1. Room five.


Was there no end to my nightmare? The digital clock on the wall was showing 9.30, way past the time my first spell on the bed should finish. I was sweating profusely, even though I was stark naked and the window of the hotel room was wide open. The high humidity was also causing me to feel nauseous and light headed.

The reality was that the Wild Palm Resort was close to the equator and temperatures usually rose into the high thirties by midday. It was wonderful weather for sunbathing on the beach, or swimming in the tranquil seas, but not for being bound and gagged in a stifling hot bedroom.

The first six days of the holiday were an amazing experience, for I had never travelled to such an exotic location before. Unfortunately, the vacation came to an abrupt end when the Cross River Liberation Army marched in and occupied the resort. In the blink of an eye, my world was turned upside down, when I found myself enslaved by the rebels and forced to join their ranks.

The alternative was death, in one form, or another, so I was left with no choice, but to follow the orders of one sadistic, dominant officer, after another. Needing a temporary corporal, to head a group they called the ‘bitch squad’, Colonel Uthman gave the job to me.

Sergeant Kabir brought me up to room 5 and showed me a naked black girl tethered to the twin bars. I was horrified to recognize the teenager as Delilah, one of the hotel’s waitresses. As corporal, I was tasked with preparing a roster, to make sure the other six girls in the squad took turns to spend 24 hours, either in bondage, or in the cage beside the bed.

The officer’s morning meeting started at eight o’clock and ended at nine. So, a girl had to be ready, tethered to the bars, for when they emerged from the conference room. Unfortunately for myself and the other six girls in the ‘bitch squad’, our holes had to be available to help the sadistic officers ‘unwind’ from their stressful meeting. With more than a dozen officers and NCOs in the new army training camp, whoever was tethered to the bars was in for a torrid time.

The situation changed drastically that morning, at the crack of dawn. Claire Connery and I were marched to the entertainment office, where Sergeant Kabir and Lieutenant Sanga were waiting to punish us. Our crime was fighting, the previous evening, while eating our dinner on the bowling green. We nearly caused a riot when about a hundred soldiers witnessed our argument; and amid the tense atmosphere, demanded a ‘bitch fight’.

Lieutenant Sanga was furious, because he had to organize a fight between the two of us, to quell the excited crowd of soldiers. So, he ordered the early trip to his office, where both Claire and I were cruelly punished. After he had finished with us, I was taken to room 5 and the Scottish bitch was taken back to the prison-like chalet.

After being secured to the bars, I received the shock of my life when Peter turned up and revealed that he was a member of the Cross River Liberation Army. The threats he made were so terrible, I divulged some vital information – codes to unlock a security wall. With the codes, he was able to get access to reserve funds at the West African Bank in London, where we both worked.

Lying on my back, tethered to two bars crossing my body, I felt like a plucked chicken, waiting to be slid into an oven; especially after being taunted with such a fate on two separate occasions. I was distraught before the officers arrived to shaft me, and ten times worse after they had finished with me.

A total of six men came to the room during that hour, out of a possible twelve. The others had probably heard that my twin orifices had been coated with chili powder to intensify the punishment handed down by Lieutenant Sanga. Thankfully, after four hours of mind-blowing agony, the effects of the ‘belly fire’ had almost faded away.

Three of the officers shafted my throat, but the final one chose my fiery quim and caused less pain than the first visitor. Even though that part of the rebel’s torturous treatment was easing, I was deeply depressed about being tricked by Peter.

I was part of an elaborate plot to steal millions of pounds for weapons to fight the rebel’s cause. He walked away with his information and showed no interest in easing the pain and difficulties I was experiencing.

I had to face up to the reality of my situation and try and survive long enough to escape. Unfortunately, I was in one of the most isolated spots on the planet. Having been used by Peter and abused by the rebels I felt totally abandoned – I felt worthless!

My tears had dried up by the time the door finally swung open. It was Corporal Briega and one of the soldiers who accompanied her earlier that morning. The sullen girl was carrying a flexi baton, while the soldier carried a large canvas bag. He placed the bag by the window and returned to Briega’s side.

She pointed at me. “Release the bitch and get her on her feet.”

The fastenings were metal and had keys that had to be unwound, so it took the young man several minutes to release, first my ankles and wrists from the first bar, then my upper arms and thighs from the second.

The corporal was wearing a standard camouflaged khaki dress, khaki short socks, heavy boots and maroon beret, the standard dress for a female NCO in the CRLA. She had a curvy, solid figure and had the demeanour of a dedicated soldier. And, even though her clothes were old and tatty, she was fit, young and as bright as a button.

I guessed that she was a native African from the region. Her mahogany skin colour was vibrant and her large brown eyes were intense and intelligent. Unfortunately, her pretty features had been spoiled by what looked like a pattern of tiny tattooed lines fanning out from the sides of her nose and across her chin. The tiny lines were almost identical to the other girl, a sergeant, I had seen earlier, when Peter came in to extract the information from me.

