1 comments/ 39212 views/ 10 favorites POW Pt. 01 By: DrSqueaky It wasn't supposed to be like this. She felt like two different people were occupying her head at the same time. One of them was appalled by what she was willingly getting herself into, while the other's heartbeat was exploding with excitement, her sex already damp with anticipation. Her story had earned sympathy and outrage on a national level—what would those same people think if they saw her now, choosing to walk back into the lion's den? She paused before the door she had been instructed to find. Situated in an abandoned warehouse district north of DC, one door seemed very much like another. Amidst the other graffiti, however, this door bore the black symbol she had been instructed to find—the symbol of Master Carl. Perhaps he might Require her to be marked with this symbol, in time, to Prove his ownership of her...assuming he found her servitude acceptable. The thought frightened and excited her in equal measure. Glancing around to see no one was watching, she unbuttoned her raincoat. She adjusted the straps of her leather harness, the only thing she was now wearing besides shoes. She made sure her breasts were jutting proudly through their openings, raised the lower straps to make sure all of her holes were easily accessible to her new master. She itched her mons briefly; she hadn't shaved it bare like this since she'd been held captive overseas. Stung for a moment by the memories, she almost turned and ran --but the attraction was too powerful. After all, no matter how much she might try to deny it, she'd been looking for exactly this for a while. In a sense, she'd been looking for a new master ever since she'd escaped her first. From what she knew of Master Carl, she felt confident he would give her what she desired--punishment, stern and demanding, forcing her to bend her strong will to his even stronger demands. Sshe had learned that pain amplified pleasure when administered in alternation, the two contrasting each other in ways beyond comprehending. It made the pleasure almost otherworldly, a drug she was horrified to realize she could no longer do without. And so she here she was, was coming for a fix She adjusted her hair quickly, then removed her raincoat. She deposited the coat into the storage crate placed next to the door for that purpose, as instructed. She straightened up; she was for all intents and purposes naked, but she had long ago ceased to be self-conscious of these things. Her master desired she dress this way, and so she did without question. Her only concern was that she not be arrested before she could meet him. She reached for the knob, grasped it hesitantly--it looked locked. But she felt the handle turn under her pressure. With renewed resolve, she twisted the knob and the door swung inward, opening the door to the next chapter of her life. ----------- Months earlier, she had been a soldier on routine patrol in Iraq. PFC Melanie Riordan was her name, and she was walking a dusty road with her usual partner, PFC Michael Simpson. Her blonde hair was cut short then, not even shoulder length, so that it tucked easily into her combat helmet. "M&M" as their unit referred to them had been walking this stretch of road twice a day for four months, and nothing had ever happened. No pipe bombs, no rocket fire; at most one or two old men leading donkeys with packs to the village. It was mind-numbingly dull duty. And because it had been so dull for so long, Melanie and Michael had increasingly taken to passing the time by entertaining each other. The sexual tension was undeniable; Melanie, pretty young and blonde, and Michael, a tall, muscular, articulate African-American. But their attraction was also strictly forbidden by regulations—not to mention each had a significant other back home. Unable to express the desire they felt directly, they sublimated it into jokes and innuendo. It was fun, and it made the dull day bearable. The man leading the donkey towards them that day seemed ordinary enough, if much younger than they were used to seeing. Bantering with each other, neither paid close enough attention to him. It's hard to say if they would have been able to notice the bulge around the young man's chest even if they had. They met and started to pass when suddenly, the man whipped off his robe to reveal a string of plastic explosives strapped to his chest and a detonator in his hand. "Freeze or I will blow us all up!" he commanded. Snapped back to attention, Michael began to talk to the man in calm tones in what Arabic he knew, following his training in de-escalating suicide bombers. But the man wasn't listening; three words in, and the pair found themselves surrounded by a dozen militia with cloths over their faces pointing machine guns pointed at their heads. One of them demanded, in English, that they drop their weapons. Since their options seemed limited to obeying or dying, they surrendered. Thus they became the two latest kidnapping victims in Iraq. Disarmed, they were marched to a house by the side of the road where they were blindfolded and tied to chairs. About a half-hour later, they heard a truck pull up outside. Their captors lifted them both, chair and all, into the back of the truck. One guard climbed into the back of the truck with them, the door was closed, and the truck started moving. Melanie was fearful but not terrified; she hoped that the truck would be pulled over at one of the many roadside stops dotting the countryside. She became more concerned when the bumping of the truck intensified and dust started seeping in to the cargo hold; it seemed they were crossing open desert, making it less likely to encounter patrols. After driving for several hours, they were unloaded at a farmhouse. Their blindfolds were finally removed, but they were kept under constant guard. She overheard parts of her captors' conversations as they debated what to do with her—it was a major coup for them to have captured actual American soldiers instead of civilian contractors, but they hadn't counted one of them being a woman. For once, the strict separation of genders in Islamic culture was playing in her favor. Early the next morning, Michael was blindfolded again and taken away, while Melanie was left behind in the farmhouse with two men to guard her. She tried to talk to them, to ask them what they planned to do with her. This only earned her a dirty sock in the mouth. For all that day and most of the next, that's where Melanie sat, tied to the chair. At one point one of the guards fed her a little water and a few crackers. When she didn't try to talk to them again after eating, they didn't put the sock back in her mouth. Finally, a truck arrived. She was blindfolded again and carted into it. The truck drove only a short distance, then stopped. She felt her arms being untied, then her legs. Her blindfold was removed last; the first thing she saw was the barrel of an assault rifle pointed between her eyes. "Get out of ze truck," the guard said with a heavy accent. She gingerly stepped forward, circulation still returning to her arms and legs. The butt of the assault rifle smacked into her ribs painfully. "Faster," he commanded. She did the best she could. She climbed out of the truck, but being the middle of the night she could see little. A second guard was there, holding a gas lantern in one hand and an AR in the other. "Follow him," the first guard hissed. It seemed they were in the middle of nowhere, although she sensed they were at the foot of a mountain range. The guard leading came to a stone, which he rolled aside to reveal a passage behind. He motioned for her to follow, then disappeared into the opening. All Melanie could see was a faint light ahead of her, but as her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could see traces of rock walls. This must be a cave, probably once an underground river although no water flowed here anymore. It was at no point tall enough to stand straight up in; sometimes they had to crouch, sometimes, crawl on all fours, and sometimes crawl on their bellies to pass through—but it was very long. In a few places there were piles of loose rock scattered, which she decided must have been places where humans had widened the tunnel to allow passage. She had no idea where she was, but if they were passing under a mountain she feared they might be crossing under the border. If so, once she was on the other side there would be no US patrols looking for her. She was increasingly panicked by the implications, but alone and unarmed she had no chance against the two armed guards. She searched for a place where she might try to surprise one of them, but moving quickly through the darkness she couldn't evaluate a location where the terrain might play in her favor. All she could do was follow. It seemed to take a very long time to pass through the tunnel. A black sedan was waiting on the other side. Emerging from the tunnel, Melanie was forced to lie face-down on the ground. Her captors then hog-tied her and stuffed her into the trunk of the sedan. The trunk closed, she heard two doors close, and then the car made noise like it was moving. Unlike the truck, however, it didn't jar the fillings from her teeth. It must be an expensive luxury car, she thought. Why would they be using that to transport me? And where are they taking me? The car came to a stop. She heard the doors open, voices, then steps receding away from her, but no one opened the trunk. She lay there, listening for an eternity, hearing nothing. Finally, she heard voices and footsteps approaching. The lid of the trunk popped and opened itself automatically. A bright light shined in, looking her over. She was blinded by it, having been in total darkness for so long. Eventually she made out that her two guards were now joined by two other men. The one holding the light seemed to be the leader. His clothes were not dusty like the others; he seemed to be wearing fatigues, but rather than actual military clothing they were the kind that boutiques sell to people that aren't revolutionaries but wish to look like them. "She has possibilities," the leader said in Arabic. "Put these on her and bring her inside so we can have a closer look." He stepped back as one of the guards and the fourth man reached into the trunk and hauled her out. She couldn't stand hogtied, so the put her down on the cement. She seemed to be in the basement of a parking garage. She felt them put something around her neck; she couldn't see what it was, but it was tight-fitting, about an inch thick and limited her head movement. Then the other guard put his foot down on her head, not gently, and held his gun to her so she could not escape. Then the two men started to untie her feet. She felt them clamp some kind of anklet on each leg; she heard a click as each one closed. Then her hands were untied, and matching bracelets were attached. Only then was she permitted to stand. She found herself wearing bondage anklets and cuffs, leather-lined iron rings the latched closed with tiny locks. A single O-ring dangled from each; undoubtedly for the purposes of restraint. She correctly surmised that her neck choker must be part of a matching set. One guard gestured with his gun towards a doorway. They entered, and she was surprised to find a carpeted hallway and an elevator--like any office building back home. They didn't stop at the elevator, though, continuing through a narrow service passageway to a single narrow door. The door opened, and the lights were switched on. It was a large laundry room; she guessed this must be a hotel. She was led in, stood in the middle of the floor with a gun pointed right at her head. "Right, let's get a look at her," the man in charge said, then addressed her in surprisingly good English, "put your hands behind your head." She did as she was told. She heard a click as some kind of lock fastened the rings of her bracelets together. She tried to lift them, and discovered they had somehow been attached to her neck restrain as well; her arms were pinned behind her head. The man looked her over carefully in the light. He ran his fingers along her chin, felt her cheeks. Then all of a sudden he grabbed hold of the lapels of her fatigue jacket and tugged at them violently, ripping the jacket open. She wore a tank top and a bra underneath. He produced a large knife. Melanie had tried to avoid looking at the man, but when he put the knife up to her throat, she had no choice but to look at him. She could feel the sharpness of the blade; if he slipped even a little he might sever her artery without even meaning to. She gulped at his apparent total disregard for her life. She felt the pressure on the knife back off. She felt him run the blade flat along her skin, down the front of her chest. Then without warning he grabbed her tank top with a fist, pulled, stuck the knife under and sliced open the front of her shirt. Putting knife back in the concealed place where he carried it, the man gently touched the smooth skin in the front of her chest. He felt between her breasts, which were still covered by loose tatters, down her stomach. He felt and almost lovingly circled her belly button, then felt her flat stomach all the way to her waistband. Then he slid his hand to the side and upwards, pushing her clothing to the side as he did. He grasped her bare breast, circled the nipple with his finger. With his other hand he now bared the other one, and squeezed both breasts. Melanie felt a flush rise in her face, but he was still powerless. She stared at the ground while the man fondled her. He grabbed a nipple in each hand and pulled. She pursed her lips, but was determined not to wince. She knew he was watching her, but refused to give him the satisfaction of looking up. Suddenly his boot kicked the inside of her shin. She lifted the leg in pain, and he pressed his leg inside and pushed her leg out so that she was now standing with her legs more or less "at ease" but with his leg pushing out against hers. He grabbed her hair and pulled; she was forced to bend her head back, but looked at the ceiling rather than giving him the satisfaction of looking at him. Suddenly she felt a hand in her pants, reaching down between her legs. The man felt for her cleft, forcing his finger down until it touched her sex. In the corner of her eye she saw the man nod, then he removed his hand from her pants and let go of her hair. "Tell the front desk that our plans have changed and we will be leaving tonight," he said in Arabic "of course we will pay for this evening, even though we cannot stay to enjoy it." The fourth man nodded and disappeared out the door. "Sit on the floor," he growled to Melanie in English. Awkwardly, with her hands still clasped behind her, she lowered herself. She started to sit "Indian style," but he growled "knees together." She uncurled her legs, put them together and drew them up tight to her chest, attempting to cover herself. She felt someone working on her wrists, but couldn't see who. All of sudden hands pushed her arm down, and before she knew what was happening her wrist was fastened to her ankle. She tried to resist with her left arm, but it was futile when a second man helped the first. Now she was sitting on the floor with her wrists chained to her ankles. The fourth man returned--with a large steamer trunk on a dolly. He rolled the trunk up next to Melanie. She saw the iron rings in the inside of the trunk, but the four men were able to stuff her into the trunk in spite of her fighting. She was in essentially a fetal position, each wrist/ankle pair chained to the bottom of the trunk, while a short chain clasped her neck restraint to the top. Then the trunk was closed. ------------ It was hours before Melanie saw the light of day again. She had felt the trunk being moved; she had heard long, persistent droning sounds that might have been airplane engines. When the lid was opened, she was in an opulent room in classic Arab style: sand-colored walls, decorative arches, Persian carpets. Two male servants of some kind released her from the trunk. She was allowed to take a toilet and to sit at a small table with some hummus and water. She had just started to eat when a man with an important air burst into the room. He was wearing a sheikh's thawb and headdress, in white. Let us see what Abdullah has bought for me, he muttered in Arabic as he swept into the room. Melanie's blood ran cold at the verb he used: bought. She hoped she'd gotten her Arabic translation wrong. The man came right over to her and impatiently demanded "stand up" in very good English. She froze for a second, then started to push back on her chair, still chewing the bite in her mouth. Apparently too slowly, because a second later the man swat at the table and sent it flying, seemingly unconcerned with the water and food spilled all over the floor. Then he grabbed her by the ring on her collar and pulled her up. Melanie quickly swallowed the bite in her mouth. "I am your Maulana... master," he glared. "You will do what I say, when I say it. I have paid good money for you, and now I own you. Do you understand?" She nodded fearfully. Without another word, he shoved his hands under the tatters of her shirt, grasping her breasts. He was more testing them like an orange in a grocery store than groping them. She focused her gaze down and to the side to avoid looking at him. "On your knees," he commanded. She had a pretty good idea what that meant, so she hesitantly started to kneel. Apparently it wasn't fast enough for him. The last thing she saw was the back of his hand, raised and ready to strike. When she regained consciousness, she was in some kind of bedroom. Every stitch of her clothing had been removed, as were her dog tags. She was sitting on the floor, her wrists locked to her ankles. A heavy chain ran from her neck to a ring in the floor, tight enough that she couldn't stand up. The right side of Melanie's head was throbbing. If felt as if her cheekbone might have been broken, so hard was the blow, and she felt her cheek swelling. She also felt a sharp pain in her left side; it wasn't hard to guess that she had been kicked while she was down. She looked around; a large four-post bed stood against the wall opposite her. There were iron rings protruding from any number of places in the tan walls and concrete floor. Iron bars covered the lone window. A flat-screen television set in the wall was the only other thing in the room. The Maulana peered in. "About time," he muttered angrily as he strode into the room. He raised his hand to strike her again. She turned, trying to protect her injured cheek from another blow--but none came. "Now you're starting to understand. You do what you're told immediately, or you will suffer greatly. Now suck my dick." He lifted his thawb, pushing his limp penis towards her face. She turned, opened her mouth gingerly, and wrapped her lips around him. The side of her face screamed in pain as she opened her jaw, but she didn't dare not obey again. She sucked it lightly, and it grew rapidly in her mouth. He grasped her head and pulled it to and pushed it away from his pelvis rapidly three times. She sucked a little faster, but not surprisingly her heart was not in it. His penis reached for the back of her throat as she sucked. She started to gag, and spit it out quickly. She barely had time to recover her breath and he was shoving it into her mouth again, dripping with her spit. She tried to suck him without gagging, which was hard because he kept trying to reach further down her throat all the time. All at once he grasped two fistfuls of hair firmly, leaned forward, and shoved his dick all the way into her esophagus. She tried to gag, but that was the least of her problems--his dick totally blocked her airway. She struggled, but he held her face tight against his crotch. His balls pressed against her chin, and her nose was smothered in the fatty spare tire around his chest. Her stomach tried to gag, her mouth tried to breath--and she could do neither, as his dick blocked completely filled her throat. Her jaws were forced so far apart she couldn't even generate any pressure to bite, and on top of it all her cheeks screamed in agony. POW Pt. 01 She looked up fearfully; if he held