Count on Me

by

Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including NonConsensual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Rough, Humiliation, Sadistic, Interracial, Black Male, White Male, White Female, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Analingus, Violent, Military, War, .

Desc: BDSM Sex Story: Terrorists use sexual torments against innocents in Africa. Who can stand up to them and free the hostages?

The Boko Haram terrorists had struck again in an unfortunate African nation on the cusp between the Sahara and the jungle. They burst out of the treeline at dawn and seized control of a small village. This time, their objective was very specific. Rather than targeting Africans who had fallen under the poisoned influence of Western ideas such as science, education, equality and democracy, they aimed their deadly mission at the purveyors of such filth: the Westerners themselves.

There was a medical mission from Medicine Without Flags in the town, teaching sanitation and other infidel 'health habits.' They taught about germs and disease and inoculated the village's babies with unknown unholy potions at least that was the point of view of the attackers.

The sudden early morning descent on the small clinic caught everyone by surprise, but the Westerners there were the most stunned. The doctors and nurses and other helpers had believed they were far enough from the 'danger zones' at they didn't need to worry about any raids by the terrifying Muslim fanatics who were known to range far north of the village.

A few gunshots took down the locals who tried to warn the medical people. The Westerners, still asleep, were rudely roused from their beds and assembled in various states of undress in a ragged line in front of their canvas-covered 'hospital.' There were four men and six women; Two Americans, six Europeans and two Brazilians. They shivered silently, staring at the leveled AK-47s of their black captors, not daring to speak lest they prompt a quick, brutal and fatal response.

'Your Western medicine is of Satan, ' said Hakim, the leader of the group. 'You are poisoning our people with your vile potions and ways; with your hateful ideas which are insulting to Allah. You must answer for your crimes; know that you certainly will be begging for mercy to your Christian god, not that it will do you any good. You will learn, or you will die. It makes no difference to we heroes of Boko Haram.' A handful of brave villagers watched from a distance as the raiders about 20 young men, all of them armed with automatic weapons stripped the clothing from the Westerners, leaving them naked and shivering in the morning cool.

'Ah, the infidels are cold, ' Hakim said, a toothy smile breaking out on his ebony face. 'Abdul, ' he commanded, gesturing with his rifle. 'Warm them up. Get them a fire.' In a moment the whole clinic was in flames. All the cots, beds, medicines, medical supplies, records and more were in blazing funeral pyre. The heat from the conflagration was uncomfortably warm on the naked buttocks and backs of the now-prisoners of the most feared and ruthless terrorist group on the continent.

Their backsides nearly singed with the heat, they were next assembled into a column, with ropes looped around their necks and their wrists bound before them. 'We will march to a place of trial, where you will be questioned and judged. You will not enjoy it, but it is the will of Allah, ' said Hakim. 'March, Christian pigs!' he ordered, slapping a whip painfully along the flanks of the first three captives. And off they marched.

Barefooted on rough ground, over muddy places and knee-deep in fast-flowing streams. Blisters and cuts soon developed and when one of the prisoners stumbled and knocked the whole column down, all were set upon with by the sticks, whips and belts of their guards. Added humiliation was heaped upon them in the form of having to perform their bodily functions were they stood, still tied together. They found themselves standing and walking in pools of what was normally passed in a sterile restroom.

Given little water and less food, the captives were marched for three days, with only the briefest of pauses during the daylight hours. Finally, with the sun sending rivers of sweat coursing down their nude, sunburned white bodies, the column approached what appeared to be a small collection of huts. A hail came from tiny village and Hakim replied in kind. Soon, dozens of chanting men, women and children surrounded their column, shouting encouragement to the raiders and abuse to the prisoners. The procession continued below an arch of trees that covered a dirt path that led to a larger encampment of tents and huts, shielded from aerial observation by an endless canopy of green.

'We are hard, but we are merciful, ' Hakim told the westerners. 'Rest and eat and drink and then we shall have the judgment.' The group was separated into two cells, men and women. They stumbled quietly into log enclosures topped by plastic sheeting. The line of rope which bound them together was removed, but their wrists chafed and in some cases bleeding were still bound behind them. To eat or drink the food and water that had been placed before them, they had to bend over or descend to knees and palms, almost animal-style, to slake their hunger and thirst.

