From conwic@aol.com Fri Jun 13 19:16:28 1997
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From: conwic@aol.com
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: REVISED: Female POW2 1/6 (M+/F,NC,rape,capture,military)
Date: Fri, 13 Jun 1997 23:16:28 GMT
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DISCLAIMERS: This story includes descriptions of rape, bondage, and
torture. If descriptions of such activities offend you, DO NOT READ
THIS STORY!  If you are under twenty-one years of age, DO NOT READ
THIS STORY!  This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  This story may  be
reproduced and distributed electronically where the laws allow so long
as it is not changed in any way and authorship is acknowledged.  I
would like to thank those friends whose advice have helped me in
writing - and rewriting- this story.  I welcome comments and
suggestions from readers. All flames will be ignored.  

PROLOGUE: This story takes place in the Balkans in early 1998, as the
peace process continues to unravel, and the American forces prepare to
withdraw.    The result is the embolden of the Serbian factions
seeking a renewal of the war.  This story examines what happens when
two of the American women now serving as combatants in those forces
are caught in the middle of the developing conflict.
************************************************************************

   FEMALE POW 2  NIGHTMARE IN BOSNIA  part 1(REVISED)
                              by:   conwic@AOL.com

"That one looks like she will show some sport, eh Alexander.  Let's
see how far she gets."

As the two men watched from the sheltering smoke enveloping the looted
shell of what had been the town's largest house, a young woman, clad
in fashionably tight jeans and an expensive- and torn- T-shirt, bolted
from the front door of the adjoining house into the street like the
hunted animal she was.  Her lithe, leggy figure seemed to fly deerlike
across the cobblestones on her Nike running shoes  She crossed the
cobblestone street and had almost reached the beckoning alley when she
made the mistake of breaking stride to look back.  That was when the
swiftest of her pursuers caught her, throwing away his automatic rifle
to make a diving tackle.  In seconds, three other uniformed men had
reached the struggling pair.  One of these grabbed her arms, holding
them above her head, as the oldest man, their Sergeant, used his large
knife to cut away the already torn T-shirt, slicing through the now
soiled white of the shirt to expose her white lace bra.  The bra
disappeared next with a flick of his knife.  Her Levi's required a
longer struggle before the knife had them in shreds.  The young woman,
a pretty, short haired brunette of perhaps twenty, was left naked,
brutally stripped of her clothing except for her Nikes.  Nude, she
displayed a slim, well formed body just reaching womanhood, her skin
pale and translucent like the finest porcelain.  The terrified girl
was roughly forced onto her back as the men prepared to rape her under
the terse directions of their Sergeant.  One man stood by her head,
his booted feet pinning her slender arms to the cold cobblestones as
two of his companions grabbed her feet and forced open her long,
shapely legs to display her shaven vagina.  The trapped girl screamed
frantically, her small breasts shaking enticingly as she struggled
madly to free an arm or a leg.  A constant "NO!" streamed out of her
mouth as if she thought that words would protect her any more than the
possession of the right clothes had protected her.  Few words were
exchanged between the men as they pinned the girl for the coming rape;
they worked with an economy of words and motion born of frequent
practice.  There in the street, held spread eagle on the cold, muddy
cobblestones, the trembling girl- silent now- waited to be raped.
Above her the bearded, grinning Sergeant took his time shedding his
weapon and web gear; he enjoyed the sight of the woman's fear and
meant to prolong this moment.  Despite the muttered urgings of his men
to get on with it so they could have their turn, he lingered to play
with the terrified girl.  Opening his fly, he exposed his erect cock
to the shaking, crying girl, telling her that soon she would find out
what it felt like to be fucked by a real man...by a Serb.  

"GOD DAMN IT ZLATKO, YOU'RE SO SLOW IT WOULD SHAME THE DEVIL! FUCK THE
BITCH!  BUT KEEP HER TO TAKE BACK TO THE HOTEL. 

The Sergeant looked up in surprise at the words.  It took his eyes a
second to find the source of the voice in the smoke coming from the
burning houses.  Then he saw the tall, bearded figure clad in a
pressed camouflage uniform standing with his smaller bodyguard by the
corner of the burning building.  As always, the sight of the man's
cruel smile sent a jolt of fear through the Sergeant's usually dead
emotions.

"ARKAN!"

"Fuck her, Zlatko!  Do the little Moslem piglet.  NOW!"  

The Sergeant obeyed.  He ordered his men to spread her legs more,
painfully stretching them until her long, slim legs were almost
parallel with her hips.  Then, turning his fear of Arkan into a rage
directed at the helpless girl,  he fell upon her, forcing his way into
her, impaling her on his erect cock.  Once he had penetrated inside
her warm form, he supported himself upon his arms and concentrated all
his weight behind his cock's thrusts, pounding into the captive girl
as she screamed and cried beneath him.  In a moment he could feel her
open up, surrendering to his intimate invasion.  He sank deeper into
her, forgetting Arkan, forgetting even his cheering men, as he savored
the tight warmth of her vagina, slick with her warm blood.  The
bearded Sergeant locked eyes with the girl- stared down into her wide
open, pain ridden eyes- as he rode her.  He wanted to see her face as
he emptied himself into her, planted a Serb's seed in her belly.  It
took only seconds for him to reach that point; as he shot into her
womb, the Sergeant stared into her open anguished eyes  and laughed
into her horrified face.  Then he mockingly kissed her tear streaked
cheek and rolled off her trembling nude body.

The man the Sergeant had called Arkan watched the rape with obvious
pleasure.  He was the leader of this uniformed gang of which the four
rapists were a small part.  His name was Zelijko Aleksico, though he
was better known by his nom de guerre, Arkan.  Tall, heavy set, and
with a full, black beard, he was the perfect image of the mountain
hajduk, the traditional folk hero bandit from the centuries long wars
with the hated Turkish occupier.  But he was no simple mountain man
Born a scion of the old Communist elite of Yugoslav, he had been what
was then called an "economic criminal",  a business suited
blackmarketer, successful enough to be able to buy tolerance under the
old Communist regime until he had killed a policeman in a fit of
anger.  Then, calling himself a political refugee, Arkan had spent the
next 3 years in the Serb emigrant communities of western Europe and
the United States where he was still wanted for questioning about a
rape-murder.  Now, calling himself a Defender of Serbia, Arkan was the
terror of northern Bosnia.  With the break-up of Yugoslavia, he had
returned home to find his special talents in demand.  Under the
patronage of the secret police chief in Belgrade, he had been
encouraged to form a private army.  Using his criminal connections,
Arkan had recruited members of the Serbian underworld to play an
important role in Belgrade's war plan.  In the ethnic war against the
Croats and the Moslem Bosnians, these men were the cutting edge of the
effort to terrorize the non-Serbian populations into abandoning their
homes.  In return for carrying out Belgrade's policy of ethnic
cleansing, Arkan was allowed to take whatever he wished from the
refugees.  Cars, money, TV's, VCR's, jewelry, household appliances,
kitchen sinks, even copper wiring were all carted away by his men to
be sold in Belgrade or smuggled out of the country.  Arkan's share of
the loot had already made him one of the richest men in Serbia.  He
and his men also took women,  both for their own pleasure and as a
calculated method of terrorizing their traditional Moslem and Croat
enemies.  In the Balkans, rape was a weapon of  war; it was a weapon
for which Arkan had a particular passion.  

