Forced
2003-11-09
When we arrived at the travel agent, we were greeted by a man about daddy’s age, and he assured us that the only safe way for ladies to tour these countries was with a reputable tour company. Mum insisted that we wanted an adventure holiday, not the run of the mill tourist rubbish, and went on to explain what we had planned two years previous with dad. But the agent said that would have been different with a man in the party. This incensed mum to the point where she got up and stormed out ranting on. “These bloody men think were helpless without a stupid man at our side”. I just followed, and listened to her going on and on all the way home. When we got home the planning started, using the internet, she booked a cheap flight from a local airport, to Fes in Morocco, with a connecting flight to Niafounke in Mali. From there we would take the adventure as it came, making our way around as many countries as we could in the eight weeks of my school holidays. We would then fly home from where-ever we had reached, so that I would be back home ready for the start of term at my new high school. I would be thirteen just before the holiday ended. The detail of where we would reach each day, and what we would try to see on our trip was all irrelevant. Mum said that was the way men planned a holiday, as if they were going on a route march. “We intend to go where fate leads us”, she said. It all sounded so romantic. As mum put it, “If we don’t like any country, we’ll just go somewhere else”, it was that simple. The plane we left on was a charter flight, full of package tour holiday makers.
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Mum kept on saying, “look at them, they're like sheep. They might as well have stopped in England for what adventure their going to see”. When the plane landed almost everybody else on the plane was greeted by a tour rep, and herded away to their next destination. Mum remarked again, “look at them, like children on a school trip”. We on the other hand had no one to assist us; we got the name of our next air operator from our tickets, and looked all around for their checking-in desk. We searched from one end of the airport to the other, walking miles, dragging our own cases. Our search was in vain, we asked, but there was a shortage of English speaking people, except for the tour reps, who were too busy looking after their own people. Eventually I found a young lad, about my own age, sweeping up in one of the airport shops. He spoke English with an American accent; he had apparently learnt English off the American forces radio, whilst listening to pop music. I explained we were looking for ‘Aligmi Air’, showing him the name on our tickets. He went and inquired at the information desk, (we had tried there earlier ourselves, but could not make them understand what we wanted). He returned, explaining that we wanted the freight terminal, on the other side of the airport. I thanked him, and we made our way through tunnel after tunnel, until after about forty five minutes, we were in the freight building. What we hadn’t realised was that freight planes over here also carried a limited number of passengers, this was strictly the bottom end of the air travel market. There was no posh check in desk, just a small office with a sign saying the air operator name, and a queue of people standing outside.
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We eventually got into the office, no body spoke a word of English, but the gestures they were making left us in no doubt that the flight we were booked on had already taken off. Mum started ranting at the man in charge, but he just pointed to his watch, and the time shown on the ticket, we were at least thirty minutes late. By using a map, and a lot of hand gestures they explained their best alternative. It meant that we would have to travel east across into Algeria, and via three different airports in a circular route we would arrive at our original destination. Or at least that’s what we thought they meant. What we couldn’t tell was whether the stop at each port of call would be hours, or days. We had no choice, but to take the flight they were offering, and pay for it. As dad had explained when we had planned the original trip, a lot of these countries do not recognise travellers’ cheques. But American dollars are currency anywhere in the world. Not that mum would admit to taking dad’s advice, but she had converted all our money into dollars, and as soon as they saw her open her wallet, their eyes lit up. Mum put some dollars on the table, and hovered above with her hand clutching a fist full more, in a gesture to ask how much the tickets cost. The man just kept waving for more, until mum suddenly stopped, and grabbed some of the notes back off the table. “The bloody sod wants more than we paid in England for the full journey”, she said turning to me. The man took the remaining pile of money, and stuffed it in his pocket. He then gave us a piece of paper which he'd hand written in a foreign language.
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When we looked at the piece of paper, which we took to be our tickets, the only thing we could understand was the time, which was one hour away. As we left his office, he followed, and ushered us towards the outside door that led out onto the runway. Everyone else was waiting around, and mum didn’t like the idea of boarding now and waiting out on the runway in the sweltering temperatures out there. So she insisted, that we ignore him and go and find some refreshments. “We’ve got a bloody hour yet, he’s just trying to show how important he is”. The man threw his arms in the air, as if in despair, and beckoned to the others waiting around to come to the door. There was about twenty people waiting, and as soon as he beckoned they all made a mad dash. They were struggling with each other to get out first, within seconds they had all disappeared through the door. We looked through an outside window, and we could see them rushing across the tarmac towards a waiting plane. When I say plane, I have only seen planes like this one in old movies, like Casablanca, I didn’t realise planes this old could still fly!I suggested to mum that perhaps we should have taken the man’s advice, and boarded first. At this she just shrugged her shoulders, and walked off in search of somewhere to get refreshments. We eventually found a little bar, and by the time we’d had a coke each, it was time to make our way back. When we got back the man was once again agitated, trying to get us to hurry, but mum insisted we took our time. We walked across the tarmac to the plane, climbed the steep boarding ladder, and stepped inside. The reason everyone else had wanted to board first was the lack of seats.
