Chapter 4

Posted: August 17, 2006 - 11:51:19 amUpdated: August 17, 2006 - 03:36:22 pm?

Fatima's pronouncement that she wanted to make love was more than fine with me. I was already hard just from her talking dirty to me. That it was fine with me caused me a moment's pause, as I am normally a pretty straight-laced guy. Yet here I was raring to go with a second woman in two nights. My new horniness seemed to go hand in hand with a general feeling of well being that I'd come to accept as the prisoner of the Hassan widows. I rationalized that maybe I was returning the favor for the care they had been giving me. Also, it was they who were initiating the sex not me, so I certainly wasn't taking advantage of anyone. Besides, their bubble was going to be burst soon enough when the search and rescue folks widened the search for me. All that went through my head in a millisecond as I pulled Fatima closer to me. This time it was my lips that sought hers.

Fatima was shorter than the other women in the house; even Adara was taller. Even though I hadn't seen her body, she also seemed curvier somehow, but I might be making that assumption based on her face being rounder. The clothing the women wore was intentionally designed not to give a hint as to what their body might be like. I decided to find out if my theory was correct by getting her naked, as we kissed I reached down and started working her burka up her legs. The burka's voluminous skirt was easy to push upward even though she was lying on the back of it. In seconds I had her exposed from the waist down. I trailed my fingers up her thigh until I reached the juncture between them. Fatima was as smooth shaven as Basheera had been, I was curious about that but pleased, too.

When I traced my fingers across her plump nether lips, Fatima gave a startled little jump and kissed me even harder. Kissing seemed to be something new to her, but she was sure enthusiastic. Fatima felt as I imagined she would, she was soft and curvy in all the right places. I softly stroked her thighs and around her puffy lips for a minute then started to try to get her burka off her. Fatima sat up so that she was on her knees facing me. She reached both hands up to the right side of the square shouldered burka, released a couple of concealed buttons, then whipped the garment over her head. My breath caught in my throat, as I took in the sight of her kneeling there nude, arms at her side, eyes downcast, and cheeks rosy with embarrassment.

"Husniyah (beautiful)," I whispered.

I said that reverently, and I meant it whole-heartedly. Her body was magnificent, all soft flawless skin and gentle curves. She blushed at my unabashed stare but didn't try to cover herself with her hands; there was no coyness in Fatima. After a minute she reached forward and started to ease the green boxers I wore off me. I pushed my right foot against the mattress to help. She giggled when my fierce erection caught on the waistband and she had to free it. She made as if to swing her body astride me but I stopped her. She looked at me inquisitively but acquiesced when I maneuvered her until she was prone beside me again. As I said, I liked Fatima and her body was to die for, so I wasn't in a hurry to get to the main event.

Fatima was nervous as she lay back beside Nick on his sleeping pallet. She wasn't nervous about being nude with him; his obvious admiration of her body had cured that. Instead, she was nervous about what he was doing and how it was making her feel. Fatima had never felt loved or cared about like this in her life. She had been the least favorite of Hassan's wives and a frequent victim of his casual cruelty. He had referred to her as a worthless cow because she didn't give him the son he coveted. She had accepted his condemnation for years until she figured out that his impotence was the problem, not hers. Now here was a man doing things to her that felt indescribably good. The intensity of her response to his touch confused and scared her.

His lips upon her Buah dada (breast) and his languid stoking of her faraj were making her forget that her purpose here was to become with child. His fingers at the top of her opening felt infinitely better than her own had felt on the rare occasion she had resorted to the sinful practice of self-gratification. Soon he had her bucking her hips up toward his fingers as she experienced the first orgasm she'd ever had that was not self-induced. He kissed her again as she recovered from her orgasm, she loved the way his lips felt on hers and marveled at his patience with her.

As the kissing heated them both back up, he began moving her so she was over him. He held his rigid shaft as she squatted above him. He moved the blunt head of it around some to get it lubricated, and then guided her down on it. Fatima's eyes opened wide as she felt the thick knob pushed into her. She had never felt anything remotely akin to the pleasure radiating from her core as she slowly worked her way down on him. But the large girth of Nick's Zakar wasn't the only new sensation Fatima was experiencing.