It was a passion which Arkan enjoyed indulging both personally and
vicariously.  At the moment he was content to vicariously enjoy the
young Moslem girl's rape.  As the now sated Sergeant withdrew, one of
the men holding the girl's legs took his place.  Arkan watched as this
man rutted atop the young short haired girl, covering her slender body
with his own bulk as he ground himself against her so that only the
girl's fine featured, boyish face was still visible.  For now Arkan
was content to savor the pain and humiliation on that face from a
distance.  He would, Arkan knew, have ample opportunity to inflict his
own tortures upon the young girl.  For Arkan operated one of the most
notorious of the Serbian rape camps in a hotel he had commandeered
from its Croatian owner, a rape camp which he kept full of captured
Croat and Moslem women even now despite the so called peace accord.
The camp and its women were in Arkan's mind the most satisfying of the
rewards the war had brought, better by far than the wealth the war had
brought him.  For Arkan the war had brought liberation from the
shackles of conventional society.  He no longer had to hide his
passion for rape and mayhem; now he could be proud of it.  For like
today's rape of this filthy Turski neprijatelj, everything he did, he
did for Serbia, as a Serb patriot fulfilling a centuries old mission
of vengeance.

Arkan was so proud of his deeds that he recorded his trail of blood
and tears for posterity.  He had as one of his hangers-on a young man
who before the war had been studying the cinema.  Equipped with a
video camera that had once belonged to an overly curious BBC stringer,
it was Demrtri's job to record the great things Arkan was doing for
his country.  It would, Demrtri repeatedly told his leader, make a
great movie.  At the moment, he was busy filming the girl's rape,
moving toward the girl for a close up of her terror filled face.  The
cameraman saw in her rape great art; in his mind it was the perfect
metaphor for Arkan's assault upon this nameless little village.  It
will be great cinema, he thought as he filmed the rape;  it will be a
visual assault on the senses worthy of a scene from his favorite
movie, Sergio Garone's masterpiece " Camp 5: a Hell for Women".  

As the second man rolled off the naked girl, the cameraman panned down
her body.  Starting at her tear streaked face, he moved the camera
down her bruised torso- the delicate skin of her breasts disfigured by
red bruises from the rough hands of her attackers- to her bare sex.
He focused the camera on the girl's red, exposed slit, the now gapping
cunt lips covered with the cum of her attackers.  The shot ended
prematurely as the third man took her, throwing the legs of the now
unresisting young woman over his shoulders and lifting her ass off the
ground.  Positioning her with only her shoulders resting on the cold
stones, he proceeded to pound his cock into her, hammering his way
into her womb.  The camera lovingly captured the feral expression on
the man's face as he raped the Moslem girl, an expression which was an
equal mixture of anger and happiness in another's suffering.  Demrtri
panned alternatively from the man's face to the girl's, juxtaposing
their emotions.  Her pain vied with his pleasure; her humiliation vied
with his shameful joy in her suffering.  This was, for the cameraman,
true cinema; no actors could duplicate this.  It was real.  Stepping
back, he opened the shot to include the stern figure of Arkan set
against the smoke and flames pouring from the looted house behind him,
showing him watching over the Moslem girl's rape like some ancient
Serbian god of vengeance!  

He returned to the girl as the fourth and final man mounted her, rode
her brutally, and then spent himself inside her, faithfully recording
every move as he had so often done in the past.  These men were his
usual subjects, members of Arkan's private militia, the men Arkan
called his  Tigers.  Officially they were the 11th Special Forces
Brigade of the rump army of the Krajina Serb Republic.  But the
":Special" in their title had nothing to do with any military skills.
They were ethnic cleansers rather than combat soldiers. They "fought"
the unarmed , the civilians, the helpless in Belgrade's ethnic war.
They did the jobs too dehumanizing for the soldiers of the makeshift
Bosnian Serb Army.  Jobs like this one.  And he was their chronicler,
their Homer.
*******************************************************************

For the one hundredth time, Navy Lieutenant (j.g.) Bobbie Malone
looked at her pilot calmly reading a magazine and wondered, "How does
she do it?".   This was a common enough thought for Bobbie to
entertain about her pilot and mentor, Lieutenant  Diedra Volksrye,
A.K.A. "the Valkyrie" to everyone in their F-14 squadron.  The older
woman was everything Bobbie wished that she was- big, confident, and
one of the boys.  But right now,  what Bobbie was wondering was how
she stood the smell.   She knew that the U.S. Navy had been feeding
its sailors boiled eggs and baked beans for Sunday breakfast since
John Paul Jones.  It was a tradition.  She just didn't understand why.
She thought that they would have figured out by now that such a
combination produces enough flatulence, what her male squadron mates
so quaintly called Sunday farts, to make this carrier, the U.S.S
Eisenhower, uninhabitable for normal people.  Spending her Sundays
cooped up in a ready room ripe with the smell of breakfast and half
washed male bodies was not what she had in mind when she signed up for
Naval ROTC 5 long years ago.  Exactly what, she wondered, had been my
reason for signing up- the white uniforms maybe?   

Her digression into ancient history ended as the squadron operations
officer for VF-142 entered the ready room and called for their
attention.  

"Good news Gentlemen...and ladies.  We have a Mission! "

Even Bobbie was happy to hear that they finally had something to break
the monotony of cruising  up and down off the Bosnian coast and
waiting.  For once, the room's aroma was forgotten.

