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Desert Sands

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Barbaria1 said:
I blubber incoherently, tears streaming down my cheeks.

With an intense look of concentration on his face, the officer forces my thighs apart, and begins to roughly probe my pussy with his fingers … spreading lips, penetrating, rubbing up and down, sliding in and out, spreading more, folding back, searching until he finds the place he seeks.
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His rough hand forcing you open, you know what is coming.
More pain and humiliation!
 
Good episode, Barb!

An Iraqi officer from Princeton (never underestimate the enemy)?
All the way to the camp the POW's, to their growing annoyance, heard him doing "Hip hip rah rah rah Tiger Tiger Tiger sis sis sis Boom Boom Boom chicka chicka rahh Princeton! Princeton! Princeton!".

Psychological warfare is sometimes very simple!:devil::devil:
 
Wragg134 said:
Nice to see her trying the old 'name, rank, and serial number' line. :cool:

Not sure it'll be long before she divulges a tad more gen, though.... :eek:
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I thought that whole "name, rank and serial number" stuff was outdated. I would expect captured people to sing like canaries, especially under torture and consequently ensure that they know nothing important or critical beyond their own immediate orders. Whatever the situation, it's irrelevant. The intel guy doesn't know whether she has information or not, but he's going to keep trying. :eek: Nasty fellow.

Hold on, Barb. Help isn't likely on its way. :D
 
Jollyrei said:
I thought that whole "name, rank and serial number" stuff was outdated. I would expect captured people to sing like canaries, especially under torture and consequently ensure that they know nothing important or critical beyond their own immediate orders. Whatever the situation, it's irrelevant. The intel guy doesn't know whether she has information or not, but he's going to keep trying. :eek: Nasty fellow.

Hold on, Barb. Help isn't likely on its way. :D
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Hey, they are looking everywhere for her!!!
1 6790570.jpg
...really...
rat patrol.jpg
 
Jollyrei said:
I thought that whole "name, rank and serial number" stuff was outdated. I would expect captured people to sing like canaries, especially under torture and consequently ensure that they know nothing important or critical beyond their own immediate orders. Whatever the situation, it's irrelevant. The intel guy doesn't know whether she has information or not, but he's going to keep trying. :eek: Nasty fellow.

Hold on, Barb. Help isn't likely on its way. :D
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Loxuru said:
Never despair!

But since Barb is captured in the desert, it could be a fata morgana!:devil:
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thehangingtree said:
Hey, they are looking everywhere for her!!!
View attachment 327333
...really...
View attachment 327332
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798788_0d5654f_608x481.jpg Good to know that some of you guys out there still care .... 'cause things are not going well here and are bound to get worse ... new episode coming soon.
 

3. I come around slowly. My eyes flicker once, twice … then open slowly. My fogged brain struggles to remember what happened.

I try to stretch my limbs, but find I am bound to my chair … arms and legs immobilized … and stark naked with the exception of my desert camouflage pants, which have been pulled down and wrapped around my knees.

Groggily, I take stock of my condition. My head buzzes and I feel a bit woozy as I gaze down the length of my body.

Clamped tightly to the crinkly pink flesh of each of my tender nipples is a saw-toothed clip with an electrical wire attached. A third electrical wire protrudes from deep between my thighs. Beneath my bare ass is a puddle of urine, the pungent smell of which assaults my nostrils.

Now it all comes back to me now in a rush. I had been tied to this chair and tortured when I refused to answer questions. I must have passed out. My breasts ache and my clit burns from the electrical shocks inflicted on them.

A cloud of exhaled tobacco smoke clouds my vision. I slowly lift my gaze. The intelligence officer sits on a chair directly in front of me, a lit cigarette in his hand and a contemplative frown on his face.

"Welcome back," he says pleasantly.

My head spins. He goes briefly in and out of focus. When I move the clips on my nipples pull and hurt. Something flashes in my brain, and I answer, "Barbara Moore, private, 7311 ..."

"Save it," he says, cutting me off with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I already have the information I need."

"You mean I ...."

"No, you are a tough one, I’ll give you that private Moore. We shocked you into unconsciousness and you never broke. But, no matter. Your friends were all too happy to sing. Once they had seen what we did to you, they told us everything we needed to know before we could even get the clips on.”

