Chapter 11: The Revolution
This idyll of blissful servitude came to a violent end early one cool morning in
January.
That night, I had been fortunate enough to be the slave girl selected by the
master to serve his pleasure. As usual, he had put me to a variety of the
specialized uses to which a slave such as I must be accustomed, finally cuffing
my wrists to my ankles and taking me from behind, making me scream repeatedly in
submission and ecstasy. Then he unbound my wrists and ankles, chained me to the
foot of his bed by the collar, and climbed into bed to sleep.
I lay awake for a time. The passage of the new year inspired in me another round
of reflection on how my life had changed. Every new year prior to this one, I
had looked forward to new experiences, accomplishments, and horizons. As a
popular, bright, hard-working student at a prestigious university, I had had a
world of possibilities open to me. Each new year I had regretted the
opportunities not taken in the previous twelve months and resolved to seek them
out in the next twelve months. Now, though, I lay chained naked at the foot of
my master's bed, a helpless but willing captive to his sexual depredations. By
the standards of my previous life, I was now the lowest of the low - not only a
wanton slut who would beg on her back for a man to take her, but worse than that
a confessed slave who willingly accepted the loss of her rights and freedoms in
exchange for the purity of absolute submission.
And this year, I truly had nothing to look forward to. My life, from this point
forward, would be nothing more than a continuation of the daily routine of
absolute obedience and sexual exploitation that I had lived for the past several
months. My master might tire of me and sell me to a new owner, but that would be
little more than a change of decor; in essence, my life would remain one of
perfect and constant sexual service to my master and any men or women he might
choose to make me available to, completely devoid of any choices or preferences
of my own. I must offer up my thighs or my tongue to anyone on a moment's
notice, routinely delivering pleasures that I had once reserved for a small
handful of boyfriends, or that I had never intended to provide to any man. I
knew all the ways in which a slave girl might be used, and blushed at how many
of them had brought me to helpless ecstasy.
I felt a momentary, profound sadness at the life I had left behind. I supposed
that as long as I lived I would feel moments like this. But they were fewer than
they had once been, and I did not know at that moment if I would have
voluntarily given up my slavery for the freedom I had once known.
I awoke with a start. It was still dark out, although there seemed to be a shade
of pre-dawn gray light filtering through the light curtains. I thought perhaps
my master had summoned me to his bed to enjoy my naked body once again, but he
was still sound asleep. Then I heard the sounds of men running through the
building, of hammering on doors, of furious commands being shouted in Arabic. I
was scared, but I dared not wake my master, who was by habit a deep sleeper -
especially after having thoroughly made use of one of his slave girls. I was
chained to the foot of his bed, nude. There was little I could do.
He woke up when the door of the room burst open and four men rushed in, wearing
assorted, mis-matching military fatigues and carrying what looked like automatic
rifles. My master jumped out of the bed and started toward the bathroom door,
but they intercepted him before he could get that far. A moment later, I saw
them tie my beloved master's hands together behind his back and begin to march
him out of the room. I wondered what kind of men these might be, that they could
assault the compound of one of the country's favored sons and treat him so.
As two of the men led David out of the room, another spied me huddled against
the bed, my legs drawn up to my chest in a futile effort to cover my nudity. He
smiled, said something to the others, and walked over to me, pulling me to my
feet by my arm. The chain on my neck would not let me stand upright, forcing me
to bend over in a humiliating posture. I heard laughing from the men. They
forced my master to produce the key to my chain and unlocked it from the bed,
leaving it on my collar as a leash. Then they tied my hands behind my back and
led me out of the room behind my master. I noticed they had draped his robe over
his shoulders and belted it in front to protect his modesty. I, however, was
marched through the halls completely nude save for my collar and bonds. I walked
as gracefully as I could despite being led by a leash, my hips swaying and my
breasts thrust forward as I had been taught. I had no idea what these men might
do to me, but I desperately wanted to interest them in my body, to make them see
me as a sex toy with which they might amuse themselves. The alternatives, it
seemed, could be much worse.
