2. The Longest Night of my Life
(Human Shield, Jessica Verdi)
Night had surely fallen, as the darkness within my hood had turned to
blackness. The compound was eerily still and silent. It was as if everybody had
deserted it or gone into hiding.
The silence had the effect of making my hearing seem more acute and I
became aware of noises in the far distance. Tiny little booms, as quiet as an
explosion could possibly be. They might have been fifty miles away.
Just as my ears were tuning into the distant noises, everything changed.
There was an explosion that sounded like it came from the neighbouring town.
Then there was a bright flash that turned darkest night into brightest day. As
thunder follows the lightening, that was how I heard the explosion. There was
the sound of artillery, anti-aircraft fire that etched bright dotted lines in
the sky. Not even my black hood could keep that view from me. The earth was
shaking and I was too. All I could do was hug my post as if it was my dearest
friend.
The deafening bombardment continued all around me. I bit down on the rag
in my mouth and sobbed in a way I had never done before, sometimes banging my
forehead on the post in sheer terror.
Then there was a kind of whooshing and whining sound in the sky and an
instant later the building behind me was blown apart. I was being bombarded by a
hail of rubble and shrapnel that beat into my naked back and legs. Several small
rocks hit my head too, and I was grateful for the modest protection of my black
cotton hood.
I tried to stay still despite the pain, fearing that the gun in my
rectum would be fired if I moved my leg. I must have been dazed and confused
because I remember thinking that I hoped the gun wouldn't fire accidently in
case I needed it later!
The impact of shrapnel was causing a trickle of blood to run down my
thigh. I could sense its coolness on the soft skin at the back of my knee. My
head was hurting. My stomach hurt too. I could hear nothing but a maddening
ringing like I used to hear after going to loud rock concerts. My throat tickled
and I started to cough, but the expulsion from my lungs was suppressed by the
stuffing in my mouth. I thought I was choking.
Eventually, perhaps hours later, the cacophony of the immense blitz had
ceased. To my amazement I was still alive. I had stopped coughing. I could feel
the slight coolness of the steel manacle that rested loosely on my ankle bone of
my right leg. A chain led from it, around the front of the pole to the left
ankle. It meant I could move a leg forward but not backwards...except that there
was also a thin cord tied tightly on the slimmest part of my lower leg. It led
to the trigger of the gun that nestled so snugly in my rectum. I didn't know how
much slack there was in the cord - I was not inclined to experiment. It took all
my willpower to hold my trembling right leg still. At my lowest moments during
that night it was strangely reassuring to know my life was in my own hands or
rather my leg. One kick and it would be all over for me.
There was nothing I could do but wait and try to sleep. If I relaxed and
leaned back, I would pull on my nailed nipples. They could stretch a little, but
not enough to take my weight. Somehow I must have slept, or perhaps I simply
fainted from exhaustion.
-oOo-
Beneath my hood that blackness had become mere darkness again and led me
to conclude that it would soon be dawn. I continued to wait but it never got any
lighter, yet the warmth on my shoulders indicated that it must be daytime.
Nobody came for me. I stood quietly, chained, tied and nailed to my
post, listening intently for any signs of life.
Were they all dead? Had they simply evacuated the compound? After
surviving the bombing and the threat of nerve agents was I destined to die of
thirst or sunstroke? What an irony that would be!
With nothing else to do to keep me amused, my fingers reached upwards,
as I ignored the pain of the handcuffs digging into the wrists. The tip of my
left index finger could touch the tip of my left nipple. With my hands
restrained on the other side of the pole for so long they had begun to seem
detached from me. Now my body felt connected again.
The gun must have slipped out of me a little, because the cord that held
its barrel inside me had tightened. I could feel the itchy cord nestled deep
between my labia. I rubbed myself against the pole trying to dislodge it but
that only served to agitate me, although not unpleasantly so. While my finger
continued playing with my nipple I was wriggling to dislodge that rope from
between my labia. I couldn't help but wonder what I looked like. A kind of
trussed-up pole dancer, I suppose. Those little movement made my body feel
alive. It wasn't the ideal moment for me to be discovered.