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They were arranged in pairs, and there was only three rows each side of the central isle. That made twelve seats in all. The remaining people were sitting on boxes, and sacks on the floor. Mum tried making a fuss, but she was soon told, with a combination of shouting, gesturing and pushing, to shut-up and sit down. We sat on old sacks like the other unlucky passengers. We had only just got seated when the heat made its presence felt, this was not like the modern air conditioned planes I been in before. Looking around it reminded me of the old planes that I'd seen in the old black and white war films. There was an exposed metal framework running all along the inside of the main cabin, and there were no windows on either side, like a normal plane. The back half was stacked with boxes, covered with a big rope cargo netting. The only lighting was a row of dim bulkhead lights in the centre of the roof, running the length of the plane. It had been sitting out here in the blazing sun for hours. It was like an oven in here, the sweat was pouring from the skin of every person in the plane, it stank. My thoughts were suddenly broken by the rumble, and then roar as the engines burst into life. Even the noise was not like any plane I’d ever been on before. As the big propeller engines burst into life, the plane shook violently and the noise was deafening.
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The plane taxied out to take off, there was no stewardess giving safety instructions, you wouldn’t have heard them even if there had been one. The thundering noise reached a level where it was hurting my ears, and then the plane started rolling. It taxied slowly for some time, and then stopped. The engines now increased their speed and noise until it felt like they were going to explode. Suddenly the plane started moving, getting faster and faster, until some of the rumble noise ceased, and we were in the air. Within minutes we felt the plane level off. The noise reduced to just a loud roar, but it was still impossible to hear what anyone said, even if they shouted right in your ear. We had been flying for about fifteen minutes when a man who’d been sitting in the second row, got out of his seat. He walked passed us down the middle of the stacked cargo. When he reached the back of the plane, without trying to hide what he was doing, he undid his zip, and pulled out his prick and proceeded to have a piss. He stood there in full view pissing on the floor, I was transfixed, first I’d never seen a man’s prick, and to piss in public was unheard of. Mum brought me back to my senses, as she stood up and pulled me with her. She made her way to the vacant seat where the man had been sitting, sat down and pulled me onto her knee. I looked back nervously wondering what the man would do. We soon found out.
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When he’d finished he zipped himself up, and walked back to where we were sitting. He gestured, and asked us to get up (not that we could understand his words). Mum clung onto me, and shook her head, as if to say no. The man didn’t shout, he just leaned over and forced his arm in-between my back and mums chest. As soon as he'd wrapped it around me under my arms, his other arm went under the backs of my knees. He lifted me effortlessly out of mum’s grip. He stood in the centre aisle, looking around for somewhere to put me down. There were plenty of eager arms being held out by the other seated passengers, who I now realised were all men. The only women on the plane were all sitting on the floor. The man holding me selected the second row, on the opposite side of the aisle to his own seat, and laid me across the laps of the two men seated there. The men immediately took advantage of this opportunity. As one man held me down by my shoulders, the other man pressed down on my waist with one arm. Now they'd got me pinned down, the man restraining my shoulders was using his other hand up the inside of my tee-shirt to check out my little tits. The man pressing on my tummy was using his other hand up my skirt, to check out my crotch. This all happened so fast, while I was being molested, my mum had been lifted from the seat in the same effortless manner.
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She was then carried to the back of the plane protesting loudly all the way. When he reached where the cargo was stacked, he tied her down to the cargo netting with an odd bit of rope he’d found. I was still struggling, but to no avail, as the hands of the men seated in the row in front and behind were all getting in on the act. My tee-shirt had been pulled off, along with my bra (not that my tits were big enough to need a bra), and my knickers were leaving my legs. The hands were all over my body, I was terrified, as fingers probed my dry, tight, virgin cunt. The probing was hurting, but it was more the brutal manner that was frightening me. My legs were now wide open, and I could see someone standing there unbuckling his belt. Even at the age of twelve, I realised he was going to rape me, but I was helpless to do anything. Suddenly the door from the pilot’s cabin opened, and a man in uniform stepped out. He immediately dashed into action, swiping at people as he waded his way through to me. Nobody fought back, or resisted him in any way, and I was soon being helped to my feet. I was led into the front cockpit, the pilot was sat in one seat, and the other seat was empty. I was sat down on a little seat that hinged down off the dividing wall between the front cockpit and the main cabin. He then went back to retrieve my clothes, and returned, but with only my ripped tee-shirt. He helped me get it on, and handed me a box of tissues to dry my tears.