We were marched through the breaking dawn light outside and across the compound
to the central building, which I knew from the times we had served at my
master's parties or business meetings. There, in the large main dining room, a
kind of makeshift command center had been set up. There were twenty or thirty of
the irregular soldiers in the room, and others drifted in or out. Against one
wall, bound and under guard, were the regular inhabitants of the compound -
guards, servants, wives, and children. We were brought to one end of the room,
where the apparent leader of the attackers had seated himself at one end of the
central dining table. He was thin and bearded, with a rifle slung across his
shoulders and a wild look in his eye.
First he spoke briefly with David, and then two guards escorted him over to the
wall with the other prisoners. Then it was my turn. I lowered myself to my knees
and spread them as widely as possible. He had probably never known a slave girl
such as I. I would use every device I knew to win his interest.
"You are American?" he said in heavily accented English.
"Yes ? master," I said. He smiled.
"You American girls - you are all sluts," he said. "Yes?"
"Yes, master," I said, not wanting to contradict him. "I am a slut, master."
"All you want is sex. Always sex," he said. "You come here and you seduce our
men with your slutty bodies."
I was afraid where this was leading. "Yes, master," I said.
"Sluts like you are a disgrace and a threat to our nation," he said bitterly.
"We should kill you all."
My eyes went wild with fear. I did the only thing I knew how to do. I prostrated
myself before him, falling onto my side and squirming over to him, where I began
to kiss at his feet frantically. "No, master," I pleaded. "Please don't kill me.
Let me serve you instead. Let me serve you and your men with my body. You can
use me any way you want. I know I'm a worthless slut, but think of the pleasure
you could have with me."
He looked down at me. "You disgust me, flaunting your body, begging to be raped.
You Americans are weak. I despise you."
But he did not stop me from licking and kissing his feet and ankles. I looked up
at him from where I lay, naked and bound, at his feet. "Yes, I am weak, and you
are right to despise me. But why kill me, even if you hate me? Would it not be a
sweeter victory to take advantage of my weakness, to enslave me and make me your
own, or to give me to your men as one of the spoils of your conquest? If it is
Americans you hate, what would be better than taking their girls and using us
for your amusement, kicking our legs apart and raping us, or forcing us to serve
you in ways you would never demand from your own women? And no matter how you
abuse me, I will remain your devoted slave, always ready to please you or anyone
you choose. Why throw away such a chance to demonstrate your superiority over
us, to put us in chains and make us beg for your touch?"
I could feel him softening, and I was sure it had more to do with the sight of a
pretty, naked girl, bound at his feet, desperately attempting to please him,
than with any arguments I might make. He said something to an associate, who
laughed and pointed at me.
"Think about all the ways you can use me," I said. "Think of all the ways you
can humiliate me, or bind me, or take pleasure from my body. Imagine putting me
on all fours and taking me from behind, or kneeling me at your feet to please
you with my mouth, or bending me over a table and raping me. Think of all the
things you can do with a naked, helpless slave. I offer you all those things and
more, in exchange for my life. And when you tire of me, you can always kill me
then, or sell me to someone else in exchange for something you do value."
He turned to his associate and said something, apparently a joke. Then he turned
back to me and said, "OK, we'll give you an audition. If he's satisfied," he
said, pointing to the man by his side, "you can live."
"Thank you, thank you, master," I said. I turned my body slightly and began
kissing the feet of the man I must now please. "How may I serve you, master," I
asked. "May I please you with my mouth?" I begged, licking and parting my lips
as I knelt back on my heels, lifting my breasts to bring them to his attention.
"Or do you want me on my back, or on my belly?"