" We know that Serbian forces of the so-called Republic of Serb
Krajina are preparing to attack a small Bosnian village near the key
town of Brcko, located here on the Sava River. These people are pretty
much the loose cannon these days.  With the withdrawal of U.S. troops
back into their camps, the Krajina Serbs have been attempting to
expand their area of influence to the south by taking on Croat and now
Bosnian Moslem forces.  The good news is that they are not thought- I
stress the word thought- to have any antiaircraft weapons beyond the
SA-7 shoulder fired missile and some 20mm  guns.  You should be safe
as long as you maintain at least 15,000 feet altitude above ground
level.  We have been given the mission of "deterring" the Serb attack.
We are to do this by flying  a photo recon mission over the fighting.
No bombs; just pictures.  Washington wants us to remind the Serbs that
we are watching, but they don't want to hurt anybody!  It is possible
that the photos will be used to plan a  later strike , though just
between us I won't count on it.  Valkyrie, since you're TARPS
qualified,  you'll fly the recon pod; Gumby and Goose will fly escort.
You are to let them get a good look at you as you do the flyover;
remind them that we are still here.  Just don't go below 15,000 feet
and use lots of flare countermeasures; those shoulder launched SAMS
can spoil your whole day!  The takeoff time is 1440  local. Brief-back
is at 1340 so you'll have two hours to plan.  Here is the target
folder.  Bad news folks.  No air-to -ground munitions will be carried
on this mission.  Air-to -ground now requires the CINC's approval to
even load. You get shot at; just grin and bear it.  You will have ARM
and air-to -air.  You still have the ability to use either at first
warning of hostile intent by a radar or - we should be so lucky- an
aerial target.  Any questions... OK, see you in two hours."

As the three named pilots crowded around the table, Bobbie stood back.
Her job was radar-intercept officer, operating the F-14's powerful
radar which was used to track other aircraft.  But since the various
sides in this nasty war lacked the aircraft necessary to challenge the
NATO air patrols, she really had nothing to do except tag along in the
backseat and watch.  Valkyrie would plan the flight, Bobbie decided;
she didn't need the help of a "nugget", a rookie on her first cruise. 

" Fuck !", Valkyrie exclaimed as she studied the map, " What fuckin
staff wennie wrote this?  We gotta  fly down a valley- under the cloud
cover- so we'll be right at or below 15,000....and us with nothing to
shoot back with!  To take a bunch of pictures nobody will ever look
at.  This is ridiculous!  Look at the approach here.  It looks like we
have to come in from the west in order to overfly the village."
 *********************************************************************

The village in question had drawn Arkan's attention simply by being
located at the foot of a hill which overlooked the town of Brcko, the
real prize.  Brcko itself was large for this area of Bosnia,
approximately 100 mostly stone buildings set along the road and the
river which traversed the valley together, as well as strategically
located.  It had changed hands several times during the war, most
recently when it was given back to the Bosnian Moslem side at the
American sponsored Dayton "Peace" Accord.  With possession of the
village and its heights, Arkan's Serbs would be in a position to
retake Brcko whenever they wished by merely positioning their
rudimentary artillery on the heights.  This was the pattern of warfare
in the Balkans- hold the high ground, and you hold the town.  The
populated areas were always in the fertile valleys, and there were
always too many hills overlooking the towns to be adequately defended
with the scant resources available.  The attacking side had only to
occupy one of the heights from which they could bring the town under
fire from heavy weapons firing over open sights into the dwellings,
leaving the defenders the choice of surrender or facing a slow house
by house destruction.  It was a war fought using the tactics of the
18th century with the cast off weapons of the 20th century.   On the
heights above Brcko, Arkan was already moving to place his
"artillery", a single 85mm antitank gun.  That one gun was quite
capable of destroying the entire town house by house from its hilltop
perch safely out of range of  the defenders' small arms.  Only a
similar gun, which the defenders did not possess, or the intervention
of American airpower could save the town once Arkan began the
bombardment.

Arkan had chosen this set of heights for his gun because of the
weakness of the village which controlled access to it.  The 50 or 60
residents of the village had trusted to the peace accords and the now
departed American garrison at nearby Brcko for their security.  They
numbered only a few armed men among the mostly related families living
there,  ex-soldiers of the Moslem militia who had kept their guns when
they returned home.  These men had been able to do nothing against the
sudden attack of the camouflage uniformed Serbs.  Appearing at dawn to
surround the village, the Serbs had called for the village's men to
surrender, threatening that they would throw grenades into the houses
if the men did not comply.  Hopelessly outnumbered and frantic to save
their families, the men had complied, only to be herded away for
eventual execution.  Once all possibility of resistance had
disappeared, Arkan's Tigers poured into the houses to loot as well as
rape whoever was unlucky enough to catch their fancy among the
frightened women and children.  When they finished, the village would
be put to the torch to ensure that no one- however foolhardy- could
come back, leaving an empty, burned out shell where a village had
stood for hundreds of years.  It was not easy work.  The Serbian
irregulars had prepared themselves for their task in the usual manner-
by drinking great quantities of slivovitz, the local plum brandy.
Even men such as these- men who were experienced in the savagery of
Balkan's warfare - needed to numb the mind and soul before they did
their patriotic duty.
***********************************************************************