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He had closed the door to the main cabin, and was trying to comfort me. Talking was still impossible because of the noise of the engines. He was trying to ask me something, pointing at my legs, but I couldn’t make out what he wanted. The gesture that he was making looked like he wanted my legs open again, but I couldn’t make him out. He took the head phones off the pilot, and placed them on my head. Then he put on the pair off the back of the empty seat. “Can you hear me now?” he asked in clear English. “Yes”, I replied, nodding as well. He reached up and opened a small locker, taking out a medical box, which he opened. He took out a tube of cream, put the box back and turned around. “Ok. Don’t be afraid. Just lean back and lift up your skirt, I’ll put some cream on your legs for you”, he said. I leaned back, and lifted the hem of my skirt; he got down on his knees, spread my legs wide open, and moved forward, pushing my legs wider. He squeezed a long string of cream out of the tube, onto a finger of his other hand.
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“Ok. I’m not going to hurt you, just relax, and I’ll rub this cream in to take away the stinging”. I wasn’t really stinging at all. True, it had hurt while they were poking at it, but it wasn’t hurting now, only slightly sore, and not enough to make a fuss about. But I didn’t stop him, and the cream met up with my naked flesh, he stroked back and forth. At first he was rubbing the cream in around the tops of my legs, and then he placed his hands on my waist and slid me towards him. My bum was now clear of the seat, and my weight was taken by me laying my back on the seat. He continued rubbing in the cream, going right underneath me, up as far as the end of the crevice in my bum, and then coming forward and massaging around my bulging little whispery haired mound at the front. He would stop momentarily to squeeze another long string from the tube, and then back to his stroking. The pilot was more interested in watching my cunt being stroked than he was in flying the plane. The cream was penetrating every nook and cranny. His finger end was entering both my arse and cunt in turn. But as he was sliding it in so gently, there was no sensation of pain and I was not in the least frightened by him. It all seemed quite proper, as though it was the school nurse, or a doctor making things better. By now his finger was going up my arse past his knuckle, and up my cunt the full length of his middle finger.
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The finger up my arse neither hurt, nor did it give me a thrill. But every time he pushed his finger up my cunt, I felt such an overwhelming sensation, that I started arching my back and lifting my cunt up to meet his probing finger. “Does that feel good?” He asked. “Ooooo Yes!” I replied. “I’ll try using two fingers, tell me if it’s too much for you”, he said. He put two fingers together, and pushed them right up. “Ooooo Yes. That’s good”, I said. The pilot reached up to a locker door, and pulled out a couple of blankets, which he threw on the floor. He was shouting something and gesturing, but even though we couldn’t hear what he was saying, it was obvious he thought I should be laid on the floor. There wasn’t very much room behind the two pilots’ seats, but once the little seat was hinged back against the wall, I was soon laid down on the blankets. The co-pilot lifted my legs above my head, and spread them as wide as the room would allow, saying to me. “Take hold, so I can get at you properly”.
The silly thing is, that I did take hold, and he had both hands free to stroke and massage to his hearts content. Two fingers of one hand were probing deep up my cunt, while his other hand manipulated my clit.
Between the two approaches, I was soon writhing about, asking for more. He kept on working on me while he asked, “would you like to try something a bit bigger up there?”“I don’t know. What do you mean?” I asked. “Something bigger than my fingers”, he said. “Like what?”“I could put some cream on my cock. That way I can reach deeper inside”, he said. “Ok. But not too much”, I replied. He was still kneeling; he unbuckled his belt, and pulled his trousers and pants down to his knees to reveal a big thick shaft of flesh. It stood there like one of those prairie dogs that you see on a David Attenborough nature program, only this one had only one eye, looking skyward. Thinking about how tight the two fingers had been in my cunt, and looking at the size of this thing, I thought to my self, “there’s no way he can get that big thing up my little cunt”. “You aren’t thinking of trying to get that in are you?” I said. “You’ll like it. Honest”, was his reply. “Please no.
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Don’t. It’s too big”, I said. “It’s not that big, and your little pussy is just waiting to be stretched. Wait till I put some cream on, and I’ll just put the knob end in, then you can tell me if you want more”, he replied. He knelt there squeezing cream out of the tube, and smearing it all over his stiff prick. I lay there feeling very nervous, not knowing whether to resist or not. “Ok. Are you ready”, he said, and without waiting for a reply he pushed the knob end against the entrance to my hole, the lips of my cunt opened like magic, and wrapped themselves around his dick. Now the end was in, it felt warm and it was pulsing, without knowing what I was doing, I lifted towards him pushing it in deeper. It was like nothing I’d ever felt before, I lifted again, and heard myself in the headphones saying, “Give it to me. Push it up. Oh God! Push it up more. Come on. Come on. Fuck me!”That was all the encouragement he needed, it rammed in deep, taking my breath away.
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His ramming was slow and methodical, pulling almost out, and then ramming in deep till his balls slapped against my bum. The sensation in my cunt was beyond anything that I could have dreamed about. But now there was something stirring my emotions, I knew something was about to happen but I didn’t know what. At that point he was also about to cum his milky seed, and knowing how young I was he didn’t want to put a baby up there. As I was about to explode, he pulled his prick out, and pushed hard against my arse hole, which he had previously creamed up with his finger. It slid in, and he pushed hard forcing the full length up my anal passage. I let out a scream, as my arse felt like it was being torn open. Simultaneously my cunt let flow a flood of sticky juices, as I had my first orgasm. His prick was deep up my arse, and as I writhed about, the grip of my arse pulled on his prick, shooting his hot spunk deep into my anal passage. He collapse and lay on top of me while I continued to writhe about. By the time I’d stopped, his prick had shrunk and slipped out, he opened his eyes, and said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I couldn’t risk giving you a baby. Are you ok?” I wrapped my legs and arms around him, and hugged him with all my might. “Oh I love you.