In response, he unbuttoned his pants and smiled. "Thank you, master," I said,
and knelt up off my heels to begin my work. With my hands bound behind me I was
somewhat limited in my techniques, but I expected I could do enough with my lips
and tongue to bring this man pleasure he had never known from his girlfriends,
wives, or prostitutes. After all, I was a trained pleasure slave. I moaned in
apparent pleasure as I bobbed my head up and down, closing my eyes to focus the
physical sensations of intimate service. Never before had I pleasured a man in
such fear for my life. Nothing existed in the world for me but his manhood,
which I worshipped passionately with all the offerings of a slave girl. I felt
him stiffen and prepared for his climax. But then he pulled my head off of him,
pulled me to my feet, and threw my upper body over the dining table. I felt my
body crushed against the table as he entered me, powerfully and triumphantly,
the force of his body impressing on me my inferiority, my identity as a mere
instrument for the fulfillment of his pleasure. He held my hips tightly as he
spent himself in me, as I gasped and moaned more in relief than in anything
else. When he withdrew from me, I turned and sank to my knees before him, taking
him once again lovingly into my mouth. I raised my eyes to him, hoping to see in
them a clue to my fate.
He stroked my hair approvingly as I continued to clean him, lovingly coaxing
every drop from him. When I was finished I leaned my head against his thigh and
asked, "Did I please master?" The man looked at the commander and said a few
words.
"You have been found acceptable for use by my men," he said.
"Thank you, master!" I said, covering his feet with kisses once again. "Thank
you. I will be a perfect, obedient slave to them, master."
"My men have worked hard and have had little in the way of comforts," he
continued. "It will be fitting that they take pleasure from the body of our
defeated enemy. As long as you are pleasing, you will be allowed to live. If you
fail in the slightest, you will be killed, or worse."
"Thank you, master," I repeated. "I will be a marvel to you and your men."
Two guards lifted me by the arms and conducted me to an adjacent room, then
being used as a kind of refreshment room, where food and drinks ransacked from
the grounds were available and a TV was playing. The eyes of the soldiers
already in the room fixed themselves on my naked body when I was brought in. I
knew I would have to satisfy all of them, and many more, but I was deeply
grateful for the chance. I was a slave girl, and pleasing men was the sole
object of my existence. The punishment the commander had intended to mete out to
me was nothing more than my rightful station in life, open and available for the
uses of men.
After some discussion about how best to make use of their unexpected prize, I
was tied on my back over a small table, my ankles roped to the two legs on one
side and my wrists to the legs on the other side. My legs were wide open for
assault from the front, and in addition, my head hung back over the far edge of
the table. I was sure I was not a particularly attractive sight, but I knew I
was an inviting target for the men's lusts. Quickly one of the men positioned
himself in front of me and began to take advantage of my vulnerable position.
Bound as I was, I could do little to participate in my rape, but I could still
use my inner muscles to massage him. I closed my eyes and moaned in an expert
simulation of a slave girl's rapture, hoping by that means to further excite my
attacker. But although I began solely as a stratagem to please my master of the
moment, I soon felt myself becoming truly heated, and was ashamed to feel my
body responding to its brutal, casual usage. As a slave, I knew myself subject
to this kind of unilateral, disciplinary use, simply bound for the masters'
convenience and used as a passive vessel for their pleasure. And I knew that
this was a perfectly appropriate use of me, a natural expression of my
submission and their dominance. So by the time my rapist clutched me to him and
climaxed within me, my cries were more real than fake, and I was disappointed to
feel him leave me.
However, I was not long to be left unattended. A moment later, another man had
taken his place. My head hanging over the table as it was, I could not see him
as he made use of me, but could only lose myself in the physical sensations of
my ravishment. And then I was interrupted by another man who had positioned
himself in front of my face, where my mouth hung open invitingly. He quickly
began to make use of my mouth and throat as I licked at him greedily. In this
position, it was less a matter of me pleasing him with my mouth than of him
simply having his way with me, taking advantage of the curve of my throat to
plunge deeply within me, but I did what I could with lips and tongue to increase
his pleasure. The intense humiliation of being bound helplessly and used
simultaneously by two unknown assailants pushed me to the brink of climax, and
my body began to shake in helpless orgasm. I heard the men laugh. I was sure I
was confirming all of their prejudices about American women - that we were
wanton sluts who wanted nothing more than to be tied up and raped. But while I
knew it was not true of most of my sisters back home, I knew equally well that
it was true of me.