A little over two hours later, Bobbie was strapped into the rear seat
of Valkyrie's F-14A+ as it moved toward Bosnia at a leisurely 425
knots.  Bobbie was always amazed at the age of the Navy's fleet of
F-14's; this one had been built the same year she was born, making it
23 years old.  With only fuel, a pair of sidewinder air-to -air
missiles under its wings, and the bulky TARPS pod with its three
cameras under its belly between the twin engines, the plane felt
unusually quick and maneuverable under Valkyrie's sensitive touch.
Bobbie could tell that Valkyrie was nervous about this flight since
she had brought along her Walkman and her lucky Wagner tape and was
playing it - thankfully at a low volume- over the intercom.  The sound
of the tape made Bobbie think of the stories that she had heard of
Valkyrie's first month in the squadron.  Valkyrie had been the first ,
and only, woman assigned to the squadron when she arrived a year ago.
To say she was unwelcome would be an understatement. The squadron wit
took one look at her Germanic name, her blonde hair, and her 6'
muscular build and dubbed her " theValkyrie".  The name stuck since it
fitted her " don't fuck with me, I'm bulletproof" attitude.  For a
joke, one male flyer got a tape of Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries"
and played it one day when she entered the ready room.  She loved it;
Valkyrie bought a recording of Wagner's entire 4 hour opera and began
playing it constantly, much to the annoyance of her squadron mates.
Compared to Bobbie's inability to gain acceptance in the squadron even
after two months, it had taken Valkyrie less than a week to make her
mark in the unit.  One night she appeared in the officers' club to
meet her date, a F-14 driver from another squadron.  Valkyrie had been
wearing her party clothes: a black leather miniskirt, black high
heels, black fishnet stockings, and a black blazer with nothing
apparently underneath the blazer but her.  One of the men from her
squadron, who had a little too much to drink, tried to hit on her.
When she ignored him, he put his hand on her ass to get her attention.
What he got was a hard blow to the chest with her elbow, followed by
Valkyrie grabbing him by his gonads. Then she lifted him up on his
tiptoes as she said, " You didn't say, may I?"  Bobbie knew that
Valkyrie lifted weights and could easily believe she could have picked
the man up by his privates if she had wanted to.  As she held him on
his tip toes, she smiled and said,  "Ask nice and maybe I'll grant you
a wish. What do you wish for, numbnuts?"  Bobbie had heard that the
male pilot didn't hesitate.  " Ughh, I'de like my balls back, please
ma'am... Lieutenant....Valkyrie?, ", he croaked.  After that, she had
been one of the boys; proof that her philosophy of " Grab em by the
balls and their hearts and minds will follow" did indeed work, at
least on aviators.  Bobbie figured that all Valkyrie's macho stuff was
part of the image which she had chosen for herself; that Valkyrie
really bought into the whole female Tom Cruise- Top Gun idea.  Bobbie
also figured that Valkyrie told her that story because Bobbie had been
having trouble being taken seriously by the male pilots.  She wished
she could be more like Valkyrie.  Still, Bobbie simply could not
imagine herself doing anything physical like that.  She didn't think
of herself as a whimp- after all she stood  5' 6" with an athletic
body from four years of college sports.  She had always been proud of
her body.  That is, until she joined the Navy and found herself
surrounded by 6 foot plus flyers.  Now she felt like a Lilliputian,
and it was beginning to depress her. Bobbie was not even sure any more
that she had what it took to be a Navy flyer.  She was cute, not
macho.  That is not, she knew,  a good thing to be in a Navy fighter
squadron.  When she had reported in two months ago as the second woman
in the squadron, the squadron leader had taken one look at her and
told Valkyrie to take her under her wing. She had heard him say to
Valkyrie that Bobbie reminded him of a deer caught in the headlights
of a Mack truck.  That was, Bobbie knew, depressingly accurate.
Valkyrie had done just as he ask, becoming a mentor, taskmaster, and
big sister to Bobbie.  She had even managed to stop the other pilots
when they tried to hang the callsign "Bambi" on Bobbie.  Bobbie found
that life under Valkyrie's wing was at least tolerable.  A month later
to Bobbie's intense discomfort, her life became even more complex.
She and Valkyrie became famous to the intense and unconcealed envy of
the male flyers.  A Newsweek reporter visiting the carrier had written
them up as the "beautiful, but deadly duo" in a feature article.  Now
they were one of the must see features of the ship, trotted out for
every visiting media hound and VIP tour that came to the Eisenhower,
leaving the male pilots seething.  Bobbie hated the whole thing.
Valkyrie on the other hand loved the attention.  She had a true
fighter pilot's ego.  Valkyrie even had her set speech which she used
on each gap jawed interviewer when they ask the inevitable question
about how she felt about combat.  Valkyrie would smile and start about
how her fangs were just as long as a man's and how she was just as
tough.  She was the one who did the talking while Bobbie kept quiet,
content to bask in the older woman's reflected confidence.  Bobbie
found that she liked being the sidekick; she liked having someone else
take charge of things.

There was just one thing wrong with their relationship.  Bobbie was
beginning to fall in love with Valkyrie.  Bobbie was uncomfortable
with this growing attraction; she had never had or wished to have a
sexual relationship with a woman.  But she could no longer deny her
desire for Valkyrie.  Being bunked together did not help.  Bobbie was
constantly and uncomfortably aware of Valkyrie's muscular but feminine
body , so close yet  impossible to touch.  For, as she knew, Valkyrie
was aggressively heterosexual.  Anything male that was  tall,
reasonably good-looking, and not assigned to VF-142 was fair game for
her trophy collection.  One night Bobbie had returned unexpectedly to
the quarters they had shared ashore to find Valkyrie having sex with a
man.  She had been embarrassed but could not look away.  From the half
open door Bobbie watched Valkyrie's sweaty, muscular, heavy breasted
body in action as she sat astride the reclining man.  She watched as
Valkyrie rode him, her hair flying, grunting and moaning as the man
roughly milked her breasts while she fucked him.  Valkyrie made love
with the same intensity that she threw into her flying.  She watched
the two fuck , oblivious to their surroundings, until the man appeared
to come.  Although Bobbie knew that Valkyrie must have had at least
one orgasm as she watched, she saw that her pilot was still
unsatisfied.  As she watched  in amazement, Valkyrie moved forward to
mount the man's face with her cum dripping pussy.  Despite the man's
muffled protests, Valkyrie covered his face with her dripping pussy
and begun riding it as she yelled at him to "finish it".  At that
point, Bobbie closed the door and withdrew, her knees weak with
desire.  Since then, the image of Valkyrie's sweaty body had haunted
her awake and asleep, though in her mind's eye it was her face that
Bobbie saw buried in Valkyrie's pussy, not the man's.  That image
always made her pussy dripping wet, just as it was doing now.

" Bobbie?   can you hear me?"

The intercom brought Bobbie back from her thoughts abruptly, " Roger,
sorry, Val.  What is it?"

"We're approaching the target.  Beginning descent.  Get ready to start
flare countermeasures; lets give em a real show."
************************************************************************

In the valley below, Arkan was growing nervous.  He did not fear
American or NATO retaliation for his attack on the tiny village.
Rather, he was afraid that the American airplanes would not come.  The
purpose of this attack was not just to lay the groundwork for an
offensive to capture Brcko and the surrounding land but to burn the
Americans' meddling fingers.  The attack was the lure to attract
their planes.  By destroying one or more planes, the Serb leadership
hoped to make the Americans and thus all of NATO reluctant to act
later in the summer when the Serbs began a major offensive aimed at
retaking the land they lost in 1995.  To that end, Arkan's patron in
Belgrade had arranged a surprise for the American flyers. He had
purchased a battery of four SA-8B, Gecko surface to air missile
launchers and the mercenaries to operate them from a corrupt general
of the imploding Russian military.  Unlike the older, larger SA-6
missiles which the Serbs had used to shot down an American F-16 in
June of 1995, these launchers had the capability to track their
targets optically, thus eliminating the tell-tale radar transmissions
which had identified the firing location, and thus which the side did
the firing. Since the SA-6 had never been fielded by the Army of
Yugoslavia, its use would be a complete surprise; with no radar
transmissions to detect, the Americans would be hard put to identify
what had happened to their plane and , more importantly, who was to
blame.  Having the ability to reach up to 18,000 feet and a speed of
mach 2, these missiles would be able to reach the hither-to-for
invulnerable American planes.  With two of the boat shaped launcher
vehicles at each end of the valley, Arkan had been assured by the
Russian operators that they would be able to hit any plane which came
below the winter cloud cover.

