by Ann Jacobs
Not likely. The Iraqi jailers' chains held fast. Jamil had tested them often enough over the years of his captivity.
But he would have to try. And while he thought it possible that Maktoum would take a message to Dahoud, he had no illusion that the guard would risk his own painful death by releasing prisoners from their chains.
The warm, wet cloth soothed Jamil's freshly shaven cock and balls. Aroused him further despite his fear that Dubaq would now sever them as he'd threatened to do so often for the past eleven years. Then he felt cool air and warm, damp breath bathing his sensitized flesh.
"Would you feel my yoni or Dubaq's knife?" the woman asked quietly.
"Are you telling me I have a choice?"
She stood and looked him in the eye. With his legs spread as they were, they were of an equal height. "For a time. Until you give me the child your people and the Americans denied me. Then Dubaq will assure himself that my child will be the last to spring from your loins."
Suddenly Jamil knew. This was Dubaq's scarred sister-by-marriage. She wore hijab not to hide her attributes as much as to conceal the burn scars he'd noticed when she had brought him food and water while he worked in the oilfield. The guards had talked about her, mentioning how she'd acquired the scars during the Americans' bombings of Baghdad.
"Why me, Leila? Why do you wish your enemy to father your son?"
"Who else, here in this desolate place? You are an attractive man. I want a child, but I'd not subject myself to groping by one of the loutish men who answer to Dubaq. "
"And I could not grope you because I was in chains?" Suddenly his phantom lover of the night before took on a voice. A face. A substance unlike the shadowy apparition who had taken him in the dark of night.
He had not dreamed. Leila had come to him last night, ridden his cock to pleasure-hers and his own.
She is as sexually deprived as I.
She moved so close that he felt her heat. "I could have your bonds loosened so that you might pleasure me with your hands."
And if you do, I will find a way to escape this living hell.
Part of Jamil recoiled at the thought of seducing one of Dubaq's kin, even if the relationship was only by marriage. But then he remembered Asad's screams. The physical torture he and the others had endured at their jailers' hands. Torture and mutilation that had killed them one by one until only he remained.
Jamil had avoided the worst of the torture until now, except for having endured the humiliation and pain of repeated rapes by Dubaq and his men. The ball stretcher he'd worn since the first time Dubaq had invaded his ass while others took turns fucking his mouth served as a constant reminder that his balls, if not his very life, lay in the jailer's evil hands.
Yes, he'd fuck the devil himself if it meant he might gain a chance, however faint, for escape. And Leila was not the devil. Jamil thrust his hips forward, ignoring the bite of his shackles. His cock lodged itself between Leila's slightly spread thighs.
"I have been starved for years, houri. Starved for the sweet honey of a hot, wet pussy. I want to feast on yours while you suck my cock and balls," he whispered. "For me to do that, my shackles must be removed."
"Perhaps I will loosen your bonds if you please me."
Her lips curved in a smile, and she closed her thighs around his cock. "Now I must go. I will come to your cell after dark."
When she did, Jamil would seek to accommodate her so fully she would want more. She would want the sexual pleasures he could provide only if she removed his bonds-and those of his fellow prisoner.
Chapter Three
"I thought my balls were goners."
The American, Air Force Lieutenant Brian Shearer, could not have realized until arriving here how lucky he'd been to have served his years of enslavement elsewhere. "Unless we find a means of escape, they soon will be," Jamal said. "Dubaq, our jailer, enjoys inflicting all forms of torture-mental as well as physical."
He looked around for the guard who had chained him and Shearer loosely to the malfunctioning pumpjack they'd been brought out here to repair. There he was. As always, the man had found a shady spot beneath a cluster of date palms.
"Hold this wrench." Jamil bent over the rusty pump, pretending to make adjustments to it. "Tonight Dubaq's sister will come to me."
Quickly he laid out his plan to seduce her, gain her trust, propose a ménage à trois so she would remove the chains from Brian as well as Jamil, and overpower her and the guard who watched over them at night.