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Fuck me again, please fuck me again”, I couldn’t believe the words as they came over my headphones, was that me asking to be fucked again?“So you did like it?” he said pulling himself free and getting to his feet. He climbed across into his seat, passed his headphones to the pilot, and he took over flying the plane. The pilot now climbed into the back with me, and while dropping his trousers said in broken English. “Ready for gig gig gurley”. He was now in position, and his prick was sliding up. It could have been that I was getting used to being fucked, but his prick didn’t seem as big as the other man’s. He had the same long ramming action, but with a little faster pace, and I was soon in love again. My cunt started building to what I now knew would be an orgasm, which would take me to a semi-spasmic state. Once again like his partner, he pulled out, and I prepared myself for the pain in my arse. His knob end entered, and instead of ramming it right in deep, he pushed his prick in and out pumping his spunk into my arse, without me taking the whole length up. This was super, my cunt flooded out juices that ran down around his prick lubricating it as he pumped his hot sticky spunk up me. I once again was surprised by my own voice in the headphones. “Fuck my arse. Go on fuck it deep. Shoot your spunk right up”, it was like there was a devil taking over my voice, like one of those horror films.
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But he did as I had bid him; the remaining drops of spunk were injected deep into my bowels. At which point he pulled out, stood up and watched me writhe about uncontrollably, for several minutes. He handed me a box of tissues, and helped me back up onto the seat. While I was getting straightened up, the pilot got back to the controls, and gave the headphones back to the co-pilot. He climbed back to where I was sitting, and asked. “Are you alright? Are we all cool about this?” He had satisfied himself that I wasn’t going to blow the whistle on their little exploit. He then turned and opened the door to the main cabin. As we looked out, I was horrified to see my mum, laid on the floor spread wide open with a man fucking away. I went to get up, but was pushed back in my seat by the co-pilot. “Wait there till I sort this out, it looks like there all riled up”. He reached into a side locker and took out a revolver, which really frightened me. I think I wet myself, not that I had any knickers on to wet. He stormed out waving his gun about, all the men who were standing watching, and the ones holding mum, scattered back to their seats. But the man fucking mum wasn’t going to stop till he’d shot his load. I expected to see the co-pilot knock him on the head, or shoot him.
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But no. He just stood watching, and waited till the man finally shot his spunk up my mum. He then helped mum to her feet and walked her to the cockpit, telling me to jump in the front seat out of the way. He sat mum on the little hinged seat where I’d been seated. He went back to gather what clothes he could find, and returned, putting them on the floor behind him. Mum was covered in spunk from head to foot; it was in her hair, on her face, tits, everywhere. Although we had only seen the one man fucking her, the rest of the men out there had all been involved, in some way or another. The women that were out there had all kept out of the way, probably too scared to do anything else. How many men had raped her we didn’t know, but she was in a right state, and it obviously hadn’t been an exhilarating experience like the one I’d just had. She was totally naked, the co-pilot was cleaning her down around her tits, and mum was wiping her face. He worked his way down her body, getting her to spread open while he cleaned her up in between her legs. She sat there like I had done, and let him clean her up. He then helped her to get dressed, and took the headphones off me to give to mum. I couldn’t hear what was being said but he was obviously trying to calm her down. She sat there now fairly calm, and he beckoned me to climb out of his chair, he got back in and beckoned me to sit on his knee, there were no other places to sit, so I climbed back and sat on his knee.
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The backs of the pilots’ chairs were tall so mum couldn’t see his hand going up my skirt. His right hand was on the joystick belonging to the plane, but he placed my left hand on his joystick! I opened my legs to give him access to my crotch, and as he played with my clit, and poked my cunt, I wanked his prick for him. When he shot his load, it landed all over the front of his smart uniform. Then when I reached my climax, the juices flooded out of my cunt, running down the inside of my short skirt, and onto his trouser legs. After about an hour we were in sight of the air field, which had a little tarmac runway. As it got closer I could see there was about a dozen wooden huts, mostly very small, but one large one situated in the middle. There was no airport terminal building like we were used to seeing. We came in to land, and touched down without any problems, the pilot doing all the flying while the co-pilot played with my sloppy cunt. The plane taxied up to one of the huts and stopped, the engines shutdown, and the silence was deafening. It was soon broken by mum ranting about getting the police to sort out those raping bastards. The co-pilot was trying his best to calm her down saying. "It would probably be best to forget about it, and just put it down to experience. Out here you'd be better off just making sure your careful never to get into that kind of vulnerable situation again". “CAREFUL. WHAT DO YOU MEAN? WAS THAT MY FAULT THEY BLOODY RAPED ME? YOUR JUST SCARED YOU’LL LOSE YOUR JOB IF I REPORT WHAT HAPPENED”, she was screaming and shouting like a mad woman.
