Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Actually, Kiwi is a slang arabic insult meaning literally "lost down under."
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The Nazi Lust Ordeal of the Virgin Belly Dancer
- Thread starter Praefectus Praetorio
- Start date
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
1957 Holly Calendar Pinup by Ted Withers
Another of his "harem" girls
Another of his "harem" girls
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Chapter Fourteen – Abdullah Can Wait No Longer.
The sun had set and Abdullah had finished his 100th du’a. He could contain himself no longer. He had to see his Aisha.
Asthif had taken seventy-five riflemen with him on the aihtiram. But there remained over four times that number in the three neighboring camps of the tribe. Abdullah gathered about sixty of his best young fighters to go with him. These men had grown up with him and were intensely loyal to their future leader. He could rely on them implicitly.
Abdullah ordered that they prepare the best camels in camp with the finest of trappings. The men also were told to dress in their best clothes. He wanted to show great respect to his new father-in-law. Part of that display of respect demanded that the group be heavily armed with rifles and swords. Abdullah himself buckled on the jeweled curved dagger his father had given him as a sign of his readiness to lead at his twenty-first birthday.
Once ready, the group set out to the camp of Sheikh Omar. The Bedouins had no fear of riding the desert in the darkness of a moonless night.
The sun had set and Abdullah had finished his 100th du’a. He could contain himself no longer. He had to see his Aisha.
Asthif had taken seventy-five riflemen with him on the aihtiram. But there remained over four times that number in the three neighboring camps of the tribe. Abdullah gathered about sixty of his best young fighters to go with him. These men had grown up with him and were intensely loyal to their future leader. He could rely on them implicitly.
Abdullah ordered that they prepare the best camels in camp with the finest of trappings. The men also were told to dress in their best clothes. He wanted to show great respect to his new father-in-law. Part of that display of respect demanded that the group be heavily armed with rifles and swords. Abdullah himself buckled on the jeweled curved dagger his father had given him as a sign of his readiness to lead at his twenty-first birthday.
Once ready, the group set out to the camp of Sheikh Omar. The Bedouins had no fear of riding the desert in the darkness of a moonless night.
nice clothes for the weather we're having, the light gauze wafting loosely
around my breasts, hips and legs would be pleasantly cooling ...
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Help is on the way!
Will it be in time?
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
You've been waiting for Aisha's Dance. Hope it doesn't disappoint.
Chapter Fifteen – A Magical Dancer
Tariq called to the musicians outside to begin. The three simple instruments (unchanged in Bedouin culture for many hundreds of years), combined with a droning chant, were not intended to play melodies or chords as Western music contains, but to provide a beat and rhythm to the dance. Notes existed merely to punctuate the beat. The tempo varied as the players would mount a crescendo of faster play then slow and unravel the music to a languid timing marked with staccato drum beats.
The slim, petite girl stood alone in the center of the tent, arms entwined above her head, motionless. Almost imperceptibly, her body began to move, swaying ever so slightly with the insistent beat of the music. Gradually, the motions increased, parts of her body began to move separately, her arms lowering and curling to frame her upper body. Her feet, which at first had seemed fixed, were stepping ever so delicately, adding to her movement and weaving of her arms.
Aisha twirled, bowed, flexed backwards, and moved her hips in all directions. The contortions of the young, female body, though fully draped, were highly suggestive and erotic.
The hypnotic rhythm of the music slowly sped up and Aisha’s body, as if controlled by each note of each instrument, sped up with it. The loose scarves swayed with the dance, covering her body but enhancing the motion as waves of color undulating to the beat.
Her sweet arms were unfolded on the air like floating flowers, and, in the gradual bending of her small hands, there lurked a grace that no man could withstand. The rocking and pumping of her hips made her veils shimmer in the light. The men lustily imagined how her body would move with them.
The music accelerated to a rapid beat with the girl moving, spinning and thrusting to the sounds. Then, the string and recorder abruptly halted, as did the dancer. The drum continued to beat a slow, erratic tattoo. With each solitary beat, Aisha’s hips thrust, forward and back, side to side, her hands weaving the air like an orchestra conductor. Though she was an innocent virgin and fully covered by veils, Aisha projected a hot sensuality that drove the men to a state of high arousal.
The German Officers knew nothing of this art form, but they recognized that they were watching a consummate artist who could weave a magic spell with the palette of colored fabric in motion.