As Fatima began to raise and lower herself over Nick's turgid shaft, she began to sense something move within her faraj. It was subtle at first, but as she built up to a rhythm of long, forceful strokes, this sort of tickling sensation became more pronounced and quite pleasant.

Fatima would learn sometime later that Nick's foreskin was responsible for this exquisite sensation, for as his uncircumcised Zakar moved within her, the foreskin would retract and roll back over the tip, sending spasms of pleasure throughout her body.

Fatima was the tightest thing my dick had ever been in besides my hand. I stifled a groan as she sank down on me. When our groins finally meshed together, she immediately rose up until I was barely in her before slowly working her way back down on me. I didn't last long with all the stimulation her tight little quim was giving me, but luckily, neither did she. We came within seconds of each other, my spewing cock seem to trip her over the edge. I pulled her trembling body down onto mine; she felt just right lying on top of me.

I was amazed and she seemed impressed that my erection never subsided. Our second bout of lovemaking was slow and gentle, interspersed with lots of kissing and touching. I lavished much attention on her marvelously full, impossibly firm breasts. We both climaxed again then lay cuddled up for awhile before she slipped into her burka, kissed me passionately and left. I slept better that night than I had in years.

I woke up on the morning of the fifth day after my crash feeling too good for words. My right leg felt as good as new. My left knee twinged and my ankle was still too sore to flex, but I could tell I was healing. My morning went as well as how I felt. Fatima brought me a bucket of water and allowed me to wash myself while Basheera and Tahani moved a small table into the room and a couple of more chairs. When Jamilah brought me breakfast, Adara had a steaming pot of tea and cups for the women. Adara was not happy that Basheera asked her to leave while the wives talked to me. Basheera, Jamilah and I sat at the table while Fatima and Tahani sat on my bed.

Basheera wanted an update on my physical status. I told her honestly how my leg was doing.

"I can walk now with a crutch or maybe a cane" I said, "but it will be another few days before I will be able to bear my full weight on my left foot. It will take at least another week after that before I can walk normally."

Jamilah translated for the other women. Basheera nodded and gave the other women some instructions. I understood a few words, but didn't understand the gist of what she said. I finished my breakfast and drank my coffee sitting there contentedly with them. That feeling of contentment bothered me some. I knew I should be totally focused on escaping but none of the SERE (survival, evasion, resistance, escape) training I had received had even remotely covered a situation like this. Yes, I was being held prisoner, but not in any military sense. I would try to escape if I wasn't rescued before I healed up, but I wasn't going to do it with violence. Meanwhile, the most I could say about my captivity was that I was being restrained while I healed.

My day brightened even more when Basheera brought me in some clothes around mid-morning. She handed me a pair of olive green trousers and a t-shirt. The trousers were loose in the waist and about three inches too short but they would do; the t-shirt was a white rib knit wife-beater. While I thought I looked ridiculous, at least I was clothed. Adara and I worked on my Arabic all day. The other women dropped in often and conversed with me. I have a flair for language and I was making very good progress adding to my already basic knowledge of Arabic. Adara and I sat at the table where she continued showing me pictures and working them into sentences. She also started teaching me how to write in the right to left flowing Arabic script.

I covertly watched the other women trying to gage how much Basheera and Fatima shared about their visits. Neither of them gave anything away overtly. I did manage to make Fatima blush a few times by clandestinely touching her, though. That was a lot of fun. I didn't do that with Basheera, though. Basheera was the matriarch of the family, so I made sure I treated her with all due respect.

I flirted shamelessly with Adara and Jamilah; it was as if I was in college again. The more I was around the mother and daughter duo the more they impressed me. Both were very smart and both of them had a great sense of humor. Adara was a joy to be around and I could tell she loved the time we spent together. Jamilah's and my flirtation was of a more serious nature because we both could tell that, given enough time, it could lead somewhere. She acknowledged that fact when we finished our chess matches that night by kissing me soundly.

The Air Force crash site investigators finished up their investigation around noon on the fourth day after the two A-10s were shot down. They had arrived the day after the incident along with an Army engineer platoon from Basra. The engineers policed up every scrap of wreckage they could find and the accident investigators went through the flotsam with a fine-toothed comb.

