POW (Prisoner Of The Widows) by Joe J Copyright© 2006 by Joe J Chapter 1

Someone once told me that many an avalanche started out the size of a snowball. I understand the metaphor much better now. I understand it because once upon a time, a broken piece of copper wire sent my life spinning out of control …

My name's Nick Pappas and on the day that my life took a huge left turn, I was a 34 year old Air Force Reserve Captain, flying an A-10 Warthog over Western Iraq. My wingman and I were mission complete, having expended our ordnance pounding a bunker system occupied by an Al-Qaida unit that snuck into Iraq from Syria. We were on our way back to Al Jabar, our home airfield in Kuwait, flying at about 1000 feet AGL (above ground level). We were flying so low because we were looking, believe it or not, for a stolen Mercedes Benz SL 600. The intelligence wienies had received a tip that the car, stolen in Jordan, was filled with explosives and headed for Baghdad. I was pretty blasé about this follow on mission bullshit, but my wingman was all over it. He was dying to see what a two-hundred thousand dollar car looked like after a burst from his seven-barreled, 30mm Avenger cannon.

I was on cruise control as I gave my mission status to the AWACS (Airborne Warning and Control System). And why the hell not? I had twenty days left in country until I would be released from active duty. Plus, the AWACS controller I was gabbing with was my girlfriend, First Lieutenant Vickie Salvatore, my brown-eyed, raven-haired Italian princess.

Yeah, life was good for me - until all of the sudden Vickie's voice disappeared from my radio. Just as I was calling Pete Costas, my wingman, to confirm that my radio worked, the threat-warning klaxon in my cockpit started warbling. I turned hard right and started fighting for altitude when the klaxon changed pitch to radar lock then incoming SAM (surface to air missile). I jinked the opposite direction and hit the flare dispenser as the threat warning system screeched two more incoming missiles. Before I could react I felt my plane shudder and a flash of tracers passed my canopy. I was too busy to be thankful for the titanium armor around my cockpit as one of the missiles struck my right engine. I fought my controls and barrel rolled right as the redundant fly by wire system compensated for the loss of thrust and the aerodynamic drag from my destroyed engine.

I was banked hard to the right when I saw Pete's plane explode in a ball of flame. The sight cut me to the core. Pete was my best friend. I was shocked by Pete's apparent demise but dumbfounded that his plane blew up as it did. The A-10 was a high survivability aircraft and not prone to explode. Tough about Pete, but I had problems of my own trying to control my damaged plane and unass the area. I'd mourn for him if I got myself out of this mess. I was bouncing from side to side trying to evade the ground fire that I knew was coming from at least two soviet ZSU-23-4 air defense vehicles. The ZSU-23 was an older design Soviet gun platform but it had been updated through the years and was a deadly foe for low flying aircraft. Its four 23MM chain guns were radar controlled and highly accurate. Not to mention later versions like the pair below were equipped with SA-18 fire and forget surface to air missiles.

I could attest to the accuracy part when a burst of shells chewed the nose off of my Warthog before I could heave my plane to the side again. I could actually feel the 23mm slugs thumping against the armored bathtub that enclosed my cockpit. After what seemed like forever, I was out of the kill zone of the ZSUs but a long way from being out of trouble. My plane was heavily damaged and flew like a brick, and worst of all, the burst to the nose took out all my avionics and communications. I made it another fifty miles or so before acrid smoke started seeping into my cockpit. I expected to lose my second engine any minute and my plane was struggling to keep me above five hundred feet. I clearly wasn't going to make it back to Kuwait so I ejected while I still had some altitude. I figured the shot up Warthog would be lucky to make it another five miles.

The canopy blew as designed and the ejection seat worked perfectly, I was buffeted some by the explosive charge that sent the seat upward but the experience wasn't nearly as bad as I'd heard others describe it. I figure I had it made. I simply had to call for help on my PRC-112 survival radio and hide out until the cavalry arrived. Then a gust of wind caused my parachute to oscillate and I started swinging back and forth under the nylon canopy in wide arcs. I hit the ground like a ton of shit, all my weight on my left leg. Excruciating pain shot up my body as my ankles and knees absorbed the initial contact of my hard landing. I landed feet, ass and head. My head hit the rocky ground hard enough to knock me out even with my helmet on.

I woke up with the mother of all headaches. I was groggy from bashing my head into the rocky desert soil so it took me a few seconds to get my bearings. I immediately wished I was still unconscious when I saw the two hazy figures standing over me pointing AK-47s at my head. As my vision cleared I saw that my captors were women. I also realized that my hands were tied with the strings from my boots and that my survival vest and helmet had been stripped off me. My heart sank when I saw my survival radio smashed into a pile of twisted metal and shattered plastic and my pistol tucked into the sash of one of my captors.

It was hard to read my captors expressions, as they were covered head to toe except for their eyes. They wore square shouldered, flowing dark brown _burkas_ and face covering _niqab_ veils. The AK-47s were unwavering though, and the women looked as if they knew how to use them. My leg was throbbing to go along with my headache and I couldn't suppress a groan. As soon as the sound was past my lips the larger of the two women smacked me upside my head with the barrel of her assault rifle and said something in Arabic. I spoke some Arabic but her speech was rapid fire and my head was mushy, so I looked at her blankly.

"She said to stand up," the second woman said in passable English.

"My legs are injured," I replied pointing down to my oddly twisted left foot.

She nodded, turned to the other woman and explained the problem.

The first woman made a sneering sound and prodded my leg with the barrel of her rifle. I moaned in pain and almost passed out again. Satisfied that I was telling the truth, she said something to the English-speaking woman and stalked off.

As soon as the departing woman was out of earshot, the woman left guarding me spoke again, her voice less hostile.

"I am called Jamilah. Basheera says you are a weakling, as are all infidels," she said.

I grunted in pain. "Basheera might be right, my ankles and knees hurt like hell. What are you going to do with me? If you turn me over to Americans you will be rewarded." I said.

"We widows of Abu Bakr Al Hassan will discuss that when we get you home. Basheera is the senior among us though and is very wise. We often do as she suggests."

As we waited for whatever Basheera was doing I was counting on the AWACS sending help my way. The big 707 kept tabs on all aircraft in a four hundred mile radius via the transponders in our planes, so I knew they had scrambled the search and rescue teams as soon as Pete and I disappeared from their screens. They would know within a hundred meters where both of us crashed. At least they should have known. Had I known the truth, I'd have been scared shitless …

---

Lieutenant Victoria Salvatore stared in disbelief as the 24-inch monitor in front of her went blank and her headset went silent. One second she was atingle talking to Nicky on the radio as she tracked his flight back to Al Jabar, the next she was sitting in eerie, semi-darkness. She looked to her right when her boss, Major Sheldon started cursing.

"Power outage, and the backup APU (auxiliary power unit) is not coming on line either. We're dead in the water," he growled.

The flight engineer came hustling back from the flight deck. Major Sheldon joined him as he removed an access panel on the starboard side of the plane. It took ten long minutes to get the electricity restored, a broken wire from the temperature sensor led to a false thermal overload condition that shut down both APUs. It was another agonizing five minutes before the computer system rebooted. Sentry 33 had been mission noncapable for more than thirty minutes.

Vicky keyed her mike as she watched her display slowly come to life. It took a few sweeps of the big radar dome to acquire everything in the air and a few ticks longer for the computer to identify them.

