Soldier Girl

"Run Lisa, Run!" Her colleague cried out urgently. They had been spotted and were about to be over-run by the motley group of terrorists, or freedom fighters, depending which side you were on.

Lisa hesitated for an instant, realizing that it was impossible to help Ben who was already wounded, and too late for Jack and Tim who were by then lying dead, their blood already drying in the scrubby sand.

She fired off the last three rounds from her pistol, at least one of them finding its target and adding him to the long list of dead that the fire-fight had created over the last couple of hours.

Once discovered, they'd had little chance of escape, and Lisa knew it, but she stood up and ran, dropping her empty gun, and making it back to the road, expecting any moment to feel the burning pain of a bullet tearing into her vulnerable flesh.

But they wanted one of the group alive, needed to know what information they had gathered, and what they had passed on. They wanted that so bad, that they didn't so much as risk a wounding shot, but chased her, knowing she would not get far. She did well, being as fit as any woman in the US army, but there were too many of them, and her fear almost choked her as the robe clad men closed in from both sides, cutting off all routes of escape.

Captain Lisa Roberts came to several hours later, a searing headache where they had clubbed her to unconsciousness. She shook her head trying to make sense of her surroundings, surprised to find herself still alive, and as far as she could tell in one piece. At twenty six, Lisa was one of only a handful of women who had passed all the requirements to join the elite special services squad that she had been operating with, a hundred miles the wrong side of the Pakistani border, and even then only an outbreak of food poisoning had made it necessary for her to go out live on such a dangerous mission.

She shook her head again, the long brunette hair that had once hung down to her shoulders long since cropped off, just a stubble covering her scalp. With her slim toned body, and small pert breasts, it would be difficult to tell when in uniform, that she was not just another soldier, if a little shorter than average at five foot six. That is till you looked at her face, and her pretty features and cute little nose gave the game away, in particular the huge soft brown eyes that looked out from under her long curly lashes.

Out of the bulky uniform she was altogether different, though few had enjoyed that privilege. She was, and always had been a tom-boy, not preferring women in any way, but had spent more time playing with big boy's toys, than the boys themselves.

It took a few minutes to realise that she was tied up; her wrists bound and tied up above her head, to the mesh fence that she was secured to. It was night time, and she was outside in the open, just a glimmer from the waning moon giving her any idea of what was around her, a light truck to her right, and what looked like two or three tents just beyond. With a jolt, Lisa recognized that this was probably the camp they had been looking for, what the other three had died trying to find. If only she could pass this extra bit of intel. on, but it was too late now, and a single tear ran down her cheek as the hopelessness of her situation dawned.

She shivered as the cold of the night got through to her for the first time, and the bindings began to cut into her flesh. She stood, almost hung there, not knowing how long it would be till they come for her, as come for her they surely would.

An hour later, there was a flash of dim light from one of the tents, as someone lifted the flap to leave. Lisa squinted into the darkness in an effort to see where they were going, but could make nothing out. Then suddenly they were there, right in front of her, staring at her with hatred in their dark eyes. There were two of them, one in dark flowing robes, and the other in a western style suit. One of them flashed a lamp in her face, just for an instant but long enough.

"You're right," one said in good English. "It is a woman. The Americans must be desperate if they're using women for this sort of work."

Then the one in the suit stepped forward and slapped her hard around the face, sending Lisa's senses reeling, the stinging pain surprising her.

"I don't suppose you will tell us what we want to know young miss, will you?" He demanded.

Lisa gave her name, rank and number as required by international law and no more, but the man just laughed cruelly.

"You will soon enough," he replied. "By this time tomorrow you'll be begging us to listen to you. Meanwhile the Americans have been good enough to send us a little gift. Something to amuse the men maybe."

Lisa's insides turned over, the implications of his words sinking in, as he issued an instruction in Arabic to the other man.

