Taliban Concubine

My mouth was filled with warm, throbbing cock-flesh, but my gaze was trained on Sparkle-Eyes. I wasn't staring at him really; it was more surreptitious glances now and again.

He was sitting a few feet away watching me suck his men's cocks with a bemused expression on his face, a wistful look in his eyes.

That he was going to miss me when he handed me over to the Drug Lord was obvious; but there was something else going on inside him, too.

He had grown fond of me; he'd become attentive and shown great concern for my comfort and well-being-dare I say he loved me? I know how odd that sounds, to say a ruthless Taliban soldier suddenly developed feelings for his enemy is ridiculous, but nonetheless, that is how it felt to me.

Once I'd finally coaxed an orgasm from the last of his five soldiers, Sparkle-Eyes beckoned me to him.

Instead of crawling on my knees or all-fours in a subservient manner, I stood and walked to where he was sitting on a boulder; staring into his eyes the whole time.

I didn't break my gaze when I dropped to my knees either; I was determined to not look away until he did. His hands were at his side, his robe still covering his obvious erection.

I raised his garment and freed his throbbing member; my hand found his balls and gently held them; I grasped his steel-hard shaft then slid my lips over his swollen cockhead and took him into my mouth.

Our eyes remained locked together. I angled his shaft downward while I slowly bobbed my head back-and-forth; all the while gazing into his sparkling, brown eyes.

His large, calloused hand stroked my hair and face. He began mumbling below his breath. His voice was soft and tender, but, of course, I didn't understand a word he was saying.

I chose to believe he was whispering 'terms of endearment' in my ear.

His hot and hard penis pulsated and throbbed in my mouth. I quickened my pace. His hips began to thrust forward ever-so-slightly. I watched the joy and pleasure dancing in the dark brown of his eyes.

He suddenly threw his head back, and grunted "OHHH."

His eyes closed and broke our loving trance. I shifted my attention to his cock.

His body stiffened—he was completely still for a nanosecond-then he jerked and bucked and wildly thrust his exploding cock deeper into my mouth.

"OOOOHHHHHHHHH-UUUGGGHHHHHHHH-ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHH..."

The language of orgasm is universal.

I had become very good at not allowing cum to escape my mouth. His discharge seemed unusually thick and creamy; I swore I detected the slightest flavor of the snake-meat we'd had for dinner the previous evening.

I was standing, using my tongue to clean my lips and the roof of my mouth clean. Two soldiers came to wrap my face and head with the scarves; Sparkle-Eyes took them and said something to the men. The purpose of the scarves still eluded me. The men returned to the well-traveled gravel road and walked away from us.

When they'd rounded a bend and were out of sight, Sparkle-Eyes suddenly took me in his arms, held my head then kissed me full on the lips. I was so surprised I coughed.

He pulled his face away, allowed me to take a deep breath then kissed me again. I hugged him and returned his kiss.

We gazed into each other's eyes; not a single word was said.

I didn't know what heartbreak looked like, but it had to be close to what I was seeing in his eyes.

He slowly wrapped my head with the scarves, carefully placing the tiny slits over my nose and eyes.

We began walking. Well behind the soldiers, his hand found mine. We held hands and walked in-step towards the buildings, still far-off in the distance, where I would discover whatever fate the future held for me.

The early afternoon sun beat down on us. I was sweating and gasping for air inside my cocoon of heavy fabric. My mind wandered; I wanted to think of anything besides my current plight.

The Taliban belief system concerning sex disturbed me. Their religion strictly forbade homosexuality, even so far as condemning men to death, if caught in the act. Yet, amazingly, all of the soldiers I'd encountered in my captivity, showed no reluctance when it came to sexually using myself and Eddy and Georgie for their enjoyment.

Sergeant Rick had told stories of an Afghani tradition called 'Man-Love Thursday'-when men would find a willing male partner and relieve their pent-up lusts and desires.

I remembered the words of Rafsjani, an important Afghani man in the village near our camp. When asked, he gave us the Taliban rationale for their behavior.

"Gentlemen, we all know the male sex drive is nonstop-never-ending...we also know that women are 'unclean,' meant only for childbirth-to provide a man offspring to carry on his family bloodline...it is a biological necessity for men to release their semen, we are all born this way...and since women besides wives are off-limit-where better to relieve oneself than inside a snug-fitting bottom of a pretty young man-the ancient Greeks knew this...we have a saying in my country: 'Women are for procreation—men are for recreation.'"