her here long, she'd pass out--conceivably, he could strangle her like this. His eyes were narrowed, not quite hateful so much as in control. He was sending a message. He held her for a few seconds more, then he pulled out. Gasping for breath, Melanie dry-heaved spit onto the floor. "I could have killed you. If you displease me, don't think for a moment that I won't." Melanie didn't doubt it as she fought to catch her breath. He looked down at her, but she didn't look up. Bending down, he unchained her ankles from her wrists, then her neck from the floor. "Go lay down on the bed," he commanded. Still panting, Melanie stood on shaky feet and walked over to the bed. She sat, and then quickly lay flat on it. She was starting to understand that resistance may not be worth the consequences. Silently he walked up to the head of the bed. He reached for her arm; she did not try to resist as he stretched it over her head. She heard a click but did not bother to look at what happened. He did the same with the other, then went around to the foot of the bed. Then she saw--there were steel cables built into the bedposts. He clicked these onto her ankles, then went over to a control panel set in the wall near the door. He flipped a switch, and the cables started to reel in. She look with concern as they tightened; would they stretch her like a rack? But the bed just pulled until all four cables were taut, and then stopped. Melanie was spread-eagled and neatly centered on the bed, but not painfully overextended. The Maulana untied the rope around his waist. "You're lucky, you know. You want to see what happened to your friend, who was captured with you?" Melanie's eyes grew wide. She had been too busy focusing on survival to think much about what happened to Michael. It surprised her more how much her "master" seemed to know about her. He saw her expression and said "here... see for yourself." He flicked another switch and the TV on the wall came to life. He pushed something else and a recorded signal began to play. It was from the English-language Jel Azeera news channel. The TV anchor announced that they were playing, unedited, a video they received from an extremist faction. It showed Michael, still tied to his chair. Four men with faces covered stood behind him. One held a paper in front of Michael to read. He read it... it said America had no right to be in Iraq and the Jihadists were righteous in justified defense of land sacred to Islam. Then one of the men produced a large knife, perhaps a machete, and executed poor Michael right on camera. Tears stung Melanie's eyes; she thought not of her own plight, but of Michael. His girlfriend back in Virginia. And... she stopped short. There was no point in even thinking of the desire she had felt for him, herself, once. He was dead. Her blood boiled with anger--and yet she was powerless, firmly bound to the bed. The Maulana turned off the TV, clucking. "I thought they might spare him because of his African blood, but I guess they thought him too American. Of course, if you were a man, you'd have been right next to him, and you'd be dead, too. So be happy," he concluded, pulling his thawb over his head, "because you are here, alive. Of course, they will never find you--they look for you now, but they are off by a thousand miles!." He quickly lubricated his erection, then climbed onto the bed, and onto Melanie. Melanie was in such shock, she was only partly aware of this man laying on top of her, penetrating her. She stared at the ceiling, thoughts circling helplessly. He made no effort to look at her either; he was only interested in watching her breasts respond as he thrust into her, biting them for fun. She felt guilty. If she hadn't been teasing Michael so much, maybe they'd have been paying better attention and wouldn't have walked into that ambush. Now dear Michael was dead. She was in a predicament too, with a strange Arab involuntarily having his way with her. Somehow she felt as if she deserved it. She closed her eyes and shed a tear--not for herself, for Michael. She was only dimly aware that his penis grew more rigid, and felt him ejaculate inside her belly. Her only thought was that she'd better get used to it, for more of the same seemed the only certainty for her future. Without a word, the Maulana got up off of her and put his clothes back on. He didn't even turn around as he left, but turned out the lights when he went. Melanie lay on the bed, unable to move. Her face throbbed, her side and now her crotch hurt too. It was all so hopeless... she started to sob, until her tears cried herself to sleep. ------------------ She was awakened by the door opening. Three women entered. Two were white; one was blonde and well-endowed, the other brown-haired and skinny. The third was some kind of Asian, with fine lustrous black hair. They were all dressed vaguely like medieval harem girls. Their tops consisted only of a kind of half-vest that did not cover the belly and had no enclosures whatsoever. The blonde and the Asian wore semi-sheer harem pants, while the third wore a belly dancer's skirt. Each had the same iron-ring cuffs, anklets and neck restraint that Melanie wore. Each also had some kind of strange ornament hanging from the iron ring on her choker. It consisted of a cylinder about the size of a glue stick, and then a single key attached below it. "We've been instructed to prepare you to serve the Maulana," said the skinny brown-haired one. As she did, the blonde bent over and with the key around her neck unlocked the fetters holding Melanie to the bed. She had so many questions they all tried to spill out of her mouth at once. "Who.. where..." she sputtered. "Velcome to hell" the blonde said in a thick European accent. There was an awkward silence. "What's your name," the brown-haired one finally asked. "Melanie," she replied, able to pull her arms and legs in closer to her torso with great relief. The Asian applied some kind of ointment to swelling side of her face, then placed an ice pack against it as gently as possible. It still hurt. "What is this place," Melanie finally managed to say. "This is the cloistered harem of the Maulana." "Harem? You mean you're married to that man?" The brunette laughed bitterly. "No. That would mean we chose to be here, and maybe then we would at be respected as human beings. But no, we are merely his sex slaves--living sex toys that he uses however he pleases. The Maulana has a wife, but she went insane and has been locked in a tower for years. So instead he pleases himself with us instead. My name is Heather. I was a runaway, turning tricks on the streets of Los Angeles before I was kidnapped and sold into slavery here. Sasha was from Hungary. She answered an ad looking for household servants overseas, and this is what she got." "I worked night and day for a year to pay my own way over here," Sasha spat. "Chin Li doesn't speak much English. She was purchased from a brothel in Bangkok, where she'd been working after being sold by her family." As if on cue, Chin Li disappeared through the door. "Where are we?" "Akbar," Heather answered. Akbar? she thought. That meant she was on the southern coast of the Arabian Peninsula—quite a ways from Iraq. "How did YOU get here?" "I'm a soldier. I was captured while on patrol in Iraq." "Zat vould explain ze butch hair cut," Sasha interjected. "But now jhou are not a zoldier now. Jhou are not in Iraq anymore. Now jhou are jhust vun of us." As she spoke, she unlocked the last shackle holding her down. "You have the keys to the locks?" The Master enjoys psychological torture," Heather explained emotionlessly. "All of the locks are keyed to the same key, and each of us wears the key on our necks. Tantalizing present, but completely useless when your hands and feet are restrained. He finds it amusing to tease us by keeping the key to our freedom within sight while we struggle under his punishments. Plus, this way he never has to clean up his own messes. When he's done he just leaves and sends the rest of us in to release and tend to whoever he's just played with." "Eventually," Sasha added. It was already clear that the others deferred to her. Heather produced another of the strange ornaments that they wore around their necks. She held the cylinder in her hand and untwisted a hidden cap. She gave it a little squeeze and revealed a small amount of shiny fluid. "This is your best friend. Make sure you get it refilled by the house staff if it ever runs empty. It's KY jelly or something like that. The Maulana will fuck your pussy some, but you'll spend most of your time with his dick either in your ass or your throat. But he will at least give you minute to lube up his dick before he reams you with it. Take advantage, because he'll think nothing of tearing your anus if you don't." "What? This is crazy! You could use the keys to unlock each other, and escape..." "Zey don't open ze door zat locks us into zis little compund," Sasha replied testily. "And it vouldn't do anysing about Abdullah." "Abdullah?" "The master's attendant," Heather explained. "Maulana mostly uses us to pleasure himself. He'll only punish us if it pleasures him. Abdullah is our 'trainer.' If someone needs punishment for a transgression, he'll be the one to administer it." "And Abdullah iz not allow to touch us sexually vizout direct permission. Zo Abdullah punishes us for pleazhure, az he cannot alvays pleazhure himself in ozer vays." "Unless the Master is away," Heather added. "You can always tell when he's away, because the minute he's out the door Abdullah will be shoving his dick down your throat. You're probably met him already—were you 'inspected' before being brought here?" Melanie nodded. "That would be Abdullah." She didn't relish the thought of running into that man again. Chin Li returned with towels and a bowl. Heather noted, "ah yes. Master instructed that we must shave your pubes now." "What?" Melanie said, repulsed, instinctively pressing her legs together. Sasha's eyes narrowed angrily and she bent low, into Melanie's face. "Ze master said to shave you, and ve vill shave you. If ve must chain your legs back to ze bed to do zo, zo be it. I vill not be punished for not vollowing orders because jhou vailed to cooperate. Am I understood?" Melanie shrank back. She was the newbie here, low man on the totem pole--and a totem pole of slaves at that. She had no difficulty imagining Sasha ratting on her to the master, with who knows what kinds of consequences. She had no intention of deferring to Sasha, but she realized she had better get a better understanding of the lay of the land before taking her on. She hoped that Heather might be someone she could ally with. For now, Melanie had little choice but to comply and parted her thighs. "Good," Sasha said as she straightened up. "Jhust zo ve unnerstand each ozer, no vun hates ze Master more zan I do. I jhust unnerstand the necessity of obeying." Chin Li expressionlessly began to trim the deepest thatches with a scissors. "She was very close to Kianna ," Heather said quietly. "Kianna?" Melanie asked, not sure if she really wanted to know. "Zhe used to be ze fourth," Sasha answered. "Vas already here ven I got here. Big, dark-skin girl from Norse Afrika. Very smart, but never let on to ze master that zhe vas." "What happened to her?" Melanie asked hesitantly. "Zhe thought of a plan to ezcape, just as I'm zhure you vill," Sasha answered distantly. "Zhe failed." Melanie wanted to know what happened to her, but was afraid to ask. Heather answered the unspoken question. "She was caught. We were made to watch as they punished her with unbelievable cruelty. Then we were sent away. Kianna never came back." "They killed her?" Melanie asked in shock. Of course, why should she be shocked? The master could have easily strangled her with his dick last night... "Vat do you zink?" Sasha answered. Gone were the cold, expressionless eyes. Instead there was that glassy look of shock she had seen in veterans coming back from the front--the early stages of PTSD. No doubt she was remembering horrific visions. Then she closed the lid on those emotions, and the cold, calculating Sasha returned. "Ve vill all die here. It iz jhust a matter of vhen." She muttered in Arabic to Chin Li, who was almost done applying shaving cream to Melanie's pubes. The pretty Asian lifted her chin and Melanie could see a scar running along the side of her cheek. " "Zat vuz an accident. A little too zealous vit ze crop. " Chin Li now held up her left hand to show that her pinky finger had been severed. "Zat vun vas not. Ve are all easily replaced. Ze master owns oil fields and haz more money zan he knows vut to do vit, zo he uses it to buy slaves. If it pleases him to boil vun of us alive, have no doubt--z zat night one of us vould be turned into a human... how you say... french fry." Melanie shut her eyes. This couldn't be happening. First the capture. Then being sold to the sheikh, er, Maulana. His smugness as he showed her the video of her partner's execution. His hitting her so hard she was knocked unconscious, then raping her on the bed. She wanted to break down, but part of her knew she couldn't afford to and didn't let her. I'll have to play along until I figure out how to get out of here. But I don't care, I'm not gonna just sit here. Death... I should already be dead, like Michael. I would be, if I were a man. I'm GONNA get out of here. If I die trying, I won't be any worse off than I already am. She opened her eyes, resolve steeled and face cold as stone. When the shaving was complete, the girls showed her around her new home. It was a small house, set against the inner wall of a palace-like compound, probably designed as a servant's quarters. The room she was in was her bedroom; each of the girls had one like it. There was a dining room where servants served food, a bathroom, a closet where new "uniforms" could be picked up and old ones sent for cleaning, and a "playroom." This, she was told, was where they would entertain the Maulana most nights. There was a couch and a big-screen TV; virtually everything else in the room was some kind of bondage accoutrement. There was one final door, at the end of the hall, locked--the entrance to Abdullah's quarters. The girls were not usually permitted to touch the TV, which was usually tuned to Jel Azeera--but since both Abdullah and the Maulana were gone that day, the remote control had been left out and the girls could watch whatever they wanted. They sat around watching American soaps, dubbed into Arabic but with English subtitles, waiting for the master to return. After supper Melanie was introduced to what would be a fairly typical night in captivity. First she was brought in and formally presented to Abdullah—he was indeed the man that had inspected her in the laundry room. For her initiation, she was chained to a heavy butcher-block table, her new harem pants pulled down to her knees, and her butt whipped with a switch until it was solid red welts. But he didn't just whip her--he would beat her, then he would stop and fondle her cheeks. Her butt, burning from the sting, reddened as he stroked it. Then he reached his hand under and stroked her slit. She almost jumped the first time he touched it. Then he whipped her some more, then stopped and fondled her again. She was shocked to discover how good it felt. She started to notice a pattern--the pain she felt while being punished somehow took a backseat to pleasure when he touched her clitoris. The intensity of the pain seemed to transfer, magnifying the intensity of the pleasure. In spite of herself, her vagina grew wetter and wetter. She closed her eyes and thought of her boyfriend back home. She thought of making love to him, of their lying in 69... the fact that she loved him, while she hated the man touching her now with every fiber of her being. But while her brain recoiled, her body simply responded to what it felt, betraying her by responding to the manipulation of her clit. The Master sat in an easy chair and enjoyed the proceedings, eventually bringing Chin Li over to suck his cock while he watched. Then he raised his hand, and the beating ceased. Knowing her cue, Heather stepped forward and began to dance. The reason for her skirt became clear; she had learned how to be a passable belly dancer, and now it was her turn to entertain. Abdullah stood and watched. Because he was behind her and she remained chained to the block Melanie couldn't see if maybe he was hoping for an order to beat her some more. She watched the action as best she could without making it obvious she was doing so. Heather danced, Chin Li sucked. He raised his finger, and the rhythm of the dance stopped. She bent over him, proffering her breasts as she held her vest open. He looked up and allowed her to press her nipple against his lips. He kissed and suckled her breasts as she held them out. He must have been getting more aroused, because he grabbed a fistful of Chin Li's hair firmly and pressed her head even further down on his dick, forcing her to swallow more than she wanted. All at once he snapped his fingers. In well-rehearsed fashion, Heather stood up, walked out two steps, and crouched on all fours. The skirt fell away from her, exposing her behind. Melanie could see healing welts from a previous beating. At the same time, Chin Li stopped sucking, opened her tube and squeezed a little lubricant onto Master's dick. He started to stand. She backed away, and followed him. He knelt behind Heather and without further ado plunged his dick into her ass. Chin Li waited until he had penetrated, then walked around, standing over Heather with one leg on either side. She then bent her knees, lowering herself so that she appeared to be sitting on Heather's back while in fact still supporting her own weight. Master impatiently tore her vest open and began to greedily suck her nipples, butt-fucking Heather all the while. He shook a finger towards Melanie without looking up. She heard the lock release before she realized Abdullah was releasing her. He undid the locks, then grabbed her arm and nearly pulled her from the table. "Get in the line," he seethed. He fucked Heather's ass with more intensity. Melanie stood behind Chin Li, then gruffly was pulled over to a spot about two feet to her left, facing the master. Peering sideways, he saw the master start to bite her tender nipples. He seemed to be squeezing harder and harder, watching her face until he saw her unable to keep from wincing. As soon as she did, he pulled out, stood up, and smacked Chin Li's ass. Obediently, she took up a position on all fours next to Heather. He pulled her pants down and forced his erection into her colon. He started thrusting and looked at Melanie expectantly. She decided that she had better do what she had just seen Chin Li do, so she straddled her peer and lowered herself. This was what was wanted, and the Master suckled her nipples. "Good. You learn quickly. That will serve you well," Abdullah commented with satisfaction. Instinctively, she knew she must not respond. She noticed that Sasha had silently come over and now stood two feet to her left... the next in line. Melanie would eventually learn that Sasha was virtually always last whenever they did "the line"--which was almost every night. Master didn't stay in Chin Li for long--he seemed eager to buttfuck his newest acquisition. He didn't spank her, however, he merely pointed at the floor. Strangely, this made her feel the slightest hint of relief. Her buttocks already sore, he could have made it worse by spanking them, or perhaps even rubbed salt on the raised welts she felt. He may not blink at killing them, but his primary interest in his girls was in their genitals, not their suffering. It offered hope that punishments could be cut short if the supplicant managed to arouse the master. He did, however, force his dick up her ass roughly. She had tried this once, a present for her boyfriend's last birthday--it hadn't gone too well. Worse, every time his hips made contact with her tender buttocks pain seared up her back. Combined with her newness to this, she could not bring herself to relax, her anus involuntarily rebelling against the painful intrusion. Apparently this did not please the master. "Abdullah, you must make