He stood back, and the robe clad man took his place, drawing out a wicked looking knife as he did so, causing Lisa to draw back in terror. He reached out with the knife and pushed the flat of it into her stomach, threatening to twist it and sink it into her flesh. Instead he pushed it under her belt and with one quick movement sliced through the heavy leather as if it was butter. Then he grabbed the top of her trousers with his other hand, and sliced them open, not bothering with the buttons, ripping them all the way down one leg till they fell in a heap around her ankles.

Lisa sobbed, all her training not preparing her for this reality; death was always a possibility, but a brutal strip and probably more had never been on the list.

She struggled with her bindings, hopelessly trying to save herself, but knowing it was useless.

"Ready to talk yet young miss?" the voice from the darkness beyond teased her, but still she shook her head, not trusting herself to say anything.

The man in the background spoke again, slowly, in plain English, making absolutely sure that the girl in front of him would fully understand what he was saying. "OK, Khalid, have your fun. Strip her naked and we'll see what the men make of her when they find her tied up here in the morning." With that he turned on his heels and made his way back to the tent, having lost interest in the girl for the time being.

Lisa bit her lip, desperately trying not to break down, not to beg for release, but with a sob, she could not hold out.

"Please, please don't. Please leave me alone," she cried pitifully, but he ignored her, for the moment more interested in what a pretty young American girl looked like naked than anything else. He'd never seen a western woman in the nude, but had seen pictures and liked what he'd seen. Khalid was looking forward to carrying out Wahid's orders to the letter.

He put his knife inside the bottom of her regulation shirt, and slowly sawed his way upwards, slicing the material easily with the razor sharp blade, laughing as she turned her head away as it threatened to cut into her as it emerged at the top. Then he roughly grabbed it with both hands, opening it up, and tearing the last few shreds that still held it together. The terrorist stood back to admire his handiwork, a grin on his face.

"So not all American whores have big tits like in your filthy magazines," he spat at her.

He then grabbed at her bra and yanked at it causing her to jerk, the pain in her wrists suddenly worse. Then the knife came out again, and he slid it under the flimsy garment, the cold steel sending shivers through her as she felt it against her bare skin, one flourish ripping through the bra, then the straps, so he could wrench it from her.

"Very nice my little one," he crooned. "Very nice and tight, like little buttons."

Lisa cringed as he stared at her naked breasts, unable to stop him; unable to stop him doing whatever he wanted. She was in his power, and they both knew it.

He put the blade against her flat stomach and slowly scraped it up her skin, not cutting, but threatening to with the slightest slip. Lisa whimpered like a baby as she felt it start to run up over the curve of her left breast, and gasped in fear as she felt its sharp edge prick the hardness of her nipple. The man laughed at her helplessness, enjoying himself, tracing around the other nipple with the tip of his knife till she felt a trickle of warm blood running down her breast, and screamed aloud for mercy.

But he wasn't finished, and reached down to her panties, not bothering with the knife, simply ripping them off her and leaving her naked and helpless. Then he stood back with a grin on his face, watching her sob her heart out, unable to comprehend what was happening to her, praying that she'd wake up and find it was all a bad dream.

Khalid reached towards her, and fondled her breasts, first one, then the other, making her squirm hopelessly as he squeezed her hard little nipples, pinching them hard between his thumb and finger, his nail biting in, till she looked ready to pass out, with a mixture of fear and pain.

"You must love that you American bitch," he whispered into her ear, ignoring her pleas to be left alone. "Wait till the morning when the men wake up. You'll be wishing you were on your own with me then."

She didn't notice him leaving, just that nobody was tormenting her anymore, only the hurt in her breasts and the burning between her legs where he had coarsely fingered her, a reminder of what she had gone through. Lisa stood there shivering in the cold, thankful that he'd gone, but dreading the rest of the long night with no relief to her aching limbs and sore wrists, but mostly dreading the morning, not daring to think of what was to befall her.

She grabbed snatches of sleep, but always the unbearable pain in her wrists and arms as it supported her weight brought her back to wakefulness. She cursed her captures, cursed her superior officers for agreeing her requests to go out on a live sortie, and even cursed her dead colleagues for not being there. None of this helped.