Chapter Fifteen – A Magical Dancer
Tariq called to the musicians outside to begin. The three simple instruments (unchanged in Bedouin culture for many hundreds of years), combined with a droning chant, were not intended to play melodies or chords as Western music contains, but to provide a beat and rhythm to the dance. Notes existed merely to punctuate the beat. The tempo varied as the players would mount a crescendo of faster play then slow and unravel the music to a languid timing marked with staccato drum beats.
The slim, petite girl stood alone in the center of the tent, arms entwined above her head, motionless. Almost imperceptibly, her body began to move, swaying ever so slightly with the insistent beat of the music. Gradually, the motions increased, parts of her body began to move separately, her arms lowering and curling to frame her upper body. Her feet, which at first had seemed fixed, were stepping ever so delicately, adding to her movement and weaving of her arms.
Aisha twirled, bowed, flexed backwards, and moved her hips in all directions. The contortions of the young, female body, though fully draped, were highly suggestive and erotic.
The hypnotic rhythm of the music slowly sped up and Aisha’s body, as if controlled by each note of each instrument, sped up with it. The loose scarves swayed with the dance, covering her body but enhancing the motion as waves of color undulating to the beat.
Her sweet arms were unfolded on the air like floating flowers, and, in the gradual bending of her small hands, there lurked a grace that no man could withstand. The rocking and pumping of her hips made her veils shimmer in the light. The men lustily imagined how her body would move with them.
The music accelerated to a rapid beat with the girl moving, spinning and thrusting to the sounds. Then, the string and recorder abruptly halted, as did the dancer. The drum continued to beat a slow, erratic tattoo. With each solitary beat, Aisha’s hips thrust, forward and back, side to side, her hands weaving the air like an orchestra conductor. Though she was an innocent virgin and fully covered by veils, Aisha projected a hot sensuality that drove the men to a state of high arousal.
The German Officers knew nothing of this art form, but they recognized that they were watching a consummate artist who could weave a magic spell with the palette of colored fabric in motion.
Jackie1111
Tribune
Good job, PP. Was there some reason you placed the musicians outside the tent? I ask only because I've always found it interesting (and kind of sexy) when the dancer seems to interact with the musicians.
Syrena Nikole (should you want to see a very sexy belly dancer, look her up on youtube):
Syrena Nikole (should you want to see a very sexy belly dancer, look her up on youtube):
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Thank you, jackie, for the kind words. The Nazis wanted to have as few as possible in the tent, both for privacy of what is to come and to make Aisha feel more alone and isolated. There is more dancing and more torment to come.Good job, PP. Was there some reason you placed the musicians outside the tent? I ask only because I've always found it interesting (and kind of sexy) when the dancer seems to interact with the musicians.
Syrena Nikole (should you want to see a very sexy belly dancer, look her up on youtube):
Jackie1111
Tribune
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Soon we will learn of the important difference between the general Raqs sharqi and the more specific raqsat alhijab. Eventually we might encounter the raqsat shakhatt, particularly appropriate for a young bride like Aisha.
For the purists out there, here is a recording of a traditional Omani Khaleegy ("Gulf" refers to the music of the Persian Gulf Area) folk song of the type to accompany dancing:
For the purists out there, here is a recording of a traditional Omani Khaleegy ("Gulf" refers to the music of the Persian Gulf Area) folk song of the type to accompany dancing:
Last edited:
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Chapter Sixteen – The Guests Are Not Satisfied
The music ended and Aisha stood still, panting from the exertion. The “guests” all applauded enthusiastically. Yawlali went to Aisha and lead her back to her seat by her father.
“Pardon me, Sheikh,” the Captain said to Omar, but it is my understanding that the traditional Raqs alhijab includes the slow shedding of the colored veils to fully reveal the dancer’s face and body underneath. Does your daughter intend to insult us and cheat us of the best part of the performance?
Aisha’s blood ran cold and Omar felt like a dagger had been thrust into his heart. How did these foreigners know so much of our customs? He shot a look of hate at Tariq, who blithely ignored him. Indeed, the German Captain was right. The stripping part of the dance was usually reserved for family and intimate friends. However, hospitality gave him no way to refuse the honor to a guest who asked for it. And Omar was also becoming convinced that these men would take what they wanted whether granted or not.
The slave-maid Yawlali, holding her mistress protectively in her arms, could take no more and blurted out,
“Adhhab 'iilaa aljahim! Al'amirat la tuadiy lilkhanazir! [Go to Hell! The Princess doesn’t perform for pigs!]”