"Spartan seven-one this is Sentry three-three, sorry about that, we had a glitch."

She released the transmit button and waited to here Nick's mellow baritone. When the radio remained silent she tried again.

"Spartan seven-one this is Sentry three-three, acknowledge."

Her eyes swept the screen of her display looking for the symbol that represented Nick's Thunderbolt II. Then the symbol for both nick and his wingman flared on the screen blinking red. Vickie recoiled in horror and grabbed Major Shelton's arm. She pointed to the screen as she switched to the guard (emergency) frequency and keyed her microphone. The blinking red transponders meant that Nick and Pete Costas' airplanes were on the ground. She kept the panic out of her voice as she tried to raise either pilot.

"Spartan seven-two this is Sentry three-three, acknowledge."

She followed procedure and tried to reach both Nicky and his wingman twice more. As she called she peered at her display. The closest asset to the Spartan flight's position was a Texas air National Guard C-130 hauling supplies to a forward deployed Ranger unit. She punched up the C-130's radio frequency and called him.

"Cowboy four-seven-two this is Sentry three-three, how copy?"

"Ma'am, you are wall to wall and tree top tall," came back an unmistakable nasal twang.

In spite of the situation Vickie had to smile, the C-130 pilot was a friend of her and Nick named Jericho Jimenez. Jericho was pushing sixty years of age so everyone called him Pappy. In civilian life he owned a trucking company so he tended to treat any radio as if it were a trucker's CB.

"Cowboy, Sentry three-three is declaring a SAR (search and rescue) emergency, stand by for authentication."

Pappy's voice immediately lost its twang and was all business, "Roger, Sentry three-three, standing by."

While Vicky was diverting assets towards the crash site, Major Shelton was notifying the command headquarters of the emergency. In fewer than ten minutes a Combat Search and Rescue mission plan was activated. Ironically, the first phase of the mission was the launch of two A-10s to provide close air support for the rescue teams.

---

Basheera returned in less than half an hour. She was walking beside a small cart being pulled by a donkey, her AK-47 at port-arms. Yet another woman was leading the donkey, this one unarmed. The woman leading the donkey pulled the wagon up beside me, and then she knelt down and checked my legs. Her touch was gentle as she unzipped my flight suit leg. She didn't gasp at seeing my injuries. Instead, she looked at my face. I was relieved to see that her large, expressive brown eyes only held concern and tenderness.

_"Marhaba, ismy Fatima. Ma ismok?"_ she asked, speaking slowly.

At last, Arabic I could understand! She had said hello, her name was Fatima and she asked what my name was.

_"Marhaba Fatima, ismy Nick, _" I replied.

Before Fatima could say anything else Basheera waded in with her sharp machinegun voice. She appeared to be giving Fatima hell about something. Fatima ducked her head and nodded then stood up. Basheera waved Jamilah over to my side also.

"You must get in the cart _mallah_ (pilot) Neek, we will help you up," Jamilah said.

I had been dreading this moment since I spotted the cart. My head and body already throbbed with a pain as intense as anything I'd ever felt. Basheera took Jamilah's Kalashnikov, slung it over her shoulder and kept me covered with her own. I wondered what the hell she thought I was going to do as badly injured as I was. Jesus it hurt when they got me on my feet. I think the only reason I didn't pass out again was to spite Basheera. The trip was horrendous as even the smallest bump sent jolts of pain through me. The mile long trip to the women's house seemed to take forever. By the time we arrived I had been gritting my teeth for so long my jaw ached.

The late Abu Hassan must have been a damn good desert farmer, judging from his house. It wasn't that imposing from the outside. It was probably only a little over a thousand square feet. Inside, though, it was very nicely furnished with colorful wool carpets and rich wooden furniture. The house had a basement dug into the sandstone that was cool and also well furnished. The basement was actually larger than the footprint of the house. A small room in the basement became my cell. The room was about ten feet square and lit with a naked bulb with a pull string. I was most interested in why the room had an eyebolt with a pair of wrist shackles on a chain imbedded into the concreted into the wall. Basheera covered me as Jamilah untied my hands and attached the iron manacles to my wrists.

I did not struggle, hell by then I was barely conscious, now that the adrenalin rush of the last two hours was over. I was also parched.

_"Ma'a min fadik_ (Water please), _"_ I asked.

Fatima looked at Basheera who nodded.

I saw the smile in Fatima's eyes. "_Na'am Neek_ (yes Nick), _"_ she said.

Fatima returned in a couple of minutes with a ceramic pitcher and cup. Gently lifting my head, she brought the cup of water to my lips. The water was ice cold and tasted as good as any champagne I'd ever had. I drank a couple of cups and smacked my lips gratefully.

"_Shukran_ (thank you)," I said.

Fatima nodded and departed the room. Basheera said something to Jamilah who translated for me.

"We decide your fate now, _mallah_, we will choose wisely, _Inshaallah_ (if God is willing), ' Jamilah said.

Basheera turned off the light, closed the door and threw the outside bolt, leaving me in almost complete darkness. When the women disappeared I finally had a chance to assess my injuries. In my civilian life I am a Physician's Assistant so I know how to conduct a physical examination. Granted, I was checking myself and it was fairly dark but the principles remained the same. I knew I had suffered a concussion but figured that as alert as I felt it wasn't that bad, still it was worrisome that I had lost consciousness for even a few minutes. My left ankle was definitely severely sprained probably a type two sprain and my left knee was moderately hyper-extended. My right ankle and knee were both mildly sprained but would probably hold my weight.

I sighed as I realized that if the women didn't volunteer to hand me over to Americans I have to heal a lot more before trying to escape. My only hope for rescue was if the SAR teams came and searched Al Hassan's house. I also needed my survival vest and the medical supplies in it. One of the advantages of being a PA was that the medics weren't afraid to issue me medicines and medical supplies. My survival vest contained everything from morphine syrettes to a minor surgery set that was the same size as a rifle cleaning kit. Of course with the concussion, I couldn't take any painkillers yet, but in twenty-four hours or so I'd be good to go.

I no sooner finished my self-examination than I heard the women start talking in the large room outside my cell. I began to worry when twenty minutes had passed and I could still hear the women debating. After a few more exchanges, the door of my make shift cell opened. As my eyes acclimated to the light I saw that there were four women now and that instead of burkas and veils, they were wearing lighter and less bulky _abayas_ with scarves on their heads. Abayas are long flowing cotton gown like affairs that cover the wearer from the neck down. The scarves the women wore coved their heads but left their faces bare. As I looked at them I had to admit that Abu Bakr Al Hassan had excellent taste in wives because they were all very pretty. The wife I hadn't met appeared to be a teenager. My inspection was cut short when Jamilah spoke.

"_Mallah_, we have reached a decision but one thing troubles us and may affect what we do," she said.

I was shifted on the sleeping pad on full alert as her delivery and posture gave away her tension.

"What things trouble the wives of Abu Hassan?"

"How do we know you are not a Jew, Neek? Basheera says if we gave succor to a Hebrew the fanatics in this area would kill us most horribly."

"Why does Basheera think I am a Jew?"

Jamilah made an exasperated expression, a subtle hint to me that she did not agree with Basheera's suspicion that I was a Jew.

"She says you look like a Jew."

If this weren't such a deadly serious situation, I would have laughed at this ridiculous assertion. Obviously, the paranoid Basheera had mistaken my dark Greek features as Jewish, and I had to convince her she was wrong. I had to do some quick thinking, or I was a goner for sure.