Someone argued: "But your religion prohibits homosexuality-how in the world can you justify this behavior?"

With a look of astonishment on his face, Rafsjani replied, "A man is homosexual if he falls in love with another man...sex has nothing to do with it!"

Rafsjani was a wise, village elder, he was rumored to be an agent for the CIA. None of us laughed at his statement, or even questioned him.

Anyway, I had grown tired of the vagaries and inconsistencies of religious teachings long ago...his hypocritical answer didn't surprise me in the least.

Sparkle-Eyes suddenly dropped my hand. I looked up and saw a tall, brick tower just ahead of us. It had to be forty-feet high, and there was a man on top looking down on us.

A guard tower, I concluded. I saw three others as I scanned the property. The buildings were all brick and mortar. They appeared to be very, very old.

We followed the road as it swung wide of the guard tower. Trees and bushes still blocked my fill view of the buildings.

Ahead was a clearing, and I could see another bend in the road. Suddenly, the fragrant air from the poppy fields almost bowled me over; thick and stifling; I struggled for oxygen thru the tiny slits in the scarves.

We were now out of the trees; I saw nothing but field after field of red poppies. The road cut a swath between one field and another. When I looked left I finally saw the buildings. We were still a half-mile away, but I was able to sense the enormity of the complex; it was more like a compound.

We walked twenty-minutes more then came to a fork in the road. The road on the left led to the compound; the one diagonally branching-off right led to a series of more buildings. Those appeared to be huge quonset huts, long and narrow.

The soldiers ahead of us veered-off to the right; Sparkle-Eyes gently guided me to the left, towards what must have been the Drug Lord's compound.

The closer we walked to the house, the stronger my heart pounded; I clenched my fists to hide the trembling of my hands.

To ease my fears, I studied the house. It was huge, but looked very medieval; old and dilapidated; everything was in dire need of a coat of paint, and fixing-up.

The brick façade was crumbling in places, and the wooden shutters closed over the windows were loose, banging in the light breeze.

I saw no power poles and guessed the house had neither electricity nor running water.

What kind of rich and powerful Drug Lord lives like this? I wondered.

There was an outside walkway running the length of the house. Sparkle-Eyes motioned me up the four-steps to the walkway.

That was my first surprise. The walkway contained ornate, intricately detailed tiles. The tiles looked almost brand new.

We stood near a door waiting no longer than thirty-seconds before it swung open; and outside stepped a tall, elegantly-dressed man in his forties. He was powerfully built; his black hair and small black beard were neatly groomed.

The robes he wore were of the finest material, colorful with sharp hand stitching and embroidery. His skin-tone was slightly darker than Sparkle-Eyes.

His piercing brown eyes stared directly at Sparkle-Eyes waiting for him to speak. I could sense that Sparkle-Eyes was afraid of this man.

Now this is what an Afghani Drug Lord should look like! I mused.

Sparkle-Eyes stuttered; spoke slowly and carefully. The man listened; nodded his head; then replied.

Sparkle-Eyes abruptly turned and left us standing on the terrace. His sudden departure surprised me-he didn't say good-bye. I felt a strange sadness.

I felt foolish that I expected any different. I reminded myself I was nothing more than a Taliban prisoner. I had no rights to expectations-I was their property to be used as they desired.

The Drug Lord motioned me inside. That was where I received the biggest surprise of all.

I had grown-up middle class; my parents were hard-working people who did the best they could to provide for me and my sisters; we were not poor; but we weren't rich, either.

Whenever they'd take us to the lake in the summer, we drove by mansions and walled-in estates. All of us would point to one mansion or another and say 'I want to live there!' Even my parents played the game.

What I saw inside the house simply took my breath away. The furnishings reeked of money. What I was looking at had such fancy names that I never knew what they were called because I'd never be in the position to buy them.

The inside of the Drug Lord's house was how I'd pictured the inside of all those mansions by the lake.

I stood in the center of the room; the tall, masculine Drug Lord by my side. I could smell a manly fragrance coming from him. He seemed to be waiting for something or someone.

To our right was a long, dimly lit hallway. Two figures suddenly appeared at the far end. The Drug Lord positioned me facing the hallway. Curiously, I wondered who the approaching men were, and why we were waiting for them.