Omar and Tariq caught their breath at the rude and violent outburst. The Nazis just laughed when it was translated.
“Is this the way your slaves speak to your guests, Sheikh Omar? Don’t you punish such behavior?
“No, no, it is not proper for a slave to speak here at all and never to insult a guest. You have transgressed, Yawlali. I shall think of how to punish you later.”
“I’ll save you the bother, Sheikh,” Herman interjected, calling outside. Three soldiers entered.
“The Sheikh wants that slave woman punished severely for insulting us. Take her out and have the men do so. Make her scream.” The men pulled Yawlali from the arms of Aisha and dragged her outside into the dark, punching and kicking her as she fought back like a mad woman.
“There you go, Sheikh.,” said Rudolf, calmly, as if nothing untoward had happened. The quick, brutal removal of the slave made clear the willingness of the ‘guests’ to take what they wanted. “My men will take care of that for you. We wish to be good, helpful guests. Now, are we to be cheated of the full entertainment or not.?”
Shaken at the sudden and casual savagery of these men, Omar prayed that observing polite forms might keep them to some kind of limit. Better to keep them happy and pleased and pray to Allah that they would soon need to leave.
“My daughter would never dream of cheating such honored guests. She was just showing you the first part so you might better appreciate the enhancement of the dance of the veils. Please, my child, I order you. You must perform the raqsat alhijab for my guests.”
"raqsat alhijab" dance of the (shedding of the) veils
The music ended and Aisha stood still, panting from the exertion. The “guests” all applauded enthusiastically. Yawlali went to Aisha and lead her back to her seat by her father.
“Pardon me, Sheikh,” the Captain said to Omar, but it is my understanding that the traditional Raqs alhijab includes the slow shedding of the colored veils to fully reveal the dancer’s face and body underneath. Does your daughter intend to insult us and cheat us of the best part of the performance?
Aisha’s blood ran cold and Omar felt like a dagger had been thrust into his heart. How did these foreigners know so much of our customs? He shot a look of hate at Tariq, who blithely ignored him. Indeed, the German Captain was right. The stripping part of the dance was usually reserved for family and intimate friends. However, hospitality gave him no way to refuse the honor to a guest who asked for it. And Omar was also becoming convinced that these men would take what they wanted whether granted or not.
The slave-maid Yawlali, holding her mistress protectively in her arms, could take no more and blurted out,
“Adhhab 'iilaa aljahim! Al'amirat la tuadiy lilkhanazir! [Go to Hell! The Princess doesn’t perform for pigs!]”
Omar and Tariq caught their breath at the rude and violent outburst. The Nazis just laughed when it was translated.
“Is this the way your slaves speak to your guests, Sheikh Omar? Don’t you punish such behavior?
“No, no, it is not proper for a slave to speak here at all and never to insult a guest. You have transgressed, Yawlali. I shall think of how to punish you later.”
“I’ll save you the bother, Sheikh,” Herman interjected, calling outside. Three soldiers entered.
“The Sheikh wants that slave woman punished severely for insulting us. Take her out and have the men do so. Make her scream.” The men pulled Yawlali from the arms of Aisha and dragged her outside into the dark, punching and kicking her as she fought back like a mad woman.
“There you go, Sheikh.,” said Rudolf, calmly, as if nothing untoward had happened. The quick, brutal removal of the slave made clear the willingness of the ‘guests’ to take what they wanted. “My men will take care of that for you. We wish to be good, helpful guests. Now, are we to be cheated of the full entertainment or not.?”
Shaken at the sudden and casual savagery of these men, Omar prayed that observing polite forms might keep them to some kind of limit. Better to keep them happy and pleased and pray to Allah that they would soon need to leave.
“My daughter would never dream of cheating such honored guests. She was just showing you the first part so you might better appreciate the enhancement of the dance of the veils. Please, my child, I order you. You must perform the raqsat alhijab for my guests.”
"raqsat alhijab" dance of the (shedding of the) veils
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
This i not a second story post today. It is not part of the story and is not required to follow the story. However, several have expressed privately curiosity about the slave-maid Yawlali.
She was born in 1912 in Bombay, India. Her father was a mid-level English official in the Diplomatic Corps and her Scottish mother was a school teacher. She had a pleasant childhood until shortly after her eighth birthday, when the great Influenza epidemic swept through India, killing between ten and twenty million souls, two of which were her parents. As an orphan, she was raised rather reluctantly and ungenerously by other members of the British colonial establishment. They were anxious to be rid of the rather rambunctious little girl.