Then an hour before dawn broke she woke with a start, hearing noises from the tents as the fighters roused themselves and started to get themselves ready. Then she heard the motors of the trucks being started up, and she wondered how long it would be till the sought her out, and just what they would do when they found her naked, only her shirt still hanging from her arms, but offering her no protection or cover.

In the end to her initial relief, she saw groups of them jumping on the back of the trucks, disappearing under the canvas covers, then the tents disappeared and they were loaded up, and everyone seemed to leave.

The panic rose in her, as it occurred they were going off and leaving her strung up and naked, with the searing heat of the day ahead. It would be a terrible way to die, the heat and the thirst giving her no mercy. Lisa shouted, her mouth dry, her voice little more than a croak, calling them back. Whatever they would do to her must be better than being left there to die. But they didn't hear, or if they did, then they didn't respond, had been ordered not to perhaps.

Three hours later and she was still strung up, the pain in her arms so bad it was making her faint, the sun on her naked creamy white body, unused to the sun and already beginning to burn. Despite this she still looked around, in the light of the day, seeing that the camp was a semi permanent one, except that the men and machines disappeared during daylight hours, out of view of the American spy planes and satellites. The equipment left behind for the following nights, scattered around and hidden under bushes. No wonder they hadn't been able to find this place. It only existed during the night, but that information would be of no use to her now.

Lisa broke down and sobbed, then cried aloud, floods of tears pouring down her cheeks, unable to do anything to help herself, even to comfort the hurt in her breasts and pussy.

The Land Rover was almost up onto her before she realized it was there, and she cried out with joy, as it pulled up almost alongside. She was to be saved. Maybe it was another American unit, or a Land Rover meant it would be the British SAS, who were also operating in the area. She no longer cared that she was naked, and that they would see her nude body. That didn't matter, as long as she was saved.

Two men got slowly down from the vehicle, and her heart slumped. It was the two from the previous night, and she dreaded what they had come back for. Still better than the death that had seemed so unavoidable just a few moments previously, so she stood up straight, put her shoulders back like a regular soldier, waiting to see what further torment they had for her.

"How are you feeling this morning young miss?" The suited one asked with what could be mistaken for a pleasant tone. She ignored him.

He reached forward and put a flask of water to her lips, and she gulped it greedily, half of it pouring down her chin, and onto her body, giving her minimal relief.

"Oh look at the state of you young miss," he continued, "blood all over your lovely breast. Let's see if we can clean it up a little."

He took a handkerchief from his top pocket and carefully wiped the smear of dried blood from around her breast, grinning wickedly. "You should be more careful Khalid, you could have cut the tip right off."

Lisa closed her eyes, feeling so completely vulnerable that she could hardly cope, trying to pretend it wasn't happening to her, trying to block out the thought that it would probably get worse.

"Cut her down Khalid," he ordered. "She won't give any trouble in her state."

And so it was. Khalid cut her bonds, and Lisa tried to step forward, but collapsed in a heap on the sand in front of them, desperately clutching at her poor arms, the burning sensation nearly swamping her, as the blood began circulating freely again.

They half dragged, half carried her to the Land Rover, roughly throwing her into the back, pulling the remains of her shirt unceremoniously from her and discarding it, as they jumped in the front and drove off.

Lisa curled up in the back, massaging her muscles back into shape, helping the blood to circulate, at last getting the feel back into them. Naked or not, if she could only keep her hands free, then she had a chance. But it wasn't to be, just a few miles from the base, they pulled over, and dragged her out from the back, yanking her arms behind her back, and retying them. Lisa said nothing, and offered no resistance. It was pointless.

What she had feared then happened.

They pushed her brutally over the tailgate of the vehicle, face down, the delicate skin of her bare breasts burning as it came into contact with the hot metal as they pushed her down onto it. But that was soon forgotten as she felt them spreading her legs, and a hand started to explore between her legs, an instant later a thumb being roughly forced up inside her, causing her to scream out, in surprise and terror.