The taller of the two men came into the light. I was taken aback; he was hunched over, wearing faded, and shabby robes that were much too big for him. His face and head wore a mass of unruly grey hairs; he looked to be a hundred-years old, but I guessed him to be somewhere in his seventies.

Who's the Old Geezer? I wondered.

The Old Man grunted at the Drug Lord and made a dismissive gesture towards him. The Drug Lord bowed then stepped aside and stood by the nearest wall.

Uh-oh, I thought. I may be wrong about this...the big man may not be the Drug Lord-NO-OH MY GOD-it's the Old Man-the decrepit Old Man is the Drug Lord!

I took note of the figure standing beside the Old Man. I was truly grateful the scarves covered my face and hid my reactions. I had to consciously stop myself from laughing; he looked ridiculous.

The man was about my height and weight, but looked to be in his forties; he had light brown hair with streaks of grey, but his was neatly combed and coiffed. He was naked except for what I called 'Harem pants'-I'd seen them in drawings and depictions of girl's in middle eastern harems belonging to Kings or Sultans or whoever.

His face and body was extremely white, almost a pasty, sickly color. The powder blue harem pants had a lace waistband; they clung to his lower body and ended with more lace around his mid-calves.

Even more disturbing was the harem pants were translucent; diaphanous. The man's genitals were on display to anyone who looked. His scrotum and semi-erect penis were clearly visible to all.

He made the most ludicrous sight I'd ever laid eyes on.

The Old Man barked at him and he came to me and began peeling away the scarves on my head. The fresh air on my face was a huge relief. I took three deep breaths, and remained calm as my robes and garments were stripped from me.

I stood nude before the Old Man's squinting eyes. He crudely smacked his lips as his eyes traveled up-and-down my body.

He shouted something else and Pasty-Man lifted my arms above my head; I understood he wanted me to clasp them together behind my neck. I felt his leg between mine pushing them further apart. I became extremely aware of my dangling penis and balls.

The Old Man came close; slump-shouldered as he was, he still towered over me. He ran his hands lightly over my body; he made short comments to Pasty-Man who nodded in agreement with the Old Man.

The Old Man tugged at the hair under my arms then did the same with my pubic hair; he muttered something and Pasty-Man nodded his head. He forced my mouth open and examined my teeth; I felt more like a prized animal than a human being.

Pasty-Man swung me around and I felt the Old Man's hands on my back and buttocks. A finger slipped between my buttocks and pressed hard on my anus. It made a sudden, but firm push until half of it disappeared inside my asshole.

I jumped and yelped at the slightly painful intrusion and the Old Man chuckled. He said something that sounded like he approved.

He shouted orders to the two men then left the room thru the darkened hallway. That was my introduction to the much-feared, all-powerful, Afghani Drug Lord. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Something nagged at my mind as I followed Pasty-Man, staring at him the whole way. I felt like I knew him-although we'd never met, there was something strangely familiar about him.

I thought about him as we walked-where do I know him from?

We stopped before a large door. Pasty-Man looked at the guard and said, "Zayd," then motioned for him to remain by the door. It surprised me; it seemed as though Pasty-Man was in charge.

We entered a room and the first thing I saw was a huge, oversized bed. Like the rest of the house I'd seen thus far, the furnishings were opulent and very expensive.

The room had soft lighting; the bulbs were covered by decorative shades, but I was able to clearly see the fine, Afghani-made furniture and impressive décor.

Something caught my eye; I slowly turned towards the bed and saw a large mirror on the ceiling. Oh my, I thought.

Pasty-Man led me into another room. It was a bathroom, but not like any bathroom I'd ever seen.

On one side, I saw a huge bathtub with a stone wall and water flowing down crystalized rocks; I noticed showerheads on both ends of the tub. It wasn't a bathtub per se, but a tile floor with a drain with a two-foot high ledge; no curtain or door was needed as the shower sprays were several feet from the ledge.

Pasty-Man went to the other side of the room where sat a more traditional bathtub. He opened a gold-plated faucet and began filling the tub with hot water. He picked up a bottle of what appeared to be bubble-bath and poured a carefully measured amount into the tub.

My doubts concerning electricity and running water had certainly been dispelled. I'd never been inside a mansion before; everything was beautiful and obviously wildly expensive. I felt as though I didn't belong here.