I tuned my gaze towards each of the women as they looked at me. Jamilah's tone of voice indicated that she hoped I could convince them I wasn't a Jew. Basheera's eyes were hard and cold, her lips drawn into a thin disapproving line. The young woman looked confused and apprehensive. Fatima gave me a slight, private smile from her position slightly behind Basheera. An idea suddenly came to me.

"If I can prove I'm not a Jew, what then? Did you tell your sister wives about the reward my country will pay?" I asked.

"If you can convince us you are not a Zionist _Shaitan_ (devil), we will discuss it more. The reward will be considered, but money is not everything, _mallah_," she said haughtily.

I nodded. "I meant no offense about the reward, I know you are all _Muhsanat_ (virtuous women) and not driven by greed. I can prove that I am not a Jew because I am without _Khitan_ (circumcision)."

Jamilah's eyebrows rose in surprise and she turned to translate to the others. After a short conversation mostly with Basheera, Jamilah turned back to me.

"Show us your _zakar_ (penis), so we may see this for ourselves," Jamilah ordered.

Under normal circumstances I would have been embarrassed to drop my trousers in front of a group of women. These were most certainly not normal times, I thought, so if showing the women my Johnson kept me out of the hands of Al Qaida, they could take pictures for all I cared.

"If you will free one of my hands, I will show you my zakar."

Jamilah turned to Basheera and translated my request.

Basheera responded by shaking her head and saying something about not trusting the infidel. Then she gave an impatient snort, handed her ever-present AK to Fatima and stalked over to me. She pushed me onto my back none too gently then wrestled my zipper down. To my complete surprise she reached into my boxer-briefs and fished my dick out through the opening. The women exchanged a buzz of conversation as they gathered for a closer look, Basheera still holding me.

Basheera pulled my foreskin down and exposed the head of my penis, she seemed fascinated by the loose hood of skin and kept moving it up and down. It was amazing that in a situation like this my rebellious Greek soldier decided to stand at attention. Besheera's eyes widened as she felt me pulse and stiffen in her hand, yet she didn't relinquish her grip on me, instead she continued to squeeze me rhythmically. I closed my eyes in mortification, expecting any minute for Basheera to start cursing me - or worse. In fewer than fifteen seconds I was fence post hard.

"_Ana asif_ (I am sorry)," I mumbled.

All three of the other women were hovering over me by then watching in wide-eyed wonder. Basheera finally released her soft grip on my rod and said something to Jamilah. Jamilah blushed in embarrassment at whatever Basheera said and addressed me in English.

"We accept your proof you are not a Jew and we go now to make our final decision," she said.

The women left the room and closed the door, once again plunging me into darkness. I was confused as hell about what had gone on just then. Basheera's examination was much more thorough than it needed to be. I mentally shrugged and had to admit that her touch had taken my mind off my throbbing left leg. After another ten minutes Jamilah opened the door.

"We have agreed on your fate," she said, her voice flat and neutral.

Chapter 2

I looked at Jamilah trying to get a sense of her feelings. Her voice didn't convey any emotion that I could discern. That bothered me because Jamilah seemed less conservative than the other women and I was hoping to make her an ally.

"What was decided?" I asked.

"The war took Al Hassan from us and left us alone to eke out an existence from the land. Then just three days after our _Iddah_ (period of time a widow must wait before she can remarry. Four months and ten days, unless she is pregnant) you fall from the sky. It is _Masha Allah_ (God's will) that brought you here. Allah brought you here to work the land for us so that we and our children don't end up the concubines of some warlord."

I couldn't help my mouth dropping open in shock, of all the things I expected her to say, them deciding I was going to be their slave laborer was not on the list.

---

Pappy Jimenez cautiously eased his C-130 into a looping left-hand orbit over the smoldering wreckage on the desert below. He was flying at ten thousand feet, so individual pieces of wreckage were unidentifiable.

"Sentry three-three, this is Cowboy four-seven-two, I have visual confirmation of a crash site at the coordinates you gave me. There is no ground activity near the crash that I can see but I can't risk flying low enough to make out fine details. I have enough fuel to loiter here for another hour, over."

Vickie closed her eyes for a moment as her worst fears were confirmed, and then her training and professionalism kicked in.

"Roger Cowboy. Saber two-six and two-seven are thirty minutes out. When they are on station proceed with your mission."

As soon as Vickie was off the radio with Pappy a Special Operations CSAR (Combat Search and Rescue) team was departing from a secret location less than a hundred miles from the crash site. While Victoria Salvatore was coordinating air traffic the CSAR team joined up with the A-10s from Kuwait. The CSAR was composed of a pair of special ops Blackhawk helicopters, a pair of Apache gunships and a MH53M Pavelow IV, a modified Jolly Green Giant helicopter operated by the Air Force Special Operations. The plan was for the Blackhawks to drop off the Special Forces troops while the Apaches and A-10s provided any close air support needed. The MH 53 would loiter above and extract the SF team and the downed pilots when the team found them.

The A-10s flew into the area of the crash site first. The lead pilot made a low level feint into the area and immediately drew fire from the ZSU-23s. The Apaches who had been laying in wait behind a small hill popped up and engaged the ZSUs with Hellfire missiles. Fifteen minutes later the Special Forces team was on the ground being vectored to the first transponder by Lieutenant Salvatore aboard the AWACS. Within an hour they found a transponder and Captain Costas's body. Of Captain Nicholas Pappas’ plane or the captain himself, they found not a trace.

Fifty-five miles to the southeast, Nick's shot up A-10 rested at the bottom of a hundred foot deep ancient water carved canyon, almost completely hidden by a rock outcropping.

---

I was still trying to digest Jamilah's pronouncement when Basheera entered my cell with a big pair of scissors. Without saying a word she proceeded to cut my flight suit away from my body.

"We must get rid of this uniform that identifies you as an infidel. Later, when you are able to work, we will give you some of Hassan's clothes. I think with a beard you will be able to pass for an Arab for the same reason we feared you were a Jew," Jamilah said matter of factly.

Basheera made short work of the flight suit: she also removed my boots and socks, hell, she even took my wristwatch before she and Jamilah exited the room. I was now reclining on the thin mattress wearing nothing but my boxer-briefs, alone in the dark once again. I stopped fighting sleep then, determined to rest, heal up and escape. My last conscious thought was of Vickie and the relationship that was just beginning to blossom between us.

I don't know how long I was asleep before the opening of the door awoke me. Jamilah entered the room carrying a candle and a pitcher of water. Behind her was a young woman I'd never seen before carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of something that smelled delicious. The girl was very pretty but walked with a pronounced foot-dragging limp. Jamilah introduced the girl as her daughter, Adara.

"Adara speaks some English and wants to learn more, in turn, she will help you with your Arabic."

I nodded and said hello to Adara. Like every teenage girl in the world she blushed and giggled when I talked to her. Jamilah handed me the cup and byscooting back and sitting against the wall, I was able to drink. The same approach worked for eating, as there was just enough chain to move my hands up and down about fifteen inches. The food bowl contained _Kabsa_ (lamb and rice stew) and pita bread that tasted as good as anything I'd ever eaten. I demolished the food in the bowl as I chatted with Jamilah and her daughter. Truth be told, I enjoyed the company after hours alone in the dark cell. I also took an instant liking to Jamilah and Adara. They were both smart and lively.

