Chapter 1

Copyright© 2015 by Julia Zenobia

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A special forces officer infiltrates ISIS, but things go badly wrong, very quickly when he is captured and given over to Zara for questioning.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   NonConsensual   Rape   Shemale   Rough  

It was night in Raqqa, the moon a mere sliver partially obscured by the clouds scudding through the dark sky. Four men stood on the shore of the Euphrates, invisible in the shadow of the bridge under which they sheltered. The wind was strong, making the cold weather feel even colder.

"I hear it," whispered one of them, pointing in the direction of the sound he had just barely sensed. The others cupped their ears, and turned. Soon they too heard the sound, the muffled, "chuff chuff chuff" of the new American stealth helicopter.

"We'd have had a hard time hearing that, if we hadn't known it was coming," said another of the four. Although they were in Syria, and were all members of ISIS, they spoke in English, the lingua franca of the fanatics who travelled from overseas to join up. Two were from the U.K. and while they understood Arabic, could barely speak it. Another was from Morocco, and his Arabic was practically unintelligible to natives in this part of the world. They stuck to English, and thus avoided any misunderstanding.

They watched as the chopper came in, flying low. It hovered a few feet above a river sand flat not more than a hundred yards away. A single man jumped out. The chopper rose, and then fled, and within seconds silence reigned once more.

The Moroccan, who was leader of the four, raised his flashlight, and pointed it towards the solitary figure. He blinked the light rapidly twice, and then once more. The four watched as the man made his way towards them, his stride easy and rapid despite the backpack that burdened him. As the man approached, they could see that he had a pistol in one hand.

"Who one the World Series in '94?" the man asked when he got within easy handgun range.

"No one. There was a strike that year," said the Moroccan.

The recognition code complete, the American holstered his pistol, and stretched out his hand.

"Ramirez," he said, shaking the Moroccan's hand. The Moroccan tightened his grip, twisted, and in an instant the American was down, his backpack stripped from him, his hands cuffed. Then his captors raised him.

"In case you haven't figured it out, Yankee, you've been betrayed. Welcome to the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant."

"And fuck you, too," was the only reply the American could make before they gagged him, and placed a black hood over his head.

Jose Ramirez woke the next morning in his dark cell, cold, frightened and hungry, but to his surprise, unhurt. He'd been handled roughly and had a few bruises, but that was the extent of his mistreatment. The biggest damage was to his ego, for he was naked, and with his clothes he'd lost the suicide tablet sewn inside seam. He heard the harsh metallic sound of a lock, and then his door was thrown open, the sudden light causing him to shield his eyes.

"Up, Yankee," said the guard, punctuating his command with the point of his boot. Jose stood, his hands automatically covering his crotch, his body stooped and cringing with obvious fear.

"Face the wall." Again, the guard used his boot to encourage his prisoner. A mistake on his part. Ramirez had expected the boot, caught it, and effortlessly broke the guard's ankle with a quick twist. The guard's shriek of agony brought immediate help, and saved his life. Outnumbered now, Ramirez submitted to the retaliatory kicks and blows, and allowed himself to be handcuffed and marched out of his cell and down a corridor, smiling at the sound of the moans of the guard he'd damaged.

"I'll have to be careful with this one," Zara said, having observed Ramirez's antics on a video feed in her office. She looked over at her superior officer, who was watching the same feed.

"Indeed," said Captain Hamid, nodding in agreement. "The guard was a fool to be so easily taken in. The prisoner is from the Yankee special forces, and the guard ought to have known the man's craven meekness was just a ruse."

"From the sounds of his screams, I'd say he's been punished for his mistake," said Zara, her beautiful face breaking into a cruel smile.

"You are mistaken," said the Captain. "The guard has not yet been punished enough, for his injury renders him useless. Even when his wound heals, his fighting value will be diminished. His only use to us now, is as an example."

"Do you want me to -"

"No, he won't receive your special punishment," said Hamid, "instead, we'll just have him publicly executed on some pretext or another. Neglect of duty, or attempted desertion. Something like that. It will be good for moral." And ISIS could use a morale booster. They'd had too many desertions since the enemy bombing campaign had intensified.

Hamid stood up, and Zara immediately rose too, for she could not be seated in the presence of her superior, especially when that superior was an ex-Iraqi army officer who was utterly intolerant of any breach of discipline. The fact that at 5'11" she towered over Hamid by a good six inches only made Zara more wary of the man. for she knew that her height offended some men. She saluted, her ample breasts jutting out under her tight uniform.

"We have little time," said Hamid. "I want you to start on this prisoner now. Break him. Break him quickly."