As Arkan tilted back his head to take a drink of slivovitz, a series
of lights in the sky caught his eye.  Flares, he thought; the
Americans are finally here.  He watched as the tiny plane, black
against the gray of the clouds, moved down the valley towards him,
dropping flares every few seconds to decoy  heat seeking missiles.  He
cursed,  thinking that if the missiles were not fired soon, the
Americans would escape.  To his relief, he saw two streaks of flame
appear behind and below the plane; the missiles were on their way.  By
the time the plane was overhead, the missiles had closed the gap.  One
veered to the right, decoyed by the flares at the last minute; the
other flew straight into the plane, detonating as it seemed to touch
the tail.  A bright ball of red, and then Arkan could see pieces
flying off the stricken plane.  As the nose wavered, he could see
another, dimmer flash as two tiny forms rocketed out of the plane
before it began it final short journey down.

"Alert the hunting teams"  He ordered the man next to him, " I want
those pilots."
***********************************************************************

The missile's explosion came as a complete surprise to Valkyrie.  She
had no warning alarm from her radar warning receiver nor had she seen
the missiles' smoke since they approached her plane from below and
behind.  It took only  a micro-second for her to realize that the F-14
was doomed and that she and Bobbie would share its fate unless they
ejected immediately. Without hesitation, she jerked the yellow, shovel
handle shaped ejection handle, sending both of them into the empty sky
above.  As the explosive device jolted her upward,  she prayed, "Oh
God...Oh God...OHHHH SHITTT!!! ".

Due to her low altitude, the separation of the ejection seat and the
opening of her parachute occurred almost as soon as she had cleared
the aircraft.  Things were happening so fast that she had no time to
think.  She lost sight of Bobbie as she concentrated on the side of
the hill which was fast approaching.  As she prepared herself for the
shock of landing, she saw an unwelcome sight.  A small truck was
approaching the edge of the field she was  headed for.  Valkyrie could
see the soldiers leaning out of the back pointing at her.  Stories of
what had happened to that female Air Force pilot who had been captured
by the Iraqis during the Gulf War came unbidden to her mind.  Valkyrie
swore that was not going to happen to her.  She would not be captured
and raped.  

Valkyrie hit hard but immediately gained her feet and began shucking
her parachute harness.  She saw that the truck had been stopped by the
stone wall at the edge of the field, but that the men inside, ten at
least, had dismounted and were running across the field toward her.
The nearest was only about fifty feet away with the others spreading
out in a line behind him.  Valkyrie knelt and brought her 9mm Beretta
pistol up from its holster.  Holding it in both hands, she fired eight
rapid shots into the approaching men.  Without waiting to see the
results, she turned and  ran toward the tree line a dozen feet away,
abandoning the chute and, more importantly, its attached survival
rucksack with twenty odd pounds of food, water, and survival
equipment.

Valkyrie crashed through the first few feet of the tree line, then
found a tiny game path running at an angle.  She took it, running as
hard as she could to put some distance between her and her pursuers.
There was still a light coat of snow on the ground , just enough to
leave footprints.  Though she saw this, Valkyrie had no choice but to
ignore the trail she was leaving;  there was no time for subtlety now.
She had to put some distance between her and the Serbs.  As she ran,
Valkyrie counted.  When she reached a hundred, she slowed and stepped
off the trail, burrowing under the thick branches of some sort of
evergreen until she thought she was hidden from view.  As she caught
her breath, she checked what equipment she had left; she found she had
a pistol- half empty- and the  contents of her survival vest: a short
range radio,  a  hand-held GPS, a med kit, six small flares, a
tourniquet - she hoped she won't need that!- and her blood chit, a
piece of cloth carrying a promise in Serbo-Croatian to pay fifteen
hundred dollars in gold to anyone returning the attached pilot to US
control.  Briefly, Valkyrie tried the radio, broadcasting  "Any
station, Chevy five-one"  repeatedly without receiving any response.
Though she knew that the radio was line of sight and as such
vulnerable to disruption by the surrounding hills,  the lack of
response left her with a tremendous sense of being alone.  As the
first burst of adrenaline subsided, Valkyrie felt  herself  slipping
into a feeling of  fatigue and the desire to rest which she knew was a
luxury she could not afford.  She forced herself up and began moving
again, this time avoiding the paths.  She moved painfully slow, taking
care to avoid making any noise by moving one foot at a time from bare
spot to bare spot as she listened for the sounds of men coming after
her. She had to get to higher ground where she could make contact with
her radio.
***********************************************************************

By the time the Sergeant had returned from the tree line, the rest of
the squad had gathered around the body of the man Valkyrie had killed.
The shared experiences of the  years spent together had effected even
these, the least sentimental of men. There was a cold anger in their
faces as they looked at the still body.  Their Sergeant, a policeman
in better days, welcomed it.  Having hunted men before, he knew the
difficulties which lay ahead; their anger would be useful if they were
to find this American killer.

" Get the flashlights from the truck.  We've got a long night ahead of
us."
************************************************************************

Bobbie had been blown clear of the aircraft along with Valkyrie, but
the peculiarities of the wind had forced her away from Valkyrie and
into the valley.  As she descended, Bobbie could see men on a knoll
about half a mile to her  right but there was no sign of Valkyrie.
Ahead she saw a weed covered field, her landing area.  The field was ,
fortunately, empty when she landed, allowing her to roll up and hide
her chute and then take shelter among the bushes in a small stream
beside the field. She was very frightened; to her disgust Bobbie
realized that she had pissed in her pants during the ejection.  Now
they began to bind underneath her flight suit, a constant reminder of
her fear.  Bobbie felt as though she were living a bad dream.  She
could not believe that this was real.  Without Valkyrie, she felt lost
and hopeless!  Suddenly, she heard the sound of men approaching from
upstream.  Briefly, Bobbie considered fighting, but rejected the idea
almost immediately.  What effect, she reasoned, could my pistol have
against men armed with assault rifles?  Resigning herself to
surrender, Bobbie felt a surge of hope when the men came into sight.
They were in civilian clothes, and they did not look like any of the
pictures of Serbs she had ever seen.  They were slight, dark skinned
and heavily bearded- almost middle eastern in appearance.  She didn't
even care who they were, so long as they weren't Serbs.  Holding both
hands above her head, she stepped up to the field and called to them
as she waved her blood chit over her head.

