxers that must have belonged to Abu Hassan. They made me change every morning and washed what I had worn daily. One concession the women made was to give me a cheap, Russian made, windup watch. The watch had a frayed leather strap, huge luminous numbers on the face and a day of the month window. I had to admit that I felt more naked without a watch than I was about not having pants.

As I lay on my pad that night I began to think about why it was taking so long for help to reach me. In terms of air distance I couldn't be that far from where Pete went down and in the barren desert a crashed A-10 should be easy to spot. Hell, I'd seen pictures taken from satellites that captured a car's tag number; surely they couldn't miss a fifty-five foot long airplane. I stopped worrying about it because I knew the SAR folks knew what they were doing. They were probably widening the search area as I lay there. I steeled myself to be patient and soon was relaxed enough to sleep.

Basheera completed her preparations to once again sacrifice her womanhood for the good of her family. This night though, she had no second thoughts. The only change in her routine was the application of some jasmine scented oil on her faraj to expedite his entry into her depths. As she applied the oil she was surprised that she didn't need much of it at all; her sex was already damp with her own nectar. Basheera slipped into her burka and put on her face covering niqab before sneaking down the stairs.

Basheera slipped into the cell again and as before the American turned towards her. She set the candle by the door and moved over to the sleeping mat. She tried to tell herself that she was anxious to get it over with, but in her heart of hearts, she knew she was just anxious to get started. He did not struggle or protest when she reattached the shackle to his wrist. When he was secured she moved the candle closer to them so she could see him better. She was pleased when he didn't struggle as she pulled off his underwear and heartened that his manhood was already straining to its full length and girth.

This time there was no dryness to impede her progress as she sat down on him. Instead her natural lubrication and the jasmine oil allowed her to smoothly take him in a few delicious movements. Because the experience was so pleasant last time, Basheera experimented with angle, speed and depth of penetration. To her amazement, everything she tried felt good to her. It took her only minutes to reach a thunderous climax. She bit the heel of her hand again and thrashed wildly above him. Her orgasm seemed to last forever, it was so strong she became lightheaded. With one last shudder, her upper body fell forward until she was draped over him, her face resting on his chest.

She stiffened a moment when his arms wrapped loosely around her shoulders but then she relaxed and settled into his embrace. Throughout her achieving her release he had been still beneath her. Now he gently started rocking his hips from side to side. His phallus was still hard in her so she figured he'd yet to spend. As he slowly ground against her, he moved one of his hands around until he found her swollen and sensitive breast. He squeezed it firmly but not painfully in a way that felt wonderful to her. When his lips started pushing against her veil lightly nibbling her neck through it, tingles radiated down her body. She grabbed the candle and blew it out plunging the room into inky darkness. Sitting up slightly she unwrapped her niqab veil and head covering.

My nighttime visitor returned on my third night in captivity. My response to the sight of the shadowy burka clad figure was classically Pavlovian as my dick hardened instantly. I didn't resist her as she reattached the manacle to my right wrist, I was certain now that my visitor had to be Basheera because she was the only one with the keys to the shackles. I couldn't figure out her motivation for doing this but my conditions improved dramatically after her last visit so I was not going to fight her off even if I could. Besides, even though I could tell she wasn't a very experienced lover, she had a marvelously tight and talented little pussy. Thinking that cause me pangs of conscience, pangs that were quickly pushed aside as she sat astride me.

She didn't have any problems mounting me this time; she was hot and slick as she worked her way down my shaft. She started moving on me as soon as she was fully seated. She moved up and down a couple of times then started moving in different directions as if she were trying to find what felt best to her. I was enjoying her experimentation; her syncopated rhythm kept me from getting over excited. Amazingly, it took only a couple of minutes for her to orgasm. It must have been a big one judging by the way she writhed on my dick. When she fell forward onto my chest I instinctively wrapped my arms around her. She stiffened then settled into my embrace, her breathing ragged. I was still hard as a brick and horny as a goat, so I moved my hand onto her breast and started rocking my hips. I couldn't push with my bad leg so I had to settle for a little circular movement I achieved by alternately flexing my thighs and stomach.