As soon as I finished my second cup of water the urine I had been holding at least eight hours demanded I set it free.

"Jamilah, I have to go to the bathroom," I said.

She raised her eyebrows at me and I knew what her question was. I mimicked peeing with my forefinger and a hissing noise. My pantomime cracked Adara up. Jamilah shushed her and sent her out of the room. When she brought over the chamber pot I tried to convince Jamilah to release one of my hands so I could take care of things myself. She refused, telling me that Basheera had the keys and would make any decisions like that. I sighed and closed my eyes as her surprisingly soft hand fished my dick out of my underwear. It took me a few seconds to overcome my suddenly shy bladder then with a sigh I let loose. Jamilah's giggle sounded exactly like her daughter's as she felt me pulse in her hand as if my penis was a fire hose. She held me cradled in her hand even after I'd finished voiding my bladder.

"You member is very large Neek," she said. "Fatima says your Arabic name should be '_Sayyid Nuhayd'_."

"_Sayyid Nuhayd? Ana mush fahim_ (I don't understand), ' I replied.

"Mister Big," she giggled.

I couldn't help but blush at what she said as well as the response my dick was having to her light caresses. I was guessing that old Abu Bakr wasn't very well endowed if she thought my slightly larger than average unit was that big.

"Will you ask Basheera if one of my hands can be freed?" I persisted.

"Why, you do not like this?' she asked in a hurt sounding voice.

I was careful where I tread because I counted on staying in her good graces. I needed to gain all the women's trust and even their affection if I wanted my freedom any time soon.

"I like it very much, but you will not be here all the time. What do I do in the middle of the night?"

Jamilah saw my point and said she'd mention it to Basheera. She tucked me back into my shorts, went to the door and called for Adara to reenter. We chatted for a couple of minutes as they collected the water and dishes. I had them both giggling again when I told them they looked as if they were college student sisters instead of mother and daughter. After they departed I lay there thinking about how, regardless of culture, at the core people were just people. Jamilah and Adara were normal healthy women craving some interaction with a male who appreciated them. I was determined to grow that feeling with them. After all, it wasn't exactly a punishment to be around two pretty and intelligent women.

---

Basheera Al Hassan quickly completed shaving her _faraj_ (vagina), finished her evening bath and redressed. As is customary among Arabic females, she and all the women in the household were meticulous about their personal hygiene, and shaving the pubic hair was part of that cleanliness. Basheera was a handsome woman, although modesty and responsibility kept her from acknowledging the fact. At thirty-eight, she was the oldest of the wives and the family matriarch. As such, she felt deeply responsible for the welfare of the other women and their children. That concern was the reason for her hard edged behavior. She had despaired of keeping the family together, because without Al Hassan, they were unable to run the farm properly. That's why the arrival of the infidel pilot was truly an answer to her prayers.

Basheera was also a very smart woman. She knew that it would be very difficult to keep the _mallah_ captive, yet he was critical to their survival. She had to find a way to keep him or they were all doomed. As she brushed her long black hair a plan started developing in her mind. The plan would require sacrifices on her part, but she was a strong woman and times were desperate.

---

I had no sooner arranged myself in a comfortable position on the straw ticked mattress than the door opened and in walked Fatima, the fourth widow, (the one I had yet to meet) and Adara. Fatima was carrying a bucket of steaming water, the other wife had a bucket also, and Adara had some folded towels in her hands. Fatima gave me that sweet smile of hers.

"_Marhaba, Neek, Shonak_? (Hello, Nick, how are you?)."

I returned her smile as she used the slang word for how are you, I replied with my favorite Arab expression. "_Marhaba, Fatima, Safiya Dafiya_: (everything is fine (literally means: sunny and warm)). I turned to the unidentified wife. "_Ismy Nuhayd Nick. Ma ismok?"_ I gave Fatima a sidelong glance as I told the girl my name was Big Nick and asked hers. To my delight Fatima's eyes became saucer sized and she blushed furiously. "_Ismy Tahani_, ' the girl said, eyes downcast. Finally, I looked at Adara. "Hello, Adara, my beautiful desert flower."

Adara looked at me thunderstruck as she processed what I said. I could tell by Adara's blush that Fatima asked her what I had said. As she slowly translated, Fatima gave me a surprised look then gestured to the buckets.

"Thank you, Neek, that was a very nice thing to say to an ugly lame girl," Adara said. "Now it is time for your bath. We do not sleep unclean in this house."

I protested long and loud about not needing anyone to bathe me. Adara dutifully translated my objections to Fatima who completely ignored them. Fatima soaped up a roughly woven terry cloth rag and gently began washing me. She started with my head and worked her way down. Tahani dipped another cloth in the clean water and rinsed behind Fatima. Lastly, Adara toweled me dry. They had it down to assembly line precision. Thankfully, Fatima skipped over my underwear and gently washed my legs. As tender as her touch was, I still moaned in pain as she bent my left ankle. She took the rinse rag from Tahani and rinsed my legs herself.

I had to admit I felt much better now and thought they'd leave so I could go to sleep. That was not to be the case, however, because Fatima grabbed the waistband of my shorts and started pulling them down. I once again closed my eyes in frustrated embarrassment when I heard Adara voice a soft gasp. Fatima washed my balls and between my legs as if I were a baby. I was beyond mortified.

---

Fatima Al Hassan could not help but notice once again the pilot's big _zakar_. She had only seen one other in her life, that being the much smaller instrument of Abu Hassan. Fatima was only twenty-five years old, less than half the age of her husband. That age difference and having other wives made it so that Fatima had rarely had a chance to lie with Al Hassan. Even worse, he had not made her with child, and Fatima desperately wanted children.

She was thinking about children as she idly stroked Nick's penis with her soapy hand. Nick making a choking sound brought her back to reality. She glanced up quickly and saw both of the younger girls looking raptly at the growing stalk she held.

"It is a natural thing for him to grow like this," she said to Adara, "but I am not sure Jamilah would want you watching."

Adara protested leaving, but finally agreed to stand at the door to act as a lookout. Fatima then proceeded to give both the naïve girls an anatomy lesson. As she talked she smoothly and firmly stroked Nick's penis. Fatima knew that Hassan had only taken Tahani twice before he disappeared, once to dispense of her virginity and one other time when he could become aroused. It was in becoming aroused where the years had taken their toll on Hassan. Tahani was a last desperate attempt to regain his vigor and produce a male off spring. The inability to conceive a male heir was Hassan's greatest shame. Four attractive wives and twenty years of trying had produced only three daughters, two by Basheera and one by Jamilah. Sadly, Hassan couldn't give Fatima even a daughter.

Fatima smiled wryly when she remembered that she was the last person before Nick to be chained to the wall in the small cell. She had spent a week down here as punishment for complaining to Hassan about his inability to make her with child. Fatima was broken out of her reverie when Nick groaned and his cock pulsated in her hand. She watched in awe as four huge jets of spend arched up into the air. T thick and pearly white, they landed on his stomach. It was so different from the thin watery seed of al Hassan, she knew immediately that Nick didn't suffer Hassan's potency problem.

She efficiently rinsed his groin and pulled up his underwear as the goggle-eyed teens looked on. Fatima was amazed that she had done something so brazen. She knew she had started just to show the younger women how worldly she was, but she ended up in a trance as she stroked his large, strangely cloaked _zakar_. It had been educational for all of them. Fatima handed the teens the water buckets and sent them on their way. She glanced at Nick's face as she left the room, his eyes were tightly closed and his head turned towards the wall. She thought he was a very handsome man and she now knew he was virile too. Best of all, he belonged to them. If he was going to take Hassan's place working the farm, why couldn't one of his duties be impregnating her? She went to her room, her mind awash with possibilities.