Communications went back and forth to Britain over a period of several years and finally, an aunt and uncle in the Scottish Lowlands agreed to take her in. By that time, 1925, the girl was beginning to enter adolescence and was an even greater headache to her foster families. They gladly shipped her off on the first tramp steamer they could find with an eventual destination of Glasgow. On May 15, 1925, at the peak of the typhoon season in the Northern Indian Ocean, the freighter sank on the rocks on the southern coast of Oman, near Mirbat. The few survivors, including the girl, found their way ashore only to be taken prisoner by a local band of Arab Slavers. They started off on a trek across the desert to the rich slave markets in Dubai.
This caravan came by the encampment of Sheikh Omar. His wife, Fatima, was a very kind-hearted, compassionate woman. When she saw the slavers with their captives, her heart went out to the little girl. The clothes she’d worn coming out of the surf two weeks ago were all she had and they hung in tatters from her body. Her wrists were bound behind her and she was led by a rope round her neck like an animal. Her body showed numerous welts and bruises and other sign of abuse. Yet Fatima saw strength and determination in the child.
Fatima had been looking for a maid to help with her one-year-old daughter, Aisha. She prevailed on Omar, who could refuse her nothing, to buy the slave girl. And so Yawlali, as Fatima named her (meaning steadfast), came into a loving and gentle home.
She was born in 1912 in Bombay, India. Her father was a mid-level English official in the Diplomatic Corps and her Scottish mother was a school teacher. She had a pleasant childhood until shortly after her eighth birthday, when the great Influenza epidemic swept through India, killing between ten and twenty million souls, two of which were her parents. As an orphan, she was raised rather reluctantly and ungenerously by other members of the British colonial establishment. They were anxious to be rid of the rather rambunctious little girl.
Communications went back and forth to Britain over a period of several years and finally, an aunt and uncle in the Scottish Lowlands agreed to take her in. By that time, 1925, the girl was beginning to enter adolescence and was an even greater headache to her foster families. They gladly shipped her off on the first tramp steamer they could find with an eventual destination of Glasgow. On May 15, 1925, at the peak of the typhoon season in the Northern Indian Ocean, the freighter sank on the rocks on the southern coast of Oman, near Mirbat. The few survivors, including the girl, found their way ashore only to be taken prisoner by a local band of Arab Slavers. They started off on a trek across the desert to the rich slave markets in Dubai.
This caravan came by the encampment of Sheikh Omar. His wife, Fatima, was a very kind-hearted, compassionate woman. When she saw the slavers with their captives, her heart went out to the little girl. The clothes she’d worn coming out of the surf two weeks ago were all she had and they hung in tatters from her body. Her wrists were bound behind her and she was led by a rope round her neck like an animal. Her body showed numerous welts and bruises and other sign of abuse. Yet Fatima saw strength and determination in the child.
Fatima had been looking for a maid to help with her one-year-old daughter, Aisha. She prevailed on Omar, who could refuse her nothing, to buy the slave girl. And so Yawlali, as Fatima named her (meaning steadfast), came into a loving and gentle home.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
What might that wish be? To escape?
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
If only Sheikh Omar had that power now, he would use it.I was thinking more on the lines of a head on a platter
Tradition be damned! But it's only going to get worse.
Much worse!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Chapter Seventeen - Something is Wrong.
Just as Omar’s camp came into view, Abdullah signaled his men to halt. His Bedouin senses told him something was wrong. Bright bonfires illuminated the sky and loud voices could be heard. The usual night watchman on the incoming paths were missing.
Sending his two best scouts ahead to sneak up on the camp and report, Abdullah ordered the rest to dismount and wait. The camels were tied together with a small group to handle them and the other men grabbed their weapons.
Abdullah’s experience as a leader of men came to the fore as he made preparations for whatever his scouts reported. He called to his side his three closest friends, his Marafiq [companions sworn to follow each other to the death] to discuss the situation and make plans. As the minutes went by, it took all his willpower to wait for the scouts. His heart cried out to make sure Aisha was safe. Finally, dim in the darkness, silhouetted against the distant bonfires, the two men were seen hurrying back
Just as Omar’s camp came into view, Abdullah signaled his men to halt. His Bedouin senses told him something was wrong. Bright bonfires illuminated the sky and loud voices could be heard. The usual night watchman on the incoming paths were missing.