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The co-pilot said if she was sure she wanted to report it, he would go with her to the army control hut. “ARMY? I’M NOT GOING TO ANY ARMY! I’M GETTING THE POLICE INVOLVED”, she screamed. “We’re at least 400 miles from the nearest policeman. Out here the only law is the army, or about 100 miles north, there’s an air base”. He said calmly. By now the ground crew out side had opened the main doors, and put the access ladder in place. As we looked out we could see all the passengers were making their way passed the little wooden huts, and disappearing across the sand dunes of the desert that encircled the air field. “THERE BLOODY GETTING AWAY”, shouted mum getting up and dashing out into the main cabin. We all followed, me apologising to the co-pilot for mum being so rude, and him asking me if I was still cool about our little bit of messing about, I reassured him I was. Mum had arrived at the nearest hut and was shouting and flailing her arms about, much to the amusement of the two men who had appeared out of the air operators hut. They hadn’t got a clue what she was going on about, I tried to calm her down, but she insisted they were all as bad as each other. The co-pilot explained in what ever language they spoke out here (we didn’t even know what language it was, never mind how to speak it), what had happened to mum. They use a lot of gesturing to accompany their words when speaking, like the Italians’ do. Some of this gesturing, especially the bit about her getting fucked, was the same gesture that would be used by men in England. He then went on to describe about how I’d had my knickers torn off, and been molested.
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The two men listened, and the only reaction was a sly smirk, each time something sexual was described to them. They talked for a minute or two with the co-pilot who turned to mum and said, “There’s nothing they can do, company policy states passengers travel on freight planes at their own risk. If you want to take it further he suggests the same as I’ve already told you. You need to report it to the captain of the army unit. He’s in that end hut”, he was pointing to a hut about a hundred yards away. Mum turned and stormed off towards the hut, grabbing my hand and saying. “Come on Virginia. There not going to fob me off with small print excuses like travelling at your own risk”. We arrived at the army hut and she stormed in without knocking. The hut was about ten by twenty feet, as we walked in the door; the desk was directly in front of us. The desk was a solid wooden one, littered with piles of paper documents. It had two chairs on our side and a single chair the other side. At the far end of the hut were about ten men lounging on chairs around another much longer desk. Although they were in uniform, they all looked untidy and shabby. They were playing cards, smoking, and drinking.
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As we burst in, me being dragged by mum, they all leapt to their feet. The officer snapped some orders to the rest, and buttoned his shirt as he walked to the desk and sat down facing us. The men had all sat up straight, and smartened themselves up as well. He appeared to be asking us to take a seat, but mum stayed on her feet. She started a torrent of abuse and complaints, which he obviously couldn’t understand. There was an impasse, with mum gesturing and shouting, and him shrugging his shoulders. The co-pilot arrived, and spoke to the officer, relating the events with gestures as he had done minutes before. The men at the back of the hut were showing more interest now that the mention of sex was introduced (not that I could understand him, but the gesture as I’ve already said was clear). The officer once again urged us to take a seat, and the co-pilot said. “He’s asking you to sit down, so we can sort this out for you”. “It’s about time someone took this seriously”, said mum sitting down, so I sat as well. The co-pilot acted as an interpreter, repeating what the officer said in English, and what mum said in whatever language. Mum went through in graphic detail explaining how she had been raped by all of the male passengers, some more than once. She went into detail, about being fucked up the arse, and down her throat. Each time the co-pilot doing all the hand gestures, the men at the back were staring at me and smirking, and I was blushing more and more.
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Then as if that wasn’t enough, when she’d described her nightmare in full, she went into a description of my ordeal, and I just sat there getting redder. Now the officer said he would need to compile the evidence for any prosecution to proceed, so standing up he barked orders to his men. Two of them rushed across to the desk, one picking up an old cane basket, and the other sweeping the desk contents into it with his hands, until the desk was clear. He then gestured, whilst looking at me. “He wants you to get up on the desk and lie down”, said the co-pilot looking at me. “What for?” said mum. “Well even in England they would surely need to check your daughter had really been molested, and have photographic evidence, wouldn’t they?” came the reply. “Well I suppose so, but they would have a female doctor”. “Well if we fly in a doctor, first you don’t get women doctors in this country, second it would be at least two days, and any evidence would be gone by then. We’re not in your precious England now you know. I don’t know why women like you ever come to our country if you don’t like how we do things”, he was getting irritated. “I suppose you’d better let them examine you Virginia, the sooner we get this over with the better”. And then turning to the co-pilot mum said, “Ask them to send the rest of the men out while the officer examines her”. He spoke to the officer, but the reaction was one of contempt, and he turned back saying. “I'm sorry but the men stay here”.