Zara veiled herself before leaving her office and starting the trek down the underground corridor to where Ramirez was being taken. Hamid permitted her to be unveiled in her office, provided only he was present. She could be unveiled in her own quarters as well. And she could uncover herself in one other place, was where she was headed right now. As she walked down the hall, men passing in the other direction saluted, and were careful to stare straight ahead. The men had learned early on that to stare at Zara's breasts, or to admire the tight behind that made her army skirt look fit for a runway model, or to make suggestive remarks, or indeed, to do anything at all that the beautiful lieutenant found irksome, was a quick ticket to a suicide bombing mission. And so they all pretended that they did not notice the woman's hourglass figure. Even though Zara was always veiled in their presence, they knew exactly what the woman's face looked like. And they knew her body intimately, too. They'd all seen the videos. The videos of her interrogations were always popping up on the web, before been taken down.

Zara reached her destination. "Is our prisoner restrained?" she asked a guard.

"Yes, Madam. His hands are cuffed in front of him as you directed. His legs are shackled, and the shackles chained to his bed. He has only the limited freedom of movement that you said to allow him."

Zara nodded. Then she opened the door to the interrogation room, stepped in, and closed it behind her. With her back to her prisoner, she removed her veil, then turned to face him.

"You!" she heard the man say.

"You know who I am?"

The man nodded.

Zara approached him, placed a hand under his jaw, and raised his head harshly. "You will speak only at my invitation, and with the greatest respect, or I'll twist this until your temporomandibular joints break. Do you agree to my rules?" Ramirez nodded his agreement, his fear real now, not like the feigned terror he'd exhibited when he'd been taken from his cell.

"You recognized me the moment I came into the room," said Zara. "I know why you recognized me, but you're going to explain it. Tell me why I want you to tell me what I already know."

"We are on video right now," said Ramirez. "You're using me for a propaganda video. And that's why I know who you are. I've seen some of your other propaganda videos, where you torture prisoners into giving up military secrets."

"Close, but not quite," said Zara, unbuttoning her jacket and kicking off her shoes. "The videos you have seen, and there are lots of them out there, never show torture, at least not by your own government's definition. After all, according to your government, waterboarding isn't torture. Leaving a man tied up for hours in a stress position is not torture. A severe beating is not torture, however often repeated, how ever intense, provided it does not lead to organ failure. Your government says that it is not torture, if we insert a red hot chili pepper in your mouth, your nose, your urethra, or your rectum. And then there's rape, which your government used in Iraq, and they said that wasn't torture, either." Zara's voice rose and rose with her indignation as she spoke, her milk-white face reddening with anger as she catalogued the crimes of the U.S. government and its military. She also continued to remove her clothing as she shouted, her rage a strange contrast to her strip tease. She shrugged off her jacket, letting it fall to the floor. Her hands went under her army-issued t-shirt, and in a trice it was off, too. Her heavy, 38-D breasts swayed and struggled against the contraband Victoria Secret bra that she'd smuggled in. Then she touched the clasp, and the bra flew off her body.

Her breasts spilled out as she stood a few feet away from her prisoner. Her skin, naturally pale, was paler still from living in an underground bunker. But her nipples were very dark, and her areolas even darker. She stood tall, her hands on her hips as she lectured her prisoner.

"Everyone talks in here. Everyone. And you'll talk, too."

"Fuck you, bitch," said Ramirez, "I'm not telling you a goddamn thing."

The retribution that followed this brief declaratory statement was swift and severe. Zara grabbed Ramirez by his hair, and shoved a finger onto a pressure point. He gasped in shock. The pain paralyzed him, and in an instant, Zara shoved her other hand into his mouth. His mouth was wide open now, and then wider. She stopped just before the point where Ramirez thought something might break. Then Zara stepped back, and turned around. She swayed her hips and she lowered her skirt. Then her panties came down, revealing her firm and perfect behind. A pause, and then she turned around.

Ramirez knew what was coming. He'd seen the videos. He'd been warned about what to expect if he fell into Zara's hands. And yet it was still a shock, to see a gorgeous woman in her early twenties, a mouth-watering example of feminine pulchritude, and yet possessed of a hard, eight-inch cock. Zara's tool jutted skywards, the swelling head an angry purple. Zara's hand moved up and down her shaft. With her other hand, she grabbed her prisoner's hair, and pulled his face towards her. Ramirez was strong, and resisted as best he could, knowing that he was only seconds away from being orally raped. He struggled, he twisted, but the woman's grip was iron as he felt himself pulled inexorably forward. Suddenly Zara let go, and he flew backwards on to the bed.

"That's what you'd like the video to show, wouldn't you? To show you nobly resisting the cruel sexual assault by the most beautiful shemale in the Middle East? I won't give you that satisfaction." Zara grabbed Ramirez, and with little difficulty maneuvered the naked, terrified man onto his back, and then adjusted his shackles, never taking any risks by giving him more slack. He could move not more than an inch in any direction. There was a pause, and then Ramirez flinched as much as his restraints would allow, when he felt Zara's warm hand on him. And he flinched again when he felt something wet and hard slip up his ass, and then out again, the movement repeated several times.