sure this one is trained." She saw him nod with a cruel grin. He withdrew and re-entered Heather's butt. Heather was caught by surprise by his movement; apparently he did not usually return to an earlier spot in the line. But her anus was a practiced recipient and accepted him easily anyway. Sasha stepped over her and offered her breasts to him as the others had done. It was clear he favored them. They were larger than the other girls, although she was not substantially heavier overall. They were pale, with large and pale pink nipples. He bit the other girls, but not her--he adored, almost worshiped her breasts. She noticed that his stokes into Heather's bottom grew more intense. His thrusts shortened and grew stronger; Melanie expected to see him ejaculate into her rectum. But all of sudden he pointed to open floor next to Heather excitedly. Like a flash Sasha was on all fours, and with great urgency Master pressed his penis into the blonde's ass. He thrust violently for maybe a minute and then froze, obviously in the throes of orgasm. POW Pt. 01 No sooner had he cum than he was up and out of there. Abdullah made Melanie get back on all fours and fondled her butt cheeks. They stung when he touched them. Apparently he decided that she'd had enough for tonight, and declared "you are dismissed." All the girls got up and silently headed for their rooms. Melanie followed their example. Laying on the bed, her smarting cheeks made it impossible to sleep. Although a dedicated back sleeper, only after she gave up and lay on her stomach did she finally rest. ----------- Melanie was still sleeping when the door to her room slammed open. There was then a loud crack as Abdullah smacked the door with a riding crop. Startled awake, she heard four more cracks down the hall, guessing this was "Reveille." She walked tentatively toward the hall, and saw Heather and Chin Li already headed for the dining room. Heather turned over her shoulder and told her "hurry up. Breakfast is only served for a half-hour, and if you miss it you're out of luck." Breakfast was basic but warm and decent. "Hurry and vash up and zhange your cloze before Abdullah returns," Sasha warned as the hour drew near. "Why? I just got these ones yesterday." "Jhou haf zome blood on ze pants... it does not look good." Melanie wanted to protest that she didn't care, but again she thought the better of taking on Sasha. Besides, she imagined that the men would prefer she not have bloodstained clothes, too--maybe she was just trying to help her out. So she did, but she may as well not have bothered because the first thing Abdullah did was make her strip naked. He then chained her to the wall, arms and legs spread apart, and began to whip her. Giving her several fresh stripes, he stopped and fondled her cheeks again. Then, like the night before, he ran his fingers over her cleft. She closed her eyes and thought of the army, trying desperately not to get excited even though his fingers felt so good in contrast to the pain of the whip. He backed up, landed the whip a few times more, then fingered her slit again. He pulled her hair; she tilted head back and opened her mouth to relieve the pressure. That seemed to be what he wanted, for when her mouth opened he put the handle of the whip in it, then released her hair. She wanted to spit the whip out of her mouth, but realized her punishment would just be that much worse if she did. With both hands free, he now coordinated his efforts. She was still facing the wall, but Abdullah was practically on her smarting back, reaching one hand over each hip and to her crotch. With his left hand, he pulled and pried her outer lips apart. They were dry and unresponsive, so he had to work at it a little. But once he did, he sent the other hand after her clit like a bloodhound. Again physiology trumped psychology, and her juices began to flow in spite of herself--which was exactly what he wanted. Keeping her lips apart with his left hand, he now probed for her vagina with his right, stimulating her clit all the while. She sighed with resignation when she felt his fingers enter her pussy. First one, then two, he slid his fingers in and out while rubbing her clit. They entered easier and easier; she felt her wetness increase in spite of her mental revulsion. Abdullah pulled his right hand away and rubbed her clit with his left. She was now excited enough that he didn't need to prey her labia open anymore. He retrieved his whip, then held his hand in front of her face. "Look at you, you dirty slut." The hand disappeared for a moment as he spanked her, hard. "Clean your filthy juices from my fingers!" he commanded. Obediently, licked her pussy juice from his fingers. His other hand fingered her clit mercilessly. He now smacked her ass while fingering her--instead of pleasure interrupting pain, it became pain interrupting pleasure. It made no difference. The pain subsided quickly, but its magnification of the pleasure remained. Melanie's slit was dripping by now. Out of nowhere, Abdullah now produced a new toy (presumably one of the girls had brought it over--she was too occupied to notice). It was a huge pink dildo, with a little side arm sticking out like a bubble gum cactus. "Suck this," he commanded. She took the dildo into her mouth and wet it with her spit. When it was good and wet, Abdullah went and shoved it up into her pussy. She felt him turn it on, felt it vibrate inside her. Then she felt him turn it, adjust it, and then... oh... The little arm rested right on her clitoris, buzzing it busily. A little shiver ran up her spine. Then she heard a ripping sound. Looking down between her legs, she saw him taping the little buzzer into place with duct tape. She swallowed hard. He made sure that the little arm was situated right on her clit, held tight by the tape. Then he took a step back and smacked her with the crop. Before, it had been pain interrupted by pleasure. Now, it was pleasure interrupted by pain. She jerked with a start each time the crop slapped her bare buttocks, the intense pleasure momentarily replaced by a jolt of sharp pain. But the buzzing little monster was constant while the whipping intermittent; pleasure soon replaced it again, and the switch from one to the other somehow magnified the pleasure. She could feel herself getting ready to cum. She closed her eyes, thought of awful things--like what happened to Michael. She did NOT want to cum--but the insistent physical sensations could not be ignored. She bit her tongue to keep from calling out as her body shuddered violently with orgasm. That was what Abdullah had been waiting for. "Aha, you dirty slut. You love it, don't you? You pretend you don't like the whip, but look you--you cum like a bitch in heat when I beat you, don't you? How would you like some more?" Melanie didn't respond. Of course she didn't want more--or did she? The incessant buzzing kept her excited; she felt like another orgasm might not be far off. He smacked her again, and again... and the same thing happened again. Another orgasm, unbelievably intense. She felt like she might shake loose from the chains, she shuddered so hard. "That's it, whore. Cum like the bitch-dog you are," Abdullah taunted. She wondered for a second where he had picked up the slang--Internet porn maybe. He smacked her ass once more, then came around to face her. "That's it. Now show some appreciation for the climax I have given you," he commanded. He had pulled his stiff erection out of his clothes and hovered it inches from her face. Obediently, Melanie sucked it, although wondering because the others had told her that was not generally allowed. Maybe the Maulana was gone. Or maybe, she thought, that's part of training. No wonder he had smiled when given the order. All the while, the vibrator kept buzzing her most sensitive spot. She hated him, but with her body swimming in physical lust she couldn't help but suck him energetically. She felt something behind her, but with Abdullah's cock stuffed in her mouth like a barbeque spit, she couldn't turn to see what it was. All at once she felt a pressure on her backside, and then she felt an object penetrate her rectum. Weakened by the orgasms, her reflexive resistant was not able to repel the invasion. She felt hands land on her haunches and the object began thrusting in and out of her butt. It wasn't until she heard his voice say to Abdullah "now she is ready, eh? Good work." did she know for sure that it was the Maulana, taking now what he had been unable to enjoy the night before. Melanie was too overwhelmed by sensations to be even able to process them all. The dick in her throat, pressing deeper, just on the edge of making her gag. The penis penetrating her bottom, punctuated by smarting pain if the Maulana's thrusts brought his hips in contact with her smarting buttocks. And the vibrator, filling her sex and pressing insistently on her clitoris. She was nearly frozen by the sensory overload, which was all right because the men were happily taking what they wanted whether she cooperated or not. Abdullah came first; she felt him stiffen and fill her mouth with warm salty fluid. The Maulana soon followed; she felt him press against her backside, and her anus felt the spasms as he unloaded into her colon. Only then did he dismount her, and Abdullah removed the tape (painfully) that held the vibrator that was the source of both her pleasure and her torment. He unchained her and took his leave. It was all Melanie could do to collapse to the floor. Sasha and Heather had to nearly drag her to the calming bath of healing oils waiting for her, and in the warm water she fell asleep. ----------- For three months, that was Melanie's life. From time to time Jel Azeera mentioned her and the Americans' concern about not being able to find the missing soldier; her captors of course found this uproariously funny. Punishment was regular, being used sexually almost constant. She assimilated to being one of the harem, serving on the line and as the newness wore off, being the subject of special attentions no more often than the others. But Melanie brought something new to the table that the others did not. The Maulana might not have realized that because she had been assigned to "community liaison" duty, Melanie had learned a good deal of Arabic in the service. While the others had picked up some or the language during their captivity, the only words they heard and thus learned related to everyday life, punishment, or sex. Melanie had learned words that were much more useful. She could tell by the way they spoke to each other that her captors were confident that the girls could not understand them when they used their native tongue. Melanie was smart enough not to let on otherwise. She became a decent actress because of it, learning to feign surprise when things happened that she was not supposed to have understood being discussed. It was because Jel Azeera was running much of the time that Melanie learned that the U.S. ambassador would be making a brief stop in Akbar on his tour of the Arabian Peninsula. When the first announcement came she was the only one to hear. She was standing at the ready while the Maulana had been entertaining himself with Sasha, who was clearly his favorite—perhaps that was why she was also the unofficial head of the henhouse. But the Ambassador's visit was in the news constantly thereafter. Melanie recognized right away that this was perhaps their only chance of escape. None of them had papers, none of them were in the country legally. The only clothes they had would have gotten them arrested in the U.S.; certainly they could not walk the streets here, where the women all wore the abaya outdoors. They would be arrested as prostitutes, possibly stoned under Muslim law. But if she could somehow get to the Ambassador... She couldn't help but smile the next day (in spite of the lashes), when she overheard the Maulana tell Abdullah that he would be going to the hotel where the reception for the US ambassador would be held. The next morning (for that was the time they were least likely to be utilized) she decided to tell the others. Either Sasha was going to turn her in or she wasn't. The ambassador hadn't visited for three years... she couldn't afford to miss this opportunity. She would just have to take her chances, because it would take some planning to pull of any escape. Chin Li was lying face down on a bed while the others applied salve to the fresh welts on her back. "I overheard something on the TV yesterday," Melanie began. No one replied; that wasn't anything new. "The US Ambassador is going to be in Akbar next week. Just for an afternoon, at a reception at the grand hotel. Maulana is one of the invited guests." "Vat good does zat do us?" Sasha replied wearily. "If we can get to him, he can get us safe passage out of the country. Since none of us have any money, papers or even decent clothes, that would be the hardest part of escaping." "How vould you get to see him? And if jhou did, vhy vould he believe your story?" Sasha sneered. "I think it's the best chance we have that anyone would listen, and he probably won't be back for another three years." "How would you get to him?" Heather asked, skeptical but willing to listen. "If we could break out of here, there's black tablecloths all over this house—we could throw them over our heads and hold them closed, it would look enough like a chador from a distance. That way we wouldn't be arrested on sight outside of here. Does anyone know how far it is to the city?" "20 minute by car," Chin Li said haltingly. The rest all looked at her. "He take me to hotel a few time... in city. Give me to friend who like Asian woman. Maybe is same hotel." "Do you remember how to get there?" Melanie asked hopefully. "Take driveway. Turn right. You see city ahead when you cross over hill. Hotel in middle of city." "OK, so you get to the hotel. They're not going to let you speak to the Ambassador. There will be security everywhere," Heather thought out loud. "Yes, but some will be US security people, and that's who I WANT to talk to. As for the locals, we take off the tablecloths when we get there and tell them we're entertainment for the Ambassador." "How would we get there? If it's a 20 minute drive, we'd never walk there in time." "There must be cars here on the property we could steal," Melanie mused. "Zere are," Sasha said, "but jhou zeem to forget ze first step. IF ve can get out of here. Are jhou forgetting of Abdullah?" "I have a plan for that," Melanie said confidently. "I was trained in hand-to-hand combat; I doubt he was. Plus we have an advantage?" "We do?" Heather asked, confused. "Yes. Abdullah carries the key to this area with him at all times. And his behavior is very predictable when the Maulana is away." There was silence as each recognized the truth in that statement. Melanie continued, "my biggest concern is between here and the car. We have no idea what the rest of this manor looks like. We might not ever FIND the garage." "Vat do jhou vant to know?" Sasha asked quietly. "You mean you'll help us?" Melanie asked. "I don vant to have to vatch anoser girl tortured to dess. Zat vus Tianna's biggest mistake... zhe tried to escape alone. Zhe knew ze risk, and didn't vant to take anyvun else down vis her. If ve had all verked togezer, who knows? Beside... if jhou make it, vould you vant to be ze only vun left here to face an angry Maulana?" It turned out that Sasha had been outside the compound; sometimes the Maulana was in the mood for a nightcap. When that happened, Sasha was summoned to service the master in his private bedroom after lockdown. When he'd had his fill he sent her back on her own, where Abdullah let her in. She was able to draw a very useful map of the rest of the manor. In the end all four of the girls decided it was better to risk escape and die trying than to continue to live this way. And so the plan was refined and set in motion. ------------- Abdullah had no idea. On the day of the ambassador's visit, a few minutes after 10:00, Abdullah came out of his quarters with an urgency in his step. All he was thinking about was playtime. Heather was stationed in the hall, waiting for this. "Oh, has the Maulana left? Here, we are waiting for you in the dining room..." Maybe it should have nagged at him that Heather knew the Maulana would be away, but his mind was occupied on other things. He rounded the corner and found Chin Li and Sasha kneeling on the floor about ten feet in. Chin Li had her hands folded like she was praying, only her breasts were exposed and resting, displayed, her forearms. Sasha's arms were behind her in an apparent subservient position. Each had her mouth partly open, seeming reading to receive, and Heather went to kneel next to them. Which mouth to fuck first? Overcome with lust, Abdullah rushed into the room, not thinking of the fact that a fourth mouth was unaccounted for. He rushed into the room as if wearing blinders. Melanie was standing pressed up against the wall behind the doorway. As soon as he brushed past, she smacked him in the back of the head with a spreader bar. Occasionally used to force the girls' legs apart, it was also a handy two-foot long wooden pole with a heavy iron fitting at the end. Melanie had applied everything she had learned about leverage when attacking him with it, and it had hit him hard. The was a big gash in the back of his skull and blood was oozing out. Sasha and Heather were up the second he was down; Sasha had been holding whips her, which Melanie used as makeshift ropes to try to tie Abdullah down. It didn't look like he was going to come around anytime soon—if ever. Chin Li was frozen by the sight of Abdullah on the ground. "Come on," Heather urged, "so what if he's bleeding? How many times has be beaten you bloody?" With a nod, she prodded herself to get up and get moving. They took Abdullah's key and locked him in the compound. Then they whisked swiftly through house towards the garage. They hadn't gotten far when they encountered one of the household servants on the way, but Sasha was prepared. "Master called to say that the Ambassador is coming here for a visit! We are to entertain! Abdullah told us to tell you to prepare a reception in the garden!" The servant was dumbfounded, but didn't dare chance the order being wrong. She scurried away, arousing the other servants—and sending them scurrying in other directions. They continued towards the garage, pulling four black cloths from tables along the way. They got to the room where the chauffeur usually waited, but of course he was gone, having driven the Maulana to town. As they feared, the door was locked. Melanie was about to kick the door down when Sasha held up her hand to wait. She took Abdullah's key... and the door opened. Melanie smiled at Sasha. I guess that's girl's all right after all. Melanie reached in and grabbed three keys, each with clearly marked vehicle makes on the key. Spying an extra uniform jacket hanging on a hook, she grabbed it impulsively. They entered the garage and descended on the first likely suspect. One of their keys worked, and they jumped inside. It turned out that only Melanie knew how to drive (Heather had a learner's permit once). Sasha moved to sit in the front seat, but Melanie stopped her. Pulling her hair together tight to her head, she slipped on the chauffeur's jacket and tucked her hair under the collar. Then she sat behind the wheel. "Driving by in a car, could I pass as a man?" Sasha looked at her through the windshield, and nodded agreement. "Great. Then all three of you sit in the back, and hid your heads as best you can in those tablecloths." As they left the garage and drove for the open road, they looked like a chauffeur driving three proper Islamic ladies. Chin Li was right about finding the city. Traversing it, however, was more difficult than anticipated, what with bicycles and carts and things constantly crossing and blocking the roads. Fortunately the car had tinted windows so they were not conspicuously unusual. Finally Melanie followed the lead of the few other cars she saw, hitting the gas and leaning on the horn and making everyone else get out of HER way. The hotel was the tallest and most modern-appearing building in the city. Melanie dumped the car