"Need any help there?" said a friendly, almost laughing voice. He wasn't
an Iraqi, in fact he sounded like a Yorkshireman.
I nodded and mmmppphhed excitably. Yes, yes I wanted help! I wanted out
of my dark, tightly bound world.
Without delay that man's hands were at my neck fumbling with the knotted
drawstring of my hood. I felt the coolness of a knife blade against my shoulder.
A light tugging, and the hood was loosened.
"Close your eyes," he said as he lifted off the hood. I understood what
he meant as the full daylight blazed through my screwed up eyelids. My rescuer
peeled the strips of tape from my face while I still resisted opening my eyes to
the light. I felt myself gagging as he pulled the sodden cloth from my mouth,
and the first thing I saw was the look of mild distaste on his face. Then he was
smiled at me. I didn't know who was the most pleased to see the other.
"I'm Paul. British S.A.S.. Sorry, not permitted to give my full name."
"Barbara Anne Jones. Human Shield."
"Pleased to meet you," he said lightly shaking my cuffed right hand,
showing that he hadn't forgotten his manners. He studied my nailed-fast nipples
and shouted out to somebody. "Charlie, bring me bolt cutters and a hacksaw!"
"Looks like we'll have to cut 'em off," he said, shaking his head
apologetically, with typically dry English wit. "How are you feeling?"
I looked back over my shoulder and frowned. I still had a loaded gun up
my ass.
"Jesus Christ!" Paul blurted out as he studied the weapon.
"Is it really loaded?" I asked.
He bent down behind me, studied the gun, then started fiddling with it,
sending delicate vibrations right into my belly. "It isn't now!"
I made him promise he'd fully unloaded it, because there was something I
simply had to know. I moved my right leg forward just a fraction and heard the
click of the gun's trigger. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I did both.
Charlie arrived with the bolt cutters and hacksaw. The teenage squaddie
was open-jawed in amazement when he saw my appearance. It's not everyday these
soldiers encounter a naked damsel in distress.
Still chained and tied to the post I was at Paul's mercy as he went to
work on my nipples. With great care and dexterity he gently hacksawed through
the nails that had pinioned by breasts for so long. I liked the way he touched
me. Firm yet tender. Totally in control. As he pulled the nipple clear of the
remaining spike of the nail he seemed perplexed.
"No blood?"
"Already pierced," I explained. He seemed to approve.
The bolt cutters made light work of the chains that connected my hand
and leg cuffs, but the cuff parts had to stay on my limbs like crude jewelry
until the locks could be drilled or picked.
The rope around my belly was untied and I was finally free from the
pole. I put my sore tits back in my bra and buttoned up my shirt. Paul tossed me
his spare pair of combat trousers, as if I were his new recruit! I think the
guys were more bothered about my partial nakedness than I was. A section of the
rope that for so long had tied me to the post was now used as a belt to keep the
man-size trousers around my waist.
I felt surprisingly good, almost in a state of euphoria. I had been
lucky to survive. What were the odds on a person surviving what I had? Then I
remembered Emma.
-oOo-
We went in search of my young colleague, picking our way over the debris
in the compound and skirting around the bombed out shell of a building. Once my
eyes had adjusted to the daylight I realised what a murky smoke-filled day it
was. Paul said the Iraqis had been setting oil wells on fire and using it for a
defensive screen. It had been my defence as well; protecting my pale skin from
five hours in a baking middle eastern day.
We must have been walking and searching for ten minutes through the
lifeless and decimated industrial complex before finally catching sight of a
motionless body standing upright, belly hard against a telegraph pole.
I shouted Emma's name as we approached, and leapt for joy when she moved
her hand slightly to acknowledge us. She was manning her post, secured exactly
as I had been. When I looked at her I felt like I was looking at myself, but I
soon saw that Emma had it even worse than I did.