"I could not. I promised my wife-"
"Your wife would not ask you to choose faithfulness over life, would she?"
The American paused. "I don't think so."
"It will only be one time. To gain her trust. The next night we will make our escape."
Allah grant him patience! Of all the American soldiers who could have been sent to Dubaq's prison bunker, why must it have been one whose sense of moral righteousness might outweigh his need to survive?
"How far are we from the Kuwaiti border?" Shearer asked.
Relieved, Jamil let out his breath. The American would go along with his plan, no matter how distasteful he found the prospect of engaging in sex with a woman other than his wife. "Less than seventy kilometers, but the desert is not forgiving. Insha'Allah, I will be able to get word to members of my family to meet us at the border, near Abdali."
"Kuwaiti dog! Have you not yet completed the repairs on that pump?" their guard yelled from his spot at the trunk of a date palm tree.
"No. I must take the engine apart. That will take more sunlight than is left this day," Jamil said, sending a quelling look Shearer's way. "Quiet. As long as there is work for us to complete, we may have another day to live. Another day to remain men."
The guard ambled over to them, unhooked their chains from the pumpjack, and tugged them back to the bunker.
* * * * *
Night descended, casting the bunker in shadows. Dubaq himself oversaw the shackling of the American while he allowed Jamil the rare privilege of washing away the day's grime from his freshly shaved skin.
"Enjoy my wife's sister-by-marriage, Kuwaiti, for she will be the last woman you ever pleasure. Tomorrow you had best find a way to make that pump work. I have a quota of oil to produce from this field your countrymen nearly destroyed." The jailer grabbed Jamil's testicles, twisting the sac so viciously Jamil cried out from the pain. "If you do not, the American can pleasure Leila in your stead, because you will be dead."
Dubaq shoved Jamil onto his cot and secured his wrists and ankles with the heavy chains. "I will leave the collar off so you may move your head freely," he said, tossing the collar into the corner where it clanked ominously against the heavy chain to which it was attached. "I imagine she'll find good use for your Kuwaiti tongue."
* * * * *
Leila splayed her fingers over her breasts and belly, savoring the tactile sensations while she bathed. As always, the lack of feeling on the areas of her body that had been burned reminded her of her ugliness. Of hideous memories she could not escape.
Perhaps the Kuwaiti would not mind. After all, he bore scars, too. But not like hers.
No. Like a creature of the night, she must come to him in darkness. Keep him bound so he would not feel her shame.
She must take. Never share the pleasure as she once had done with Saqr.
Leila rose and let the warm dry air caress her willingly, as she believed no man would do again. A crescent moon hung in the night sky, lending its faint light through a window.
A night for lovers?
He was hardly her lover. Not when his choices were fucking her or facing the kind of gruesome death Dubaq enjoyed meting out. She'd not delude herself.
After massaging fruity oil into her freshly denuded arms, legs, and yoni, Leila draped a thin silk chemise over her body. Her nipples tightened against the gold rings that pierced them. Slick, arousing sensation coursed through her veins when she dragged her fingers against the aching nubs. How much bet
ter the Kuwaiti's velvety tongue and sculpted lips would feel when he licked and suckled her there.
But that would not happen. Leila would content herself with devouring his beautiful lingam, fondling the velvety seed sac that Dubaq would soon cut from his body. While she sucked his juicy plum and fondled his doomed testicles, perhaps she would order him to pleasure her yoni with his tongue, the way Saqr used to do.
Yes, she would force the prisoner to pleasure her first with his mouth. Then she would mount him and ride him to paradise.
As she'd done so many times for her husband's pleasure, she lifted her chemise and threaded a thin gold chain through her nipple rings and the small hoop that pierced her navel. Though the Kuwaiti would never see her adornments, feeling the slight weight of the chain would titillate her own senses.
By the time she'd veiled herself and made her way across the sand to the prison bunker, Leila's yoni was dripping with anticipation.
Tonight the light in the bunker was brighter. Jamil was lying as Dubaq had said he would be, chained to his cot. His position was the same as it had been the night before, except that now he did not have the iron collar clamped about his neck.