Those two men were replaced by others, and others still as the morning wore on.
I was joined in that room by David's three other slave girls, who were tied in a
variety of positions where they might be freely available to the men, and I
could soon hear their gasps and moans mingled with my own. One or two were
crying as they were forcibly entered and made use of, but even they could not
help their bodies from responding to the men.
We remained in place for the majority of the day as the rebel commander let all
of his men enjoy the prize of the day's successful assault, but eventually the
stream of soldiers trickled down, presumably as they returned to the duties of
war. I learned then and over the next days that these men were part of a large
rebel force that was seeking to overthrow the now-corrupt aristocracy of oil
barons who essentially owned the small principality. They were not Islamic
fundamentalists, as I am sure they were portrayed by the Western media, but were
closer to secular nationalists, upset more at American support for the oiled
class than at any attacks on religious values or traditions - although they were
more than ready to accept the support of religious zealots as well. At the
moment, they had engaged in a series of surprise attacks on government and
aristocracy strongholds, and were waiting uneasily as the larger surrounding
nations - and the United States, with its nearby bases in Saudi Arabia - decided
how to respond.
That night, I was reassured to find myself summoned to the bed of the local
commander, upstairs in the master bedroom on the second floor. I was allowed to
drink some water, eat some food, and take a shower to make myself more
presentable for my new master, as I now saw him. I never found out what happened
to David, or to the other prisoners I had last seen lined up against the wall of
the main dining room.
I entered the commander's room completely naked, wearing only my collar, a chain
leash, and the thin ropes that held my wrists together behind my back. He first
looped my leash through the bedframe and locked it in place, but I was surprised
when, instead of simply kicking my legs apart and tasting the fruits of my
submission, he untied my wrists and invited me to join him on the bed. I think,
for all his skill and experience in leading men, he was unsure about how to use
a slave girl. I undressed him slowly, licking and kissing at his body, finally
taking him into my mouth and lavishing my talents on him slowly and lingeringly.
He reared up, holding my head in place with his hands, and I gazed up at his
face as I swallowed, continuing to caress him with my tongue, hoping to see some
trace of contentment or pleasure in his eyes. I think he was pleased with his
girl.
He made me sleep, bound once again, on the floor by his bed, and in the early
morning he jerked on my leash to command me back onto its surface. This time,
after letting me lick and kiss at him, he rolled me over onto my back, thrust my
legs apart, and plunged into me violently, abusing me as the American slut he so
hated, but also forcing me to cry out in joy, a vanquished slave girl responding
helplessly to her master.
I spent the next two weeks in that one building, most of it in another
second-floor bedroom where the soldiers could make use of me when not engaged in
their more bellicose pursuits. I would be chained by my leash to the bedframe to
prevent escape, but otherwise was left free, unless one of my rapists chose to
tie me up in some fashion using the handcuffs and ropes available. Some of the
men seemed experts in the arts of abusing a helpless, naked girl, tying me in
positions that both caused me pain and opened me up creatively for their
exploitation, or cruelly arousing me with their caresses or with physical
implements and then refusing to let me achieve satisfaction. But for the most
part, they were relatively unimaginative, the vast majority preferring either to
have me serve them with my mouth, kneeling before them, or to push me over onto
my belly and breasts and take me from behind like a dog. Whatever their tastes,
of course, I knew to serve them with absolute obedience and with all the
intimate techniques that I had learned. I knew that I was still under threat of
death, should I fail to be pleasing.
For the first few days I could still hear the moans or cries of the other slave
girls, similarly employed in other rooms on the second floor, but soon they were
transferred to other groups of troops for their comfort and amusement, either as
gifts from one commander to another or, perhaps, in exchange for guns and
ammunition. At the beginning, too, there was a constant stream of men demanding
my body, which I of course gave to them freely, but that began to tail off
during the first week; as the commander told me later, he feared that my
constant availability was making his men soft, and from that point he would only
grant rights to my body as a reward for specific accomplishments.
