The Facility

by Charles Arnold

  Soon she would kneel before the ugly Iranian, or Afghani, or Pakistani or whatever he was. She would touch her lips to his odious feet. She would hear him ridicule her and mock her husband. She would bow her head in silent submission while his coarse friends jeered and laughed at her. At Abul’s command, she would remove her jacket and skirt to display herself to them. Before the evening was over, she would have begged each of them to fuck her ass. The filthy cocks of these brutes would have been inside her body, their semen deep in her anal passage. Unimaginable! She hated them, but mostly she hated herself.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Miko who tapped her on the shoulder, “Abul has sent for you,” she said. Kathy, expecting the familiar collar, found that Miko was placing a string of tiny pearls around her neck. “Madam Khe thought it look better. More like rich American lady.” Both Miko and Mi Jong chuckled.

  Instead of taking the stairs down to the punishment room, they guided Kathy along the corridor until they came to the reception hall. When they entered, Miko shut the door behind them. She and Mi Jong stood beside it while Kathy, her legs trembling, walked toward Abul and three rough looking men who were seated at the edge of the circular rug. She noticed that they were all at least as tall as Abul and much heavier. Abul and his companions were dressed in Army fatigues and wore heavy boots. Their unshaven faces were red and streaked with sweat. Their clothes were wet with perspiration, which she could smell from ten feet away. They had been drinking. They were ignorant thugs, she thought, filthy and vicious. She tried to drive the fear and loathing out of her heart, but couldn’t.

  Before she could get to her knees at the perimeter of the carpet, Abul held up his hand. “Not yet, Mrs. Ryan,” he said. “I want my friends to get a good look at the woman I have promised them.” Kathy felt her cheeks burn as the drunken men shouted words she couldn’t understand and made obscene gestures. “On my right here are two brave fighters, Davodi and Amel,” Abul pointed to the bearded men who Kathy judged were in their late forties. “And this, my closest companion through many dangerous battles, is Zubair. He speaks English. Davodi and Amel know only a few words like fuck and ass. But that will be enough to communicate with you won’t it, Mrs. Ryan?”

  Kathy bowed her head. “Yes, Master,” she said softly, “that will be enough.”

  “Amel and I fight in many battles. Tell him what you have come to offer him and my other two friends.”

  Kathy knew what he required her to say. “I have come to offer Mr. Amel and your other friends my...my body for their pleasure.”

  “And you will ask them to fuck your ass?”

  She turned her head away and for a moment considered running, but Miko and Me Jong blocked the door. Abul stamped his heavy boot on the floor. Kathy turned back to face the ugly men. “I will ask them to...to...fuck my ass.” Her face was scarlet. She tried to keep her hands from trembling.

  “Just so they know something about the woman who will soon beg them to fuck her ass, suppose you tell them about yourself, Mrs. Ryan.”

  “I...I...don’t know what...,” she began.

  “Are you a low class American slut?” Abul sneered.

  “No.” There was a flash of anger in her eyes. “Before coming here I was married to a successful man. I was privileged to live in a nice house and had what...what you in this country would call a life of luxury.”

  “Ahh, yes, a husband you loved, much money, and a degree from a fine university?”

  “Yes, a degree and a wonderful husband who recently died.”

  “Why have you left your life of luxury to come here to this place, Mrs. Ryan?” By now it had become a familiar question. This was to be a replay of the old interrogation, which was designed to inflate Abul’s ego. He was making sure his friends understood the woman who called him “Master” was not only an American, she was a rich and educated one.

  She answered automatically, “I have come in order to learn my place and to be trained to serve my superiors.”

  “And what is your place?”

  “On my knees before you, Master.” She bowed her head.

  “Look at us, Mrs. Ryan. Now, turn around slowly. Take a few steps to your left then to your right. Walk like a proper American lady, but one who is in heat and wants to have her ass fucked by three brave and lusty men!” They all laughed. Kathy, blushing and staring straight ahead, walked to her right and then to her left.