"She's ready enough," grunted one of them, and the next thing she felt was a cock being forced up into her pussy, roughly with no effort to give her time to accommodate it. She screamed each time he thrust it deep inside her, fighting to control her feelings of disgust, then fighting to control her body as it reacted to what was being done to it.

"She's enjoying it," called the other one. "All American women are whores. They'd all want this if they got the chance."

After a while, the second one took over, and repeated the treatment, screwing Lisa till she could no longer care what happened, unaware even of which of them had taken her first, her mind thankfully at last blanking out what was taking place.

Satisfied, one of them grabbed the rope binding her arms behind her back, and yanked her up vertically, spinning her round to face them. Lisa stood proudly; her shoulders back, aware that it made her breasts stick out provocatively but not caring. What else could they do to her?

"Ready to talk yet young miss?" Demanded the one who was obviously the boss, laughing as she shook her head.

"I don't think you've got anything to tell us have you?" He asked almost kindly, but she didn't respond.

Wahid looked the girl over, admiring her pluck as much as her lovely naked body. He had spent much time in Europe, and visited America many times. He had made love to western women before, often, usually paid for, and had a taste for them. This girl in front of him was certainly beautiful by any standards, and her tight young body and pert tits was that of an athlete, just as he liked them, not the soft fleshy bodies that he had sometimes ended up with. He decided she was perhaps the prettiest western girl he had ever seen naked.

Pity really!

Still he could keep her around for another day or so. Maybe he would really let some of the men play with her. He'd enjoy watching that.

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"What the hell is that?" shouted the top sergeant back in the US.

It was an army base in the middle of nowhere, where they processed intel sent back from the theatre of operations. Not the hot stuff, which was dealt with immediately, but the chaff, and it was surprising quite how much could be worked out from the stuff sent back from the spy planes when you had enough man power and computers to deal with it.

"Zoom in on that," the sergeant said in a more controlled voice.

"Holy shit!" He added when the operator, a mid west kid did as requested.

"That's the sort of thing we get from over California, so I've heard," remarked the young soldier, staring at the enhanced image on the screen.

"Don't believe everything you hear son," answered his boss. "And they're seldom as gorgeous as that piece of ass... Zoom in a bit closer, can you?"

The two of them stared at the lovely naked girl on the screen in front of them, the youngster enjoying the sort of view that he'd been promised at training camp at last, and the sergeant wondering what on earth such a pure white skinned girl could be doing bound up naked to a decrepit fence in the middle of a desert, just a few minutes after daybreak.

"This one will set the cat among the pigeons," he thought, enjoying one last look before preparing to pass the extraordinary piece of intel on to his superiors.

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The Land Rover eventually pulled over outside a house down a narrow street in the nearby town. They bundled her, still bound and naked, from the back, and pushed her ahead of them into the house, and through into a large room.

Lisa cringed as she entered, finding it occupied by ten or a dozen men, a mixture of Arab and western dress, a few of them certainly European, maybe French by the sound of their accents, not that she expected them to offer her any help.

Her entry caused a minor commotion, the seated ones jumping to their feet, the others crowding round her.

"So it was true," said one.

"As pretty as you promised," said another.

"American whore," spat out yet another.

The reaction was mixed, but they all kept looking.

Lisa felt like rolling up into a ball on the floor, but she steeled herself, clenching her teeth tightly, standing upright, her arms tied behind her, her pointy breasts sticking out proudly.

"May we?" asked one of them, his politeness a mockery.

"By all means my friends," answered Wahid. "See what the enemy feels like. It's as close as many of you will ever get." There was mockery at them in his reply, but none of them dared to respond. Instead they closed in, and reached out, to see what indeed this enemy did feel like, and Lisa closed her eyes, forcing herself to block out her panic as she felt first one, then two, then many hands run all over her, squeezing her breasts, stroking her tummy, tweaking her nipples, patting her bottom. Stroking the small trimmed bush of hair that lay at the top of her legs, and threatening to force their way between them. At last her legs were shaking so much, that she began to collapse, and even then willing hands grabbed her, holding her upright.