Her nipples, like mine, had been nailed to each side of the post, but
unlike mine they were not pierced beforehand. Dried blood was spattered on her
nipples and breasts. We had chatted the previous day about piercings after I had
noticed her tongue stud. It was horrible to think of what she must have gone
through as they banged those nails in. I felt responsible because I had
indirectly inspired the act. When Paul removed Emma's hood we saw something more
shocking.
Emma wasn't gagged like I was, in fact her tongue was sticking out of
her mouth. She didn't have any choice as her tongue had been threaded with a
thick wire and that had been tied fast to a staple hammered into the post. It
appeared that she was permanently licking the wooden post.
She gave me a pitiful sidelong glance from her lovely dark eyes, giving
me with a hint of what she had been through. I tried to comfort her and held her
still as Paul and Charlie carried out the delicate task of freeing Emma from her
vicious bondage.
-oOo-
That night Emma and I slept in a tent on a British army camp not far
from where we were rescued. We were both like emotional yo-yos, both nursing our
various sore bits. It felt great to be alive.
I felt a little sad the following day when Paul handed us over to others
to arrange our trip home. We had been getting on surprisingly well. He hadn't
mocked me for being a human shield, in fact he only commented that I was brave.
Nor had he mentioned to anybody about the state I was in when he found me.
Before he left we kissed and hugged and in time-honoured English fashion
we promised to meet for a drink when the war was over, although I seriously
doubted we ever would. I can be such a pessimist.
-oOo-
EPILOGUE - 1 year later
Emma sold her story to a Sunday newspaper for pounds100,000. She also
became a C list celebrity for a few months. Good luck to her! She had been
through a lot and deserved her break as much as anybody.
I didn't sell my story. It was not appropriate for the wife of an SAS
soldier to do so. The anonymity of SAS personnel must always be protected.
Yes. Paul and I finally met for that promised drink two months after I
returned to the UK. We chatted awkwardly in a quiet corner of the pub and
realised we were both still fixated on what had happened to me. At last I could
talk to somebody who understood me. It proved to be a strong bond between us.
Strong enough that we never really parted after that meeting. Talking of strong
bonds, I soon found out that Paul knew a thing or two about how to tie up a
woman. He'd recognised something in me, and he was right.
We live deep in the wonderful countryside of North Wales. If I'm a good
girl he will take me fishing with him. At a remote spot near the river, he'll
let me choose my own tree. Then he ties me to it with immaculate and very tight
ropework that leaves me in a passionate embrace with the tree, making the rough
bark dig into my skin. He stuffs a coffee soaked rag stuffed into my mouth then
the lower half of my face is plastered with tape. I like how firmly he presses
down the tape.
I always wear a summer dress on such trips, so that it is easy for him
to pull the shoulder straps down around my arms until my breasts popped free.
He'll kiss me on the shoulder and I'll start to feel excited about what is to
happen next.
Of course we didn't forget the hammer and nails! I liked to watch as he
lovingly skewered each nipple and gently nailed it to the bark of the tree. Each
tap of the hammer further condemning me to my fate.
Having a loaded gun up my ass was definitely not part of our ritual, but
a fiendish little vibrator was a worthy torment in its own right.
After being tied up, nailed down and appropriately stuffed, I was hooded
with my home-made black satin hood. The vibrator in my ass would be started,
then I would be subjected to the bitter sweet torment of his leather flogger,
meticulously applied to my back and legs until every trivial thought had been
purged from my mind.
While I was tugging and straining, seeking relief from my dark
bedeviling position, Paul was quietly fishing nearby. Several hours would pass.
In Paul's own time - his fishing done - I would be rescued. It was never
a moment too soon! Exhausted, frustrated, emotional and as horny as hell, I was
very grateful to be released from my bondage. Then we'd spend some extremely
high quality time together where Paul would give me 'a good seeing-to' as he
liked to call it.
I bumped into an old friend recently. Having discovered with a degree of
surprise that I had married a soldier, he asked whether, in that case, I was
still a 'tree-hugger'.
"Yes," I replied smugly. "I still am...more now than ever!"
THE END