By the end of the second day after the crash they had assembled most of Captain Collin's plane. They could easily identify what plane the parts came from because they had the maintenance logs from both planes. The maintenance logs had the serial numbers for every component listed so they identified a part, checked the number on it against the logs, and knew instantly whose plane it was from.

For Captain Pappas' aircraft they had only found the transponder, some avionics gear and a bearing from his right engine. The third day after the crash they widened the search area to include over two hundred square miles of desert. Helicopter and vehicles crisscrossed the area relentlessly but didn't find a trace of Pappas' Warthog. The crash site investigators left on day five. The Theater Commander issued an intelligence summary to all the units in country to be on the look out for the missing aviator. That same day, Captain Nicholas C. Pappas was officially listed as Missing in Action.

That night Al Jazeera television broadcast a homemade video of Captain Collins being shot down. Al- Qaida in Iraq sent the tape and claimed responsibility for shooting the infidels out of the sky. A portion of the two minute long tape briefly showed Captain Pappas' plane being hit by a missile and barrel rolling. Intelligence analysts and crash site investigators used the footage to extrapolate the direction Pappas was traveling after he was hit and moved the search for him toward that direction; a direction one hundred and twenty degrees away from where he ejected.

I woke up on my own early on day six. I didn't have any visitors last night. I was ashamed of myself for feeling disappointed about it. The women hadn't woken me up because they were busy getting ready for market day. The market was open every day in the village of al Warabi, but the farm of the Hassans' was only producing enough vegetables to sell weekly. Market day was a big event for the family I gathered, as Jamilah was the only one not going to town. Jamilah told me that they had an old Russian made Zil 157 ton and a half truck that they loaded the produce on and took to town.

Jamilah and I worked on my Arabic. We weren't making the progress that I made with Adara because of the undercurrent of something between us. Finally I just leaned over and kissed her. It was the first time I initiated the kiss. Her lips were soft and yielding as I pressed against them firmly. As opposed to the other women, Jamilah knew how to kiss and was very good at it. In seconds, our tongues were touching and her arms were wrapped around my neck tightly. Jamilah was the one who finally broke the kiss.

"I think I know how to make you study harder now," she said with a smile.

We kissed once more then she insisted we get back to my lessons.

Jamilah Hassan was aglow after the kisses she'd shared with Nick. She hadn't kissed anyone like that in sixteen years and certainly never a man. She flushed when a thought of her roommate at University flashed through her mind. She and Aludra had become instant friends and through skillful seduction on Aludra's part, eventually passionate lovers. She had thought that experience represented the high point of her life; yet, in only five days she was feeling the same things for the American aviator. That in itself presented a problem because she knew that Basheera's plan to keep him as a slave was doomed to failure. It would be better if they could arrange things so that he wanted to stay.

If he did stay on his own accord, why shouldn't it be as their husband? That thought actually made Jamilah light headed. What a marvelous change he would be from the cruel and selfish Hassan. Not to mention he was young, handsome and obviously virile. Jamilah leaned over and kissed him again. She would need to do some thinking about this before approaching her sister wives, but her feelings for him were not in doubt. She wondered if she was bold enough to do what her heart and body wanted her to do.

My Arabic lessons went well, even with the amount of time Jamilah and I spent kissing. Yes, kiss was all we did, even though I knew she wouldn't protest going further. To me it just seemed right to go slow. Of course, I also had a nighttime visitor three of the last five nights, so I wasn't exactly hurting for sex anyway. I wasn't all that worried about the women finding out about what each of the others were up to, after all, I was chained to the wall and locked behind a stout door, I figured I was the last person they'd be mad at.

The other women arrived home after six that evening. They were all in a good mood; I guess shopping is a universal euphoric for women. I couldn't complain much about it though, because part of their loot was a pair of pants and sandals for me, both of which fit. Basheera also gave me a walking stick they had found; it turned out to be almost exactly the right length too. I gave them a mock bow when they clapped as I walked heavily around the room. The market goers even brought Jamilah and I take out, chicken and veggie kabobs to be exact.

Jamilah and I ate our supper as the other women went about putting the results of the day's shopping away. Jamilah and I played chess while the rest of the women took their baths. Fatima and Adara brought me a couple of buckets of water, one warm, and one cold, so I could bathe. Jamilah and Fatima went back upstairs but Adara hung around.