I looked at mum but she shrugged her shoulders, and said. “You might as well get it over with”. I walked around to the end of the desk and a soldier either side took hold of my arms and helped me up, sliding me back along the desk and laying me down. One of them lifted the hem of my skirt up over my chest, and a soldier either side of the desk took hold of an ankle lifting my legs high and very wide. “Don’t be afraid, there only going to check you out. They won’t hurt you”, said the co-pilot. I lay still while the officer placed his fingers on the lips of my cunt, and pulled them open. “What’s he doing that for?” demanded mum. “He’s got to check inside for signs of forced entry”, came the reply. My cunt was still sloppy wet from the fingering I’d had, and the officer used the fingers of one hand to hold my lips open whilst he used his middle finger to investigate my cunt hole, sliding it up till his hand stopped him going further.
The co-pilot could see mum was about to protest again, when he said. “Look! He’s only checking to see if she’s really been interfered with, let him get on with it and it’ll soon be over”. Mum kept silent, but she was bursting to say something. He poked in and out about five times, and then he must have sensed mum being ready to explode. He pulled his finger out, and went across to a cupboard, and came back with a camera.
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He then took about a dozen pictures from every angle, full body and close-up, and I do mean close. He said something and the co-pilot asked me to sit up and remove my tee-shirt, once again mum started speaking, but was told to stop interrupting, and let them get on with their job. She reluctantly shut up, and I was lifted to a sitting position, and helped off with my tee-shirt. My tits were little more than small firm mounds, with tiny little nipples, but the officer cupped one of them and caressed it gently. I looked at his face, and his eyes were rolling, and he seemed to be somewhere else, this carried on for at least a minute, when mum burst out. “TELL THAT BLOODY PERVERT TO GET HIS HAND OFF HER. THIS HAS GONE FAR ENOUGH”, the officer woke instantly, removing his hand. “Get down now before he touches you again”, snapped mum. I went to turn around, but was prevented by a soldier either side. The officer spoke, and it was interpreted, “He needs to get some pictures before you get down”. I sat still while the officer took pictures of my naked upper body, my mum glaring all the time. After about another dozen pictures I was told I could get down, and given my tee-shirt back. Mum was then told, “Ok Mrs Smith, your turn”. She didn’t say a word, she walked slowly around to the end of the desk like I had done, and was helped up, and like me her skirt was lifted clear, and legs lifted high and wide. Her cunt hole opened by itself, and so did her arse, I couldn’t help staring, but my view was soon blocked by soldiers that had gathered around the desk to get an eye full.
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The officer was using his hands on mum, but as I said my view was now blocked. I stood there not knowing what to do, when I saw the co-pilot talking to a group of soldiers that were struggling to get a look-in at mum’s examination. He kept pointing at me as he talked to them, then about five soldiers came across, and escorted me to the other end of the hut, one sat down and pulled me on his knee. My legs went up held by a man either side, and the soldier standing directly in front of me, a tall black African, dropped his trousers. I had never seen a black prick before, it wasn’t thicker than the co-pilot’s prick, but it must have been at least two inches longer. It shot up my cunt hole like a rat up a drain pipe, and he fucked me like crazy, ramming in and out as if he hadn’t got a second to loose. Before they had finished examining my mum’s cunt, he had pulled out his prick, and rushed around to my head. My head had been forced over to one side so that he could put the knob end into my mouth, where he wanked it, taking only a couple of pulls before he shot his load. The other soldiers made sure I didn’t spit it out, by holding my head back, and mouth shut. I nearly choked, but they just stroked the front of my throat, until they saw me swallow. The hot salty spunk slid down my throat. My legs were placed back on the floor and I was helped to my feet before my mum was sat up to have her tits felt, and be photographed. Mum and I were soon seated back the other side of the desk, and once again the question and answers were going via the co-pilot. It rapidly became obvious that this episode had been in vain, as the air operator didn’t have a passenger list, and the men had all long gone. We had no way of identifying them; they all just looked like Arabs, and to us that meant they all looked the same.
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In short they’d fingered, and photographed both of us, and fucked me (not that mum knew that), and it had all been a waste of time. As we left mum was once again ranting, but the co-pilot just said, “I did tell you, it wasn’t worth reporting, but you didn’t listen”. Mum asked when the plane was due to continue on its journey, and the co-pilot, who said his name, was Alli, said it would take-off at 9:00 am tomorrow. Mum asked, “Where is the nearest hotel?”But Alli laughed and said, “Hotel, the nearest Bedouin camp is 50 miles across the desert; the nearest hotel is about 400 miles away”. “Well where will we sleep tonight?” asked mum. “I don’t known; you only book a plane ride with me. There was no mention of accommodation”, said Alli. “There must be somewhere. Where will you and the pilot be sleeping?” asked mum. We’ll be in that hut with the other two guys from the office. There’s only four bunks in there, but I’m sure we could make room for you two if you want to snuggle up”, he replied with a grin. “We’ll sleep out here”, said mum indignantly. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. Still you won't take any notice of me so I won't bother wasting my breath”, he said. “What do you mean? Why can’t we sleep out here? We’ve slept in the open air lots of times”, said mum.
