Afghan Bound (2 page)

‘Does she use her mouth now?' Paul asked.

David shrugged with an air of nonchalance and said, ‘Try her.'

‘Charlie,' coughed Paul nervously, his voice suddenly hoarse with excitement. ‘Come here, take my cock out of my trousers, and put it in your mouth.' His new slave crawled to him on hands and knees, knelt between his legs, and did exactly as was instructed. Paul watched with amazement as his wife, the very woman once so disgusted by the act of fellatio, sucked and kissed adoringly along the length of his rapidly swelling muscle. ‘What of the rest?' he panted.

David downed the rest of his whisky and spoke very matter-of-factly. ‘I've relaxed her anus and removed any inhibitions in that direction. Your wish is her command, Paul, your desire her desire, your pleasure her very reason for living.'

‘And what of the labial restraints? Did you manage those?'

‘They are in place, as we discussed.'

‘Stand up,' commanded Paul. ‘I want to see your Venus Rings.'

Across the hallway Justin was searching for some ice to take the sting out of his Glenfiddich. Realising there was none he made for the other room to enquire of the kitchen, but stopped dead in his tracks at the foot of the stairs. Through the gap in the doorjamb he saw Charlie standing in a tight waspie and stockings while David and her husband examined two golden rings that hung from her labia. Thoughts of fetching any ice soon melted at the sight of the two men tugging at the golden circles that dangled and glistened between her legs. Unbelievably Charlie appeared detached from the entire scene, staring straight ahead. No, not straight ahead, she was actually watching him as he surveyed the close examination of her body. She had spotted him spying on them and simply stood there, silent and accepting.

God! Justin screamed to himself. What were they doing with her?

Suddenly Paul finished toying with the metal rings and asked to see his hallmark. At his instruction Charlie bent forward and pushed out her arse for the two men to study.

‘Excellent artistry, don't you agree?' said David.

Paul moved closer still, inspecting the family crest that now adorned his wife's bottom. ‘I have to congratulate you, David. It's perfect, and completely healed.'

David looked pleased at his customer's obvious approval. ‘It's a new technique. I bought a specialist pump from the Far East that blows the ink under the skin, no needles. There's hardly any damage to the epidermis.'

The two men continued with their inspection for some time while Charlie watched Justin watching her. There was no way he could have known it, but she hadn't been given permission to speak.

When Paul finished his examination he told Charlie to dress, and then turned to David. ‘You've done a wonderful job,' he gushed, shaking him by the hand. ‘Now, if you'll sign her back over to me we'll be on our way.'

David pulled a document from his jacket pocket, laid it out on top of the piano, and they both signed it.

The show over, Justin returned to the morning room without his ice. Nonetheless he felt the need for another whisky and poured a generous measure, from which he took a large and satisfying gulp. But the door opening and the announcement that Paul and Charlie were about to leave interrupted his second drink.

‘They wanted to say goodbye,' David informed him.

Charlie looked Justin straight in the eye as she said her farewell. Of the earlier incident she said nothing. There was no hint of embarrassment; that was an emotion her month's training had taught her to do without.

‘Well now, let's get some food sorted out,' said David after they had departed. They took salad out to the large wooden table at the front of the house where they ate and drank and chatted about their separate lives. It was obvious to Justin however that his friend was holding something back. The images of Charlie bent over and allowing such an intimate examination without the slightest morsel of self-consciousness played over and over in his mind. Sooner or later he would have to mention it; curiosity, as it always does, would get the upper hand.

They talked until the sun, unlike that young woman he'd just seen, blushed a deep red and began its quiet descent into the sea, allowing a cool breeze to blow in. It had been a hot balmy day which meant the night appeared colder for it. Finally the two retreated to the comfort of the sitting room where David took a match to the kindling in the stove and set the fire ablaze. Soon the warmth spread about the room accompanied by the orange glow of the flames flickering and crackling pleasantly upon the logs. It was a moment when words seemed pointless; a time for reflection. In the fire David saw only flames – Justin however, saw the tightly corseted body of Charlie dancing on the embers. The flames blazed around her legs, licking at her smooth mound while the golden rings winked and glistened from beneath. He saw her breasts move in time to the crackle of the sparks before she turned to bend forward, proudly displaying her tattooed bottom. Her master's mark, his brand, his symbol of ownership.

‘What exactly do you do for a living?' His voice startled the relaxed David.

‘I told you. I have a practice in Brighton. I'm taking a sabbatical through the summer – a bit of a rest. My partners are holding the fort.'

‘That was an awful lot of money Paul gave you,' Justin ventured cautiously. ‘Or am I being intrusive?'

‘No you're not – not at all. That was a private consultation fee, that's all. For his wife.'

‘Very private,' said Justin flatly. ‘What was she here for, piss-flap adjustment?'

‘Oh,' muttered David through a wry grin. ‘You saw that then.'

Justin grinned back. ‘I saw everything. What the hell was going on?'

David rose from his chair and threw several large logs upon the fire.

‘I think it's going to be a long night,' he sighed, crossing to the sideboard where several bottles stood on a silver tray. He poured them both a long drink and then returned to his chair. He sat quietly staring at the amber liquid for a few moments, and then began.

‘When I finished my degree I went straight into a casualty ward. Fifteen, sixteen hours a day – every day.' He took a drink before resting his glass on the arm of the chair. ‘One day I'm stitching up this guy's head after he'd been involved in a drunken brawl – the same guy I'd stitched up the week before, and the week before that. And I think: what the fuck am I doing here? This can't be it.