  Abul clapped Zubair on the shoulder, “Look at her. A young spoiled American widow, fine legs, firm tits, and as you will soon see, a beautiful white ass.” He waved his hand at Kathy and shouted, “Shoulders back, Mrs. Ryan. Keep walking.” In front of the two Asian women she turned and came back, her heels clicking on the stone floor. Abul nodded in approval, “Do you enjoy displaying yourself before us?”

  Kathy, her head held high, was not looking at them. “Yes, Master Abul, I enjoy displaying myself like this before your companions.”

  “We can see that you do.” He turned to the men, “She is hot, my friends, the proud American bitch is in heat. I think her cunt is dripping already. Is your cunt wet, Mrs. Ryan?”

  She stood facing them again. “Yes, it is wet.”

  “Why is your cunt wet?”

  “You...you arouse me, Master Abul. When I am in your presence my...my cunt is always wet.”

  Grinning and nodding at his friends, Abul continued, “Tell us what you are wearing under that expensive suit, Mrs. Ryan.”

  “Nothing. I have nothing on under the suit.”

  “Why?” the man named Zubair asked.

  “I wish to please my Master and his companions. I wish my...my body to be easily accessible to them.”

  “Notice her mouth,” Abul said. “See how bright red her lips are. Lick your lips, Mrs. Ryan. See how they shine. She has a well-formed mouth. Not long ago she used it only to gossip with her rich, lazy friends around their swimming pools. Tell us what you’ve learned about the true purpose of your mouth, Mrs. Ryan.”

  “My mouth has only one purpose which is to provide pleasure to my Master.”

  “And how is such pleasure given?”

  “By...by...sucking him. My lips and my tongue serve my Master by making love to his...to his...cock.”

  Abul winked at the two men on his left, “Is it only my cock you make love to, Mrs. Ryan?”

  She hesitated. “No, I...have learned that it gives you pleasure to feel my lips and tongue on...on...everything,” she said.

  “Not just my prick and balls, but everything?” he chided.

  “Yes, everything,” she said.

  “Well, now, let us see how well you have learned to use those warm red lips and that pink tongue to greet your master.” He crooked a finger at her.

  She knew this would be required of her. It was what she dreaded most. She got down on her knees and crawled across the space that separated her from the four men. She knelt in front of Abul, her head bowed.

  Abul glanced at the two men on his left and at Zubair on his right. Then he looked down at Kathy. “Suppose, Mrs. Ryan, that your wonderful husband, this husband you’ve told us you still love...suppose he did not die. Suppose he was in your fancy house at this very moment waiting for you...anxious to make love to you in your big soft bed. Suppose all you have to do now is say that you would rather make love to him than show my companions your true feelings for me. If you were to say ‘I prefer my husband’, I would send you to him immediately and the two of you could take up where you left off. The two of you could be again in America in your fancy house. Be in each other’s arms on your wedding bed. Tell us, what would you do, Mrs. Ryan,...what would you do? Tenderly kiss your husband’s mouth or kneel at the feet of Abul?”

  She waited several moments, her head bowed. Her husband was not at home. He was dead. And she was here, naked under her dark blue pinstriped coat and skirt and wearing stiletto heels. She was in this foreign place, kneeling before the man she hated most in the world. His worn boots were dusty and hot. She knew that his f
eet would stink with sweat and dirt. With trembling fingers she unlaced the right one and tugged it off. He had not worn socks. The fetid odor and the sight of his ugly feet sickened her. She looked up at him. “If given the choice to kiss my dear husband’s mouth or kneel at the feet of Abul, I would choose to be where I am, on my knees before you.” Steeling herself, she extended her right hand and gently touched his foot.

  “I think I know what you intend,” he said. “But you must earn the privilege by showing that you’ve had a change of heart, a genuine transfer of affection.” He signaled to Miko who came forward with an iron bucket. She squatted next to Kathy and took from the bucket a photograph and held it up. Kathy’s hands flew to her mouth. It was of Jeff. It had been taken about two months before his death. His handsome face smiled out at her.