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“I know you won’t take any notice, but the temperature out here drops to one or two degrees at night, you’ll freeze to death. And if you don’t freeze, the sidewinders, or scorpions will sniff you out before it been dark an hour. Still I’m sure you don’t believe me, so I’ll leave you pair alone, I’m sure we’ll find the information we need in your cases, so we can inform your next of kin”, he said sarcastically. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been a little tetchy. But after what I’ve just been through I think I’m entitled to be upset”, she said by way of a half hearted apology. “I can’t see what all the fuss is about, all you’ve had is a good fucking, and you probably needed that any way. But it’s got nothing to do with me so you be upset if you want, it’s not my problem”, and he turned and walked away. Mum ran after him, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN! I PROBABLY NEEDED IT ANYWAY!” She shouted. I caught hold of mum’s arm, “Mum. Mum, please don’t keep upsetting everyone. We need their help. Please mum he didn’t mean it like that”. She stopped, and stood there silent while Alli walked away and went into one of the huts. “Come on mum.
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We’ve got to get on the right side of them. It wasn’t Alli or the pilots fault. You’ve got to admit it. They’ve both done everything they can to help us, we shouldn’t keep getting annoyed with them”, I tried my best to calm her down. “Ok I suppose your right, but were not sleeping in that hut with four men”, said mum. “Course not. But if we ask them nice, they might let us sleep in the plane, they’ve got blankets, and we’ll be safe from any snakes and scorpions”, I said. “Well you’re a clever girl, that’s a super idea, but how do you know they’ve got any blankets?” she asked. “Err. Well they always have blankets for emergencies, don’t they?” I said not knowing what else to say. We made our way back to the hut, and I went in first, “My mums sorry she got upset, but we are grateful for all the help you’ve given us. I was wondering if we would be allowed to sleep in the plane tonight?”“If your mum was sorry, then she’d apologise herself. I think she’s just saying nothing so you can get us to break company rules. Do you realise we’d all get sacked if anyone knew we’d let you sleep in the plane”, he said. Mum answered him, “I am sorry, sometimes I speak before I’ve thought things through.
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But we would both be really grateful if you would let us sleep in the plane”, this was some come down for mum, I’ve never heard her criticise herself before. “If you were an Arab woman, you would show your shame with an act of penitence”, he said. I expected mum to flare up again, but instead she said slowly and calmly, “What kind of act?”“Something like washing my feet”, he replied. Mum hesitated, looked at me, and I nodded and silently mouthed the words, “Go on mum. Please”. “Ok I’ll wash your feet. But just because I’m doing this doesn’t mean you can treat us like you treat your own women”, she was still defiant in her voice. “I was right before. You’ll never learn. You white women always have to get the last word in. Well the pair of you can go and die in the desert for all I care, your not going out tomorrow on my plane even if you are still alive in the morning. Now piss off out of my sight the pair of you”, he was red with rage. “Please. Don’t get angry. Mum didn’t mean anything, did you mum? You’ll wash his feet won’t you? I’ll wash your feet as well.
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Please don’t send us out there”, I was almost hysterical. “She’s right. I didn’t mean to upset you. Come on where’s the water? Let me show I’m sorry”, mum was almost panicky. He pointed to a jug of water, and then across to where a small dish was on the floor. Mum brought them both back and knelt at his feet. She slowly raised the trouser bottoms up his legs, the stains from my cunt juices clearly showing on the lower part of his trousers. She took off his shoes and socks, and bathed both his feet using her hands, when they were clean she looked up and asked, “Where’s the towel?”“Towel? Use your tongue, show real humility”, he snapped arrogantly. I didn’t wait for mum to blow it again, “Please mum do as he says. Or let me lick him for you”. She turned and looked at me, “Ok just for you”. She turned back and licked all around his feet, when she had finished she looked up at him and said, “Ok does that show I’m sorry?”“I’m not sure. If I asked you to use your skirt to dry them properly, I bet you’d loose your temper again”, he was really trying to humiliate her. “Mum please”, I said quietly. She lifted her skirt, and wrapped it around one of his feet, and commenced drying.
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“The traditional way is to place your skirt over the top of the foot”, he said glaring at mum. Mum kept her cool, and lifted her skirt from under his foot and spread it on top, and continued drying. When she’d finished that one she lifted her skirt to cover the second foot, which he lifted higher, mum lifted her skirt higher, and he took hold of the hem. “What are you playing at?” said mum still on her knees in front of him and getting agitated. He slid one of his feet up in between mum’s legs, forcing his toes into her crotch. Mum immediately started to struggle to her feet. “SIT STILL. WAIT TILL I TELL YOU THAT YOU CAN GET UP. THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE TO PROVE YOUR SORRY”, he was demanding in a loud authoritarian voice. “Please mum. Let him do it”, I said. And she settled back onto her knees, while he eased her legs open wide enough for him to poke her cunt with his big toe. He continued for about a minute with all of the other men crouched around behind his chair watching. He then lifted his foot up to mum’s mouth for her to suck. And to my surprise, she did.
