Taliban

Of course, I had wanted to change the world with my photographs and I was willing to take stupid risks to do it. How differently I would have had things now… or would I…
I wanted to tell the stories of the ordinary folk, the women and children caught up in the tribal fighting and the innocents who wanted neither the British, the Americans, nor the Taliban. Just me and my camera and my guide, fat lot of good he turned out to be.
I had been in the country exactly two days when I wandered into the Taliban camp, I had gone ‘native’ covered from head to foot, but they spotted my green eyes immediately. I believe there is footage of me shot with my own camera on the internet, tied naked to a post in the desert and my back being flayed to the bone with a vicious lash. Despite my horrible pain I fought them, I bit the first cock that was thrust into my mouth and they knocked out all my teeth.
They were constantly on the move, setting up camp at sunset and travelling again by the time the sun rose. During the day I walked as best I could, or was dragged, sometimes I was allowed to ride in one of the vehicles or a cart. My arms were kept bound tightly to a heavy piece of wood that ran across my shoulders, keeping me in a cruciform position all the time. Most of the time a short piece of wood was tied between my lips and gums gagging my agonised pleadings and making me dribble precious saliva down my front. My body and my head were covered until the evening camp, when I would be laid out on the floor of a tent and each of the forty or so warriors would take their turn to fuck me.
Over the months, I was punished for various misdemeanours, some sleight or other that I was deemed to have perpetrated, by having one of my fingers chopped off. But, I was past caring and by the time they started on my toes, I was only waiting for death.
Not all the men were horrible to me, some tried hard to be quite sweet when no one else was watching, but the cruel ones made up for them and on seeing who was coming next through the tent flap, I even occasionally managed a scream; until their fist connected anyway.
Once they washed me and dressed me up for a visiting tribal dignitary and I tried hard to flirt with him, thinking that he might like to buy me, but he gave me the worst beating of my whole time there… I think I nearly died. But no I carried on living, blind.
Sometime around the eighth month of my captivity there was an enormous battle. There had been skirmishes at other times and some of the men had gone off for a few days, now and again and not all of them always returned. But this was different, it was at night and it was very close and the men were scared. By the morning they had all gone and I lay for some time after sunrise wondering if I would be lying on the floor of this tent until I died. My arms were held by the wooden yolk across my shoulders and my neck was roped to a stake behind my head, my ankles were bound to a couple more stakes keeping my legs open and my cunt and arse easily accessible.
Suddenly there was movement outside the tent, the sound of heavy boots and the noise of military equipment, then the tent was swept open and several men crowded around me. I tried to speak but the wooden gag prevented anything intelligible. I felt the weight of someone kneeling by my head and then fingers untying the cord that held my gag. For the first time in months I felt a glimmer of hope… then I felt the weight of someone kneeling between my legs and the sound of zippers. Then the unmistakable timbre of black American voices and the unmistakable feeling of big black American cock at the lips of my pussy and another at the lips of my mouth…