Her mouth watered at the sight of his satiny golden skin, his muscular torso, and the massive organ that for the coming days was hers to enjoy. Already half-hard as though anticipating her arrival, his lingam invited her to taste him, learn whether it was as hot and silky as it looked rising up from his freshly denuded scrotal sac.
Allah! He was magnificent.
When he met her gaze, he smiled as though he looked forward to having her use his lingam for her pleasure. When she felt her facial muscles contract, she realized that despite herself she had smiled back at him.
Her fingers knotted in the fabric of her tunic, and she began to lift it off.
No. She could not bear to watch his gaze turn cold, his handsome face contort into a mask of disgust. Leila let the tunic drop to the floor again as she approached her helpless love slave.
"Please. I would look upon you, houri."
He sounded so sincere, she almost believed him. Almost. "Silence. This is about my pleasure, not yours."
Sitting on the edge of the cot, her outer thigh pressed against his side, she uncapped a vial of fragrant oil laced with the fruit enzymes that would inhibit the regrowth of hair on the prisoner's magnificent body.
The heady scent of apricots, spiced with cinnamon and cloves and cardamon, filled her nostrils when she poured some of the oil onto her hands. Her fingers tingled at their initial contact with the smooth, supple skin that stretched over Jamil's hard-muscled chest.
Those muscles rippled when she slid her oiled hands over them, around small coppery nipples that puckered against her fingertips. Sleek, like heavy satin and warm, sweet cream, his skin absorbed the oil, taking on a golden glow in the light from harsh incandescent fixtures.
When she moved lower, his lingam came to full attention. Like the petals of a lotus on the riverbank, it unfurled, stretching and hardening as it rose over his belly. He moaned, then strained against his wrist restraints as though he wanted to touch her, too.
A shudder wracked his body when she rubbed her thumb over the ruby head of his penis. As if mourning its enslavement, its single eye wept a milky tear.
An iridescent liquid pearl centered on the bulging ruby head of his erection.
She had to taste it. Taste him. And she wanted him to drink her honey, too.
Dubaq had given her so little time to fulfill her long-denied needs with the Kuwaiti prisoner.
Leila cupped his scrotum, unable to prevent the tears that came when she remembered this beautiful part of him would soon be gone. Tenderly she massaged in the oil there and around his puckered anus, before moving on to massage the satiny skin of his muscular thighs and calves.
If she freed him from his chains she could oil his back, as well.
Dubaq had entrusted her with the key that would unlock his shackles.
But no. She dared not.
Her yoni dripped, and her abdominal muscles clenched when she bent to taste her prisoner's glistening lingam. Unable to wait longer, she lifted her tunic and straddled his handsome face. "Pleasure me," she ordered, lowering herself until his hot, damp breath seared her most sensitive flesh.
His tongue snaked out, sought, and found her swollen sex.
"More." She slid lower, felt his mouth opening, sucking her inside.
His teeth grazed her clitoris, then caught it for his tongue to flail.
When she arched her back, the chain that connected her piercings tightened. It tugged at her nipples the way she wished she dared order him to do.
Perhaps soon, if she could make him as hot for her as she was for him…
She is my enemy. And she is raping me now as surely as I was raped when Dubaq chained me to the wall and used me like a whore. Humiliating me in plain sight of the guard and within the hearing of the American.
But when Jamil inhaled her musk, the scent of fruit and spices in the oil she'd obviously used on her pussy as well as on him, he smelled woman.
A hot, desirable woman. A woman he intended to use to achieve his freedom.
His tongue tingled at the tart, heady taste of her when she arched her back, settling her clit more firmly between his open lips.
As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness created by her tunic that had settled over his face and chest, he was able to make out her anus, the gently rounded shape of her buttocks and the tops of firm, silky thighs.
Thighs he felt against his cheeks and ached to touch. When the shackles bit into the flesh of his wrists, he realized he'd reached out for her in truth as well as in his mind.