" Help!  I'm an American flyer.  Can you help me?"

The first man jumped as she appeared and leveled his weapon at her but
did not fire.  In a moment there were three men clustered around her
with others hiding in the brush to cover them. Bobbie could not
understand either the rapid fire sentences they exchanged with each
other or the slow, halting words in a different language which one of
them addressed to her.  The men had examined her chit but, to Bobbie's
confusion, obviously could not read it  She took off  her helmet to
reveal her short- but clearly feminine- brunette hair, pointed to
herself, and repeatedly said with a smile, "American". 

This produced an immediate response, though not the one she had hoped
for.  The man who had been trying to speak to her thrust his weapon
into her face as he screamed orders to the others.  In a moment, she
had her pistol taken from its holster and her hands were tied behind
her back.  When that was done, the man who had been holding his weapon
on her stepped closer and grabbed her by the hair.

" Great Satan", he spat, as he slapped her across the face with the
flat of his hand.  Then, apparently having exhausted his English, he
unloosed a torrent of  foreign words of which Bobbie understood three,
" Allah Ahkbar" the Moslem affirmation that God is Great and
"Infidel!".

Oh shit, thought Bobbie, Mujahideen.  She knew that there were
fundamentalist Islamic volunteers from Iran and even Afghanistan
fighting with the Bosnian side, and that their numbers had grown with
the breakdown of the peace accords. She also knew that they were
rabidly anti-American.  But she had never expected to meet one!

"Please, we're on the same side.  We're both fighting the Serbs.",
Bobbie argued weakly, bringing her another powerful slap.  She could
only watch as three of the men argued heatedly, presumably about her.
She could see that two of them were looking at her hungrily, eyeing
her breasts which the rope bindings were forcing forward invitingly if
involuntarily.  She felt very exposed and helpless now; fearful that
these men were going to rape her. The fear began to grow inside her,
an icy ball in the pit of her stomach. "Please, please no", she begged
as one of the men began to stroke her face and hair.  As he stroked
her, the third man spat into the dirt and walked away from the other
two.  He gathered the bulk of the waiting men and rapidly left.  She
was,  Bobbie realized, on her own.

The two men were joined by three more men who had stayed when the
others left.  The men half carried her to the edge of the field where
a single large tree stood.  As Bobbie cried and begged them not to
hurt her, the men laughed among themselves.  When they reached the
tree, the men forced her down onto the ground and held her down as
they untied her and began stripping her.  They stripped her of the
survival vest without difficulty but  found the rubberized G-suit to
be a problem.  Two of them brought out their oddly curved knives and
slashed it free while two other men held the screaming Bobbie down.
Her flight suit was simpler; they unzipped it and pulled it off,
leaving the struggling young brunette in her boots and long underwear.


" NO!  LEAVE ME ALONE!!!.......ARRHHH....NO!!"

The knives came back out as a terrorized Bobbie watched, fearful that
they were going to cut her as well as the underwear.  In a moment, she
was nude except for her combat boots and panties,  the bra being cut
away with the underwear.  The cold hit her for the first time, raising
goosebumps and causing her nipples to be come erect.  One of the men
began to caress them, pinching and rolling the plump red nubs as she
lay on the cold ground.  

"HELPPP....NO!....AHHHHH......DON'T!......PLEASEEE"

Under the leader's  direction, one of the men retied her hands behind
her back while another began cutting lengths of rusty barbed wire from
a nearby fence.  Bobbie froze in fear as that man approached her with
the lengths of barbed wire.  She was afraid they were going to hang
her!  Instead, two of the men held up her feet as the other man
wrapped one end of a strand around each boot and tied the other ends
to the large limb above her.  Bobbie was left with her legs spread in
a wide V, her ass a foot off the ground, and her weight resting on her
shoulders and bound arms.  Suddenly, she understood; they meant to
rape her, not hang her! While she was not a virgin, Bobbie was
inexperienced in sex. She had intercourse with only one man in her 23
years; he had been her boyfriend in college, and she had really
expected to spent the rest of her life with him.  The thought of five
men using her sexually against her will terrified the young Naval
officer.  In all her life, no one had ever hurt her physically; the
thought of being raped sent shivers through her !

" UMMPPPHHHEEEEEEEEE!.........NOOOMPHEEE!" 
***********************************************************************

When he saw Bobbie's parachute pass his position on the heights, the
half drunk Arkan suddenly decided that he would be the one to capture
the American airman.  And he would have his man film it; it would be a
great scene for his movie.  Gathering his cameraman and his ever
present bodyguard Alexander, he set off in his land rover followed by
a dozen of his Tigers in a truck.  After some confusion, he arrived at
the area of the field where Bobbie had landed.  Dismounting, he heard
screams and recognized that they were in English in which he had some
fluency as a result of his enforced exile. Arkan had by now sobered
enough to recognize danger. He sent a man ahead to see what was
happening.  The man returned with a confusing tale of five Moslem
fighters struggling with a boyish brunette haired girl in the next
field.  Arkan returned with the man to a point where he could see the
Moslems and their victim.  It took him a moment before he realized
that the girl must be the American flyer he had come to capture. Women
pilots, he thought, American foolishness!  The Moslems, he noted,  had
laid aside their weapons and were too busy with her to watch their
rear; it would be easy to surprise them.  But before he gave the order
, a better idea came to him.  He sent back for his cameraman.  

"Demrtri, can you film that?" he ask, referring to the cluster of men
attacking Bobbie.   "Film it so that you can see the face of the girl
and the faces of the men raping her?"