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“Ok Mrs Smith, from now on, I think we’ll expect a different attitude from you. Is that right?” he asked. “Yes”, mum whispered. “WHAT?”“I said Yes”, mum spoke louder. “That's better, now there’s food in the next hut, and a stove, go and get our dinner cooked, were all starving”, he said. She didn’t argue, her spirit was broke, she walked to the door, saying, “Come on Virginia, you can help me”. “She can stay here. We don’t believe in young girls ruining there pretty skin working in kitchens”, he said. Mum was about to respond, but instead she just turned and walked out, shutting the door behind her. “Come on my little pretty, come and sit on this”, Alli said pulling his stiff prick out of his flies. I didn’t know what to do, so I just did as I was told, positioning his prick in line with my cunt and sitting down. With his hands on my waist, and me using my legs I went up and down until he said, “Get up quick”. As it slipped out of my cunt, he pushed me forward, and slid me back down, sliding it up my arse, and shooting his load. At that moment the door opened, and mum stood there, on seeing me she was at a loss for words, then she spoke, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HER?” she said. Alli reacted angrily instead of being defensive, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING BACK HERE ALREADY, YOU CAN'T TELL ME THE FOODS READY THIS QUICK”.
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Now my skirt was down in front of me, so she couldn’t tell he was stuck up my arse. Mum didn’t know whether to answer him or demand her own answers, but she was true to form, “NEVER MIND YOUR FOOD, WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO VIRGINIA?”“YOU DON’T LEARN DO YOU? I SAID I WANTED A DIFFERENT ATTITUDE FROM YOU”, he used a loud angry voice. By now his prick had shrank and slipped out. He stood up turning around as he rose, lifting me to one side. He then used the fact he was facing away from mum to slide his zip up. Turning back he strode across, and picked mum up, carrying her back and sitting on the chair with her across his knee. He lifted her skirt, and slapped her bare bottom soundly several times, and mum’s screaming changed to crying, it must have been too painful to scream. “Your little girl was doing as she was told, and sitting on my knee waiting for her supper. Which her mother would have got ready by now if she wasn’t a disobedient and wilful woman. Now are you going back to get the cooking done or do I have to spank you again?” he was very violent. Mum was still crying and sniffling, but she managed to say, “I can’t light the stove; I came in for some matches”. “Well why didn’t you ask instead of shouting? Here now go and get that food on. And when its ready, knock on the door and wait until your told to come in, or next time I’ll use a whip on your arse”, he said all superior. Mum got up, looked at me and asked, “Are you all right? There not touching you are they?”“No course there not. I was just sitting on his knee, because there aren’t any more chairs in here”, I lied, hoping she wouldn’t notice the spunk trickling down the inside of my legs as it leaked out of my arse.
Looking very dejected, she turned and left. “Gig Gig Gurley”, said the pilot walking me over to the table. Gig I took to mean fuck! I was lifted onto the edge of the table, and he gave me a good fucking, once again shooting his load up my arse. I later found out that this is a normal practice in this culture, it is normal to fuck their daughters from an early age, and when they get old enough to conceive, the arse is brought into play to take the spunk. As the pilot finished the other two men took their turns, each one spunking up my arse in the same way. Their timing was spot on, and I was just finishing getting cleaned up when there was a knock on the door. It was mum, and we all went next door to have the food she’d prepared, sitting around the table they were all laughing and joking, talking about how good a fuck I’d been. I’m only surmising that, because mum and I hadn’t got a clue what they were talking about, but the looks and actions seemed all too obvious. I don’t think mum realised, she probably thought they were talking and gesturing about her ordeal in the plane, perhaps they were, who knows. They were all drinking some sort of alcoholic spirit, what it was I don’t know, but when mum said she couldn’t drink it neat, they poured some sort of mixer from another bottle into her drink; she then said it was quite nice, and joined them. They were getting merrier all the time, and by the time we had finished eating, mum was having difficulty keeping awake, and eventually slumped her head on the table. I asked if someone could give me a hand to get her back to the plane so I could get her off to sleep. I was told the night is yet young, and both mum and I had been invited to a party in the soldiers hut. “But Mum’s out cold”, I said. Alli spoke up, “So what.
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She can still fuck, these lads out here haven’t seen real flesh for months, the fact she’s asleep won't worry them. And it’ll mean it won't worry your mum either. And any way it’ll mean you won’t have to fuck quite so many men yourself, so you should be pleased”. I am always happy to reply to any comments from readers. If you think it’s worth me writing a sequel, acclaim is always preferred, but constructive criticism is also welcome. I can be contacted at victoriajohn@hotmail. com . Please make sure you put “SSP Stories” in the subject box, otherwise your mail will be dumped as spam. .