Most nights I spent in his room, chained on the floor by his bed after having
served him, but there were also nights when he allowed me to remain in the bed
after he had made use of me. Then I would kiss and caress him gently as he fell
asleep, and he would awake to find my lips and tongue warm and wet on his body,
attempting to show a slave's gratitude for the kindness he showed me. Although
each night he seemed to try out some new way of dominating and abusing me, using
his new sex toy to experiment in the many pleasures that can be extracted from a
naked, willing girl, there was also something innocent in him, in the almost
naive joy he took each time he thrust my knees apart and entered me, once again
establishing his dominion over my body. For my part, I did everything in my
humble powers to bring him the pleasures a man may enjoy from a woman, not only
because I feared him as the master of my fate, but even a little because of that
innocence.
The end came quickly at the end of those two weeks. I was lying in his arms in
bed, asleep, when we were both awakened by the low throbbing of helicopters. He
sprang up and grabbed his rifle, but then two windows burst in and the room was
filled with a sudden flash of light, sound, and smoke. I was knocked off the bed
into a corner of the room, where I curled up in shock and fear; my master was
thrown to the floor, dazed. Suddenly heavily armed men in uniforms burst in
through both windows, releasing the ropes they had used to descend from their
helicopters, instinctively covering the room and its entrances with their
weapons. These were professionals, the real soldiers, I knew. Two of them
quickly cuffed my master, and two came over to me, covering me with their guns.
"Please, masters," I said, struggling to my knees and opening them
instinctively, "don't hurt me. I'll do whatever you want."
"You're an American?" one said in a flat Midwestern accent.
"Yes, master."
"What are you doing here?"
I swallowed. "I'm a slave girl ? a sex slave. I've been held here by these men."
"OK, don't worry," he said matter-of-factly. "We'll get you out of here." He
fetched a pair of pincers from another soldier, which they used to cut the
padlock holding my leash in place. They cuffed my hands behind my back with
plastic cuffs as a precaution, and then one of the men lifted me up and began to
carry me down out of the room and down the stairs. He handled me casually, but I
noticed he could not resist brushing a hand over my breasts as I lay helplessly
in my arms.
I never saw my previous master again.
The ground floor and the surrounding area had already been secured by other
American soldiers. Outside the building, two large helicopters were idling. I
was carried to one of them, already almost full with men, and handed in.
"Wow, who sent us this present?" one of the men asked, sounding like no more
than a high school kid.
"Just get her back to the base and take her to see a doctor," my escort said
before leaving. "She says she's an American, but we'd better be sure before we
take those cuffs off."
All the bench seats inside the helicopter were taken, so I knelt on the hard
metal flooring. Without thinking, I opened my knees and lifted my breasts
appealingly. I blushed, realizing that I was posing as a slave. But I remained
in that position, not knowing what my status was, whether I was allowed to
assume another position, whether these men, too, would take advantage of my
naked, unprotected body for their sport.
One of the men leaned over to me. "I'm Lieutenant Shipman," he said. "U.S. Army.
Who are you and what the hell is going on?"
"My name is Jenny, master," I said. "I used to be Jennifer Nevins. I went to
UCLA. I'm a ? a slave girl. A sex slave." I began to cry with shame and
humiliation. "I was captured and kept here, and I had to serve the men with my
body, over and over again."
"It's OK now, Jenny," the officer said. "And don't call me master. We're getting
you out of here, and we'll take you to see a doctor, and soon you'll be on your
way back home and all of this will be over."
"What's going on?" I asked. "Why did you come here?"
"This was a surprise raid to capture the leaders of the rebel movement here," he
said. "We hit six different compounds simultaneously tonight. If everything went
as well as it did here, the revolution should be over by tomorrow." He paused.
"We had no idea we'd find you."