"I missed you all day, Neeko," she said shyly.

I pulled her toward me and sat her down on my good leg.

"I missed you too, so you are going to have to be extra sweet to me tomorrow," I teased.

She nodded solemnly, hesitantly kissed me lightly on the lips and slipped out of my cell. With Adara gone, I stripped off my clothes and finished sponging off. I decided that next chance I had I was going to ask to take a shower. I pulled the chain to turn off the overhead light then settled onto my mattress. I was barely under my blanket when the door squeaked open and Basheera walked in. She was again holding a candle but instead of a burka she had on a gossamer pajama set that looked very good on her. I sat up on my bed as she place the candle down on the table and sat in a chair facing me.

She appeared to be marshalling her thoughts to say something so I looked her over while I waited. Basheera was an attractive woman, no mistake about that. She was about five foot seven and probably weighed a hundred-thirty pounds. Her eyes were almost black and almond shaped; they sat wide spaced above a slightly curved nose. She had high cheekbones and a generous mouth. I hadn't noticed her full lips before because she usually held her mouth in a tight expressionless line. Tonight, though, her bottom lip quivered as I watched her and a single tear squeezed out of the corner of her eye.

I was surprised at her display of vulnerability, she always seemed so focused and in control. I patted the mattress beside me, indicating I wanted her to sit next to me. She hesitated for a few seconds and then joined me. I put my arm around her and she melted against my side, her tears flowing freely now. I hugged her tighter as she shook with the effort of trying to control herself. Finally, she stopped and started thanking me for the money again. As best I could understand what she was saying, the money had been desperately needed and having it when they went to market today staved off something dreadful from happening to the family.

My head felt clearer tonight and I could look at things more objectively. I guess I was over my bump on the head from my rough landing after I ejected. Anyway, I just held and comforted her. I told her I was happy for them all, which of course I was. After a few minutes she kissed me on the cheek and left. I had trouble falling asleep that night for the first time since I'd been a prisoner. I tossed and turned as I thought about everything under the sun. I thought about Vickie, of course, but I also thought a lot about the incredibly complex women holding me captive.

I was a little grouchy the seventh morning of my captivity but I felt alert and alive. Seven days since I'd been shot down and here I still sat. I know it was probably every man's dream to be the prisoner of beautiful and caring women, and truthfully I couldn't complain much about my treatment. Still, I had obligations and it was my duty to get back to American control, regardless how much I sympathized with the women's plight. Basheera brought me in my water to wash up with before I could ruminate much further. She hung out with me while I washed my face and brushed my teeth. My beard had grown past the point of being itchy; it was now a quarter inch long stubble. My hair had always grown fast.

Basheera surprised the crap out of me by pushing my head over the bucket and shampooing my hair. Jesus, her fingers felt marvelous as she massaged my scalp! Jamilah came in then with my breakfast just as Basheera was pouring water over my head to rinse out the soap. I toweled my head dry, brushed my hair, and dressed as the two women set up my grub on the table. I broached the idea of a shower to Jamilah in a combination of English and Arabic. She translated shower for Basheera. Basheera gave her an answer.

"Basheera says we will try a shower this evening if you are able to climb the stairs. We are very proud of our modern bathroom, Neeko, we have a tub and a shower. We have a tank on the roof that heats the water during the day," Jamilah said.

I whooped as I grabbed Basheera and swung her around.

"Shukran (thank you)," I said.

Basheera was blushing furiously but she smiled and patted my cheek.

"Ala elrahib wa elsaa, (you are welcome), Neeko," she said.

Jamilah had her talk with the other wives after they returned from weekly prayers at the mosque. The four wives sat around a table in the kitchen for the discussion. Jamilah went straight to the point.

"Sisters, we have a unique opportunity for a good future if we can keep Neeko here. Already he has proven to be a better man than Hassan ever was in the way he treats us. I don't believe we will be successful in keeping him here as a prisoner, as eventually he will either be rescued or escape."

"So what do you propose, Jamilah? You know we are in serious trouble without a strong man to provide for and protect us. Already the hashish traders are grumbling, I don't know how much longer I can explain Hassan's absence," Basheera weighed in.
Joe J & Wet Dream-Girl
Chapter 5