  “Before we left your fancy house in America, we gathered up a few mementos. This is one of them. Do you recognize the man in the photograph?”

  “Yes, yes,” Kathy could hardly breathe. “It’s...it’s my husband.”

  “Unfortunately, all of your other photographs, even the albums, have been lost or destroyed. This, Mrs. Ryan, is the only one left of the dear departed husband you once loved.”

  “Oh!” Kathy exclaimed as she reached for it. Miko quickly drew back.

  “To prove we are not without compassion, Mrs. Ryan, we will give you the photograph, but you must know in taking it you will be saying, in effect, that your recent admissions were lies; that you have learned nothing about your true place.”

  Kathy shut her eyes feeling as if her heart might burst in her chest, feeling the anger and hatred well up inside her, wanting more than anything to kill the sadistic tormentor who grinned down at her. She turned away from Miko and the photograph.

  “Not enough, Mrs. Ryan. Before I judge you worthy of doing the service you so obviously wish to perform, there’s one thing more.” Fearfully, she glanced up at him then looked away. “Miko has a small vial of gasoline. As an act of devotion to me and as proof that you now realize your former husband was a weak, effeminate poor excuse for a man, it would please me to watch you place his likeness in the bucket, pour gasoline over it and then Miko will give you a match.” The three men looked at Abul and shook their heads in admiration. “Open the button on your jacket,” Abul ordered. With trembling fingers she opened it. He extended his bare foot. She drew in her breath as he touched her naked stomach with his long, ragged toenails. “The old or the new, Mrs. Ryan? You have a choice.”

  She shuddered. This was the most heartless thing he had ever required of her. To make her destroy the last image of Jeff! She felt his toes press against her stomach. She looked up at his smirking face. He was certain he’d won. He knew she would refuse. And if she refused, Satomi would give her to him. But as she glanced down at his damp calloused foot pressing against the white skin of her stomach, she also felt a wave of heat wash over her body and a moistening between her legs.

  Kathy turned back toward Miko and nodded. Miko hesitated before dropping the photograph into the bucket. Kathy took from her the small container and box of wooden matches. She poured the gasoline and struck a match. As the photograph burned, Kathy turned away. When nothing was left but a few fine ashes, Miko carried the bucket back to the far wall where she stood again beside Mi Jong.

  Kathy felt in burning the only remaining photograph of Jeff, she had participated in his death; that in destroying the last image of him she had betrayed him in a way that was unforgivable. Perhaps she should have refused. Perhaps she should have thrown the gasoline in Abul’s face and held the lighted match under his chin. If he survived he would have killed her. If he didn’t Satomi would have killed her. Perhaps that would have been better than what she knew the hated Abul would now demand of her. But it was too late. Jeff’s photograph was ashes. Abul was waiting. Her breath was coming faster. She felt her mouth fill with saliva. She swallowed.

  “You see, my friends,” Abul frowned, “this woman is beginning to understand where she belongs and who she belongs to.” He slid his foot back to the hassock. “Tell us who you belong to.” he said.

  “I belong to you,” Kathy whispered, unable to check the tears that spilled from her eyes. The unthinkable part was that for now she really did belong to him, she was this despicable brute’s woman, his prized American whore.

  “Completely, Mrs. Ryan, is your body completely mine? Let us hear you speak with more conviction...no, conviction is not enough. Let us see and hear devotion.”

  Once more, she reached out and touched his foot. Then, looking up at him, said, “I have given my body to you, completely, unconditionally. I want to belong to you. I want to be your woman...your possession. I...I...would feel honored to be...to...be your American whore. I am grateful that you allow me to kneel here at your feet...that you permit me to be near you.” As she spoke, her nipples stiffened. She glanced down at them then looked up at the grinning men, “You see, just saying the words, ‘Abul’s American whore’ excites me and knowing that’s what I truly am, excites me even more.”

  “I’ve kept you long enough, Mrs. Ryan. My friends want to witness how you have chosen to demonstrate your respect for your Master.” He leaned forward and put his hand under her chin, “You did choose it, did you not, Mrs. Ryan? In fact, it was you who suggested this way of showing your respect?”