" Yes, Boss.  I can do that"
************************************************************************

Frantically, she struggled, shaking her head and screaming "NO"!  The
leader of the Mujahideen stood between her legs, caressing her.  He
smiled evilly at her as he ripped her panties away and used them to
stop her screams, forcing her own piss soaked panties into her mouth
to gag her.  Bobbie had never felt so exposed and helpless as at that
moment.  With surprising gentleness, he traced his finger over her
sparse cunt hair and to the delicate, pink lips of her cunt.  The look
of fascination on his face would have amused Bobbie if she had not
been frightened half out of her mind.  He began to probe her cunt with
increasing roughness, pulling painfully on the tender cunt lips and
spreading them uncomfortably.  He said something in a hushed tone and
the others all laughed.  Immediately, he became rougher, forcing two
fingers into Bobbie's almost virgin cunt.  His penetration was a shock
to the young woman; it was also very painful.  Bobbie tried to be
brave as he explored her pussy but could not stop a whimper as he
penetrated her.  As he smiled at her whimper, Bobbie realized how much
this man was enjoying hurting her.  Immediately, he pushed another
finger into her and pressed deeper inside her unlubricated, unprepared
cunt.  Then with another evil smile, he withdrew his fingers, stood
up, and began to unfastened his pants.  He withdrew a large
uncircumcised cock which he displayed to her as his companions
cheered.  He knelt  between her legs, and without any preparation
began to force himself into her dry cunt. Bobbie felt as if he were
tearing her open as he forced himself into her unlubricated cunt. She
frantically looked around her for someone to help her but could see
only the grinning faces of the other four Mujahideen.  The leader
forced himself deeper into her as she struggled futility against his
cruel cock.  The pain burned its way down her body to her brain as she
hung suspended head down from the tree limb. Bobbie felt as if he were
ripping her apart, but there was nothing she could do to stop him. She
tried to scream out her pain at his penetration.  Never had she been
so stretched.  Tears rolled out of her open eyes and down her cheeks
to the ground as she looked pleadingly up into the smiling, bearded
face of her rapist.  Bobbie choked back another whimper; she would not
give the man the satisfaction of hearing it.  But she could not stop
the whimpers and moans which escaped her gagged mouth as he forced
himself deeper inside her, stretching her painfully.  Soon, he had
penetrated as far into her as she thought he could possibly go; his
wiry black cock hair mixed with her soft brunette vee.  Bobbie could
hardly breath; it was as if his cock was completely filling her and
leaving no room for air.  Pleading with her eyes, Bobbie begged him to
stop hurting her; he only stared gloatingly back at her.  He gripped
her legs and began to pump in and out of her cunt.  He fucked her
brutally.  Bobbie's body jerked with each of his powerful thrusts,
pushing her back with the force of his thrusts and then pulling her
hips toward him again as he withdrew.  Then he would slam into her now
open cunt again, painfully rubbing her shoulders back and forth in the
dirt. One of the other Mujahideen was running his hands over her
bouncing breasts, squeezing the soft breast flesh, twisting the
sensitive nipples painfully as his leader fucked her. Bobbie thought
he was trying to lift her up by her nipples as he grasp each one in
his fingers and pulled.  As she was fucked ,Bobbie moaned and
whimpered, tears streaming from her eyes.  Val, she thought, where are
you?  

The leader of the Mujahideen continued to fuck her as she hung there
helpless, suspended by her feet from the tree limb.  Her awkward
position allowed him easy access to her cunt, which he took advantage
of to drive his cock into her with great force. The head of his cock
was soon battering against her cervix as he forced himself into her
sore, abused cunt.  Bobbie had never experienced such a deep
penetration.  She was sure that the man was tearing her apart inside;
that he would kill her if he continued.  But, there was nothing she
could do except lie there helplessly.  She could feel her cervix
opening under his brutal assaults.  It seemed to her as if the man was
going to impale her on his cock; that it was going to keep penetrating
her until the head came out her mouth!

The bearded man fucking Bobbie could hardly believe the tightness of
the woman's cunt.  It seemed to grip his cock like a fist, massaging
it as he thrust in and out.  He stared at the girl's slender but firm
body as it moved sensuously in response to his thrusts.   He savored
the way her athletic body fought his penetration in a futile attempt
to try to deny him his rightful pleasure.  To his mind the woman was a
Western whore, a true descendant of Lilith the tempter of Adam, with
her shameless display of her face and body.  She, like all the other
women he had seen in this country of Infidels, had no idea of what a
woman should be.  She deserved this, he thought; it was a fitting way
to deal with any woman who defied God's commandments and fought
against men.  He would show her; he would show all those shameless
Western women who had tempted him with their filthy lust.  Angrily, he
pulled the gag from her mouth.  He was determined to break her, to
hear her scream for mercy and then to show her none.  He gripped her
thighs, feeling the muscles under the soft skin, as he pulled her cunt
towards him to meet his thrust.  He fucked her brutally, determined to
break her will with his cock, to hear her scream.  That she would not
do so enraged him.  Her moans were not enough.  Repeatedly, he thrust
into her with all his might, using his rock hard cock like a weapon to
subdue the infidel.  Around him, the other members of his band of man-
hunters cheered him on as they  stroked their cocks at the sight of
the young woman being beaten into the ground by their leaders cock.
Finally, he succeeded in forcing the scream he wanted out of Bobbie.

"NOOO!.......PLEASEE STOP....YOU'RE HURTING ME!..AAHHHHHH!"

 It was the scream plus the sight of  her pleading face and its tears
which drove him over the edge.  He thrust himself into her one more
time and then held himself inside her as he filled  her womb with his
hot, white cum. Then he withdrew and allowed the next man to enter
her.  He felt a great sense of pleasure at dominating the Western
whore.  He would take equal pleasure watching his men take the infidel
woman; he wanted to watch her face as his men raped her.

Bobbie felt the man's cum burning deep inside her; then she felt an
emptiness as the man withdrew.  Immediately, that feeling was replaced
by the fullness of another hard cock.  This time the pain was not as
great; the cum from the first man was acting as a lubricant.  She
looked up to see another bearded, grinning face looking down at her.
Bobbie was beginning to slip into a state of shock from the brutal
assault.  She closed her eyes and tried to close her mind to the
pounding of his cock against her sore cunt. The second man was
fucking Bobbie with the same brutal force as the first man.  Bobbie
felt so degraded, so dirty, that she could not stand it.  She wanted
only to die.  She turned her face to the mud and screamed in her mind,
Val, somebody, where are you? Somebody help me!
**********************************************************************
The cameraman was sweating heavily as he followed the rape of the
American woman through his eyepiece, filming everything.  He could see
her nude body clearly as she struggled against her bonds: her small
but perfectly formed breasts moving wildly as she fought, her long,
smooth legs flexing against the barbed wire ties, and her delicious
ass hanging a foot off the ground.  Her face was occasionally visible
as it turned first to one side then to the other.  He thought she was
pretty, particularly with that short mop of dark hair. He just hoped
he would have the chance to fuck her like those filthy ragheads were
doing.  For now, he concentrated on following the action in his
viewfinder.