in the valet area and the four of them burst inside, making a beeline for the bathroom. Once inside, they dumped their outer layers and re-emerged in their "uniforms." Then they headed straight for... the kitchen. They burst through the doors, raising lots of eyebrows among the waitstaff. But this was a calculated gamble. "We are supposed to provide entertainment for a reception upstairs? Are there any trays the need to go up? They like it when we appear as waitresses." The waiter nearest them started snickering right away. This was what they had banked on; Chin Li had told them that when she had been there before she had seen other girls, also from other countries, throughout the hotel. From what she had picked up of the conversation between the Maulana and her visitor, they were prostitutes. Certainly the waiter responded like he'd seen nearly-naked women running around the hotel before. He gave them each a tray of hors d'oevres and even showed them to the service elevator. POW Pt. 02 A high-security detail was waiting for the Ambassador's plane when it arrived at Dulles. The four girls who had just staged a daring escape from captivity in Akbar were whisked into limousines and taken for debriefing. The State Department played coy with the press on the reason for the Ambassador cutting short his trip in the Middle East, saying an announcement would be forthcoming. Each girl was interviewed separately so that their stories could be compared and corroborated later. Sasha and Heather were taken to interrogation rooms right away, while Chin Li and Melanie waited--one for an interpreter that spoke her native tongue, the other for officials from the US Army. A short while later, Melanie found herself in a debriefing room with one person from the CIA, one from the State Department, and additional interviewers from the Pentagon. The State Department rep, a woman named Diane, led off, and set the tone for the questioning. She asked generally about her capture and what happened in Akbar, and was clearly outraged by Melanie's treatment there. A General Baumgartner wanted to know what she could tell them about how she was taken out of Iraq, but while she could describe the tunnel she had no idea where it was—or even what country she'd ended up in on the other side of the mountains. She could feel her questioners pity her, and it made her uncomfortable. She'd been focused on survival up to now, hadn't had the luxury of reflecting on her ordeal. But she foresaw in their reactions the way that others would respond to her once they knew her story. She just wanted to go back to being a soldier; it was her first inkling that perhaps that would never happen. From now on, she would be always be that girl. The soldier that had been captured and used as a sex slave. She had a fleeting moment of panic; she'd spent so much time thinking about her boyfriend while enduring the unwanted penetrations of the Maulana... what if he rejected her after all that had been done to her? She searched their faces, and found them full of well-meaning but unwanted pity. Except one. Standing ramrod-straight at the back of the room rather than sitting with the others, one of her interrogators' face did not belie any pity at all. His expression was stern and intense—not necessarily hateful, but certainly with no sign of softness, either. She glanced his way again; his eyes felt like they were boring right through her. That made her even more uncomfortable, so she refocused on the others. In her peripheral vision, however, she paid closer attention to him. He had been introduced as Major Carl Tiegen, US Army. His face was ruddy and weathered, a face that had endured extreme conditions without blinking. He was neither young nor old—he could have been anywhere from 35 to 50, she thought, it's hard to tell with such hardened skin. His look gave you the impression that this man had never smiled in his life. And his eyes didn't seem to blink—she probably just couldn't see because he was further away, and she wasn't about to stare at him to prove otherwise. But she felt like his eyes bored into her. She suddenly felt more naked than she'd been in Akbar. Although he never took his eyes off of her, he only participated in the questioning once. "What were you and Private Simpson doing while on patrol that day?" "We were walking our assigned route, just like we had done twice a day for four months..." She had almost ended with 'Sir,' reflexively, in response to his tone. She wasn't sure whether she should or shouldn't be doing so—these were all superior officers, after all. "Just walking on patrol... quiet as a mouse... watching for signs of present danger..." the Major responded sarcastically. "No Sir," she replied, "we were talking while we were walking." "What were you talking about soldier?" he pressed. "Something that distracted you maybe? Missed noticing the man coming towards you might be a threat?" Melanie's mouth opened and closed. The General saved her; he turned to the Major and said "stand down, Carl. The girl's been through enough." Then he turned back and continued the questioning in a more civilian tone. The Major's expression did not change, but he spoke no more in the interview. Melanie couldn't help but feel like he could see right through her, though, for indeed she couldn't help but feel if, indeed, she and Michael had missed signs they shouldn't have because of their teasing banter. She glanced his way briefly; she wondered if he might even suspect that there had been such sexual tension between them. Maybe he's just old-school and doesn't think women should be in combat. But if their teasing had contributed to their capture, then she hadn't done her duty as a soldier—she should have stayed focused on the mission, and she hadn't. The General meant well, but only the Major had talked to her like a soldier—not just a "girl" or worse, a victim. Diane now spoke. "I know this is going to be hard for you... but tell us anything you can remember about what happened in Akbar." So Melanie began to recount her initiation, her training under Abdullah, and the things the Maulana liked to do with his slaves. She could tell Diane was having difficulty listening to it all, and Melanie couldn't entirely understand why. In her mind it was just another thing that had happened, and now it was over. Maybe by having lived through it, she had learned to emotionally detach herself from it all, whereas Diane was perhaps picturing herself in Melanie's place. She glanced at Major Tiegen, and saw his expression had changed. His face wasn't quite so hard, but if anything his eyes were sharper—boring through her even deeper than before. She gulped involuntarily. She sensed that his perspective on her experience was radically different from the others. She was a victim, sure, but she wasn't JUST a victim; the Major alone seemed to understand that. She found herself wondering more and more what he might be thinking, but his stern unmoving face wouldn't reveal any clues. Finally the interrogation was over. The General told Melanie that she would have a choice between a full honorable discharge or a reassignment stateside. He told her she would get a month's leave to decide—but not right away. "Tomorrow, there will be a press release with the official story of what happened. The Defense Secretary will decide what to say and what to leave out, and you will be briefed accordingly. The press will want to ask you questions; we'll give you guidance on how to answer them. Do you feel comfortable talking about this on TV?" She was taken aback. "I guess so..." "Every show in America has put in requests for you. The Department will select a couple for you to appear on—Winnie Ofrah, Viewpoint, that kind of thing. We'd like to get them all out of the way in a week, and then let this thing die down and go away. Understood?" "Yes, sir." He stood and saluted her; awkwardly she quickly rose and returned the salute. Then the General and his attaché turned for the door. Just as they passed the Major, Tiegen turned and asked one last question. "With all these things that happened in Akbar... did you ever climax, Private?" Diane turned on him angrily. "Major Tiegen! That question is totally out of line." But his eyes were firmly fixed on her face. He alone saw that her face could not hide the truth. He didn't need her to speak to know the answer. "I'm sorry..." he said insincerely, "question withdrawn." His eyes lingered on her knowingly, then he turned and left as well. "I'm going to call the Pentagon and report that man right away!" Diane huffed. "No Sir," Melanie retorted, still standing where she'd saluted the General. "It's a fair question. The Army needs to know EVERYTHING about treatment of POWs while in captivity. He's just doing his job." Stunned, Diane stood and left without another word. She wondered about Major Tiegen. Somehow, she felt like he understood what had happened to her better than any of his superiors. And what was the meaning of that glance he had thrown her as he left??? -------------- That night she was happily back in her lover's arms. Matt was so happy to see her—the press release hadn't been made yet, so all he knew was she was back. She told him generally what had happened. He was angry, or course, when she told him about being in Akbar—no man wants to see his woman serving another man like that. She could tell he wanted to know more, and yet he didn't. But he was sensitive enough to her pain that he didn't press the issue. Eventually, she would have to tell him more. She might not ever be able to tell him everything, though, depending on what the Army said. He was worried about pressing for intimacy, if she'd been... well... in Akbar... But she WANTED it; she had been taken against her will so many times, SHE wanted to be the one in charge, consenting. To prove her point, she assertively unzipped him, put her head in his lap and sucked his dick. His cock felt warm, familiar--and very responsive. Maybe it was just because it had been so long, but Melanie suspected that she'd learned some things in Akbar, because his dick never seemed to be THAT responsive before. Oh well... maybe it was a silver lining in the whole ordeal. She just hoped it wouldn't lead to too many difficult questions... She had to stop sucking him because she could tell he'd pop off in her mouth in a minute otherwise. She stripped off her clothes and spread her legs. Matt knelt on the floor in front of her and licked her smooth labia. She saw him do a double-take when he first saw her shaved snatch, but could tell that it excited him. She felt his tongue lick her lovingly, the way she'd remembered him doing. Something none of the men had done in Akbar, that's for sure (although sometimes the women were commanded to do so to each other for their viewing pleasure). There was only one problem--she wasn't getting off. It felt good, sure, but it just didn't feel... intense enough. She didn't think he was holding back... it just... somehow wasn't doing the trick for her. Hiding her disappointment, she suggested they move to the bed. She giggled as he picked her up and carried her to the bed. She bounced as he flopped her on their bed. Then he knelt over her, pressing his penis into her snatch. She wrapped her legs around him as he made love to her. Their lips met, and she experienced true joy at the simultaneous sensation of kiss and fuck. But it didn't get her off. Matt kept fucking her; she could feel he would cum soon. He knew it, too, and trying to be sensitive he rubbed her clitoris with one hand while thrusting with his penis. That too felt good--good enough that it might bring her off if he kept at it long enough. But long enough felt like maybe twenty minutes worth--he'd never lasted that long in the warmth of her pussy, and he certainly wasn't going to now. She felt him taking long pauses, trying to delay himself; she kissed him and told him to go ahead. Cleared for takeoff, he thrust into her solidly, and in less than a minute was ejaculating inside her belly. He got off of her and lay next to her. They kissed and cuddled. They held each other, and Matt drifted off to sleep. Not Melanie. For a long time afterwards, she lay in his arms, wide awake as he snored gently. She felt good to be here again, safe. What she didn't feel was satisfied. All that time in Akbar she'd dreamed of being back here, in this bed with Matt. And now... it's not that she wished she was back in Akbar, God no, but the reality had come up short of what she had dreamed of. She told herself that it was her fault—that she was tired and under a lot of stress. She told herself it would be different once life returned to normal. She felt the beginnings of fear—fear that normal as she once knew it was gone forever. She dared not give voice to the thought that maybe her disappointment was going to be a much more difficult itch to scratch. The next morning Melanie appeared at a Defense Department news conference. The plan of attack was that the press would be told that she had been trafficked to Akbar where she was part of a Harem. The focus would be on Melanie's brains and bravery in escaping. Any attempts to solicit more details of what being in a harem meant would be dismissed as inappropriate and serving only a prurient interest. The mainstream media went along; this story would be plenty sensation as it was. The news conference was cut short before the smaller media got a chance to speak. From the news conference Melanie was whisked to Dulles to catch a plane to Chicago; she would appear on Winnie Ofrah that afternoon. Diane went with her to all her appearances. The stated reason for her to be there was to address the foreign policy implications for our relations with Akbar. Her main job, though, was really to deflect any questions that pried too deeply into what Melanie had been forced to do there. Although she had not been given instructions to do so, Melanie chose to use her pulpit to send a message on the importance of educating women in the Arab world. Her situation would never have happened without a general cultural acceptance that men and women were different and not equal; she touted increased education of women as the solution. Diane told her on the plane to New York after the show (to appear on the morning news shows the next day) that her approach had been brilliant—increased education was a cause everyone could get safely behind. Most Americans followed her lead in framing the debate. Sure, a few extreme right-wing hawks wanted to invade Akbar to seek retribution, but that was just because war is the only thing some people ever want to do. The Akbari Ambassador was tripping over himself apologizing for his country and ensuring that one person's actions were not representative of the people of Akbar. He promised a manhunt was underway to find the perpetrator—which Melanie doubted very highly. Women's groups emphasized their outrage but agreed with her conclusions. Her face was everywhere. That made her uncomfortable—until she thought of the Maulana, who would surely be watching the story unfold on Jel Azeera. She smiled when she thought how angry he must be. Maybe he would burst an artery in his apoplexy. Couldn't happen to a nicer guy, she thought sarcastically. Melanie was on TV for about a week, then as planned went on leave to let the furor die down. Eventually other news pushed the story from the front pages and life went on. Unfortunately for Melanie back in Virginia, so did the disappointment. They kept trying, but Matt couldn't satisfy Melanie anymore. On the third day he was bound and determined to eat her out until she came, but it just wasn't happening. She finally just faked it so his feelings wouldn't be hurt. It wasn't that having sex felt bad, she liked it and all. But somehow, it just seemed... maybe watered-down was the word. It just didn't stimulate her intensely enough to get her off. And she knew it had to be her; she'd never had this problem before with Matt, and he seemed to be exactly the same. The only thing different seemed to be her. As Melanie's leave drew to a close, the Army asked her what she wanted to do. She thought about taking a discharge, but even if she got a partial disability from the VA for PTSD it wouldn't be enough to live on. She thought about what else she might do, but the Army seemed a better choice than anything else she felt qualified to do. So when her month was up, she went back on active duty. She was placed in a desk job as an aid for General Hermann Andrea, chief of procurement for the US Army. It wasn't bad work; she had a cubicle in the Pentagon, got to travel sometimes to speak with contractors, and once in a while got schmoozed with perks from salesmen. It wasn't the career she'd envisioned, but it was safe and stable. It was three months to the day after she arrived back in Washington that she first ran into Major Carl Tiegen again. She rushed into an elevator just as it was closing; he was the only other occupant. "Private," he grunted as a greeting. "Major Tiegen," she returned with a lump in her throat. She didn't salute because she was "inside the line;" the Pentagon was a salute-free zone. If it wasn't, staff would spend so much time saluting that no real work would get done. "How have you found your transition back stateside, private? Have you found that things aren't quite how you imagined they would be?" His unblinking gaze tore through her again, just like at the debriefing. His words made her shiver. It was as if he knew that her relationship was in trouble, that what used to satisfy her just didn't anymore. "I'm just happy to be home again, sir," she answered evasively. She unconsciously tucked her briefcase close to her chest, a response to feeling naked to his gaze again. "You may be home, but some things have a way of staying with you," he replied knowingly. Thankfully the elevator bell dinged—third floor. Melanie raced off without another word, but noting that the other button depressed was for the fifth floor. She was shaken—not by seeing him per se, or even by his words. What freaked her out was a nagging sense that he understood something that no one else did, not even Melanie herself. His last sentence stuck with her... what things was her referring to? Deployment in a war zone? Being a POW? Or a hostage? Or did he mean... she shook her head. She refused to think about the Maulana or the things she had been required to do in his house. Her military career had stabilized, but things continued to get worse back home. Matt was duly concerned that she didn't get off anymore. In part he was worried about her and PTSD, but in part he was just frustrated. It made him feel inadequate, and he asked more questions about what had happened in Akbar. She didn't want to answer them, so she lied and told him the Defense Department wouldn't let her talk about it. That just got him angry; how could the government tell her what to do in her private life? To appease him, Melanie went to the VA for help. They wanted to put her on an antidepressant, but she didn't feel depressed. Her problems were in her relationship, so she went to therapy for a while. She didn't have any other symptoms of PTSD, but the psychologist seemed to think she should, and talked like it was only a matter of time, especially once Melanie started having the dreams. Her therapist interpreted them as nightmare flashbacks, but that's not how Melanie experienced them at all. She dreamt about being tied up and fucked, and they always ended with her having monster orgasms. Orgasms like she had experienced in Akbar, even if she had tried to hide them at the time. Her therapist gave her some stuff to read on identifying with an aggressor, but that didn't seem to fit either because she HATED those men. Just because she despised them didn't mean that they hadn't been able to make her cum. She didn't feel like the therapist was really hearing what she was saying, and eventually stopped going. As if things were bad enough, she ran into Major Tiegen again. She was at her desk, and of all things he delivered a package from upstairs. It was for her CO, but since he was gone he left it with her. She was already shaken when he told her about the package. But then he added "and how is the reassimilation coming, private? Things