The soldier, who was dressed in shorts and a short sleeve shirt, hauled me to my feet and supported me, while the corporal stepped forward and removed the head harness and ring gag.

Ahhhhh,” I gasped with relief, finally free from the awful, jaw stretching ring.

Two hours of torture in the entertainment office, and then another two attached to the bars, had left me drained and dreadfully weak. So, when the soldier released my arm, my legs nearly gave way. I swayed and just about kept my balance.

“Ishimoto, go and shower. Be quick. Time is valuable,” the girl said in a strong authoritative tone.

The order was a relief, but I was anxious to know what she and the officers had in store for me. “Wh… what’s going to happen to me, Ma’am?”

Her face creased up. “Soldier, do as you’re told…”

I wasn’t going to pass up the chance to shower the sweat and jiz off my body, so I backed out from between the pair and hurried into the tiny shower room. The officers who had fucked my throat had taken great delight in spurting some of their jiz on my face and tits, so I was covered with the sticky substance.

Aboya, hurry the bitch along. Give her a hand and make sure her holes are clean…”

It was bad enough being rushed, but to have a young guy helping me shower, added insult to injury. I turned the water on and stooped to pick up the bar of soap.

Gimme that…” came a growled command from behind me. I turned and handed the soap over. “Put your hands on your knees and I’ll wash your back.”

I gazed up at the six-foot plus, native African. “I can do it…” His hand shot out and grabbed my neck. “Uhhhhh,” I gasped as he tightened his grip.

The thin stream of water continued to splatter onto my head, but it was a pathetic excuse for a shower and only Aboya’s arm and hand were getting wet.

“Bitch, if you don’t do as you’re told, we’re gonna put you back on the bed. Are you missing those black cocks in your holes already?”

Naaaa,” I gasped, shaking my head.

The moment he released me, I bent forward and placed my hands on my knees. The distress that had built and overwhelmed me, several times during the previous four hours, surfaced again.

“Better bitch…” He slapped my projecting ass and then began rubbing the hard bar of carbolic soap all over my back.

I stayed still while he moved down to my buttocks and slipped his hand between my cheeks. He not only gave my orbs a good rub, but also delved into my orifices, using a couple of soapy fingers. The lad, for he could have only been 19, or 20, spent an inordinate amount of time thrusting his huge fingers back and forth. Another minute, or two and he would have had me rocking through an orgasm.

“Up!” he muttered, once he had withdrawn his digits. “Face me and clean your body.” I took the soap and began rubbing it all over my skin. “Legs and feet as well…”

He was being unnecessarily fussy, but at least I was cleaning my own body. The unwanted spectator ogled my body and kept licking his lips as if I was a huge slab of meat that he was about to devour. He reminded me to do my head and arms, before he was happy and turned the water off.

“Go straight to Corporal Briega…”

“What about drying…”

Oooof!” I groaned, when his huge hand flew up and cuffed me around the head.

I went flying and thudded into the tiled wall.

He pointed toward the bedroom. “Fucking move yourself, girl!”

I plodded into the room, rubbing my ear and leaving a trail of water along the ceramic tile floor. The young NCO was standing beside a sheet of black plastic and looking out of the window.

She turned and pointed to the sheet, which was brightly lit by morning sunshine streaming through the large open window. “Stand in the middle, Ishimoto. Oboya is going to cover your body with black henna lotion.”

I slowed and tried to gather myself to question what the pair were about to do to me, but a shove in the back hurried me toward my fate. I stepped on the sheet and made eye contact with the girl. My heart sank when I recognized her determination to follow orders; and sensed that there was little point in arguing with her.

“Ishimoto, this is going to be a daily ritual for you, so I don’t want to hear any bitching.” She swished her baton through the air to make her point.

Private Aboya started to pull a pair of rubber gloves onto his hands

“How long does the dye last, Ma’am?” I asked in as pathetic a voice as I could muster.

I was desperate to avoid any more pain, but it was almost impossible to ask the rebels a question without receiving a backlash of abuse.

“Bitch, that’s a dumb question. Have you seen the Colonel’s third wife?”

I was shocked to learn that he had three. “Er, yes I have.”

“It took her six weeks. Mighty fine black skin on that girl, don’t you think?”

“Um, yes. She’s very beautiful.”

“Now shut the fuck up and let Aboya do his job.”

The guy had already scooped out a handful of the slimy, dark maroon balm. He stepped onto the sheet and started to rub it into, first my back and then my ass, legs and feet. He told me to stand in the ‘hands on the deck position’, so he could coat my ass crack and pussy lips. He then made me stand with my hands on my head, so he could do my neck and face.

I desperately wanted to stop what was happening and avoid suffering yet another abuse of my human rights. But, I was in the hands of a group of heartless and sadistic rebel soldiers who answered complaints with violence and abuse. My situation was hopeless, but my desire to stay alive had never been stronger. The sea was my get out of jail free card. If I got half a chance, I would swim along the coast to freedom. If…