‘Six weeks later and I'm on the plane to Quetta in Pakistan, doing my bit for voluntary work overseas and hoping to see a bit of the world. There's a week in the university first, then a team of us end up in the mountains pulling bullets out of refugees from Afghanistan. We were there all of two days when the Mujahadeen raided the camp and forced us back over the border with them. They needed us to treat their casualties from an attack that had gone terribly wrong. It was quite scary I can tell you. One of the Pakistani doctors refused to do any work and demanded to be sent back. They sent him back all right, strapped across a donkey minus his bollocks.' He took a swift slug of his drink to numb the memories.

‘You know,' he continued. ‘He begged them to stop. Told them he would do whatever they asked. But they wouldn't listen. They knew we were watching, gauging how far they were prepared to go. They went all the way, in front of us. No one ever questioned them a second time – ever…' His words trailed away like a song fading on the radio.

‘Bloody hell, that must have been so frightening,' whispered Justin. ‘How on earth did you escape? I mean, you must have escaped at some time, to be here.'

‘Escaped!' laughed David out loud. ‘I escaped twice. For six months we traipsed around the mountains like bloody nomads, then we met up with a group who'd been fighting around Kabul. They'd taken several Russian soldiers as prisoners, including some high-ranking officer or other. He was hooded and in a sort of straightjacket, and they'd put heavy chains around his ankles. That night I was ordered to the Rebel chief's tent. Inside they'd staked the naked officer to four posts. It was my job to keep him alive while they interrogated him. His hood was still on and four Afghans were beating his feet with sticks. I'd seen what these guys could do to a man, but usually they were quick. Not for this one though. He was in for the works.'

Justin shook his empty tumbler, prompting David to finish his drink. ‘Did he live?' he asked on the way to refill the glasses.

‘Couldn't tell you.' David took a tiny sip to wet his lips. ‘I kept him going on Amyl Nitrate but they kept beating him and stubbing their cigarettes out on his body. One of them even pushed a lighted cigarette under his foreskin. You could smell the flesh smouldering.' Justin winced at the very thought while David continued.

‘The poor bastard couldn't even scream. Under the hood they'd forced a gag into his throat and taped his mouth. I'd just bent over to administer more stimulant when the sound of gunfire explode all around us. Bullets came ripping through the tent, thudding into anybody that was still standing. Then the Russians entered to find me lying across one of their majors with hypodermic in hand. I was dragged away and never saw him again. Maybe he died, I don't know.'

‘So that's how you got away,' put in Justin. ‘A hell of an adventure, but I don't see what that has to do with Charlie being arse up over the chair this afternoon.'

‘That was the start of things,' explained David. ‘You see, I couldn't ignore what I'd seen – the things I'd witnessed.'

Suddenly the telephone rang, making both men jump in their seats. While David answered it Justin thought that whoever was on the other end must have had excellent hearing, because his friend's voice was barely audible. As the telephone conversation continued Justin took the opportunity to replenish the drinks yet again, all the time straining to hear what was being said in the hall. Before he returned to his seat he'd gleaned that David was about to give another private consultation.

When David came back into the room he closed down the dampers on the wood burning stove. ‘It's warm enough, don't you think?'

Justin nodded absently. ‘How long before the Russians let you go?'

‘They didn't. Half of them wanted to string me up as a mercenary. As far as they were concerned I was a rebel sympathiser, poking my Western nose in where it wasn't wanted. By the time some officer saved me I was missing a couple of teeth and about two pints of blood. In the end I was flown up to a military hospital in Herat. They fed me up and told me someone important was coming to see me.' He laughed bitterly at the memory…

David thought he was going to come home a hero. Then the officer from the Komitet Gosudarstvennoye Bezhopaznosti arrived. David was all smiles, shaking the officers hand and thanking everyone for his rescue. The man's face had more scars than a butcher's block; what it didn't have was a smile. Obviously the KGB training budget didn't stretch to a pleasantry course. Either that or Nikolai had played truant the week it was run.

‘What were you doing with the rebels?'

David was prepared for the question and told his story truthfully from beginning to end.

Nikolai remained expressionless. ‘Do you know,' he said, ‘that under the conventions of war, mercenaries are treated in the same manner as spies and saboteurs? There is no difference.'

The realisation dawned quickly. They don't believe me, thought David. Or they don't want to believe me. He was about to protest when the KGB officer spoke again.

‘It seems a shame to shoot such an educated man,' he said. ‘A terrible waste of knowledge.'

‘But I've done nothing wrong,' pleaded David. ‘All I've done is tried to help those—'

‘You are,' Nikolai interrupted contemptuously, ‘an enemy of the USSR, and like all our enemies you will be destroyed.' With that he mumbled something to the two guards and walked from the room, leaving David to ponder his future – what little remained of it.

Bad thoughts and the searing heat made for an uncomfortable night. Sleep was only possible between the bangs and flashes of sporadic gunfire away in the hills.

Morning brought with it more toothache and the return of the sinister man from the KGB, followed closely by two white-coated men. David's stomach was alive with butterflies.

‘Mr Harper, you are a very lucky man.'

His words did little to lift David's spirits, although he did note the irony of the word ‘lucky' as pain once more coursed through his swollen jaw.

‘In Herat we seem to have a shortage of medical staff. Nothing too serious, you understand. Nonetheless, a shortage all the same, and it appears that Dr Ustinov has a position you may wish to fill – here in this very hospital.'

David's body visibly slumped with relief; he had expected the worst. Once he had recovered some of his composure, relief gave way to indignation. Why were they treating him this way – a British subject?

‘I'd rather go home,' he ventured. ‘My wife will have been worried these last few months.'

For the first time the KGB officer managed a forced smile. ‘You have no wife Mr Harper. Or parents. And no brothers or sisters either.'