OK back home?" "That's none of your business, Major," she burst. "THAT good, huh?" As he turned and left, his eyes had spoken volumes. His lips had even had a slight curl, perhaps the rudimentary beginning of...gasp... a smile. She berated herself--she'd given herself away again. It wasn't what she said of course, it was the vehemence with which she said it that had given everything away. And that look in the Major's eyes--it haunted her. She couldn't stop thinking about it. What makes him so smug. He probably doesn't know anything, he just thinks he does. Probably just thinks he's better than me. And while that was possible, she couldn't help but wonder at the seeming perceptiveness of his questions. Maybe she was just reading too much into things, but what if he DID see something she didn't understand? More than anything, it bothered her that possibly this stranger knew something about her that she didn't know about herself. She caught herself thinking about him more and more, intrigued by the mysterious man with the stone face. And at night she kept having dreams. She dreamt she was chained down, unable to move, while a man in a mask alternately whipped and fucked her. She would wake up, remembering the dream and feeling like she had been on the brink of an amazing orgasm. POW Pt. 02 Between the thoughts of Major Tiegen and the sex dreams at night, things kept getting worse at home. Frustrations spilled over outside the bedroom, and Matt and Melanie fought more and more. Melanie felt her relationship with Matt, a man she had once hoped to marry, slipping away. Something was wrong with her, and she had no idea what. Only one man seemed to maybe have a clue, and that was Major Tiegen. She urgently felt the need to do something. Although he scared her, she finally decided that she HAD to find out what, if anything, it was that he seemed to know. And she knew how to find him. The next day Melanie took her lunch at 11:30, like she knew Major Tiegen always did. She went straight to the table where he always sat by himself—one row in from the windows, one row removed from the back wall. She pulled out the chair right across from him and plopped herself down with her lunch. The Major glanced up, nonplussed. "Private Riordan," he said evenly, "to what do I owe the pleasure?" Melanie was on the offensive from the start. "Every time I see you, you act like you know something. You seem so sure of yourself, you've got me starting to wonder if maybe you do. So I decided to talk to you, just to prove that really you're just full of yourself." "If you've already drawn your conclusion, there's no need to have this conversation," he observed, refusing to be baited. "I just want to know where you get off, making assumptions about my home life. It's none of your business." "True," he admitted matter-of-factly, "I was just making small talk. My C.O. says it's something I need to work on. Based on your reaction, it appears I hit a... sensitive topic..." Melanie stared him down, but he didn't blink. "I just want to know what made you seem so SURE." "I was merely guessing," he demurred. "But you guessed right," she pressed. "How?" The Major stared at her silently for a long time. His eyes narrowed, like he was sizing her up—again. She returned his gaze, unwilling to let on that she felt butterflies inside, waiting. Finally his eyes returned to normal, like he'd made his decision. "I've been in the field, Ms. Riordan. Seen things. Been places I wasn't supposed to be. Observed causes and their effects. I have... a different perspective on things than my commanders. They've not been on the front line, like I have. I may be the only person you've talked to who has any idea what it was really like for you in Akbar." "Oh give me a break, Major," Melanie spat angrily. "You have no IDEA what it was like over there." Even as she spoke, her mind fixated on the fact that he called her Ms. Riordan, not Private Riordan. She was sure he wouldn't do so by mistake; he had a reason. And she had no clue what that reason could be. Damn him! "Don't I?" he challenged calmly. "Now it is you that presume to know my service record. I've seen many things that aren't in my file, because officially they never happened. " "Oh, excuse me," she replied defensively. "So maybe you're witnessed war crimes. That entitled you to comment on MY experiences? Unless you used to be a woman, pardon me if I don't think so." "You're the one that wanted to find out if I knew something. If you no longer think I do, then perhaps our conversation is finished." Melanie tried to keep her anger in check. He infuriated her because he was just so... in control! He remained measured and steady, and nothing she said to him phased him. "And just WHAT do you think you know?" she demanded. The Major sat back and actually half-smiled, which infuriated her even more. "I can't tell you that here," he began magnanimously. "Oh how convenient," she spat warily. "There's a club in Maryland, called The Hopper. Know it?" She shook her head. "I'll be there Thursday, around 9:00. If you want to know more, you can look for me there. Otherwise," he stood up, picking up his empty tray, "I bid you good-day." She turned briefly to watch him leave, peeved. He didn't turn back—she knew somehow he wouldn't, and it was better that he didn't. She threw down what was left of her sandwich, furious and no longer hungry. She didn't know much about The Hopper other than it was a middle-class pickup bar in Maryland. She wasn't sure what she expected to get from this confrontation, but invited to a rendezvous outside of work wasn't it. Was he trying to leverage her curiosity to get her to sleep with him? Never, she seethed. And yet... that kind of move just didn't feel like it would be his style. Plus, if he was trying to put the moves on her, there were a thousand quieter and more intimate places he could have chosen than a noisy, crowded bar like The Hopper. She sighed, picked up her trash and left. Screw him—he didn't know anything, she told herself. She was being a fool, and he was pushing her to see how much he could get out of her before she figured that out. Smarten up. She went back to her office and tried to put him out of her mind—but couldn't. No matter how much she berated herself, she just couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he really DID know something that might help her understand just what was wrong with her. And to find out, she'd have to go to the Hopper. --------- She hadn't intended to go meet the Major, but fate intervened. Wednesday night she and Matt had had a big fight. She knew she was being distant—partly because she kept ruminating about the Major. Matt had finally said that maybe they needed to rethink being together anymore. He said he needed to go away for a while, get some space, some time to think. She didn't have any reason to argue otherwise. He packed up a night bag and went to sleep at a friend's house. When she got back from work on Thursday, there was a message on the answering machine telling her not to wait for him, he wasn't coming home that night. Now there was absolutely nothing stopping her from going to The Hopper. So she did. After work Melanie changed out of uniform and put on a pair of straight-leg indigo jeans, a nice top and heels. She put her hair in a simple ponytail—she'd been growing it out since coming back from overseas so it hung past her shoulders now, and she had fresh blonde highlights from yet another recent attempt to rekindle the spark with Matt. Looking in the mirror, she wasn't impressed but knew that as long as she was breathing she'd get plenty of attention at a place like The Hopper. She wanted to discourage it as much as possible without looking out of place. She took the train from northern VA. She walked up a red brick building in the middle of the block. There was a sign on the sidewalk that read "Bondage Fashion Show Tonight." She wrinkled her nose, but to her surprise the first thought that went through her head was that should be pretty tame. It was still pretty sparse inside, being not even 9:00 yet. A few hangers-on from happy hour hadn't stumbled home yet, a few groups of divorcees in short skirts stood around, being hit on by businessmen in suits. A few posers that wanted to look bondage without actually being hardcore sat in booths, feeling superior to the others. She looked around and didn't see the Major. There was an empty seat at the far end of the bar, where it curved towards the wall. She moved toward it and ordered a drink. The guy sitting next to her talked to her right away, but begged off politely when she said she was meeting someone. The people on the other side of her didn't notice her, they were too busy sucking face, holding onto the bar to keep from falling down, surely about to go home together. She crossed her legs and watched; she had an eagle-eye view of the entrance, but the Major didn't come in. When 9:00 came and she didn't see him, she was convinced he'd stood her up. One thing she would bet money on, he was NOT the kind of guy to be late—for anything. She sighed at the wasted trip...well, maybe he had been called to work late, or gotten stuck in traffic. She may as well finish her drink before leaving. After all, she paid for it. Behind her, a cheap PA system that had been humming nondescript dance music flared up more loudly, announcing the beginning of the show. Most of the audience turned bored-like towards the sound. There was a stage in the back of the long, narrow club, separated from the bar by small dance floor and a few free-standing tables while booths lined one side. Lights came on, and the show began. It was more fashion than bondage in Melanie's view; it was all about outfits in leather and PVC, none of them really revealing much of anything—certainly not like her uniform in Akbar. The divorcees seemed the most interested, which of course excited the guys hitting on them. Then, at the very end, a man in black leather pants, boots, and vest led out a woman in a black leather bustier and hot pants on a chain attached to a dog collar on her neck. The man wore no shirt, and his arms showed decent muscle definition—a man that worked out, but wasn't a body builder per se. Both wore masks. She bent over, slowly and sensually, grabbing the ankles of her biker boots. He held a riding crop, previously invisible next to the black of his pants, and smacked her leather-clad buttocks. It made a convincing noise but Melanie figured that the girl barely felt a thing through the leather of her hot pants. She was sure of it when the man struck her a little lower one time and part of the crop landed on her bare thigh, making the girl nearly jump. That was nothing, she found herself thinking disdainfully—and then wondering at why on earth she would think THAT. Finally, the man led the girl off the stage and into the crowd. He paraded her around, offering the crop to every patron in the bar. None of the people in the back tables wanted it. He moved towards the wannabees, where finally someone took it. She repeated her sensual bend, and both the men and the women at the table took a half-hearted swipe. Melanie shook her head. She turned back toward the bar—the man was leading the girl over towards here. Figures—the man to her left wanted to give it a try. She just wanted the collective stare of the bar to be somewhere other than where she was seated. The man stood off to the girl's side as she bent over. She focused on her drink, but she felt him watching her through the mask. She glanced back over her shoulder, and found two intense eyes staring directly at her. Wait...those eyes... She heard the smacking sound next to her, then the girl stood and the man reclaimed the crop. He made a point to offer it to Melanie. "Would you like to try?" he said. With a shiver, she shook her head no. She recognized that voice. The man in the mask was Major Tiegen. Melanie was frozen in shock. The Major read her expression and mercifully moved on to the next person in the line. She had ignored this show before, but now she was transfixed. She watched him parade his slave down the length of the bar. None of the divorcees wanted to swat her, and while they wanted to none of the businessmen hitting on them dared to accept for fear of scaring them off. Only one person in a side booth took a turn, then when everyone had been offered the chance the Major led his slave backstage. The public address system came on announcing that there would be another show at 11:30, and everyone returned to what they had been doing before. Everyone except Melanie, and the suck-face couple to her right that had left sometime during the show. Melanie was thinking a hundred things at once. All of a sudden the looks the Major had given her made some sense, maybe. Maybe it wasn't that he understood being a POW—maybe it was that he understood B & D. She didn't know if that scared her, disgusted her—or excited her. For the first time, she realized that maybe all of those sexual experiences in Akbar were something she needed to think about. She'd scrutinized every other aspect of her life trying to understand her changes of heart, but she had refused to think about that. Kind of silly, in retrospect, since her primary problem was a sexual one. If that was really what was going on, it was no wonder she hadn't figured it out before. She sat at the bar, not really expecting the Major to come out to talk to her, but too wrapped up in her own mixed emotions to leave. She almost jumped when the voice said "may I join you?" She almost didn't recognize him because his voice was softer and gentler than she'd ever heard at the Pentagon. She turned and saw Major Tiegen, still in leather pants but now wearing a leather jacket over his vest. "Sure, go ahead," she gestured with her neck. As he sat, she added "that wasn't what I expected when you said you'd be here tonight." "Now you see why I couldn't blurt it out in the lunchroom?" he agreed. He signaled to the bartender "hey Fred, Gin and Tonic, and get the lady here another..." He left it open for to specify what she was drinking. "Oh, I don't need another one," she demurred. "If you ever NEED a drink," he commented slyly, "that's when you shouldn't have one. If you WANTED one, why not another? Besides, I don't get paid for this—free drinks are the only perk I get..." Melanie placed an order with the barman. "So is this why you always seemed to know something, Major?" Melanie pondered. "Maybe," he agreed pleasantly, "but please don't call me Major here. People don't know what I do for a living, and I'd like to keep it that way. Here I'm Carl." "JUST Carl?" Melanie asked knowingly, eyeing his attire. "Depends on whose addressing me," he agreed with a smile. They both understood that to some he was MASTER Carl. "So did you get off on my stories about Akbar?" Melanie accused sourly. "Absolutely not," he responded stoutly. "I was as outraged as anyone that an American citizen would be treated that way. But I also could see in your eyes that there was more to the story than just being victimized. I understand how Submission works. Pain magnifies pleasure in ways that defy understanding. I shouldn't have asked about whether you came, but my curiosity got the better of me. I know well that your mind can respond one way while your body responds completely differently. Just because you didn't want to be doing it, doesn't mean you didn't enjoy it." "And you learned that from..." she asked suspiciously, nodding in the direction of his clothing. "Actually, I learned most of it when I was a POW. Only difference is, they had the whole 5th Army looking for you. Where I was, the government couldn't even acknowledge that I was there." She glanced at him with new respect. "How did you escape?" He put his finger to his mouth. "Classified. But obviously I did, eventually." "So then what? You came back, and fell into the B&D scene?" "No, nothing like that. My experience was very different from yours. I didn't learn to be a dom in captivity. But when I stumbled into the scene, I already understood the connection between pain and other emotions. The only difference was that now, the other emotion involved was pleasure." A chill ran up Melanie's spine. She realized he might have endured horrors she didn't even want to try to imagine. "It was my first slave that taught me how addicting it can be. It seems unfathomable that you'd get beaten and then crave more. But if enduring punishment was rewarded with pleasure, rather than just being used like a toy... I'm told that nothing else can provide that intensity of orgasm. That's why I asked you how things were going at home. It wouldn't be the first time--sometimes married women fall into the scene, wanting to experiment a little because they're bored. You'd be surprised how many end up hooked once they dip their feet in." "Have I dipped my feet in?" Melanie asked thoughtfully. "You were thrown into the water headfirst, my dear," he answered. She looked at him. He seemed so...human, for a change. Approachable, almost, if one looked past the clothing. He seemed to be comfortable here in a way she'd never seen at the Pentagon. "So what do you want to do with me?" she pondered. "I don't want anything with you," he answered easily, "you asked me what I thought I understood about you. Now you know. If YOU want something else," he continued, with double meaning clearly intended, "that would require some... negotiation." "Negotiation," she repeated. "This isn't Akbar," he explained. "Nothing happens without both parties agreeing on the parameters ahead of time. That's the way it should be." "Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll pass," she said, reaching for her purse. Her drink was barely touched, but she felt she needed to get out of there, fast, before she did something she might regret. He nodded easily. "That's fine. It's obviously not for everyone. Like most of the people in here." She shot him a glance; clearly he, too, knew this crowd was all posers. "But, please... don't go blabbing about the twisted Major over at the Pentagon..." She was already standing, but paused. Suddenly, the tables were turned. Before he had a secret from her. Now she had a secret on him. She realized that he knew that this would happen ahead of time, but had gone ahead and revealed himself anyway. