Afghan Bound (12 page)

David turned to see Imran smiling broadly after his adventures with the Indian from Bangalore.

Imran observed the red welts on Donna's upturned bottom. ‘I see you have got into the swing of it already, my friend,' he said to David. ‘So you like the cave of darkness too.' The Pakistani banker prodded his thumb into Donna's anus, his passage made easier by David's recent emission. ‘She feels good. Perhaps I should try the same.'

David watched his friend mount her and quickly ejaculate. Donna took it without complaint, even with gratitude. It was infinitely better than another caning.

Shortly after the two men were enjoying a glass of scotch when the door opened and the midget entered. With little in the way of conversation he made his way across to Donna and began unbuckling her bonds.

‘What's going on?' demanded David, unhappy at seeing his American being led away.

‘I said you come earlier. The American is needed elsewhere. I got a group of Iranian's waiting for a piece.'

Donna was shocked, but dared not protest. She hated the Iranians, because they hated the Americans. As she and the midget neared the door she turned and looked imploringly at David. There was nothing he could do to help. A strange feeling shivered through him as he realised there was nothing he wanted to do to help. He was happy the way things were.

Back at Imran's house David was surprised to find Salim up and waiting for them. It was almost three-thirty in the morning, but she was undisturbed by their late appearance.

‘Water and soap,' said Imran. ‘We want to wash.' Turning to David he added, ‘Remove your trousers.'

‘What for? What now?'

Imran was already out of his clothes and sitting on a marble bench, tapping the seat next to him for David. ‘You don't want to go to your bed dirty. Surely not?

‘No,' said a confused and weary David. ‘Obviously not. But—'

‘No buts. Take off your clothes and leave everything to Salim.'

David remembered a time when such instructions would have been ridiculous. It seemed a long time ago now. Inhibitions and taboos were a thing of the past. He'd seen new peoples, new ways, new ideas. He was growing accustomed to once alien thoughts, and with little more ado he shed his clothes and joined Imran on the bench.

Salim appeared a moment or two later carrying a large tray of fresh tea, a bowl of water, and some soap and towels. She handed them the towels and started on Imran first. After lathering her hands she gently took her husband's penis, covering it with softly perfumed suds. She massaged the soap around his flaccid penis, washing it perfectly clean before lifting his legs to wash his testicles and bottom.

‘Calsoom has been sold,' he informed her. Salim nodded, then asked who had purchased her daughter.

‘Zulfiqar, the spice merchant. He paid a handsome price.'

‘That is good,' answered Salim, whilst matter-of-factly rinsing the soap from his private parts. ‘She will make him a good wife.'

Imran handed his empty cup to her. ‘We have had a lot of good fortune since David entered our house. Tonight we witnessed the sale of Calsoom, and then celebrated at the International Club. I think David enjoyed it.'

David nodded his confirmation. ‘I enjoyed it very much.' His loins tingled at the memories, of Calsoom's naked examination, and of the submissive Donna. He coloured a little as his penis stirred, but there was little he could do to hide or resist it, especially when Salim's warm soapy fingers peeled back his foreskin and began to wash him. She appeared not to notice his erect condition, but continued the ablutions with great care, making David all the more embarrassed at being unable to control himself.

He wondered if Imran would be offended by his behaviour, but the host said nothing. Salim dried them both and took away the utensils, returning with fresh drinks.

‘Will that be all?' she asked.

‘Not quite,' said Imran. ‘Our guest still has an erection. It would be impolite to leave him in such a state.'

‘No – that's all right,' David stammered. ‘I'm fine, no problem.'

‘Nonsense,' Imran smiled. ‘Salim will take care of you.' He turned to his wife. ‘Take off your clothes.'

David felt uncomfortable that Salim was made to strip for him, and tried to remonstrate. But Imran was adamant, assuring David that it was the least she should do for their welcome guest.

Salim was now all but nude. Only her ever-present mask remained as she stood for David's inspection. As he expected, Salim's body was devoid of any hair. Her pubic mound was smooth and slick, as it would appear were all females in this part of the world, or at least those who belonged to their religion – the religion of natural domination.

Her looks denied her years. Even though Calsoom was now seventeen Salim had kept a firm body. Her breasts still held their shape and there was little extra weight on her thighs. David leaned forward and ran his hands gently between her legs, returning the soft touches with which she had washed him. The wetness of her inner lips told him she would be easy to penetrate.

‘You cannot make love to her, I'm afraid,' said Imran. ‘She was a virgin when I bought her, and I am the only man who has known her in that way.' David felt somewhat cheated now that his desires had been inflamed, but he warmed to the knowledge that Salim was to use her mouth as compensation.

‘You will discover now,' said Imran, ‘that those initial lessons provided by Ayub are more than worthwhile.'

Salim's mouth encased David in warm moist flesh that squeezed around the length of his engorged penis. Her tongue flicked and darted, and David was immediately lost in the most fantastic sensations ever. He wanted it to last – to go on forever, but the excitement grew stronger every time he slipped deeper into her throat. No man could resist this – no man would resist this. With a great shudder and a cry of relief he expelled bolts of hot sperm into her mouth. She dutifully swallowed every drop, and then knelt back, eyes downcast.

‘Now,' said Imran to his wife. ‘You may retire to your bed.'

During the coming week David's time was spent in interviews with representatives from the Embassy by day, and at the International Club by night. He retold the events leading to his capture by the Mujahadeen and about the Russian designs to make him work for them time and again. The Embassy talked about making a complaint to the Russians, but there would be a diplomatic incident, and David didn't want that. The Russians probably thought he had been killed in the attack on Herat, and that seemed the safest way to be; presumed dead.