---

After the women left, I lay there filled with shame at the ease with which Fatima had made me orgasm. It was as if my traitorous cock had assumed a life of its own. Granted, it had been almost two weeks since Vickie and I had last been together, but I still should have more self-control than this. I was an old fashioned guy who valued monogamy. I didn't take commitments lightly and I had committed myself to Vickie. Sighing in frustration, I made myself as comfortable as possible and fell into a fitful sleep.

I woke up when I heard someone opening the door to my cell. I turned my head in that direction and saw a burka and veiled apparition holding a candle. The woman sat the candle on the floor and moved over next to my sleeping mat. She tested the shackles securing me to the wall then knelt down beside me out of my reach. The dim light and the all-concealing burka left me no clue of whom my visitor might be. I groaned aloud as once again one of my captors pulled down my underwear and started manipulating my dick.

---

Basheera held Nick's sturdy member in her slender, long fingered hand, her resolve suddenly wavering. Basheera had never liked sex, and that part of Hassan being gone bothered her not in the least. From the first painful ripping asunder of her maidenhead until the last time Hassan had taken her twenty years later, it was something she endured as an unpleasant wifely duty. Basheera shook those thoughts out of her head as she felt the infidel's manhood harden in her grasp. She steeled her resolve and swung astride his waist, carefully keeping her weight off his injured legs. This too, was a duty, and because it was for her sister wives and all their children, it was even more important than accepting Hassan's unwanted attentions.

She spit on her hand as Hassan had always done, rubbed the spit on his _zakar_ and then slotted his member at the lips of her _faraj._ She tried to lower herself down on him but his size and her dryness prevented penetration. Basheera rose back up and disgustedly did the only thing she could think of, she transferred a great amount of saliva directly from her mouth to his shaft. She noted with interest his sigh of pleasure and the ripple that went through his body as her mouth touched him and filed it away for future reference. It was, after all, her intent to make him more accepting of his fate by giving him some pleasure.

When his _zakar_ was well coated, she again sat up higher and put him at her entrance. This time the head gained some purchase in her, so she started to settle downward. Her journey lasted only a couple of inches before friction once again stopped her. The feeling of another man inside her was very strange and, she realized with a start, not so unpleasant. She was at a loss on how to proceed when her _faraj_ suddenly started lubricating itself. Tentatively she rose up slightly and sat back down, she smiled in relief as she felt more of his cudgel enter her. She repeated the lifting maneuver a few more times until he was fully in her. She had never been so filled in her life, as the thick shaft stretched her yielding inner flesh.

Once she was fully seated on him, Basheera paused to consider what she should do next. Hassan had never tried sex in this manner. He had only ever taken her quickly and violently with him on top. As she pondered, something in her made her flex her thighs and raise up then let herself drop. Yes, that was the answer. She would have to provide the motion that stimulated him to spend in her. She started a rhythmic up and down motion she felt would cause him to quickly _inzal_ (ejaculate). As she rocked above him, amazing things started to happen. On the up stroke she could feel the flared head of his _zakar_ cause pleasurable feeling of fullness within her, and when their groins meshed, a little twisting motion stimulated the little bud at the top of her sex.

Another thing that surprised her greatly was that the infidel did not shoot in her quickly. Usually Hassan had emptied himself in her channel in only a couple of minutes. Basheera took it as a challenge and sped up her movements. Basheera was starting to pant now, some because of her exertions, but mostly because of the wildly unknown feelings coursing through her body. Her breasts felt as if they had grown too big to fit in their skin and her lower body tingled deliriously. When she felt her prisoner start to thrust up against her she automatically increased her movements to match his. Then the miraculous happened, for as he started to strongly spew into her, a rapturous feeling flooded every fiber of her being. She bit down on the heel of her hand to keep from screaming in pleasure as her body jerked spasmodically.

Later she would rationalize that the incredible events were surely Allah's reward for her sacrifice, for she had never even imagined that so much pleasure could result from sex. She finally regained her composure and carefully moved off him. She cleaned him up with a rag she'd brought for that purpose, moved the chamber pot closer to him and unlocked the shackle holding his left hand. He made no effort to move, his face turned away from her towards the wall. Impulsively, she moved her veil aside and kissed his cheek before darting out the door.

---

I lay there after the woman left once again stewing in my guilt. I now knew how it felt to be taken against my will and I was ashamed at my body's response to what amounted to rape. The only upside I could see to the experience was my freed hand and the nearby chamber pot. Then more guilt flooded me as I thought, "No, that wasn't the only upside." I hated to admit it but while it was happening it felt incredibly good. Whoever my assailant was, she had one of the tightest, hottest vaginas I'd ever been in. Whoever it was, she was also completely shaven down there, which was a big surprise. The little kiss on the cheek in the end was an unexpected show of affection too. I guessed from the kiss and the shaven vagina that my visitor must have been the more cosmopolitan and modern Jamilah. Especially since Jamilah was the one I told about needing my hand freed. She must have gotten the keys from Basheera.

The thought that Jamilah was attracted to me led around to me thinking about continuing to cultivate her as an ally to help me escape. Using her like that seemed a cold and heartless thing to do though, and I was not yet desperate enough to do it. I awkwardly used the chamber pot and settled back to sleep. It was much easier to get comfortable with one hand free. I was deeply asleep instantly.

{strong

Chapter 3

I woke to my second day of captivity trying to find a spot on my body that didn't hurt. I couldn't find one. Surprisingly as long as I was off my feet, my knees and ankles felt better than my neck, back and head. I knew it was typical to have aches and pains that my body suppressed yesterday, but knowing it intellectually and feeling it for real were entirely different animals. I was happy as hell when Jamilah and Adara entered my cell with breakfast.

"_Sabah alkhair_ (good morning), Neek. Did you sleep well?" Jamilah asked.

I returned her greeting. "_Sabah alnur_, Jamilah, I slept well but I am in much pain this morning. Perhaps you could get my medicines out of my vest?"

Jamilah said she would ask Basheera about the medicines after breakfast. She told me that they were going to empty the vest and bury it along with the other trappings identifying me as an American aviator. I nodded, and greeted Adara who rewarded me with a sweet shy smile. Jamilah gave not the slightest indication that she had been my nocturnal visitor. She even commented that she was glad Basheera had decided to leave my hand free. Either she was a good actress hiding what happened from her daughter or my midnight paramour had been Basheera.

Basheera did allow me some of my pain meds. Jamilah brought in my vest while Basheera stood in the doorway. I started removing my medical supplies and giving them to Jamilah along with an explanation of each. Jamilah asked me why I had so many medical supplies. The women seemed interested that I was a doctor of sorts. Finally I dug out the plastic baggy that I'd prepared and took out the pills I wanted. Thinking a little bribe wouldn't hurt, I fished the ten South African Krugerrands out of their secret compartment and passed them to Jamilah. Even Besheera's eyes went wide at the sight of the shiny gold coins. The gold was something I carried on the advise of my commanding officer, there were five of the one ounce variety and five half ounce ones.

"You might as well have these before you destroy the vest," I said.

"These will help us greatly Neek as we need food, seed and other supplies," Jamilah gushed.