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me... Major." Then she stepped down the bar and out the door without looking back. ------------------ She slept fitfully that night. She dreamed she was on stage at the club, naked, being spanked solidly by Master Carl. She imagined his strong arms sternly punishing her buttocks. Then she imagined him taking her backstage, pleasing her while he pleasured himself. It so shook her that she awoke at three o'clock in the morning and couldn't fall back asleep. When she came home from work on Friday, Matt was waiting for her. She was so exhausted, physically and emotionally, and now she had to try to deal with Matt. But as it turned out, she really didn't. Matt was simply there to tell her he had put a deposit down on another apartment—he was moving out. They both cried, of course—you don't end a three-year relationship without some sadness and loss. But she knew that things could never be what they had been with Matt. Akbar had screwed with her head; he deserved a chance to be happy with someone who would respond to him like normal people do. She was no longer that person. She wasn't happy that Matt left, she didn't feel like she was much worse off, either. At least she wouldn't have to fake excitement in bed anymore. But Melanie had never lived alone, and being trapped in her apartment was killing her. Everything made her think of Matt's absense... which made her feel regretful and inadequate... and then somehow her train of thought kept coming back to Major Carl Tiegen. Everything else seemed dull and monotonous; he alone represented the possibility of excitement. And that thought scared her deeply. Saturday she picked up and drove three hours to her parents' house for a weekend of comforting and forgetting. She even extended by a day, calling in sick on Monday. But she knew eventually she'd have to go back and face reality. She drove home, waited for her friendly neighbor to come home, and with his help rearranged as much of the furniture in her apartment as she possibly could. That at least made it feel a little different from when Matt had been her partner. Lying in the queen bed at night felt funny, though, and she ended up having to move to the couch to sleep. For the rest of the week she stayed inside her office as much as possible, trying to avoid running into Major Tiegen. She knew she felt attraction to him—or at least what he represented—that was twisted and sick. Yet in her neediness, she didn't feel strong enough to stand firm if he pressed her. She felt she had to keep her distance to stay... safe. And yet her own brain undermined her determination. She found herself starving at 11:30, unable to wait until she was sure he'd be out of the cafeteria before needing to eat herself. She went to the opposite end of the room to eat, but looked over to make sure he was sitting in his usual spot. He must have been watching, for in the moment she glanced his way, he briefly nodded acknowledgement. She almost panicked, but forced herself to sit at a table to eat. She sat with her back to him, not wanting to be tempted to look his way, but not thinking about the fact that she wouldn't be able to see him coming. She nearly jumped through the ceiling when she heard his voice right behind her ask innocently "so what did you think of the club on Thursday?" He pulled up to her table, standing over the chair to her left. POW Pt. 02 Melanie swallowed the grapefruit that seemed to materialize in her throat and squeaked "I'm not sure it's my cup of tea." "Might not be," he agreed glibly, "but if it is, here's a pass that will get you in the door." He put a 3 x 5 card down on the table in front of her tray, then immediately left. "You have a good day, Private." Torn between her curiosity and the desire to give the card back, Melanie was not able to respond until he had gone. She picked it up and glanced at it. On the face side was a logo, a rounded-font capital-M with a capital-C intersecting the last vertical line of the M, halfway down, almost like an earring. She turned the card over. On the reverse was an IP address, and... She hastily tucked the card into her purse and pretended nothing had happened. But as she ate, she wondered about the card. Deciding she wasn't hungry anymore, she gathered up what was left of her lunch and went to the bathroom. In the privacy of a stall, she pulled out and examined the card once again. She looked at the logo first, traced it with her fingers. He must be serious, she thought, that he went so far as design a logo. She wondered how many slaves he had, past or present. And were they real slaves, or just for-show like the girl at Toppers. Perhaps he used the logo for identification somehow. Turning the card over, she saw there were three lines printed on the back: the IP address, a mailbox number, and then an third line with some unexplained collection of random characters--some type of code, no doubt. She tucked the card back into her purse and went back to work. On the train back to Virginia, she kept thinking about the card. She made herself dinner in her apartment, looking at the card. She wondered what kind of site the IP address was; some kind of social community, she guessed. She decided there wasn't any harm in finding out; she wouldn't have to join or anything. She cleared her dishes and started up her laptop. She wasn't quite sure what she expected when she typed in the IP address, but she didn't expect to see... nothing. Instead, a security box popped up over her browser window, demanding a username and password. There was a link at the bottom that said If you don't have a username and password, click here. She did. She was taken to a simple black page that read as follows: We're sorry, the domain you have attempted to enter is private. New members are accepted by invitation only. If you have an invitation, click here. Be aware that all login attempts are logged and IP addresses captured for security purposes. Melanie hesitated. She wasn't going to be able to lurk after all--if she wanted to know what this site was about, she was going to have to sign up for it, and she wasn't sure she wanted to do that. She walked away from the computer and watched TV for a while, but found her mind drifting back to the website. She was fiercely curious now. She guessed it was a private bondage community, but she wondered what such a thing would look like. Whatever it was, someone was taking great pains to make sure only chosen individuals got to see it... what could possibly warrant such tight security? She could find out... she had an invitation. Her curiosity was balanced by her fear about getting permanently linked to the site... although no one said she had to go back there again. She decided to at least click the invite link; if it asked for personal information, she'd back out again. She went back over to the table where her laptop sat charging. She clicked the link, and was sent to a secure site. There were only two fill-in boxes, in the middle of the page, with minimal explanation: "Host Member" and "Passcode." Ah. She looked at the information on the card, and realized they must be what she needed to get in. So she typed in "Master_Carl_2000" and the string of alphanumerics and pressed Enter. A second screen popped up with 20 small squares showing what looked like 20 different logos; most prominently featured the letter "M." The instructions at the top read Please identify your sponsor. Wow... not even a secure password was enough this site. Scanning quickly, she found the Major's logo on the page and clicked on it. Finally, something that looked like a webpage came up. The banner at the top read Welcome to the Masters and Servants community. She then read the explanation of what the site was about. It was private social community for Masters and Servants to meet, communicate, and share. She was being invited to create an "Observer" account. Observers, it said, had read-only privileges to forums, could send private messages to their sponsor, and could send PMs to servants--but both servant and master had to approve the connection for the message to be sent. The sponsor could upgrade the account to "Servant" level. Servants could view all content except Masters-only content, read and reply to forums and PM other servants. Servants could PM other Masters with their Master's permission. It then asked her choose a username and password. She sighed... she didn't think she wanted to do this. But her curiosity was overpowering... She selected the username she often used online when she didn't want to be identified-- Mel. She liked it because it was gender-nonspecific; she could pretend to be male if need be (in fact, people tended to assume it). She was informed that name was taken, so she tried Mel_A, for "Army." She was in. Most of the menu choices were grayed out. One thing she could do was read the forums. She went to the general forum and read the first seven or eight pages of a lengthy thread on preferred type of whip, with contributions from both ends of the lash. Not really interesting. Lots of posts asking about bondage clubs in this city or that. She noticed a number of posts referred readers to the personals. There was an area for "Servants seeking Masters" and "Masters seeking Servants," which she expected. The one that intrigued her was simply titled "sharing." She raised her eyebrows; it was full of Masters offering to share their slaves with other Masters--like wife swapping for doms. She clicked on one, and was shocked to find a picture in the posting. This Master wasn't just offering his slave, he was showing off the goods. Almost every post she clicked, the same thing. Some posts were pretty innocuous; girls in bondage gear (in on case, a boy), some tied up some not. Some were more racy, with the girls topless or even completely naked while tied up. And some were extreme, displaying for instance a girl's reddened and striped buttocks. All of the girls, however, were wearing masks. Then she clicked on one that gave her shivers. The girl's arms were chained over her head, and her bare breasts red from a crop. She was in the process of performing fellatio--but what really struck her was that her face was already splattered with jism, the white goo contrasting sharply with the black mask upon which it had landed. She quickly backed out of the Forums. She was about to log off when she decided to do one more thing. She clicked on the personal messaging link. She found she had only two options: "PM Master Carl" and "Request permission to PM a member." The latter contained a box to specify a username; it reiterated that requests to PM a servant must be approved by the Master. She clicked on the top button, and tried right-clicking on the name; sometimes that allowed you to call up a personal profile. She was right, but found that access was denied. With another sigh, she closed the browser and shut down the computer altogether. --------------- For nearly two weeks, Melanie successfully avoided Major Tiegen. Then all of a sudden, on a Wednesday morning, he came in through the door. Melanie saw him enter the office, and held her breath. He made a beeline for her--what the hell? Was he risking unmasking himself by contacting her here, in the Pentagon? "Private Riordan," he announced formally as he pulled up to her desk. She sensed right away that he was probably here on official business, but couldn't imagine what that would be. "Yes?" she asked bewildered. "There is... news that the State Department wishes you to be aware of," he announced. "OK..." she said warily. The Major shook his head. "Not here. Conference room down the hall." Melanie just nodded, but stood and followed him as he marched to an empty conference room. Was this really official business? He was acting like it was, but if it was a ploy, wouldn't he want it to appear official? He opened the door, cavalierly let her in first, then closed the door behind them. "Is this official business, Major?" Melanie asked tentatively. "Yes ma'am," he replied, but his eyes and his tone were both softer now that they were alone. "The State Department has it on good authority that one of your fellow hostages has accepted a handsome deal to write a book based on her story." "Oh?" "Yes ma'am. A no-holds-barred tell-all, we believe. This means that some details of your captivity that have been private up to now will come out." Melanie was silent. Nothing like all of your friends and family reading secondhand about how you were sexually abused. Finally she asked "who is it?" "Sasha," he replied. His voice sounded almost gentle. Sasha. Figures. She was the most outspoken of the bunch. Most of the story would almost certainly focus on her, sure, but still... it would be pretty clear that all of us received the same treatment... "So that's what she's been up to lately," Melanie said wistfully. "You don't know what she's been doing since her release?" the Major asked, implying that she might or even should know. She shook her head. "I might be able to show you... depends on the security settings... hold on, let me get a laptop. You stay here, OK?" She nodded. He left, and she sat in a chair heavily. I suppose it was inevitable, she thought. But that wasn't going to make it any more comfortable to know that any stranger she might meet might know in intimate detail the trials she'd endured in Akbar. It felt like no one would ever look at her like a normal person again. Then again, it also didn't feel like she'd ever BE a normal person again. The Major returned surprisingly quickly. He opened the laptop and started tapping around in the browser. She heard him make a satisfied grunt, then he turned the laptop for her to see. It was open to a bondage website. The banner across the top read Slave Sasha. She could only see the tops of pictures on the small screen, but a quick scroll revealed them to be exactly what they appeared to be. "She's become a porn star?" Melanie asked incredulously. "The first major star in the bondage genre." The pictures suggested that members could expect content that... well, anything that had happened in Akbar seemed to be re-enacted here, able to be viewed in great deal through streaming video. Her captivity was used as a selling point, and a disturbing number of the previews suggested content with Arab themes... Melanie shook her head. "I can't believe it," she said. "She's doing pretty well for herself, from what we've learned," Major Tiegen commented. "Obviously this site has only been around for a few months, but it's already one of the top ten porn sites on the web in terms of traffic." Melanie shook her head and turned the laptop back to the Major. "You were a POW, but you were also... trained. And training, whether voluntarily undertaken or not, stays with you... changes you." "Were you trained, Major Tiegen?" Melanie blurt out. The Major didn't answer her question, but put his finger to his lips and pointed to where a listening device was apparently hidden. Instead, he asked "you want to know what happened to Heather?" Melanie didn't answer, but her widened eyes expressed her interest. "She went back to what she knew... whoring." Melanie's jaw dropped. "Oh, after her abduction she wasn't about to go out on the streets again--but she's doing well for herself, working out of a cathouse in the Nevada desert. Wanna know what her specialty is?" "Submission?" Melanie answered the obvious. The pattern was becoming clear. As much as she tried to deny it, she was following the pattern. "I hear she can make double or triple her base rate for stuff I'm sure you would consider pretty tame. Maybe once this book comes out, her customers will become... more demanding." "Chin Li?" Melanie asked. "Officially, we don't know what happened to Chin Li, only that she's most likely still in the country," he answered, but his body language suggested he knew something else. He moved close to her, leaning against the conference table and bending forward before nearly whispering "unofficially, she's become the property of a very wealth benefactor in New York. She's living as a slave in a penthouse on the upper East Side. If you go online again, try looking up AsianLoveSlave--all one word." Melanie blinked; he knew she'd registered with the site. That shouldn't have surprised her is she had thought about it--she needed his permission to join, it would follow that he be notified that she did. "So anyway," he resumed speaking at normal volume, "the State Department wanted you to know that this was likely to happen. It usually takes 8-12 months for a book to get to press, so if there's things you want to do to get ready for when the story comes out, that's how long you have to do it. Any questions." She shook her head. "Let us know if you do. That is all." He stood up and left her alone in the conference room. What happened to us? she thought. We all wanted to get out of there. How did we all end up gravitating back to sexual servitude? She got up slowly and walked back to her office. Chin Li is a member of Masters and Servants? Somehow, knowing someone on the boards other than the Major made it feel safer. And while it was just something tucked away in the far reaches of her mind, she gradually thought of some questions she'd like to ask her former compadre. Bored at home on Saturday night, Melanie logged in and sent a friend request to AsianLoveSlave. She didn't know how long it might take to get a response; she checked as a break from housecleaning on Sunday and was surprised to see her reply already there. Melanie, is that really you? My Master speak to Master Carl and he say it was. It so good to hear from you again! And so funny to run into you HERE... lol... She thought for a long time about what to say. This if what she finally wrote: No one is more surprised to be here than I am. What about you? I heard you're living as a she paused as she thought of the right word to say, servant in New York? How did you end up there? She left the site open while she went back to work. When she returned, she had a reply. Do not forget I no am citizen. Your government let me stay here, but what am I supposed to do? I have no education, no skills--I still have not gotten green card they promise me. I staying in hotel, and one night man approach me in the lobby. He say he hear about what it was like in Akbar. He say in America, man pay very well for woman willing to do such things. Take good care, make her rich maybe. He give me card. After a few day alone in hotel room just watching TV, I decide I must do something. I meet man in other hotel. He like me, make me mistress. Now I have view of Central Park from apartment. I come from poor country. Only life I know is men want me for sex. Only now I live life in more luxury than I ever imagine. What a strange world this is! I wonder, it bother you maybe to be like slave again. It not same, Melanie, when you FORCE to be servant and when you CHOOSE to be servant. It hard to explain, but is different. Melanie re-read that last line again and again. It's not the same when you're forced to be a servant and when you choose to be. How she wanted to believe that--but she was afraid. Afraid of having flashbacks to Akbar. Afraid of developing PTSD like combat vets she used to know. She knew it wasn't forced captivity in itself that had messed with her capacity to appreciate "normal" sexual relations. But given what she'd been through, she couldn't imagine herself CHOOSING to be a slave? Wasn't the very concept an oxymoron? She thought about tortures she'd endured--real pain, for prolonged periods of time. She'd endured them because she had no choice, and sometimes she was rewarded for enduring them with great pleasure. She couldn't imagine, had she been given any choice, that she would have endured that suffering. And if she hadn't, she'd had never gotten to the payoff that she seemed to now be seeking. The hollow hole in the center of her life seemed just as unapproachable as ever. She jumped when her computer dinged. She had another new message. This one was from Master Carl. Hello. Just got on and noticed you were logged in. Hear back from Chin Li yet? Her sense of danger was vaguely aroused, but the question seemed innocuous enough, so she replied. Yes. She had some thought-provoking things to say. A minute later came a reply. Explaining how things are different from in Akbar? A chill ran down her spine. How did he always seem to know where her head was at? He didn't know anything about her. Or did he? This strange new part of herself that she didn't understand—maybe he understood THAT all too well. Or maybe he automatically received a copy of the messages she sent. She hadn't read the terms of service closely enough to have caught that kind of detail. She wasn't sure whether to reply, when suddenly a window popped up inviting her to a private chat. She accepted. Hi there. I take it from the delay that either I've hit it on the head or I've missed the ballpark completely. She felt a strange sense of relief. He couldn't see through her—he was just very astute at guessing. It also meant he hadn't read what she'd written to Chin Li. She answered The former. I'm glad you weren't sure, though, because the accuracy of your guesses was starting to spook me. He answered I'm no mind reader. I do think I have a good grasp on the psychology of the scene, though. Maybe that's why my guesses have been pretty accurate so far. She didn't know what to say. She didn't have to, because he continued Did Chin Li explain about how safe words and all that work? She'd heard of safe words, but only generally. She didn't get into that kind of specifics. It seems like a little thing, but it makes all the difference in the world. In Akbar, you had no choice; what they did to you, they did to you. But a safe word is your out. Say the safe word, and the scenario stops cold. Restraints removed, everything. Any self-respecting Master will honor an agreed-upon safe word unconditionally. Because of safe words, the Servant really has the final authority, ultimate control. That much she kind of got. I get that. But I'm trying to picture being in that situation—why wouldn't I utter the safe word at the first real