The helicopter began to rise into the air. I was crying steadily by now. "You
mean it's all over? I'm not a slave any more? I can go home?" I had dreamed
about this moment, but for months now had never expected it to happen. And now
that it had come, I did not know whether I preferred it to remaining a helpless
pleasure slave.
"You're not a slave any more, Jenny," he answered. "It's over."
My mind was mixed with both elation and sadness. Elation, of course, that I
would be free, that I could go about my life as I chose, that my future had been
given back to me. Never again would I have to kiss the whip that was about to
beat me, never would I be tied up to be used like a piece of furniture, never
would I have to spread my knees helplessly before a man, begging to be raped.
But it also meant that I would never again know the exquisite rapture of the
overpowered, overwhelmed, ravished slave, held in place by her master's body and
forced to experience the unconditional surrender of her body. Never would I have
the absolute security of gazing into a master's eyes as I swallowed and knowing
that I had brought him pleasure he could only find in a slave, and had thereby
fulfilled my purpose in life. Never could I spread my knees before a man and beg
to be raped as the slave I suspected I might still be.
"Please, lieutenant," I said. "Let me thank you. Let me thank you and your men
in the only way I know how, with my body. Let me serve you and give you
pleasure, let me give my body to you so that you may use it in any way you
desire."
Lieutenant Shipman looked at me harshly. "I don't know what's wrong with you,
slut, but you know I can't allow that."
"Please, sir," I begged. "I've spent two weeks being raped and abused hundreds
of times by men who hated me and wanted nothing more than to humiliate me. You
are the first men who have done anything good for me. Why should they be able to
make use of me, and not you? I would gladly give you the usage of my body, if
you would accept it, to show you my gratitude. I have nothing else to give you.
I'm begging you." I adjusted my position slightly, bringing attention to my
breasts, my belly, and the curve of my thighs as they extended toward my
intimate regions. He was only a man, after all.
The man next to the lieutenant whispered in his ear, smiling. "Very well," he
finally said. "We'll see what we can do when we get back to base."
I spent the remainder of that day in a room partitioned off from the large
warehouse that had been converted into a barracks for the Special Forces who had
been assigned to this mission. After eating and showering, and affirming once
more that I did, truly and desperately, want to be the unit's slave for that
day, I retired to "my" room, which had been equipped with a bunk and a few
sleeping bags. There I awaited the men as, one by one, they came to take
advantage of the eager slut they had so fortuitously discovered on their raid. I
was still nude except for the collar and leash, which I hoped would inspire them
to treat me as what I still knew myself to be, a slave, and I told each man that
I would serve him in any way he chose, no matter how depraved or unusual he
might think it. A majority, of course, could not resist the thought of having a
naked, chained girl kneel at their feet and please them with her mouth, which of
course I did happily. Only a few showed any inclination to tie me helplessly and
subject me to something approaching the brutal rapes I had so often suffered.
But whatever they demanded or, more often, asked for politely, I performed with
all of the beauty, submissiveness, and gratitude I knew possible. They had given
me the gift of freedom; I wanted to leave them with the gift of a perfect slave
girl, which so few men have had the pleasure of enjoying.
After I had served their pleasure, even repeatedly for some of them, I was
dressed in spare army clothes and taken to the logistics center to arrange
transportation back to the United States. The day's delay was ascribed to an
illness that was attested to by the unit's physician. I felt uncomfortable
wearing "normal" clothes, clothes that did not clearly reveal my body, that
could not be simply torn away, and that shielded my body from casual rape. I had
grown so accustomed to being sexually available that I almost wanted to tear off
my clothes and kneel before the men around me, proclaiming myself their inferior
and their plaything. After some haggling, it was arranged that I would be taken
in a jeep to the nearest American consulate two hundred miles away, where air
travel to Los Angeles could be arranged.
I thanked my liberators once more - saving a passionate kiss for Lieutenant
Shipman for last - and bid them farewell. The next day I was on a plane to Los
Angeles by way of London. I did not know what would await me there.