Jamilah left carrying my vests and its contents, she stopped at the door and gave Basheera the coins. Basheera stood in the doorway a few seconds then spoke to me for the first time.

"_Shukran_, Neek," she said softly.

My day was much less insane than the preceding one. I made it through two meals and a bath with no one grabbing my joint. I was even left alone to sleep through the night.

On day three I felt much better. My headache was gone, and except for some residual stiffness, everything except my left knee and ankle was feeling much better. The women of the house were in a collective good mood that day, making me feel even better. Adara spent most of the day in the cell with me. She had been assigned the task of improving my Arabic. I would never pass for a native of course, but Basheera had a plan to account for that.

Adara was a delight, she was so eager to learn and so serious in her role as my teacher. I liked her for what she was, a smart and sweet young woman. She liked me because I never thought of her handicap as detracting from her beauty or value as a person. It was Adara who started breaking down the clothing taboos. We were sitting on my sleeping mat, she with a notebook in her lap, me sitting against the wall teaching her grammar. Suddenly my curiosity got away from me.

"Adara, I want to see your hair, I think it must be very pretty like the rest of you."

She blushed and kept her eyes down on her book. "That is forbidden, Neek. A woman must stay covered so as not to lead honorable men to impure thoughts."

"But I'm not a follower of Islam, so my soul is damned anyway," I replied.

She pondered my reply for a few seconds then unwrapped the scarf from around her head. Her hair was even more beautiful than I thought it would be. It was long, thick and a deep dark brown.

I couldn't help reaching out to touch the mass of walnut tresses that flowed down her back. My touch was motivated by curiosity, not lechery. Adara shied away for a second, then with a sigh, leaned her head back against my hand. I knew that my stroking her hair was probably about the only contact she'd ever had with a man, and sadly, because her defect was considered a curse, it might be all she ever received. It was a serious shame because she was an amazing young woman in every measure that mattered. I decided then and there that I was going to do all I could to make her feel as special as I thought she was. A thought that I might be getting too close to these women nagged me from some hidden recess of my mind but I ignored it.

I met the daughters of Basheera on this day also. Their names were Kalila and Zahrah, Kalila was seventeen and Zahrah was sixteen. Both of them were beautiful and both of them were petrified of me because I was a man. Jamilah told me their fear was based on the fact that they were of an age to marry and they were full of fear of being taken from their home as minor wives of some fanatic. Basheera, it seemed, had filled their heads with ideas of marriage being an odious duty.

The Hassan women had worked out an efficient system for taking care of me, with most of the tending done by Jamilah and Fatima. Adara was with me almost constantly acting as my interpreter. I was well fed twice a day and bathed about as often. The women were almost fanatical about cleanliness. My only real complaint aside from being a prisoner was not being given any clothes to wear other than my underwear and a pair of green boxers that must have belonged to Abu Hassan. They made me change every morning and washed what I had worn daily. One concession the women made was to give me a cheap, Russian made, windup watch. The watch had a frayed leather strap, huge luminous numbers on the face and a day of the month window. I had to admit that I felt more naked without a watch than I was about not having pants.

As I lay on my pad that night I began to think about why it was taking so long for help to reach me. In terms of air distance I couldn't be that far from where Pete went down and in the barren desert a crashed A-10 should be easy to spot. Hell, I'd seen pictures taken from satellites that captured a car's tag number. Surely they couldn't miss a fifty-five foot long airplane. I stopped worrying about it because I knew the SAR folks knew what they were doing. They were probably widening the search area as I lay there. I steeled myself to be patient and soon was relaxed enough to sleep.

---

Basheera completed her preparations to once again sacrifice her womanhood for the good of her family. This night though, she had no second thoughts. The only change in her routine was the application of some jasmine scented oil on her _faraj_ to expedite his entry into her depths. As she applied the oil she was surprised that she didn't need much of it at all. Her sex was already damp with her own nectar. Basheera slipped into her _burka_ and put on her face covering _niqab_ before sneaking down the stairs.

Basheera slipped into the cell again and as before the American turned towards her. She set the candle by the door and moved over to the sleeping mat. She tried to tell herself that she was anxious to get it over with, but in her heart of hearts, she knew she was just anxious to get started. He did not struggle or protest when she reattached the shackle to his wrist. When he was secured she moved the candle closer to them so she could see him better. She was pleased when he didn't struggle as she pulled off his underwear and heartened that his manhood was already straining to its full length and girth.

This time there was no dryness to impede her progress as she sat down on him. Instead her natural lubrication and the jasmine oil allowed her to smoothly take him in a few delicious movements. Because the experience was so pleasant last time, Basheera experimented with angle, speed and depth of penetration. To her amazement, everything she tried felt good to her. It took her only minutes to reach a thunderous climax. She bit the heel of her hand again and thrashed wildly above him. Her orgasm seemed to last forever, it was so strong she became lightheaded. With one last shudder, her upper body fell forward until she was draped over him, her face resting on his chest.

She stiffened a moment when his arms wrapped loosely around her shoulders but then she relaxed and settled into his embrace. Throughout her achieving her release he had been still beneath her. Now he gently started rocking his hips from side to side. His phallus was still hard in her so she figured he'd yet to spend. As he slowly ground against her, he moved one of his hands around until he found her swollen and sensitive breast. He squeezed it firmly but not painfully in a way that felt wonderful to her. When his lips started pushing against her veil lightly nibbling her neck through it, tingles radiated down her body. She grabbed the candle and blew it out plunging the room into inky darkness. Sitting up slightly she unwrapped her _niqab_ veil and head covering.

---

My nighttime visitor returned on my third night in captivity. My response to the sight of the shadowy burka clad figure was classically Pavlovian as my dick hardened instantly. I didn't resist her as she loosely reattached the manacle to my right wrist, I was certain now that my visitor had to be Basheera because she was the only one with the keys to the shackles. I couldn't figure out her motivation for doing this but my conditions improved dramatically after her last visit so I was not going to fight her off even if I could. Besides, even though I could tell she wasn't a very experienced lover, she had a marvelously tight and talented little pussy. Thinking that cause me pangs of conscience, pangs that were quickly pushed aside as she sat astride me.

She didn't have any problems mounting me this time. She was hot and slick as she worked her way down my shaft. She started moving on me as soon as she was fully seated. She moved up and down a couple of times then started moving in different directions as if she were trying to find what felt best to her. I was enjoying her experimentation. Her syncopated rhythm kept me from getting overly excited. Amazingly, it took only a couple of minutes for her to orgasm. It must have been a big one judging by the way she writhed on my dick. When she fell forward onto my chest I instinctively wrapped my arms around her, suprising myself with how easily my hand exited the shackle. She stiffened then settled into my embrace, her breathing ragged. I was still hard as a brick and horny as a goat, so I moved my hand onto her breast and started rocking my hips. I couldn't push with my bad leg so I had to settle for a little circular movement I achieved by alternately flexing my thighs and stomach.

She surprised me again by blowing out the candle and taking off her enveloping veil. When her lips sought out mine my dick became even harder. Her breast was bigger than I thought it would be. It was a nice firm handful, even through the coarse material of the burka. When I found her nipple and squeezed it firmly, she broke our kiss, raised her head and made a keening, cooing sound … a drawn out "EEEEEEEE." Her hips sped up and she reattached her lips to mine. Soon she was in overdrive, speeding us both to orgasm. We came at the same time and she bit down on my neck to muffle her screams.