Exhausted from their ordeal and the shock of the experience, they fell asleep. At midnight, they were awakened by a blinding flashlight. To curses and kicks the prisoners were herded into an open place in the encampment. It was dark, but the medical people's eyes went wide with what they saw. Erected in the clearing were all manner of infernal-looking devices. Wooden stakes pounded into the ground; poles with cross-pieces resembling a crucifix; 'ladders' laid along the ground with progressively large dowels projecting up from them.

Hakim was nowhere to be seen, having been dispatched to another mission. Instead, the scene was presided over by Muhammed, a tall, well-muscled black man whose muscles shone in the flickering torchlight of the assembly, and a slender, athletic-looking woman dressed in a wrap which clung closely to her shapely figure, bound only by a bronze pin-brooch. She was Fatima, and would prove to be as enthusiastic and brutal as her male companion.

Muhammed spoke little English; Fatima did all the translating. Her accent told them she was educated in English at some school with a British influence: Kenya, perhaps? She repeated his commands and concluded each statement with two sharp claps. Soon the captives would learn that the claps meant that the prisoners needed to move to obey quickly or suffer sharply.

'The women first, ' she said. 'You will squat on these wood pieces, taking them into your wombs. You will take them as deeply as you can, hold for a count of five and then move to the next piece. Any of you who fail to do this properly will be beaten and send back to Ôclimb this ladder' again and perhaps again.

The sharp claps did nothing this first time; a thick wide belt from one of the Boko Haram guards across the big, soft white breasts of a European nurse pushed the women into action. The female leader noted that the blow not only made a wide red mark on the nurse's billowing breasts, but also raised her dark-pink nipples to bold erection.

Blushing and mortified, the women lined up, and slowly began their vulgar procession, squatting on the raping dowels that marched up the ladder. The first piece was easy enough; four inches high and smooth and not too thick. But each 'post' grew progressively thicker and taller. By the end of the course the naked terrified doctors and nurses were being ravished by wooden invaders as long as 10 inches and nearly as thick as their wrists.

Some of them cried and struggled with the task, and received whip strikes across their bosoms and backs. Some seemed to have less trouble with the task, closing their eyes and biting their lips as they fucked themselves repeatedly on the now-slick wooden phalluses their speared alarmingly deep into their cunts. Fatima's critical eye noticed that the nurse whose nipples had spiked significantly appeared to linger on each false cock longer than the others, and that she threw her head back and seemed to shudder as she rode the final peg of the ladder. Her head lolled forward and her breathing was ragged and gaspy.

When the last woman had 'climbed the ladder' (it took a while because two of them had to go throw the line twice. They looked exhausted and wrung out, degraded and humiliated), Fatima leaned back on a wicker couch unfurled her wrap, revealing her slim naked thighs. Her legs were parted and her perfect pussy gleamed in the torch light.

'Prepare the infidel bitches and put them in line, ' she commanded the guards. Her second clap was still echoing when the Muslim terrorists scampered to do her bidding. They reached into burlap bags scattered around the perimeter and brought out various hellish devices: nipple clamps, bristly thistles and dildos.

Each whimpering woman was fitted with an alligator-toothed clamp on each breast and nipple. The thorny thistles were placed between her thighs and her legs brought together with a piece of elastic cord, forcing the sharp protuberances against her sensitive inner thighs and exposed pussy lips. Finally, a dildo was dipped in her cunt all of which had lubricated in self-defense or arousal and then inserted into her rectum.

'Worship your superior!' she commanded, further opening her thighs. 'Pleasure for me, you ugly Christian whores, or more punishment for you!' Each of the captive women now was expected to shuffle forward on bound knees, ignoring the pain between ravished thighs, the sharp metal bites on breasts and degrading invasion in anuses, bow their heads and lick the glistening cunt of the woman organizing their torment.

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