Sending his two best scouts ahead to sneak up on the camp and report, Abdullah ordered the rest to dismount and wait. The camels were tied together with a small group to handle them and the other men grabbed their weapons.
Abdullah’s experience as a leader of men came to the fore as he made preparations for whatever his scouts reported. He called to his side his three closest friends, his Marafiq [companions sworn to follow each other to the death] to discuss the situation and make plans. As the minutes went by, it took all his willpower to wait for the scouts. His heart cried out to make sure Aisha was safe. Finally, dim in the darkness, silhouetted against the distant bonfires, the two men were seen hurrying back
Jon Smithie
Tribune
Personally, I'm good with any of these, but since a sheikh's wife should have an eye to both economy and simplicity, I'd vote for the one who used the least amount of material to make her costume.Thank You. Konstantin Razumov, one of my favorites -) does an almost perfect job of depicting the sensual harem girl. I might ask the readers, which one seems closest to Aisha in their imagination?
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Chapter Eighteen – The Raqsat Alhijab
Shy Aisha blushed deeply behind her veil at the request. Her eyes looked pleadingly at her father, but he could offer no relief. Aisha always obeyed her father. She slowly arose and turned back, walked to the center of the tent and assumed the customary pose still panting from the earlier dance.
The music started again and her dance resumed. The three men watched eagerly for the girl to reveal her lovely, young body.
The music was as before. Now, however, the suggested sensuality would be explicit and the veiled eroticism would be uncovered.
Aisha slowly built speed while riding the rhythm waves of the music. Her long black hair danced round her with each charmed movement she made.
Teasingly, she began the ritual removal of the many veils. One at a time, she would grab a veil and draw it out of its tuck in her inner costume, releasing it and tossing it in the air in time with the music and her own body movements. A flash of color rising and then falling languidly to the floor.
At first, discarded veils seemed only to suggest the erotic exposure to come as many veils still undulated over her body. However, as another and another and another floated away, fleeting glimpses of skin were offered. What was brief and teasing, became more prolonged and explicit.
The dance pulsed her body and floated her arms among the pastel veils. Aisha’s thin, curved legs were exposed and the men could see the muscles flexing sensuously in her dance.
The dance moved to its rhythmic peak and the veils fell round her like thin coiling mists shot through with topaz, amethysts and rubies. Of a sudden it paused, leaving only the drum with slow, demanded beats to move her hips in thrusts of sexual abandon. Now, with only a few veils remaining the men could see her lovely body, sheened with sweat, presented, half naked, for their lust.
Aisha’s top was a small, light silk bra with green and blue swirl pattern which easily contained her modest breasts. Her bottom was a loincloth with a hip hugger, in the same green color of her face veil and bra. Festooned with semi-precious stones and large rings and strings to emphasize her hip movements, it somewhat covered her hips, but dipped as low in front and back as allowed without total loss of modesty. Her flat naked midsection with a deep-set navel pulsed and swayed and jerked with her movements, riveting the lewd attention of the men.
At last, the dance came to its end; all the veils lay in a brightly covered pile circling the girl whose sweat sheened body was fully displayed to the onlookers. Panting with the exercise, Aisha was flushed with heat and embarrassment. But at least her dance was over. She turned and hurried to her father’s arms. The girl’s Nazi Lust Ordeal, however, was far from over.
Shy Aisha blushed deeply behind her veil at the request. Her eyes looked pleadingly at her father, but he could offer no relief. Aisha always obeyed her father. She slowly arose and turned back, walked to the center of the tent and assumed the customary pose still panting from the earlier dance.
The music started again and her dance resumed. The three men watched eagerly for the girl to reveal her lovely, young body.
The music was as before. Now, however, the suggested sensuality would be explicit and the veiled eroticism would be uncovered.
Aisha slowly built speed while riding the rhythm waves of the music. Her long black hair danced round her with each charmed movement she made.
Teasingly, she began the ritual removal of the many veils. One at a time, she would grab a veil and draw it out of its tuck in her inner costume, releasing it and tossing it in the air in time with the music and her own body movements. A flash of color rising and then falling languidly to the floor.
At first, discarded veils seemed only to suggest the erotic exposure to come as many veils still undulated over her body. However, as another and another and another floated away, fleeting glimpses of skin were offered. What was brief and teasing, became more prolonged and explicit.
The dance pulsed her body and floated her arms among the pastel veils. Aisha’s thin, curved legs were exposed and the men could see the muscles flexing sensuously in her dance.