  Kathy was forced to look up into his leering face, “Yes, Master Abul, I suggested it.”

  His bare foot, now propped up on the low hassock, was stained with dirt and sweat and gritty with sand. The sour smell made her nauseous. Between his toes she could see dark, moist scum. There were video cameras slightly above the hassock and on each side of it. She removed his other boot.

  “Goddamn, my friend, your feet! They stink,” the man called Zubair laughed. “When was the last time they knew soap and water?”

  “Four days ago,” Abul said, looking steadily at Kathy. “She likes the smell and taste of a real man, don’t you, Mrs. Ryan? Even the smell and taste of a real man’s feet arouses her, doesn’t it, Mrs. Ryan?” He placed his other bare foot on the hassock.

  “Yes, Master, the smell and...and taste of a real man excites me. The smell and taste of...of...your feet excites me.”

  “Show us, Mrs. Ryan. Hold open your coat and thrust out your breasts. Imagine what you are about to do. Let us see how the thought of serving me arouses you.”

  Parting her jacket, Kathy squared her shoulders and looked down at his ugly crooked toes, the long almost black toenails were broken and jagged, and caked with filth. The men hooted and laughed as they watched her pink nipples darken and become longer.

  “Does thinking about it make you hot, Mrs. Ryan?” Abul asked. “Are you eager?”

  “Yes, Master, I am...I am as you can see...aroused, and I want to...to do it.” Kathy felt dizzy and thought she might faint.

  “Ask,” Abul said.

  “Please, may I...may I clean them?”

  “Clean what?”

  “Your...your feet, Master.”

  “You just now burned the last known photograph of your late husband. Are you glad you did that, Mrs. Ryan?”

  She knew he would continue to push her as far as he could. “Yes, yes I am.”

  “Why Mrs. Ryan, why are you glad?”

  “Because burning it has freed me to be here, where I belong. Destroying the photograph has cut my last ties with the past. I am now able to serve you as I should.”

  “Before you show us proof of your complete surrender to me, there is one thing more you should be aware of.” After the photograph, Kathy knew there was nothing worse he could do to her. She bowed her head and closed her eyes. “It was me, Abul, who freed you from your foolish marriage.” Kathy began to tremble. “The food that was given to your husband on the airplane, the sandwich that poisoned him, I was the one who had it prepared. I was the one who forced the attendant to serve it to him. The flight attendant was easy. It’s always easy to make a single mother with two small chil
dren do what you want her to do.”

  “No,” Kathy whispered, “please no...”

  “Yes, Mrs. Ryan,” Abul poked his friends and laughed. “It is true. I was directly responsible for sending your handsome young husband to his death.”

  Kathy fought against a rage that threatened to consume her. “You...you murdered my husband?” she whispered, not looking up at him.

  “Yes. And for that you should be grateful, you should thank me. But there are better ways to show your gratitude. Are you ready to show your gratitude, Mrs. Ryan?”

  It was a long time before she spoke. A violent shudder went through her body. Finally, she answered, “Yes, I am ready.”

  “Ready to show what?”

  She paused trying desperately to get her rage under control. “Ready to show my gratitude.”

  “For what?” Abul continued to goad her, knowing she was close to defying him.

  Not looking at him and struggling to quell her rage, she said, “I am ready to show my gratitude to you, Master Abul, for freeing me from my old existence by...by...taking the life of my husband, so that I might become your woman.”

  Once more she surprised Abul. He felt certain his admission would cause her to break. “Well then, Mrs. Ryan, let us not keep you waiting. It’s been a long hot day in the mountains. You see how my feet perspire. Does that offend you?”

  “It does not offend.”

  “As my friend, Zubair, has observed, I have not washed them in quite some time. How do you propose to clean the feet of the man who made you a merry widow, Mrs. Ryan?” The men laughed again.

  Tilting her head to look up into his scornful face she fought to hide her loathing of him, but at the same time another powerful wave of heat washed over her and she blushed.