Surely it would hurt no one if he allowed himself to enjoy the seduction, whatever its purpose.
He opened his mouth wider, stabbed his tongue into her dripping pussy. The loosely woven fabric of her tunic scraped his slick, oiled torso when she bent over and lowered her mouth to his sex. Not wanting to end his feast, he lifted his head and sucked in the moist, soft flesh around her swollen clit.
His cock swelled to nearly bursting when he felt her warm breath. The wet, warm slide of her lips and the gentle scrape of her teeth over its sensitive slit, its swollen head. Its throbbing length. And by the time he felt her throat convulsing around his cock head, her hot damp breath was bathing his balls in delicious sensation.
She tasted sweet tonight. Too sweet to resist. Starved too long for a woman's softness, Jamil drank his fill and reveled in the sensual torture of feeling her swallowing his cock, bathing his clean, smoothly shaven scrotum with heat and moisture while she cradled his balls in her hands.
Sensations bombarded him, made him crazy. Trying to ignore the cruel bite of his leg shackles, he dug his ass into the cot, then arched his back to increase the friction from her lips as she took him down her throat again.
Leila swallowed harder, ran her tongue up and down a prominent vein in his lingam that throbbed in an accelerating rhythm. Delicious sensations flowed to her yoni from his velvety tongue, his teeth. From the pressure of his soft lips clamped firmly over her labia and holding her open for his sensual assault.
Pressure built inside her, threatened to overflow. She sucked him harder and felt rather than heard his moan that reverberated off her swollen flesh.
He couldn't come now. Not yet. She slid his penis out of her mouth and began to lick his satiny scrotum.
The rasping sound of the guard's labored breathing bounced off the concrete walls. Was the odious man's lingam hard, and did his heart beat faster? Was he using his hand to do what he was watching her do to his helpless prisoner with her mouth?
Was the American straining at his bonds in the adjacent cell as he listened to the anguished moans and the slapping, sucking sounds of sexual feasting? Was his lingam swollen nearly to the bursting point while he lay chained, unable to reach his own sex and see to his release?
Imagining the American writhing on his cot in an agony o
f sexual deprivation gave Leila a sense of poetic justice. After all, it had been his countrymen who had made her a widow before her sixteenth birthday. His fellow pilots who had stolen her beauty with their bombs.
And knowing the guard could see her sucking the Kuwaiti's beautiful, doomed balls into her mouth one at a time while he lapped her honeyed yoni added an element of excitement that heightened Leila's pleasure.
Her vaginal muscles clenched around his seeking tongue.
When he grew even harder and she felt his lingam ooze a drop of slippery fluid against her cheek, she lifted her head. He was too close.
Inside. She wanted him to come inside her.
Slowly, for she meant to savor each sensation and every second of the prisoner's ravishment, she straightened. Reversed her position. Impaled herself inch by thick, pulsing inch on his throbbing organ.
He strained at his bonds, lifted his hips as if to deepen the penetration.
With a mighty heave and a shudder, he pushed into her. Stretched her. Loving the feeling, she lowered herself until his balls nestled within her inner labia.
"Free me, houri, and I will give you even greater pleasure. Certainly you cannot believe I could deny you now. "
His whispered words penetrated her sexual haze, tempted her to release his shackles. She reached for the key Dubaq had given her.
Chapter Four
Small fingers gripped his wrist. Metal clinked on metal, and the jaws of the second handcuff sprang open.
But her pussy's iron grip on his cock stayed firm. She rode him like one of the ancient Tartars depicted in classic art. Back straight, she braced her hands on his chest in much the way a warrior might rest his hands upon his mount's sturdy neck.
Up and down. She gloved him in her moist, warm pussy, her inner muscles gripping and releasing him like tiny fists.
His leg irons held him open for her pleasure. Helpless to his own desire.
A large part of Jamil wanted to overpower her, unlock the shackles that still bit at his ankles and make a run for freedom. But now was not the time. He must treat his assailant as a lover, gain her trust, seduce her senses while she used his body as her carnal tool.