She stayed draped on me for a few minutes as her labored breathing returned to normal. I enjoyed the feel of her lithe body and the sweet perfumed smell of her hair. When she had her breath back, she dismounted me, fumbled the keys out of her pocket and released my right hand again. Then she swooped up the candle and slipped out the door.

---

Basheera thought her feet were hardly touching the ground as she headed up the stairs out of the basement. She felt giddy and light headed as if she were her daughters' age. Never in her wildest imagining had she ever suspected that lying with a man could bring such astounding pleasure. She reached up and absently rubbed her fingers across her lips. She smiled that they were swollen and still tingled from his kisses. Even her breasts felt as if his hands were still on them.

Had Basheera not been in such a euphoric haze, she would have seen that someone had observed her going into the American's cell. That someone was her sister wife Fatima. Fatima saw her because she had a similar plan in mind for their prisoner. Fatima had watched through a gap in the door of the cell as Basheera had mounted Nick. She was actually glad that she had missed her chance tonight because she would have never thought to mount him like that. She also noted with interest the _burka_ and _niqab_. She felt she had no need of the veil but the loose burka would be much easier to hike up than the tighter _abaya._

She had watched in fascination as Basheera had bounced around on Nick's large appendage. The sight had made Fatima's own _faraj_ moist and tingly. She had to cover her mouth to keep from exclaiming as Basheera orgasmed. Fatima's purpose was to become with child, but if, as an unplanned consequence, she felt the pleasure Basheera was experiencing, so much the better. Her plan would have to be delayed until tomorrow, but she would be much better prepared.

---

Day four started as another good day. My right leg felt good enough to bear my weight if I wasn't chained. Today I was determined to work on that. Jamilah and Adara arrived with my breakfast about seven. T the widows of Abu Hassan were early risers. I was pleased to see that both had forgone their head covering scarves. Jamilah handed me a plate of pita bread and tomato slices while Adara sat a cup of strong, sweet coffee down on the floor. Jamilah straighten up and sniffed the air.

"Did Basheera awaken you? I smell the jasmine she wears," Jamilah asked.

I kept my face in my plate and hoped I wasn't blushing.

"She came and checked on me last night," I replied.

"It is good that Basheera regards you well, Neek, else your life would be as bitter as lemon."

"Jamilah, if I am going to be a help to your family I need to be able to stand up and move around some. If I can't do that, my recovery will take longer. I think that my right leg is much improved and I need to exercise it some. Do you think Basheera would consider such a request?"

I received my answer around mid-morning when Basheera and Fatima came into my cell. Basheera had a six-foot length of heavy chain with her. The women shackled my right hand to the wall and freed my left. They used wrenches to remove the bolts that held the short chain from the manacle to the eyebolt in the wall and replaced it with the longer one. When they freed my right hand, I had enough chain to stand up and even take a few steps. I asked the women to help me up, and with some effort, I stood up on my right foot. After being flat on my back for three days, I was overjoyed that I could at least hold myself up now. I gingerly set my left foot down and was rewarded with a sharp stabbing pain. Fatima and Basheera held me so I could keep my balance and Adara ran out to get me a chair. A minute later, I was sitting in a chair with my left foot up on a padded stool.

"_Shukran, husniyah hooriyas_ (thank you, beautiful angels)," I said.

The phrase was another of my Arabic favorites. I loved the way it rolled off my tongue and had often used it with Vickie Salvatore. When I said it to Vickie it was always just poetic flattery but here and now it was my sincere expression of thanks. The women all looked at me and then at one another. Their surprise was almost comical.

Adara and I had language school again. She had a magazine full of pictures. She would point to an object in the magazine and name it in Arabic. I'd repeat the name until I had the pronunciation correct, then she'd move to the next object. After I had about twenty new words in my vocabulary, she would use the word in a sentence and I would repeat it. We spent most of our time speaking Arabic unless she needed to explain something. All the wives stopped by at one time or another and helped with my lessons. I have to admit that having good looking women as teachers made me a motivated student. By the end of the day, the only women wearing scarves were Tahani and Basheera's daughters. Adara also gave me a name the women could all pronounce that day. During our talk I told her my complete name, 'Nicholas Constantine Pappas.' Constantine was my mother's maiden name. Adara immediately dubbed me Neeko and it stuck.

After supper, Jamilah brought in a small table with a chessboard inlaid in the top and another chair. We played a couple of games of chess and talked.

"Neeko, the money you gave us was such a relief, especially to Zahrah and Kalila. They both are of the age to marry and were afraid Basheera would have to accept an offer for them to keep the farm going. The money has eased their fears and your presence gives them hope that the farm can once again be profitable. They want to marry eventually, but want it to be to men they choose for themselves."

I nodded and asked, "What about Adara? She is a beautiful girl and so lively and smart, guys must be crazy about her."

She shook her head sadly. "Adara is all those things but being cripple makes her unattractive to most men here. If she left here, the best she could expect was a house servant position with a good family. Years of wars and purges by the Batheists regime have decimated the male population. Suitors are more choosey because women greatly outnumber men."

"Their loss," I said.

---

Jamilah put the chess set, table and chair back in the big basement room and came back into the cell to bid Nick a good night. Impulsively, she kissed him on the lips before she closed and locked the door. It was the briefest of kisses, but it nonetheless sent a jolt through her. Nick was not the devil Saddam's propaganda had portrayed all Americans to be. His concern for Adara was sweet and sincere which automatically made her like him. It was the way he treated her, though, that made her think liking could turn into something else. Jamilah didn't know what to think about these new feelings. She'd had crushes on boys when she was younger, but she had really never had any strong feeling for an adult male before now. What she was beginning to feel for Nick was both confusing and exhilarating.

Fatima waited patiently for Jamilah and Nick to finish their chess match. Then she bided her time in case Basheera would visit the prisoner again that night. Thankfully, Basheera stayed in her room. Fatima slipped on her burka, brushed her hair and silently slipped down to the basement. She didn't have a specific plan for seducing Nick, all she knew was that she was at her most fertile now and this might be the best opportunity she would ever have to get pregnant.

---

I was blissfully dozing on my side, facing the door when its creaking woke me up. It had been heavenly to get to change positions so that I wasn't flat on my back again. The door swung open and Fatima slipped into my cell. She closed the door behind her and moved over to my pallet, carrying a lighted candle. I greeted her and patted a place on the sleeping pad next to me. I was covered up with the coarse wool blanket I slept under. Fatima sat down next to me and put the candle on the floor. I wasn't displeased to see Fatima. I liked her sweet nature and ready smile. Fatima returned my greeting and shyly asked how I was feeling. My standard reply of 'sunny and warm' made her smile. I was having a hard time figuring out why it made me feel good to make the widows of Abu Hassan smile, given the circumstances, but it sure did.

Fatima surprised the hell out of me by lying down beside me so that we were face to face. She said something to me that I didn't understand and then she kissed me on the lips. It was a nice kiss. Her lips were soft and moist. Then she proceeded to teach me some Arabic that I'd have never learned from Adara. She touched my one-eye ranger and said, "_Zakar,"_ she touched between her legs and said, "_Faraj, _" and then she pushed her hips back and forth and said, "_Jima_". As if I were a naughty twelve-year-old I repeated, _"Zakar"_ and _"Faraj"_ pointing them out. Then I made a circle with my left thumb and forefinger and pushed my right forefinger through it, "_Jima, _" I said.