She surprised me again by blowing out the candle and taking off her enveloping veil. When her lips sought out mine my dick became even harder. Her breast was bigger than I thought it would be; it was a nice firm handful, even through the coarse material of the burka. When I found her nipple and squeezed it firmly, she broke our kiss, raised her head and made a keening, cooing sound — a drawn out "EEEEEEEE." Her hips sped up and she reattached her lips to mine. Soon she was in overdrive, speeding us both to orgasm. We came at the same time and she bit down on my neck to muffle her screams.

She stayed draped on me for a few minutes as her labored breathing returned to normal. I enjoyed the feel of her lithe body and the sweet perfumed smell of her hair. When she had her breath back, she dismounted me, fumbled the keys out of her pocket and released my right hand again. Then she swooped up the candle and slipped out the door.

Basheera thought her feet were hardly touching the ground as she headed up the stairs out of the basement. She felt giddy and light headed as if she were her daughters' age. Never in her wildest imagining had she ever suspected that lying with a man could bring such astounding pleasure. She reached up and absently rubbed her fingers across her lips; she smiled that they were swollen and still tingled from his kisses. Even her breasts felt as if his hands were still on them.

Had Basheera not been in such a euphoric haze, she would have seen that someone had observed her going into the American's cell. That someone was her sister wife Fatima. Fatima saw her because she had a similar plan in mind for their prisoner. Fatima had watched through a gap in the door of the cell as Basheera had mounted Nick. She was actually glad that she had missed her chance tonight because she would have never thought to mount him like that. She also noted with interest the burka and niqab. She felt she had no need of the veil but the loose burka would be much easier to hike up than the tighter abaya.

She had watched in fascination as Basheera had bounced around on Nick's large appendage. The sight had made Fatima's own faraj moist and tingly. She had to cover her mouth to keep from exclaiming as Basheera orgasmed. Fatima's purpose was to become with child, but if, as an unplanned consequence, she felt the pleasure Basheera was experiencing, so much the better. Her plan would have to be delayed until tomorrow, but she would be much better prepared.

Day four started as another good day. My right leg felt good enough to bear my weight if I wasn't chained. Today I was determined to work on that. Jamilah and Adara arrived with my breakfast about seven; the widows of Abu Hassan were early risers. I was pleased to see that both had forgone their head covering scarves. Jamilah handed me a plate of pita bread and tomato slices while Adara sat a cup of strong, sweet coffee down on the floor. Jamilah straighten up and sniffed the air.

"Did Basheera awaken you? I smell the jasmine she wears," Jamilah asked.

I kept my face in my plate and hoped I wasn't blushing.

"She came and checked on me last night," I replied.

"It is good that Basheera regards you well, Neek, else your life would be as bitter as lemon."

"Jamilah, if I am going to be a help to your family I need to be able to stand up and move around some. If I can't do that, my recovery will take longer. I think that my right leg is much improved and I need to exercise it some. Do you think Basheera would consider such a request?"

I received my answer around mid-morning when Basheera and Fatima came into my cell. Basheera had a six-foot length of heavy chain with her. The women shackled my right hand to the wall and freed my left. They used wrenches to remove the bolts that held the short chain from the manacle to the eyebolt in the wall and replaced it with the longer one. When they freed my right hand, I had enough chain to stand up and even take a few steps. I asked the women to help me up, and with some effort, I stood up on my right foot. After being flat on my back for three days, I was overjoyed that I could at least hold myself up now. I gingerly set my left foot down and was rewarded with a sharp stabbing pain. Fatima and Basheera held me so I could keep my balance and Adara ran out to get me a chair. A minute later, I was sitting in a chair with my left foot up on a padded stool.

"Shukran, husniyah hooriyas (thank you, beautiful angels)," I said.

The phrase was another of my Arabic favorites. I loved the way it rolled off my tongue and had often used it with Vickie Salvatore. When I said it to Vickie it was always just poetic flattery but here and now it was my sincere expression of thanks. The women all looked at me then one another; their surprise was almost comical.