Pasty-Man helped me into the tub, and I eased myself into the hot water. God, it felt wonderful.

He immediately set about washing me with soap. He scrubbed my flesh so hard it began to hurt. When his hand went for my crotch I instinctively used my hand to try and stop him.

"NYET," he shouted, and pushed my hand away.

Huh? What did he say? Bells and whistles and screaming alarms went-off inside my head.

Did he say 'NYET'? I stared at his face as he scrubbed my crotch. Impossible-he can't be-can he be? It's not possible he could have survived all these years!

Suddenly, the story Rafsjani told us one night flooded my memory; a story about a solitary Russian soldier who was left behind in Afghanistan when the Russians had gone home.

During the 1980's, Russia fought Afghanistan in a war similar to ours...they had about as much success as we have had. Many Russians were killed and some were captured.

Rafsjani told us 'The Legend of Dmitri':

"It was Spring of 1987-an unusually wet and rainy spring," he began. "A small Russian squad was on routine patrol...maybe ten or so men...their jeep became stuck in mud—that is a common occurrence here during the wet season...it was near sundown and the squad leader assigned five men to stay with the jeep, to keep trying to free it from the mud...what the soldiers didn't know was they were being watched...Taliban soldiers were 'hiding in plain sight' on the mountain overlooking the men and jeep...when only the five Russians remained-the Taliban rushed down the hillside and surprised them...they were led by the fiercest Warrior-Drug Lord in all the country-Azad...the five Russians realized the hopelessness of their situation and quickly surrendered...

The Russians were lined-up and Azad stood before each man and examined him...the Russians were scared out of their minds, Azad was a large, brute-of-man-a terrifying figure with a cruel and brutal reputation...it is said that three of the Russians wet themselves during Azad's close scrutiny...Azad grunted but made no other comments until he came to the last Russian soldier...the soldiers face was smeared with mud, Azad barked an order and one of his men splashed water on the soldiers face, cleaning away the mud...it is said Azad's eyes became wider than the moon itself, and he literally sucked-in his breath when he saw the soldiers face...

The soldier was a mere boy-no more than nineteen-years of age and looked even younger...it is said Azad's demeanor and harshness instantly disappeared as he stroked the boy's face...Azad had never before seen such a beautiful boy...it is said Azad literally scooped the boy up into his arms and carried him away to his compound...the boy's name was Dmitri, and I have word from reliable sources, that to this day, he remains the concubine of Azad the Warrior-Drug Lord."

"That's incredible," I said. "The Russians just left him behind?"

Afsjani's lips parted in a smile and said, "The Russians went home in 1989...they tried to rescue Dmitri before they left...a diversion was used to get most of Azad's men out of the compound-the Russians sent in a small team and found Dmitri."

"Well," I said, "...if they found him why is he still here?"

Afsjani chuckled. "When the Russians saw what Dmitri had become-what Azad had turned him into-they were horrified and ashamed-they decided Dmitri could never live again in polite society-they abandoned him-they left him as they found him-an effeminate, fully-trained, sissy concubine to an Afghani Warrior-Drug Lord."

My skin began to tingle. There was a slight burning sensation. Dmitri, err, Pasty-Man was massaging some sort of cream to my flesh. I stared at him with a sense of awe and puzzlement.

Was this man really Dmitri? If he is, he survived quite nicely. He's physically in great shape, and he doesn't appear to be miserable or unhappy.

No, I concluded, he can't be Dmitri...well, maybe...

He made me lift my arms over my head and applied the cream to my underarms. I was more curious about him than what sort of cream he was rubbing on me.

I screwed-up my courage and said, "Dmitri..."

He was busy at his task. I don't think he heard me.

"DMITRI," I said louder.

He whipped his head around and stared into my eyes.

"Yes..." he said. "...problem? Hurt much?"

OH MY GOD-IT'S HIM-IT'S DMITRI!!

He's alive after all these years! He even understands English. How can this be? This is amazing-I was simply blown-away.

I didn't know what else to say. I had a million questions but unable to speak. I sat in wide-eyed wonderment watching him go about his business.

He began rinsing the cream from my body. He was very thorough. He pushed my legs apart and paid special attention to my penis and scrotum. It was very clinical, nothing sexual about it.