On his third visit to the Club David learned that Donna from San Diego had tried to make a break for it with a Japanese businessman. She never made it. The pair were picked up by Mohammed Khan's henchmen on their way to the American Embassy. They had made the mistake of hailing a taxi owned by Khan. The driver had recognised them straight away and taken them directly to the gangster's yacht. The foolish Oriental gentleman had not been seen or heard of since.

It was in the drug baron's interest to ensure the Club stayed open and safe. He laundered a lot of his money through it and the midget also paid good money if he needed a girl delivered to a customer outside the country.

On sale already in the International Club was a video starring Donna. For those who chose not to buy the film, it was playing in the Green lounge every night for the next week. The thought of getting caught taking such a film through British customs was too daunting for David to even consider purchasing a personal copy. Despite guessing the content of the film he found himself seated in front of the large screen, a hookah by his side, a scotch and water in hand.

There were no credits to speak of, just an Urdu title that gave way almost immediately to the action. The opening scene could have been from a travel guide. A beautiful golden beach bordering lush vegetation that formed a verdant carpet at the foot of the mountains beyond. The camera panned around to the stern of the yacht. Into frame came a real babe; a blonde bombshell in white bra and panties. It was Donna from San Diego, and she looked remarkably well.

A voice spat an order and she made her way forward to where a sundeck spread out white and blinding in the sunshine. She stopped and looked apprehensive. Someone stepped into frame from behind the camera. He looked like one of the crew, and was carrying a severe looking knife.

The flimsy bra fell to the deck as the blade sliced through the light cotton strap. Then the glinting steel slid up her thigh and removed her panties with equally contemptuous ease. Another man appeared and Donna was made to lie on her back on the sun-bleached deck. The two men spread her legs and tied her ankles to the gleaming handrails. As she lay helpless beneath the scorching sun one of the men scraped away the light growth of hair that had appeared since her escape from the Club. Once satisfied, his accomplice rubbed oil into her smooth mound. The picture faded – end of scene.

David already found the film disturbing, and suspected there was a lot worse to come. He decided to watch no more. As he left the Green lounge he was glad to hear from a man he didn't know that Donna was okay, and doing rather well for herself on Khan's yacht. That cheered him greatly.

After two more drinks he decided on the nationality he fancied for tonight's fun. Since frequenting the Club he'd screwed a German from Frankfurt, a Greek, a Norwegian, a Brazilian, and a gorgeous girl from the Cameroon whose supple body and tight vagina had to be experienced to be believed. Clubs back home were never going to live up to this, and he somehow doubted that British hospitality could ever compare to the nightly ‘cleansing' provided by Salim. But home was after all home, and he knew the time to return was drawing near.

Imran assured David there would be no trouble in transferring his money to London.

‘It will be there before you,' he said confidently. ‘You will be a rich man, mark my words.' David thanked him profusely and tried to force a wad of notes into his hand, but Imran pulled away. ‘Do not offend me my friend. If I ever come to England I know you will offer the same hospitality to me. Now, get upon your way.'

It was a long flight, and there seemed to be nobody on the plane who spoke English. Not surprisingly the film was also in Urdu. The only thing David could do was read, and the only literature he had with him was the papers on interrogation techniques given to him by Petr the day he was killed. He'd kept them, because as a doctor his interest was aroused. Also, as a man with his recent experiences, reading it was a must. He had a lot to learn.

It was almost a year since he had left from Heathrow. It was raining then and little had changed. Behind him was the heat of Afghanistan and Pakistan, and in front of him sloshed windswept, rain sodden England. It was good to be home.

As Imran had promised, the money was safe in the bank and David was indeed a wealthy man. He took a flat in London and spent the next three months doing the rounds of the city night-clubs. He enjoyed himself, but something was lacking. One night more than the others brought home to him just how different British women were to those he had met in the East. He was having a drink in a pub near Kings Cross. He had no designs on the opposite sex that evening; just a drink – pure and simple.

‘Do you have a light?' asked a pleasant voice.

‘Certainly.' David had answered before offering his lighter.

She drew hard on the cigarette, and then blew a cloud of blue smoke into the hazy pub atmosphere. David watched with appreciation but no expectation; after all, she had only asked if he could light her cigarette. She was middle-aged. Her hair was blonde and bobbed at the neck and she wore expensive clothes; a light knee-length skirt and box jacket, and a white blouse.

‘Do you mind if I sit?' She returned the lighter and joined him before he had a chance to reply. ‘I hate office do's, don't you?'

David followed the direction of his newfound companion's wave to a group of half inebriated women. One of them, an overtly dressed woman of about fifty with heavy mascara and a skirt around her arse, shouted over as the group headed for the door.

‘Ready, Immy? We're doing Scruffy Murphy's, then The Church of Sound.'

‘You go ahead,' Immy replied. ‘Too much to drink. I've got a bit of a thick head. Catch you at The Church.' She turned to David. ‘I've not seen you here before. Are you working in the area? Or just moved here perhaps?'

‘Neither.'

‘On holiday then?'

‘Lots of questions,' said David.

‘I hate drinking with people I don't know.'

David lifted his glass but didn't drink. ‘That's a lot of hate for a pretty women.'

She threw him a questioning look.

‘You hate office parties, you hate drinking with strangers.'

‘Oh that,' she said, shaking an empty glass in the air. ‘Figure of speech. Anyway, I'm not drinking at all.'

David understood the message. ‘Right, of course. What would you like?'

‘A blue moon.' She paused a moment. ‘But not here. Lets go someplace else.'