She gave me another smile and nodded. Then her expression turned serious. "Fatima, Neeko _jima_," she said.

{strong

Chapter 4

Fatima's pronouncement that she wanted to make love was more than fine with me. I was already hard just from her talking dirty to me. That it was fine with me caused me a moment's pause, as I am normally a pretty straight-laced guy. Yet here I was raring to go with a second woman in two nights. My new horniness seemed to go hand in hand with a general feeling of well being that I'd come to accept as the prisoner of the Hassan widows. I rationalized that maybe I was returning the favor for the care they had been giving me. Also, it was they who were initiating the sex not me, so I certainly wasn't taking advantage of anyone. Besides, their bubble was going to be burst soon enough when the search and rescue folks widened the search for me. All that went through my head in a millisecond as I pulled Fatima closer to me. This time it was my lips that sought hers.

Fatima was shorter than the other women in the house. Even Adara was taller. Even though I hadn't seen her body, she also seemed curvier somehow, but I might be making that assumption based on her face being rounder. The clothing the women wore was intentionally designed not to give a hint as to what their body might be like. I decided to find out if my theory was correct by getting her naked, as we kissed I reached down and started working her burka up her legs. The burka's voluminous skirt was easy to push upward even though she was lying on the back of it. In seconds I had her exposed from the waist down. I trailed my fingers up her thigh until I reached the juncture between them. Fatima was as smooth shaven as Basheera had been, I was curious about that but pleased, too.

When I traced my fingers across her plump nether lips, Fatima gave a startled little jump and kissed me even harder. Kissing seemed to be something new to her, but she was sure enthusiastic. Fatima felt as I imagined she would, she was soft and curvy in all the right places. I softly stroked her thighs and around her puffy lips for a minute then started to try to get her burka off her. Fatima sat up so that she was on her knees facing me. She reached both hands up to the right side of the square shouldered burka, released a couple of concealed buttons, then whipped the garment over her head. My breath caught in my throat, as I took in the sight of her kneeling there nude, arms at her side, eyes downcast, and cheeks rosy with embarrassment.

"_Husniyah_ (beautiful)," I whispered.

I said that reverently, and I meant it whole-heartedly. Her body was magnificent, all soft flawless skin and gentle curves. She blushed at my unabashed stare but didn't try to cover herself with her hands. T there was no coyness in Fatima. After a minute she reached forward and started to ease the green boxers I wore off me. I pushed my right foot against the mattress to help. She giggled when my fierce erection caught on the waistband and she had to free it. She made as if to swing her body astride me but I stopped her. She looked at me inquisitively but acquiesced when I maneuvered her until she was prone beside me again. As I said, I liked Fatima and her body was to die for, so I wasn't in a hurry to get to the main event.

---

Fatima was nervous as she lay back beside Nick on his sleeping pallet. She wasn't nervous about being nude with him. His obvious admiration of her body had cured that. Instead, she was nervous about what he was doing and how it was making her feel. Fatima had never felt loved or cared about like this in her life. She had been the least favorite of Hassan's wives and a frequent victim of his casual cruelty. He had referred to her as a worthless cow because she didn't give him the son he coveted. She had accepted his condemnation for years until she figured out that his impotence was the problem, not hers. Now here was a man doing things to her that felt indescribably good. The intensity of her response to his touch confused and scared her.

His lips upon her _Buah dada_ (breast) and his languid stoking of her _faraj_ were making her forget that her purpose here was to become with child. His fingers at the top of her opening felt infinitely better than her own had felt on the rare occasion she had resorted to the sinful practice of self-gratification. Soon he had her bucking her hips up toward his fingers as she experienced the first orgasm she'd ever had that was not self-induced. He kissed her again as she recovered from her orgasm, she loved the way his lips felt on hers and marveled at his patience with her.

As the kissing heated them both back up, he began moving her so she was over him. He held his rigid shaft as she squatted above him. He moved the blunt head of it around some to get it lubricated, and then guided her down on it. Fatima's eyes opened wide as she felt the thick knob pushed into her. She had never felt anything remotely akin to the pleasure radiating from her core as she slowly worked her way down on him. But the large girth of Nick's _Zakar_ wasn't the only new sensation Fatima was experiencing.

As Fatima began to raise and lower herself over Nick's turgid shaft, she began to sense something move within her _faraj_. It was subtle at first, but as she built up to a rhythm of long, forceful strokes, this sort of tickling sensation became more pronounced and quite pleasant.

Fatima would learn sometime later that Nick's foreskin was responsible for this exquisite sensation, for as his uncircumcised _Zakar_ moved within her, the foreskin would retract and roll back over the tip, sending spasms of pleasure throughout her body.

---

Fatima was the tightest thing my dick had ever been in besides my hand. I stifled a groan as she sank down on me. When our groins finally meshed together, she immediately rose up until I was barely in her before slowly working her way back down on me. I didn't last long with all the stimulation her tight little quim was giving me, but luckily, neither did she. We came within seconds of each other, my spewing cock seem to trip her over the edge. I pulled her trembling body down onto mine. She felt just right lying on top of me.

I was amazed and she seemed impressed that my erection never subsided. Our second bout of lovemaking was slow and gentle, interspersed with lots of kissing and touching. I lavished much attention on her marvelously full, impossibly firm breasts. We both climaxed again then lay cuddled up for awhile before she slipped into her burka, kissed me passionately and left. I slept better that night than I had in years.

I woke up on the morning of the fifth day after my crash feeling too good for words. My right leg felt as good as new. My left knee twinged and my ankle was still too sore to flex, but I could tell I was healing. My morning went as well as how I felt. Fatima brought me a bucket of water and allowed me to wash myself while Basheera and Tahani moved a small table into the room and a couple of more chairs. When Jamilah brought me breakfast, Adara had a steaming pot of tea and cups for the women. Adara was not happy that Basheera asked her to leave while the wives talked to me. Basheera, Jamilah and I sat at the table while Fatima and Tahani sat on my bed.

Basheera wanted an update on my physical status. I told her honestly how my leg was doing.

"I can walk now with a crutch or maybe a cane" I said, "but it will be another few days before I will be able to bear my full weight on my left foot. It will take at least another week after that before I can walk normally."

Jamilah translated for the other women. Basheera nodded and gave the other women some instructions. I understood a few words, but didn't understand the gist of what she said. I finished my breakfast and drank my coffee sitting there contentedly with them. That feeling of contentment bothered me some. I knew I should be totally focused on escaping but none of the SERE (survival, evasion, resistance, escape) training I had received had even remotely covered a situation like this. Yes, I was being held prisoner, but not in any military sense. I would try to escape if I wasn't rescued before I healed up, but I wasn't going to do it with violence. Meanwhile, the most I could say about my captivity was that I was being restrained while I healed.

My day brightened even more when Basheera brought me in some clothes around mid-morning. She handed me a pair of olive green trousers and a t-shirt. The trousers were loose in the waist and about three inches too short but they would do. T the t-shirt was a white rib knit wife-beater. While I thought I looked ridiculous, at least I was clothed. Adara and I worked on my Arabic all day. The other women dropped in often and conversed with me. I have a flair for language and I was making very good progress adding to my already basic knowledge of Arabic. Adara and I sat at the table where she continued showing me pictures and working them into sentences. She also started teaching me how to write in the right to left flowing Arabic script.

That was a preview of Prisoner of the Widows. To read the rest purchase the book.

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