pain? Does any scenario ever get played out to conclusion? She waited anxiously for his answer. It read Sometimes that happens, but rarely. If you didn't understand that enduring pain can bring pleasure, you wouldn't be here in the first place. Ultimately, both Master and Servant want something—in some ways the same thing, only with different routes to obtaining it. She read it carefully, and realized he was right. He continued the safe word is for when you get really frightened, when you feel in imminent danger of sustaining grievous bodily harm. Obviously, your level of comfort with your Master is very important. The more you trust your Master, the more it takes to make you really frightened. That's why this site exists. Not just for Masters and Servant to get to know each other, but to provide references and build up a level of trust. The first meeting can be rather scary, otherwise. POW Pt. 02 A lot of things suddenly made a lot more sense. And she would be a fool to try to deny she was feeling attraction to Major Tiegen. It wasn't that he was a dom that attracted her; she still didn't think of herself as a sub. What she liked was how he seemed to intuitively grasp her state of mind, time and again, and how he seemed to understand things she did not. Underneath the hard, unflinching military exterior, he was actually quite attentive. He was exactly what they had just talked about—he was a man she could trust. The kind of man she would want at her side if she was in a foxhole. Maybe the kind of man she could trust to help her explore this new fascination of hers. There was one thing that really bothered her, though. She decided to ask it. I know I'm probably not supposed to ask this, but how many servants do you have, Master Carl? LOL. You're right, a Servant would never ask that unless she WANTED to be punished. Of course, you're not a Servant. Some wouldn't answer anyway, but I don't mind. I don't like to have more than one Servant at a time. I have one now, but I'm tiring of her and she of me. It's the first time that's happened to me—she just isn't very imaginative, and no matter how the scenario starts it always ends the same. Previous Servants I lost because they moved or were transferred or whatnot. She could see that he was trying to be reassuring. He wouldn't have invited her here if he didn't have interest in... pairing with her. But somehow his answer didn't fit with what she expected. Lost servants because they moved or transferred? Somehow I pictured the master telling the servant if she could move or not. ROFL. This is real life, not fiction. The scene is play, fun for adults—life takes precedence. A Master is only the Master within a defined time and space; he or she doesn't own your life. Partnerships are broken up by life circumstances all the time. I have one friend whose last meeting with his Servant was the night before her wedding--the groom had no idea his fiancee was into B&D on the side. Why do you think there is so much space devoted to personals, and finding clubs in other cities? Something inside suddenly felt a lot more comfortable. Maybe that, ultimately, was her deepest fear. In Akbar, unwillingly, being a slave was her whole life. Anything that even remotely smelled like throwing away the rest of her hopes and aspirations just to satisfy someone's sexual whims repulsed her deeply. But now the Major was telling her that it didn't need to be that way. If she could experience discipline in circumscribed times and places... What happens if a master demands a slave meet him, and she has something else going on? she typed. Don't assume the Master is male, and the Servant female. That's the most common arrangement, but there are female doms and male subs, and of course situations where Master and Servant are the same gender. But to answer the question, that depends on the Master. Some don't like to be told no; that's one of the ground rules that needs to be agreed upon before an initial meeting. Personally, I don't mind my Servant being otherwise occupied it's for a good reason. I know Uncle Sam sends you all around the country; I'm the last guy that would get in the way of serving out country. Just don't say you can't make it so you can watch 'Make Me a Star Dammit' on TV. That certainly sounded reasonable. And because of that, she felt odd again. Her experiences were decided unreasonable; in Akbar the Master's word was the only one that mattered. She had a hard time reconciling reasonableness with absolute demands. As if to answer the question, there was more. Now, don't get the wrong idea—I may be pretty flexible OUTSIDE of the scenario—but I demand absolute obedience INSIDE of it. That's kind of the point. Melanie nodded to herself. She'd seen how different the Major was inside the Pentagon versus outside. She had no doubt his Master Carl persona was different yet again. Her questions seemed to be answered. So now what? The unspoken obvious was that he was interested in becoming her Master. What did she want? Was she looking to get into a relationship—any kind of relationship, with anyone? Especially a relationship seemingly based entirely on kink? I gtg, doorbell she typed hastily. Just before the logged off she saw a response. You lie badly. If you were my Servant, you'd be punished for that. Of that she had no doubt. And he had seen through her yet again. Melanie was uncertain. For weeks after that exchange, she spent hours soul-searching. How did she end up in this situation? Was this something she wanted? Was she looking for this? Why would she want to do this? The answer to the last one was easiest—because Matt hadn't been able to provide what she was looking for, not after Akbar. She thought long and hard about why, about what had gone wrong, and couldn't escape one conclusion: he had been too nice. He was attentive, paid attention to her needs, tried to give as well as receive—qualities that had attracted her to him before Akbar. But being sensitive made him seem... not very STRONG. She LIKED strong. She was ARMY, dammit. All of her friends in high school called her a tough girl, and it surprised no one she went into the military. His strong, easy self-confidence had been part of why she'd been attracted to Michael. And in Akbar, where she'd been forced to comply—clearly that strong, too. When she got back home, Matt seemed so weak in contrast. Yes, she'd learned that pain could enhance pleasure, but that didn't mean she was looking for a beating. No... she decided that what she really wanted was a man that was STRONG, that would demand he receive what he wanted and not rest until he received it. A man whose will was stronger even than hers, forcing her to bend in its face. THAT, she decided, was what really got her wet, and what she was looking for. And all of that Major Tiegen seemed more than capable of delivering. ------------- She saw the Major twice at work since their online chat, but he had merely nodded acknowledgment of her presence on continued on his way. That made her feel better too, made her feel like if she did this he would keep the secret like it was National Security. She finally gave in to the nagging longing in her heart, got online and contacted him again. They negotiated ground rules in a matter of days, and now here she was. Standing outside a warehouse in Maryland, nearly naked, about to voluntarily submit totally to the will of a man she barely knew. She hesitated, second guessing herself one last time, but unable to deny that everything seemed to point to this being what was missing in her life. She opened the door with Master Carl's insignia on it and stepped inside. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw she was in a large, empty room. Undoubtedly once a factory, light filtered through in narrow beams where panes of painted glass had broken. A few stray leaves that had drifted in through the holes lay amid the dust on the shop floor. The only other thing she could see, across the room, was a heavy steel door leading to something behind a concrete block wall. She saw Master Carl's logo on this door, too, so she crossed the room. The door ended up leading to what had once been a suite of offices. At first she saw no sign of Master Carl. She walked tentatively down the longest hallway, increasingly unsure about this. Then she saw another door with the insignia. She opened it, revealing a stairwell. Becoming increasingly concerned, she probably would not have gone down had she not noticed a faint glow of light below. The door closed behind her with a slam as she walked down. This was the place. The concrete block walls had been painted black, and a dark carpet covered the floor. This was not a full basement; it was just a single good-size room, perhaps once upon a time a fallout shelter. There were no windows and the room seemed very well-insulated. She panicked for a second; if she screamed, no one would hear her, perhaps not even if they were standing at the top of the stairs. It didn't help that the only light came from a half-dozen free-standing five-candle candelabras, each standing just below eye level. Why would Master Carl want SUCH a secretive place? What if she had read him entirely wrong? What if... Before her catastrophizing could get carried away, he stepped out of the shadows. "Welcome, my pet," he said in a way that reinforced his complete control over this environment. He stepped towards her, and she felt his eyes appreciatively inspecting her physical assets. She straightened her posture, pressing her chest out to better show her breasts. They were not exceptionally large, but they were nicely round and generally elicited positive reactions when she thrust them forward. He was wearing black leather pants like that night at the club, but no shirt at all. His chest was hairy, and his chest muscles defined. He stood right before her, and touched her chin with his finger. "You remember the safe word?" "Embargo," she replied. "Are you ready?" he asked one last time. She nodded. He took three steps forward, and pointed the ground where he now stood. She stepped forward. He produced a riding crop, which he placed between her thighs and pushed outward. She spread her feet apart. He ducked down, and she felt him clamp iron shackles on her ankles. When he stood, she saw in the flickering light that they were anchored to the floor. He moved quickly to a side table and returned with police-grade handcuffs. He clicked them on her left wrist, watching her eyes evenly. She obediently held her right hand back, and he reached around her and cuffed them. Then he disappeared behind her back for a moment before walking to far wall. All at once she heard a metal clanking as a crank was turned, and she felt her arms being tugged upwards by the cuffs. As they lifted, she had to bend forward to relieve the pressure on her arms. He went to the table again, and returned with a heavy slave collar with a single iron ring. His eyes met hers again, not softly but not coldly either. They seemed to be watching her, peering through her and into her innermost thoughts again. Looking perhaps for fear. She turned her eyes toward the floor submissively. He had talked to her about the importance of trust, and so far she was trusting him. When the collar was on, he attached a chain to it, adjusting the length so that she had to bend almost 90 degrees at the waist because of it. Finally, he tightened the tension on her arms a little more, so that she had to lift them as far above and behind her as she could with her shoulders in the down position. She was helpless. Neck and ankles chained to the floor, arms to the ceiling, she had almost no freedom of movement. He strolled leisurely over to the table to retrieve his crop. She could only see his legs as he walked back towards her. She felt him grasp and squeeze her buttocks for a moment, then the first blow landed. And almost immediately after, , a second, much harder. "Have you forgotten your training, Private?" he yelled like a drill Sergeant. Forgotten my training? she thought with panic. She was going to be sore for a long time if she didn't figure out what he wanted, quickly. What could he be... wait, he said "Private." He must mean BASIC training. "Thank you sir, may I have another!" she barked. "You learn quickly," Master Carl muttered approvingly. She did not hesitate thereafter: , "thank you sir may I have another," , "thank you sir may I have another..." She felt her cheeks redden and flush with blood. Maybe it had just been a long time since she'd been spanked, but she guessed that Major Tiegen was a lot stronger than the Maulana--that's why his spankings seemed to sting even more. He paused for a moment, rubbing her hot cheeks. Then... aaahhhh. She felt his other hand groping between her legs. Her clitoris jumped at his touch, and his fingers readily found and applied pressure to it. , he spanked her with the crop again. Distracted by the sensations from her clit, she didn't respond quickly enough... and he hit her hard again. "Thank you sir may I have another," she squealed. And so he continued, stroking and beating her at the same time. Her entire bottom smarted, but she could specifically still feel the two stripes where his two punishment blows had landed. She guessed there were significant welts there. She definitely didn't want to make him angry with her--when he was mad, it didn't just sting, it HURT. The spanking continued, but the Master's manipulations made Melanie's juices flow. His hand was already drenched with them and he hadn't made a move to penetrate her anywhere as yet. Melanie was growing impatient; her old masters would have been shoving their dicks down her throat long before now. She was very curious to know just what her new Master's penis would be like: its size, its shape, its taste. Impulsively, when the next blow landed, Melanie changed her tune. "Thank you, sir. May I suck you now?" A rapid came as expected, but it was not as hard as the two earlier punishing blows. "What's that you say, Private?" "May I suck you now, sir?" she repeated. There was silence for a moment. She had thrown the Master a curve. He considered; if he permitted it, was he giving up control of the scenario? On the other hand, he was very interested to assess his new slave's oral talents. In the end he decided to go with it. There would be no doubt who was calling the shots by the time he was done. He moved around to her head. Then he undid two zippers, and a square-ish panel that served as the crotch of his leather pants fell away. The belt remained, so his pants stayed on, but now his junk was free and clear. Melanie strained her neck upwards and groped for his penis with her lips. She'd asked for this, so now she'd better deliver. But she had plenty of experience, and was confident she was up to the task. His dick was fattened with interest, but not yet truly erect. She used her tongue to corral the downward-pointing prick and sucked it into her mouth. She felt it grow rigid. She swallowed him deeply, but discovered that her tied-down position greatly limited her ability to suck because all she could move was her neck. Master Carl saw that, and released her neck restraint. She could move a little more now. She sucked him in and released him, kind of awkwardly with her hands tied behind her and held high, but with attentiveness and tongue action. Her spit dripped down his shaft and off his balls; she wondered if he would demand that kind of all-out effort every time. I'd better stock up on throat lozenges, she thought. Master Carl was impressed; this girl knew how to suck dick. He had intended at first to just let her start on it and then spank her some more, but her mouth felt so good he didn't want to pull out of it. Heck, he didn't even have to push her head down onto his knob; she sucked his shaft all the way down to the back of her throat all by herself. If she wasn't in such an awkward position, she could probably touch his stomach with her nose with his dick buried in her mouth. Truth was, she looked a little silly trying to suck him with her arms jutting out like the legs of a stuffed turkey. Master Carl could be strict, but one thing he was not was inflexible. He changed his game plan on the fly and released her arms, too. When she felt her arms drop, Melanie immediately got into a better sucking position by getting on her knees. Her arms were still handcuffed behind her, but she really didn't need them anyway. She sucked his dick deep, fighting her own gag reflex to provide all of her Master's penis entrance to her throat. She gagged a few times from the attempt, but quickly caught her breath and went right back at it. She hated to admit it, but the truth was she had learned the technique from watching Sasha. She seemed to be able to effortlessly accept the fullness of any length of cock. With their dicks in her throat and her tits in their hands, men showed very little interest in punishing her for long. Melanie, too, found that the more dick she could swallow, the shorter the punishments became. Master Carl was really impressed now. She was deep-throating him all by herself, and looked sexy as hell doing it with her hands cuffed behind her. He watched her work, and was pleased that she also understood that she should not look up at the Master, even while fellating him. A good Servant would be attentive enough to sense his pleasure just from the feeling of his penis, and right now he felt like he could hammer nails with his. He knew she was trying to catch peeks by turning her head from time to time, just to be sure she was pleasing him, but how could he not be satisfied by a slave that wants to Please her Master? Having nothing to do with his hands, he grasped her breasts as they jut out between black leather straps. He grasped her nipples between his finger and thumb and clasped firmly. He felt them grow harder in his fingers. Just to remind her who was boss, he pulled on her nipples. She had no choice but to lean forward, which forced his dick all the way down her throat. He held her there, his dick sheathed like a sword in her mouth. She had no choice but to stay there, and then all at once she had to pull back because of her gag reflex, even though it meant pulling back painfully against the grip on her nipples. He let them go, and she stay there for a minute, catching her breath. It also gave him an idea. She swallowed him again, and he reached to the table where he kept many of his favorite implements within easy reach. He pulled out a thick metal chain with alligator clamps on each end. He stepped back, bent over, and suckled her left nipple. Then he let it go, and clasped one of the clamps on it. He did the same on the other side, so now the gold chain hung down, pulling down on the alligator clamps on her nipples. Nipple clamps were a new thing to Melanie. The Maulana had sometimes pinched or bitten her nipples, but that had always been just a short layover on the fast track to Boof City. She would describe them as uncomfortable more than painful as they dug in to the sensitive pinkness. In the process, they kept her nipples firmly erect, stimulating them almost painfully, a little like when they got really cold. And that constant stimulation was not entirely unpleasant. It seemed to her like a microcosm of submission in general: pain and pleasure becoming all jumbled up and inseparable. Master Carl used the chains on Melanie's nipples like the reins of a horse. He would tug on them to direct her in how he wanted to be sucked. Then all at once, he made her stop sucking him. She was so good at it she'd almost milked him dry, and he had more holes to explore. He unchained her legs and brought her over to perhaps his favorite device. It was a table shaped a little like a starfish with one "arm" broken off. Melanie lay on the table, her head on the short arm, while Master Carl secured her arms and legs to the other four arms, leaving her chained down and spread-eagled. Master Carl decided to show off one of the special features of this custom table; he hit a lever and the "short arm" dropped from level to a 45-degree downward slant. Melanie's head tilted back with it. She opened her mouth obediently as she saw the Master's cock approach, and he throat-fucked her for a time on the table. This angle