Adara and I had language school again. She had a magazine full of pictures. She would point to an object in the magazine and name it in Arabic. I'd repeat the name until I had the pronunciation correct, then she'd move to the next object. After I had about twenty new words in my vocabulary, she would use the word in a sentence and I would repeat it. We spent most of our time speaking Arabic unless she needed to explain something. All the wives stopped by at one time or another and helped with my lessons. I have to admit that having good looking women as teachers made me a motivated student. By the end of the day, the only women wearing scarves were Tahani and Basheera's daughters. Adara also gave me a name the women could all pronounce that day. During our talk I told her my complete name, 'Nicholas Constantine Pappas.' Constantine was my mother's maiden name. Adara immediately dubbed me Neeko and it stuck.

After supper, Jamilah brought in a small table with a chessboard inlaid in the top and another chair. We played a couple of games of chess and talked.

"Neeko, the money you gave us was such a relief, especially to Zahrah and Kalila. They both are of the age to marry and were afraid Basheera would have to accept an offer for them to keep the farm going. The money has eased their fears and your presence gives them hope that the farm can once again be profitable. They want to marry eventually, but want it to be to men they chose themselves."

I nodded and asked, "What about Adara? She is a beautiful girl and so lively and smart, guys must be crazy about her."

She shook her head sadly. "Adara is all those things but being cripple makes her unattractive to most men here. If she left here, the best she could expect was a house servant position with a good family. Years of wars and purges by the Batheists regime have decimated the male population. Suitors are more choosey because women greatly outnumber men."

"Their loss," I said.

Jamilah put the chess set, table and chair back in the big basement room and came back into the cell to bid Nick a good night. Impulsively, she kissed him on the lips before she closed and locked the door. It was the briefest of kisses, but it nonetheless sent a jolt through her. Nick was not the devil Saddam's propaganda had portrayed all Americans to be. His concern for Adara was sweet and sincere which automatically made her like him. It was the way he treated her, though, that made her think liking could turn into something else. Jamilah didn't know what to think about these new feelings. She'd had crushes on boys when she was younger, but she had really never had any strong feeling for an adult male before now. What she was beginning to feel for Nick was both confusing and exhilarating.

Fatima waited patiently for Jamilah and Nick to finish their chess match. Then she bided her time in case Basheera would visit the prisoner again that night. Thankfully, Basheera stayed in her room. Fatima slipped on her burka, brushed her hair and silently slipped down to the basement. She didn't have a specific plan for seducing Nick, all she knew was that she was at her most fertile now and this might be the best opportunity she would ever have to get pregnant.

I was blissfully dozing on my side, facing the door when its creaking woke me up. It had been heavenly to get to change positions so that I wasn't flat on my back again. The door swung open and Fatima slipped into my cell. She closed the door behind her and moved over to my pallet, carrying a lighted candle. I greeted her and patted a place on the sleeping pad next to me. I was covered up with the coarse wool blanket I slept under. Fatima sat down next to me and put the candle on the floor. I wasn't displeased to see Fatima; I liked her sweet nature and ready smile. Fatima returned my greeting and shyly asked how I was feeling. My standard reply of 'sunny and warm' made her smile. I was having a hard time figuring out why it made me feel good to make the widows of Abu Hassan smile, given the circumstances, but it sure did.

Fatima surprised the hell out of me by lying down beside me so that we were face to face. She said something to me that I didn't understand and then she kissed me on the lips. It was a nice kiss; her lips were soft and moist. Then she proceeded to teach me some Arabic that I'd have never learned from Adara. She touched my one-eye ranger and said, "Zakar," she touched between her legs and said, "Faraj, " and then she pushed her hips back and forth and said, "Jima". As if I were a naughty twelve—year-old I repeated, "Zakar" and "Faraj" pointing them out. Then I made a circle with my left thumb and forefinger and pushed my right forefinger through it, "Jima, " I said.

She gave me another smile and nodded. Then her expression turned serious. "Fatima, Neeko jima," she said.
Joe J & Wet Dream-Girl
Chapter 4