The second man had entered the helpless woman, kneeling  hunched over
her suspended body with his bare buttocks working to and fro. The
young woman's body was moving in response, back and forth as if it
were on a swing.  He shifted his camera to her head as the man who had
just raped her knelt beside her face and whipped his blood and cum
covered cock across the crying girl's face.  The camera caught it
perfectly, even recording the smears of cum and blood left on her
smooth cheeks.
**********************************************************************

Bobbie was brought back to reality by a sharp pain as the man fucking
her changed his angle to hit a different part of her uterus.  She
opened her eyes to see the Mujahideen leader standing over her smiling
his evil grin as he watched his men using her.  The second man used
her as brutally as the first one had, pounding into her with all his
strength as if to stab her to death with his cock.   When he had spent
himself inside her, another took his place. They began to run together
in her mind. As soon as one would finish , another would take his
place; all of them fucked her with equal brutality. Man after man used
her, fucking Bobbie's increasingly cum filled cunt. The soft pink lips
of her virginal cunt were now red and swollen from the brutal pounding
they had received.  The man cum dripped out of her distended cunt to
coat her asscheeks and anus with its white scum.  Despite the cold,
Bobbie's taunt body was shiny with her sweat as a result of her
constant struggles to escape the cocks invading her body. She could
hardly breath.  The men fucking her were literally knocking the breath
out of her with their thrusts.
************************************************************************

From approximately fifty meters away, Arkan and his cameraman watched
the rape.  He had sent some of his men around to the Moslem's rear
where they awaited his signal.  Still, Arkan waited as if transfixed
as they watched four of the men complete their rape of Bobbie.   The
Cameraman was recording it all: the moaning, struggling woman, the
laughing men standing over her, and the brutal thrusts of the kneeling
man.

Through his viewfinder, the cameraman could see the cum covering
Bobbie's crotch area.  The whitish film covered her cunt lips and was
now dripping down towards her asshole. The soft cunt hairs above her
crotch were saturated in the same stuff, leaving them matted and awash
in the men's cum.  He shifted back to her face to record the agony
evident there as she endured the vicious gang rape.  Bobbie's face was
turned toward the camera, allowing it to film the tears streaking down
her cum stained face and record the silent screams now pouring from
her mouth.
***********************************************************************
By now, Bobbie had lost count of the times they had fucked her.  Her
pussy was one solid mass of pain from the pounding she had received.
Nor did it recede as man after man fucked her.  Instead, the pain
built with each new attacker.  Throughout it all, she could do nothing
except sob, helplessly shaking her head "no" as the men used her
brutally.  By now, all five of the Mujahideen had used her. But the
leader was not satisfied.  Breaking off a slender, flexible branch
from the tree, he stood over her swishing it through the air as he
ordered two of the men to take off their belts and use them on the
bound young Naval officer. As he concentrated  on her breasts, the
other two men used their thick, leather belts on her cum covered
asscheeks.  Now Bobbie's screams took on a new, full bodied quality as
the switch landed across her sensitive nipples.  As the thin red lines
appeared across her untanned breast flesh, the two men with the belts
were turning her asscheeks a bright red.  As they whipped the young
woman, their cocks began to harden again, stimulated by the cries
pouring forth from Bobbie.  Again and again Bobbie screamed out for
them to stop, begging, pleading, promising anything if they would just
stop.

" AAHHHHH!...  I BEG YOU...I'LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANTEEE..STOP!"

But her cries were neither understood nor heeded. Instead they were
savored by the leader of the Mujahideen as he shifted his blows from
the young woman's breasts to the cum covered area between her legs.
With the first blow falling across her swollen cunt lips, Bobbie
thought that she would go crazy with the pain.  Her body spasmed as
she tried  vainly to bring her bound legs together to protect her much
abused sex. Then after six incredibly painful blows, the switch
shifted back to her already whipped breasts.  Then  
she felt the belts stop, leaving her ass almost numb.  Next, she felt
a man's fingers probing her whip swollen asshole. Slowly, painfully;
he inserted the finger into her virgin asshole. She raised her head
painfully to see the leader of the Mujahideen kneeling between her
spread legs. Bobbie's moans increased in intensity as he penetrated
her, mixing with the weak screams when the switch fell across her
abused breasts. He withdrew his fingers and collected cum from the
river flowing out of her abused cunt, using it to lubricate his cock.
Then he pressed the head of his cock into her anal ring, pushing into
the puckered, star shaped sphincter until it disappeared into a wide,
smooth O around his cock.  As he forced himself into her bruised ass,
he watched Bobbie's face, savoring the look of pain in her eyes.  Her
voice failed her, reducing her screams to weak moans.  The leader
forced his cock into her tight asshole as Bobbie fought with the last
of her waning strength to keep him out.  But she could not; his anger
and desire were too great.   Deeper and deeper he sank into her as the
others watched, too absorbed to do more than occasionally lash her
breasts with their switch or belts.  They watched and stroked
themselves as they thought about how they would take her in the ass
when their turn came.  Their leader began to fuck her ass, thrusting
in brutally to fill Bobbie's asshole totally with his cock.  To
Bobbie, every movement was torture; each time he penetrated deep into
her ass, she would involuntarily clench her muscles.  This spasm sent
a new wave of pain through her while it pleasurably squeezed the cock
of her anal rapist. Deeper and deeper he drove into her ass.  It felt
to Bobbie as if a burning brand was being forced up her ass rather
than a cock.  The pain and the humiliation seemed unbearable to the
young flyer.

Suddenly, the man raping Bobbie's ass collapsed onto her , his head
falling forward onto her breasts.  A millisecond later, Bobbie heard
the shot. This shot was followed by a dozen others before the sound of
the first had died.  There was silence followed by more shots. Bobbie
could see the bodies of three of her attackers lying around her but
nothing else from her inverted position.  Thank God, she thought,
they've come for me!  It seemed an eternity before she heard the
approach of feet. As she waited fearfully, the weight of the man atop
her suffocated her as she was forced to endure the sticky, wet warm
feeling of the man's blood flowing onto her stomach.  Then she saw a
huge, bearded man standing between her legs, smiling down at her. 

"I've come to help you.  I am a friend" 
**********************************************************************
                              END PART 1 OF 6