"What did you do to them?" I demand.

"Relax, they are with my men just down the hall, and undoubtedly being shown a very good time," he chuckles and grins wickedly, "The trouble with you American women is that you are so uptight. What you need is some good Iraqi cock. My men are seeing to it as we speak."

As if to underscore his point, I become aware of the sounds of male voices and raucous laughter coming from somewhere nearby … interspersed with distressed female cries and howls.

"What of me?"

"Well that's what's strange," he says holding up an official looking communication memo, "Seems the State secret police … Section 7, Special Bureau of Interrogation and Counter Intelligence of the Mukhabarat … has taken an interest in you for some reason that is beyond me. Perhaps they see some kind of propaganda coup in your capture. In any case, the head of the Mukhabarat, Barzan Hasan … half-brother of Saddam himself … is on his way down here. I am to hold you until he arrives.”

“How long will that take?”

“Not until morning. In the meantime, you might as well join the others. Looks like you could use some good Iraqi cock too.”

He takes a final drag on his cigarette, rises, tosses the butt on the floor and grinds it under the heel of his polished boot, turns to his aides and snaps in English for my benefit, before repeating the order in Arabic, “We are done here. Clean our tight-assed little American friend up, and take her down the hall!”

TO BE CONTINUED
 
Barbaria1 said:
3. I come around slowly. My eyes flicker once, twice … then open slowly. My fogged brain struggles to remember what happened.

I try to stretch my limbs, but find I am bound to my chair … arms and legs immobilized … and stark naked with the exception of my desert camouflage pants, which have been pulled down and wrapped around my knees.

Groggily, I take stock of my condition. My head buzzes and I feel a bit woozy as I gaze down the length of my body.

Clamped tightly to the crinkly pink flesh of each of my tender nipples is a saw-toothed clip with an electrical wire attached. A third electrical wire protrudes from deep between my thighs. Beneath my bare ass is a puddle of urine, the pungent smell of which assaults my nostrils.

Now it all comes back to me now in a rush. I had been tied to this chair and tortured when I refused to answer questions. I must have passed out. My breasts ache and my clit burns from the electrical shocks inflicted on them.

A cloud of exhaled tobacco smoke clouds my vision. I slowly lift my gaze. The intelligence officer sits on a chair directly in front of me, a lit cigarette in his hand and a contemplative frown on his face.

"Welcome back," he says pleasantly.

My head spins. He goes briefly in and out of focus. When I move the clips on my nipples pull and hurt. Something flashes in my brain, and I answer, "Barbara Moore, private, 7311 ..."

"Save it," he says, cutting me off with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I already have the information I need."

"You mean I ...."

"No, you are a tough one, I’ll give you that private Moore. We shocked you into unconsciousness and you never broke. But, no matter. Your friends were all too happy to sing. Once they had seen what we did to you, they told us everything we needed to know before we could even get the clips on.”

"What did you do to them?" I demand.

"Relax, they are with my men just down the hall, and undoubtedly being shown a very good time," he chuckles and grins wickedly, "The trouble with you American women is that you are so uptight. What you need is some good Iraqi cock. My men are seeing to it as we speak."

As if to underscore his point, I become aware of the sounds of male voices and raucous laughter coming from somewhere nearby … interspersed with distressed female cries and howls.

"What of me?"

"Well that's what's strange," he says holding up an official looking communication memo, "Seems the State secret police … Section 7, Special Bureau of Interrogation and Counter Intelligence of the Mukhabarat … has taken an interest in you for some reason that is beyond me. Perhaps they see some kind of propaganda coup in your capture. In any case, the head of the Mukhabarat, Barzan Hasan … half-brother of Saddam himself … is on his way down here. I am to hold you until he arrives.”

“How long will that take?”

“Not until morning. In the meantime, you might as well join the others. Looks like you could use some good Iraqi cock too.”

He takes a final drag on his cigarette, rises, tosses the butt on the floor and grinds it under the heel of his polished boot, turns to his aides and snaps in English for my benefit, before repeating the order in Arabic, “We are done here. Clean our tight-assed little American friend up, and take her down the hall!”

TO BE CONTINUED
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...well this is not a pretty thought. I doubt Barb's tender tits and clit will enjoy the Iraqi cocks at this time...
 
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