Introduction
Cub reporters are never sent into danger zones – especially female cub reporters. Carla
Longden was no ordinary cub. She had a strong will and a determination to reach the very
top of her profession. So, when her request to be part of the reporting team in the Gulf
was denied, she resigned and went there as a freelance. It was to be the beginning of an
adventure she would never forget…
DESERT CAMP 3
It had been a long week. The flight from JFK to London Heathrow had been delayed for some
security reason or other and Carla had missed her connecting flight to Munich. She’d been
holed up in a cheap London hotel for twenty-four hours waiting for her rebooked flight.
Restless, though tired, and excited at the prospect of the adventure that lay ahead of
her, Carla had spent much of the night checking her gear. There was the clutch of digital
cameras that could take both still and motion pictures. Then there was the laptop and the
satellite communications system. She’d figured it would be a month before the Editor of
the paper she’d just resigned from would realise they were missing and hell, by then,
everything would be so chaotic he’d have far greater things to worry about.
She was right. Her theft from the newspaper company had gone unnoticed and now the
cub reporter turned freelancer was on her way to the hottest story around – the impending
invasion of the Gulf by the US Armed Forces backed up mainly by the UK and a few other
contributing nations.
Carla smiled wearily when the plane arrived at Munich and her connecting flight to
the Middle East was on time. Several hours later she stood at the hotel desk filling in
her registration document. The hotel was situated to the south of Baghdad and Carla was in
a room at the top of the six storey building.
The hotel manager smiled leeringly as she filled in her registration document. If he
meant to be disarming, he wasn’t and for the first time in the whole journey, Carla felt
uneasy. She completed the document and described her stay as “journalism” – which it was.
A young boy dressed in the hotel livery showed her to her room and even carried her
suitcase for her. At the door, Carla tipped the outstretched hand and even ignored his
parting comment of “goodbye, missy”.
She walked straight to the window and admired the scene of Baghdad in the distance.
It would, she thought, be the perfect place to watch the action from, if and when it
started.
Downstairs in the foyer the hotel manager was busy on the phone, jabbering away in
his unintelligible dialect. During his conversation the man clearly deferred to the person
he was calling and any listener would have heard the name “Al’almira” mentioned on a
number of occasions.
Finally the phone was returned to the receiver and the hotel manager turned his
attentions back to the young porter whom he questioned in raised tones concerning the tip
the lad had received. Eventually the young lad dipped his hand in his pocket and pulled
out the coins he’d been given. The manager boxed the lad’s ears and took the coins off him
before ushering him back to his station by the main door.
Carla unpacked her suitcase. She knew in all probability she would be stuck in the
hotel for several weeks and possibly longer, so she determined from the outset to make the
best of the situation.
***
Carla was watching the satellite TV. CNN was broadcasting some news about the Allied
build up and Carla watched with interest. It could only be a matter of time before
something happened – and Carla was determined to be part of the breaking news story.
Suddenly there was a gentle tapping at the bedroom door. A delicate cough from
outside followed. Carla was, of course, not expecting guests. This was a country where she
knew no-one. Perhaps, she thought, the hotel manager was calling to see if she was okay.
Without thinking, Carla opened the door.
The smile on her face faded the moment she was the three swarthy Arabs standing
outside. Assam Al’almira stood in the middle of the three men. Slightly taller and
evidently better dressed, he waited while his escorts, Tariq and Abdul pushed their way
into the room, propelling the hapless young woman towards the bed that occupied much of
her room. As they pushed her backwards, she fell onto the bed, lying on her back. As she
fell, she heard the bedroom door being gently closed. Tariq walked behind the bed and
grabbed both of her arms, pulling them down below the level of the mattress, pushing
Carla’s chest up into the air, so her ample breasts jutted from behind the roll-top she
was wearing.
She was lying across the width of the single bed and her legs swung helplessly over
the edge she had fallen back over. In a moment she felt Abdul grab her ankles, pinning her
legs together and leaving her unable to resist.
Assam Al’almira introduced himself and showed no surprise when the young woman shook
her head to say she had never heard of him.
“You will wish mine was a name you had never heard,” he hissed as he rubbed his hands
together. In a flash his fingers found the hem of the roll-top and he raised it so the
dark blue material covered the woman’s face. She was naked beneath it and her rosy nipples
protruded fiercely from the centres of the dark areolas. She struggled for a moment but
realised resistance was useless.
“Tie her arms up, Tariq. We shall have some fun with this one before we introduce her
to the camp.”
“Camp?” Carla mumbled from under the roll-top.
“Yes, camp. We have a special place where we teach you white women your proper role
in our society. Now shut up.”
Tariq had produced a length of rope and Carla felt her wrists being tied together.
Then her arms were yanked further down behind her head and Tariq secured the free end of
the rope to the bottom of the bed frame. When he had finished, Al’Almira spoke again.
“Now, strip her from the waist down. I want to see what this woman has to offer.”
“Oh God, no.” Carla had been dreading this moment since she opened the door.
“Oh, but you must not blaspheme – to do so is certain death.” Al’almira watched as
Tariq fumbled with the popper and zipper on Carla’s denim jeans. Tariq was clearly
agitated and it took him some moments to pull the jeans down and off the young woman. Her
knickers followed a moment later and she lay on the bed, her clean-shaven pussy exposed
for all the men to see.
“Ah, a bare pussy,” Al’almira smiled to himself. “Open her legs for me.”
Tariq and Abdul obliged. Each took one of Carla’s legs and pulled them wide apart so
she was fully exposed and at the mercy of the Arab.
“Have you ever felt the belt between your legs?” Al’almira was already removing his
trousers and held the belt in his hand.
“No, no you can’t do that?” Carla suddenly realised she was not just going to be
violated – she was going to be beaten too.
“Oh, but I can. You are a spy in our country.”
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