elongated the throat and provided him maximum penetration. His balls slapped against her nose with every stroke; she could smell their sweat. But all at once she felt like gagging, and he quickly withdrew from her mouth. The downside of this device was that a person could choke if they gagged, and strapped to the table would have great difficulty satisfying the urge to clear the airway. She gasped for a moment, and Master Carl flipped the lever returning her head to level, letting her catch her breath. POW Pt. 02 Time for the next lesson. He moved to her side, running his hands along the length of her torso and down her thighs. He played with the nipple chain for a moment then put it down. He retrieved his crop from the side table and drew designs on Melanie's vulnerable torso with its tip. He laid it down between her breasts momentarily so that he could grasp each breast firmly in one hand and squeeze. He watched with satisfaction as the nipples, pinched by the clips of the chain, rose even higher as their fleshy bases were squeezed up. Then he let them drop and picked the crop up again. Then he took the crop and swatted her across the tops of her breasts. Melanie twitched with surprise. Her bottom was designed to absorb impacts of various sorts, her tender breasts were not. The crop smarted long after it was no longer touching her, but there was no relief as , , Master Carl swatted them with a regular cadence. She suddenly felt very vulnerable. The Maulana had beaten her many ways, but he'd always left her breasts alone, and those of the other girls. Only suckling, adoring, and occasionally biting was afforded to those prized mounds. She remembered receiving welts on her bottom that took weeks to heal and possibly left permanent scars. She didn't want permanent scars on her breasts. Maybe she wasn't cut out for this after all. She contemplated using the safe word. She looked up at Master Carl anxiously. Major Tiegen saw the look of concern cross Melanie's face. He was about to Punish her for looking up at him when he saw that she was teetering on the brink of fear and held back. He returned her gaze evenly; this was the moment of truth. Did she trust he would do her no permanent harm? He saw she was unsure. And yet, this is what he Wished to do, and if he was unable to indulge his every whim with absolute obedience he didn't want any part of this at all. Within reason, of course. If he had to have in the back of his mind all the time the question if I do this, will she run away? none of it would be any fun. And in the end, that's all this was about--pleasure. It was a moment of trust for him, too. Could he trust her to be the Servant he desired? He was very impressed so far--her oral skills were exceptional, and she was quite attractive and had a great body for a sub. He thought to himself let's be honest, submissives tend not to come from the top tier of most desirable females; a lot were overweight. Melanie was hot by any standard, certainly top shelf for a sub. But if she wasn't truly submissive, she could be a supermodel and it still wouldn't be worth the trouble. Their eyes met evenly for several long moments as the internal dialogs played out. Master Carl continued to use the crop across her breasts at the same even pace. I don't want to have my next lover ask me why I have all these stripes on my tits, she thought. But before she spoke, another thought crossed her mind. What other lover? Who's to say I'll ever HAVE another lover. I had that with Matt, and I walked away from it. I came here because I wasn't satisfied with sex the way regular people do it--the way Matt and I used to do it. What would make that any different with someone else? Nothing. If I ever have a relationship again, it will probably be exactly like this one. It may even BE this one. In which case, if it pleasures him to stripe my breasts, let him stripe my breasts. What do I use them for anyway, other than to please a man? Melanie lowered her gaze again, resuming her countenance of meek subservience. She had to endure, and hoped to be rewarded for her service in time. Melanie did not see it, but Master Carl smiled. When she lowered her eyes and resumed her role, he knew she had decided to trust him, to Permit him to do as he pleased. And if she trusted him, he could rely on her. He paused for a moment, releasing the alligator clips holding the chain onto her nipples. He tossed the chain aside, only so he could stroke the underside of her breasts. She Permitted it. Her show of trust made him ragingly horny. He put the crop down between her breasts again, walked around the one leg of the table so that he was standing over her bare, spread-eagled crotch. He pressed his penis between her thighs, and thrust savagely. Melanie closed her eyes with pleasure. Master Carl was taking her with intense lust, and it felt wonderful. Feeling helpless somehow made it feel all the better as she felt his penis hammering into the depths of her belly. His eager thrusting shook even the solid table, making her breasts shake. Wow... what a feeling. Every time her sore breasts were jarred by his thrust, a jolt of pain shot up her spine. But racing up right behind came a jolt of pleasure from her pussy. She swallowed hard, unable to do anything but hold on while her brain struggled to make sense of the bang-bang flood of sensations. Master Carl wore a look of knowing satisfaction. Not just because he was fucking the hell out of Melanie's pussy, but because he saw the look on her face. The crop to the breasts—he had learned from previous slaves that it was pain well worth it. He knew that making those breasts jiggle while they were still raw and sensitive was the key. Melanie made him work a little harder to accomplish this because she was in fighting shape and her breasts didn't have much extra flab to shake. That was OK, because her fit thighs and young pussy were up to the task. In fact, the fucking was so good, he was in danger of popping off again. And he didn't want to, because he still wanted to explore... the third hole... Anuses had become almost an obsession for Master Carl--to his frustration, one that was rarely satisfied. His last slave, for instance—she hated to get it up the ass. Sometime she would invoke the safe word to avoid it; other times she would grudgingly consent but her tense body and unforgiving sphincter destroyed the experience. Some Masters would have gotten off on her consent-without-being-willing, but he wasn't one of them. It was a big reason why it was obvious to both of them that they should go their separate ways. Carl longed for a Servant that would permit him to penetrate her anus as he wished, could truly Consent to his anal intrusions. He had heard her stories at the debriefing; he knew she had been anally penetrated many, many times. But that wasn't the same thing as being Willing. He hesitated; she had all the makings of a great Servant. Better than the last few, surely. He could have made himself happy many times over using just her mouth and pussy, like he'd had to with his prior slaves. They'd just gone through a trust turning point; if he pushed the issue, he might scare her off after all. And he was so close to orgasm. Perhaps I should just go with this for now. I could get off in thirty seconds if I went for it. Hopefully we'll do this again, maybe I can bring up the anal thing later... But he wanted it so badly... he felt like he wasn't doing himself justice without at least trying. It was a delicate position... and one that required action swiftly, before the point became moot inside the soothing pleasures between her thighs. "I wish to Enjoy you from the rear," he announced. Melanie was brought back to earth from the roller coaster ride by his words. Her pleasure was so intense, but she was still unable to achieve orgasm. It seemed perhaps that the very pain that made her pleasure so intense inhibited it—perhaps it came too swiftly upon the heels of the pleasure to make it over that peak. She sensed he would soon Finish, and she feared that she might not achieve her Objective after all. And the fearing, of course, became self-fulfilling. His words interrupted her mental dialog. She understood what he asked; what surprised her was that he bothered to ask. Why hadn't he simply Required it? She realized that perhaps even among Servants, obedience might not always be Total. But she certainly had no problem with his request. In fact, she completely expected it; it felt a bit strange to be tied down and fucked in the pussy. In Akbar, nine times out of ten it would have been her bottom being penetrated straightaway, without even bothering with her fertility canal. "My Master may please himself any way He wishes," Melanie responded with pride. She didn't know what others were like, but she was quite confident she could provide her Master with access to any part he wished. After all, she had fasted since breakfast just to be sure all of her orifices were fully available. For Master Carl, there could have been no sweeter words. He quickly freed Melanie from the star-shaped table. He was almost shaking with anticipation as he gestured towards the floor. Melanie found herself in a familiar position: on all fours on the floor, arching her back to lift her rump, keeping her knees apart to provide better access. The Major's dick was so dripping with her juice he probably wouldn't have needed to lube up before penetrating the dry hinter orifice, but did just to be safe. He didn't want anything to mess this up. He knelt behind her, pointing his throbbing bone at the tight sphincter. Melanie's ass presented itself to him, inviting him to explore the cave where sun never shone. He pushed up against the muscle, putting pressure against it but not pressing too hard. He felt resistance soften; his hand resting on her back felt her relaxing. She was willing herself to be receptive. Oh man... he pressed again, and felt the opening begin to give. Once more he pressed, and all at once, he was in. He rubbed his penis against the tight ring of muscle as he thrust it in and out of Melanie's butt. It was exquisite, bringing back memories of a seminal experience with an amazing prostitute in...stop thinking about it. That information is classified. He generally found it better to keep classified secrets by not thinking about them, even to himself. But it satisfied him greatly to feel Melanie's her willing posterior provide such pleasure. Wanting to reward Melanie for her Obedience, Master Carl reached blindly around the table next to them. He was looking for the special tool, used as a reward and occasionally a torment. He patted around until he found it. It was a simple box with two adjustable straps on either side. Ingeniously simple. Melanie had no idea what he was doing when she felt him stop thrusting (although remaining embedded between her cheeks) and felt something fiddling with the tops of her thighs. She felt something touching her clitoris, having no idea what it was, but not daring to satisfy her curiosity to look. All at once Master Carl switched it on, and it began to vibrate violently. Even with the penis in her ass, Melanie squirmed as her clitoris responded to the vibration directly upon it—but the source of the vibration moved with her, inescapable. She was suddenly transported back to her training in Akbar, the first time the Maulana had taken her from behind, and how powerless she had felt in spite of the pain because of the pleasure she derived at the same time. Only now, she was willingly in this position. She felt the penis intruding relentlessly into her anus, but it was just one of a symphony of sensations, some pleasant and some painful. The strings of pleasure emanating from her clit, however, increasingly drowned out the others, taking over the melody by itself. She relaxed, and allowed the sensations to take her with them, like a giant wave building up strength before crashing upon the shore. This, finally, was the intensity she had been unable to re-create with Matt, or anything else really since coming back stateside. She lost awareness of everything but the pleasure. Melanie could feel it right around the corner--an elusive, teeth-rattling, mind-blowing orgasm. Master Carl's attention was focused on fucking Melanie's sweet ass. He was confident the vibe would get her off soon enough; he was free to take care of himself. He put his hands on her haunches and fucked her ass, closing his own eyes as he focused on the sensations of pleasure that came from squeezing his penis through that strong, exquisitely tight muscle. He fucked, and felt, and fucked and felt. All at once something felt strange, and the muscle gripped him tighter. Opening his eyes, he saw that the vibrator had done its job and Melanie was shuddering with a thunderous orgasm. He smiled to himself. As soon as it passed, he felt Melanie concentrate on relaxing yet again, and he was able to resume fucking her butt. Wow... she was almost too good to be true. Her sphincter had clenched in orgasm, and now she was willing it to soften, just so it could receive his penis again. Unbelievable! He closed his eyes, and felt her anus receive his thrusts yet again. For the third time he felt his balls start to boil, but he was now satisfied to allow them to proceed to climax at last. He thrust steadily, allowing the excitement to build and build. As it built, he unconsciously thrust harder and faster, following the commands of his penis. He thrust, thrust, thrust... and finally he reached the point of no return. There was that split second of warning, and then with intense pleasure his penis began to spurt semen into the dark recesses of Melanie's ass. ------------- Master Carl felt peace inside long after his orgasm subsided. A long, winding, lonely and unspoken quest to attain again a pleasure he had known long ago had finally come to fruition. With a sigh of mild regret he removed his shrinking member from her buttocks. He released her arms and legs and disappeared out the door, going up upstairs to fetch the things he had purchased for their next adventure. Things he wasn't sure he was going to need, but now he did. Melanie stood there, perplexed that he simply left like that. She thought that she had done a good job of pleasing him. She had kind of hoped for some feedback, now she stood there wondering if she had disappointed him. Just then he was back, carrying her raincoat... and a department store shopping bag, the kind that looks like a gift bag only with the store's name on the side. He strode up to her and laid them at her feet. "You might want some kind of cover-up dress next time," he commented in his "normal person" voice. At the same time, he pulled a sealed, invitation-style envelope out of the shopping bag. As he handed it to her, she could see the Master Carl insignia on the front. She took the card, and then all at once, he leaned forward and kissed her—hard. His mouth open, his tongue found hers and intertwined with it. Her heart exploded, because she could feel right away this kiss wasn't part of the scenario. She'd been required to kiss a Master before, and in that context it always felt like another means of establishing dominance. This wasn't like that. It felt like... well, it felt a lot kisses she'd shared with Matt after making love, back when when their relationship was still new and love still in flower. Caught by surprise, it literally took her breath away. Then just as abruptly it ended, he turned heel and strode for the door. Again Melanie was alone with her thoughts. She opened the envelope. Inside was a plain white card, also with the Master Carl logo. She opened it, and quickly clutched to catch the cascade of thin papers that tumbled out. She caught one, which was enough for they turned out to be stapled together. She glanced at them... gift receipts. Huh? She tucked them under the card and read the inside. This wasn't printed, it was hand-written in a surprisingly neat and orderly script. Tuesday after work. Go to the subway station bathroom next to the donut shop and change into these clothes, then catch the train north three stops. Go to the Chop House. Ask the maitre'd for the President's table. He'll either say there is no such thing or that it's unavailable. Tell him it's needed for a Papal Visit. He'll show you to a private room on the second floor. I'll be waiting. Be prepared to serve. MC PS The receipts are in case anything doesn't fit. As your Master, I will provide any items that I require you to have, use, or wear. Do not dispose of them without permission, as I may require them to be used again in the future. She bent her knees to squat down and see what was in the bag. There was tissue paper covering the contents, like it was a birthday present. It seemed somehow incongruous under the circumstances. She pushed it aside and was surprised that the bag was almost full to overflowing. The first thing she found was a purple business suit made of fine fabric and with an expensive designer label. It had a long jacket and a very short skirt. She couldn't say why, but it didn't surprise her to find it was exactly her size. She lay the suit on her lap and pulled out the blouse. It was shimmery white, with tiny buttons and deep, plunging neckline. She raised her eyebrows; that would attract attention. If this was New York or LA she might get away with wearing something like that on the job, especially if you didn't care if people thought you were screwing the boss on the side. In conservative DC... She put the blouse aside, and peered into the bottom of the bag to find three boxes. She opened the first--it contained a pair of expensive black hose and a garter belt to keep them up. The second contained pumps that perfectly matched the suit. And the last... a bottle of French bath oil. Perfect for soaking her sore bottom. Her Master, it seemed, was both thoughtful and thorough. She imagined herself wearing the suit as she replaced the items in the bag. She imagined a dark, semicircular booth in a small room. She imagined her Master slipping his fingers into the plunging neck of her blouse, touching her breasts. There was no bra in the bag; she assumed this mean she was expected to not wear one. Nor was there underwear; perhaps he would slip his fingers between her thighs, making her squirm even as the waiter took their order. Or, maybe he would require her to slip under the table and caress his penis with her tongue while he dined. Maybe he would require her to sit on his lap, that he might enjoy her before desert. Or maybe he wouldn't do any of that--maybe he would require her to wait, and not provide her with any satisfaction, until he could take her to some other location later so that he could discipline her. Maybe he would make her sit with a vibrator between her legs and not permit her to touch herself to bring about relieving release. The possibilities were almost endless--and she was getting herself wet yet again just thinking about them. She quickly repacked the bag and put on her raincoat. She hustled up the stairs and out of the old warehouse, rushing for the train. The train was nearly empty, but she stood the whole way anyway, not wanting to sit on her sore buttocks. When she detrained and started heading up the stairs, she heard her telephone chime. She had a text message from an unrecognized number. She opened it up. Melanie- I had a great time tonight, and I hope we can do it again soon. But as I was leaving I thought... well, we both take lunch at about the same time, and I'm getting sick of Pentagon food. Would you like to have lunch once in a while? Casually, I mean, not like tonight. I guess I'd kind of like to learn more about you, and, well, these rendezvous are not exactly conducive to conversations, you know? If it wouldn't feel too weird, you know. Anyway, give it a thought. You know my office extension. Carl (just Carl) She stared at the message. Her heart beat in her throat. She would LOVE to get to know Carl better. Would it make it weird to then be his Servant? Probably no weirder than seeing him at work. She was surprised that HE suggested it. Of course, he would have had to. She thought of that kiss--she just intuitively felt she wasn't dreaming. There was more to that kiss than these games that they played.