The dance moved to its rhythmic peak and the veils fell round her like thin coiling mists shot through with topaz, amethysts and rubies. Of a sudden it paused, leaving only the drum with slow, demanded beats to move her hips in thrusts of sexual abandon. Now, with only a few veils remaining the men could see her lovely body, sheened with sweat, presented, half naked, for their lust.
Aisha’s top was a small, light silk bra with green and blue swirl pattern which easily contained her modest breasts. Her bottom was a loincloth with a hip hugger, in the same green color of her face veil and bra. Festooned with semi-precious stones and large rings and strings to emphasize her hip movements, it somewhat covered her hips, but dipped as low in front and back as allowed without total loss of modesty. Her flat naked midsection with a deep-set navel pulsed and swayed and jerked with her movements, riveting the lewd attention of the men.
At last, the dance came to its end; all the veils lay in a brightly covered pile circling the girl whose sweat sheened body was fully displayed to the onlookers. Panting with the exercise, Aisha was flushed with heat and embarrassment. But at least her dance was over. She turned and hurried to her father’s arms. The girl’s Nazi Lust Ordeal, however, was far from over.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Chapter Nineteen - Yawlali Will Not Be Broken
As the three soldiers dragged Yawlali from the tent, she still fought them. She was like a hell-cat trying to escape and protect her young. Two of the men grabbed an arm each and stood her between them. The third drove his fist into her jaw, staggering her. Before she could react, he drove a quick one-two combination into her midsection, doubling her over. The other two jerked her back upright so the third could continue pounding her. Five minutes later, she hung, stunned, bruised and weak, between the two others.
Next, they stripped her of her few slave clothes and enjoyed fondling her toned body as they dragged her toward the bonfire. They called together a group of soldiers to arrange for her “punishment.” Yawlali was laid on the ground in the center of four stout posts that a had been driven into the ground. Her wrists and ankles were tied to ropes at the top of the posts and drawn tight, just short of lifting her off the ground. They then took turns raping her, vaginally and anally, while others beat her with their belts.
Yawlali may have been been submissive, but only to masters who earned her respect. The love and discipline from Aisha’s mother had been like a drug to the young girl. She had learned to relish the role of slave. But Yawlali was fiercely loyal and she had no respect for these rude thugs who imagined they're the master race!
She lay in agony, marshalling her will-power. She couldn’t help her poor child Aisha now. She probably wouldn’t even be alive much longer. But for the first time since she had arrived at the camp of Omar, she had to be defiant, not submissive. She wasn’t going to give these bastards any more satisfaction than necessary. She would curse them as long as she could. She would cry as little as she could. Yawlali knew both of those had their limits as they brutally worked her over. A moment later a cry of pain was torn from her lips as a belt buckle cut her left breast, almost tearing off the nipple!
But one thing she wouldn’t ever do. One thing they never could force from her. She would never beg!
As the three soldiers dragged Yawlali from the tent, she still fought them. She was like a hell-cat trying to escape and protect her young. Two of the men grabbed an arm each and stood her between them. The third drove his fist into her jaw, staggering her. Before she could react, he drove a quick one-two combination into her midsection, doubling her over. The other two jerked her back upright so the third could continue pounding her. Five minutes later, she hung, stunned, bruised and weak, between the two others.
Next, they stripped her of her few slave clothes and enjoyed fondling her toned body as they dragged her toward the bonfire. They called together a group of soldiers to arrange for her “punishment.” Yawlali was laid on the ground in the center of four stout posts that a had been driven into the ground. Her wrists and ankles were tied to ropes at the top of the posts and drawn tight, just short of lifting her off the ground. They then took turns raping her, vaginally and anally, while others beat her with their belts.
Yawlali may have been been submissive, but only to masters who earned her respect. The love and discipline from Aisha’s mother had been like a drug to the young girl. She had learned to relish the role of slave. But Yawlali was fiercely loyal and she had no respect for these rude thugs who imagined they're the master race!
She lay in agony, marshalling her will-power. She couldn’t help her poor child Aisha now. She probably wouldn’t even be alive much longer. But for the first time since she had arrived at the camp of Omar, she had to be defiant, not submissive. She wasn’t going to give these bastards any more satisfaction than necessary. She would curse them as long as she could. She would cry as little as she could. Yawlali knew both of those had their limits as they brutally worked her over. A moment later a cry of pain was torn from her lips as a belt buckle cut her left breast, almost tearing off the nipple!
But one thing she wouldn’t ever do. One thing they never could force from her. She would never beg!