"What are you doing?" he said, but a harsh slap on his ass told him to keep quiet. He strained against his bonds as Zara continued to lubricate him, for by now he'd realized that was what she was doing.

"Were you were asking what I was doing?" said Zara, moving to the head of the bed so that she was in her prisoner's range of vision. Ramirez nodded. She slapped him. And then slapped him again. "The first slap was for speaking without permission. The second slap was for giving a non-verbal response to my question. So you've now learned two rules. State them."

"Never speak without permission, and when asked a question, always give a verbal reply," said Ramirez, apparently eager to avoid further punishment.

"Excellent. And now I will answer your impertinent question." Zara pulled open a drawer set into a wall, and pulled out a silicone-covered cylinder. It looked rather business-like, but it was nonetheless obviously a dildo. A rather large dildo, and near its base, a plug, so that once inserted, it would not fall out. Zara asked Ramirez to explain what was the item she held in her hand, and Ramirez obliged.

"It's no ordinary dildo," said Zara. "It was designed to my specifications. If I trigger it, watch what happens." There was a barely audible click, and then numerous wicked, sharp steel spikes sprung from the dildo. Ramirez was unable to stop himself from making a fearful cry.

"No," he said, "please not that. Please. I beg you -" A harsh slap silenced him.

"You've got to remember that first rule I mentioned, the one about not speaking unless I ask you to. So far I've only given you two rules. You'd think you could keep it straight." Zara triggered the dildo again, and the spikes retreated out of sight. She then moved out of Ramirez's range of vision. He thought he knew why, and this was confirmed an instant later when he felt the dildo at his entrance. It snaked slowly into him, the first inch being utter agony. He struggled not to beg for mercy, or even to yell, sensing that the pain could be much worse, and wanting not to provoke an escalation.

Sensing the man's struggle, Zara eased up, and the dildo retreated from Ramirez's ass a trifle. Then she started again, more slowly now, not wanting to injure her victim and thus render him unable to play the video role she had planned for him. It took a few minutes, but eventually the dildo was all the way in, the plug firmly nestled and ensuring that the dildo would never come out, unless Ramirez earned a reprieve from its invasive presence.

"You seem like a smart guy," said Zara, adjusting her prisoner's bonds once more, and moving him into a sitting position, the dildo now even more buried in the man's entrails, "let's see if you can answer my next question. Tell me, or rather show me, why I inserted my special dildo in your ass." Her cock was hard once more, the purple head pulsating with lust as she put one foot on the bed next to Ramirez, raising herself.

And Ramirez answered. He answered instantly, his need to get the answer right consuming him. And that answer was to take Zara's hard cock into his mouth, and to begin to suck like nothing else on earth mattered to him. He gagged, but kept on sucking.

"That's right," said Zara, whispering as she lowered her head to his ear, her long, ink-black hair falling in a cascade and concealing both their faces from the video cameras that covered the bed from almost every angle. "That's it exactly. Now you know how I get even the most intransigent prisoner to suck my cock like a pro. And when the video gets edited, all anyone will see, is you eagerly sucking my cock the instant I presented it to you. They'll know nothing of what I shoved into your ass, and that if you don't do what is required of you, you'll be ruined the instant I press a button. Not killed, mind you," said Zara, pausing to gasp as her prisoner began to tongue her frenulum, "not killed, but ruined as a man. You'll never have an erection, of course, but that's just for starters. You'll be incontinent as well. And the pain: it will never stop, I assure you. You'll be in mind-altering agony for the rest of your life. Every second of every hour of your day will be an unending chorus of pain inside your head. And you know that. That's why you like sucking my cock so much. Right, sweetie?" she added, letting her cock pop out of Ramirez's mouth.

"Right," he agreed, but before he could resume, Zara stopped him.

"Time for a change of position, so that you can take more of me." Again the routine, almost familiar now, where Zara adjusted his bonds, always careful to make sure she never gave him an inch more leeway than necessary. Ramirez soon found himself partially sitting up against the iron bed frame, Zara with her knees straddling him. She reached under the bed, and came out with a small camcorder.

"Let's try that again," she said, "but deeper. Do you think you can do that? Can you take my cock deeper into your mouth?" Ramirez assured her that he could, and immediately proved it. Half of Zara's iron length was now past his lips. She moved forward, pinning him. She pumped her hips, and now it was she, and not him, who decided how much of her cock was going in.

Ramirez felt himself growing hard. He'd been struggling to stay soft for some time now, but he was losing control. He'd tried thinking of something, anything, to keep his erection away. The death of his first pet. Failing math and wasting a summer in extra classes. His mother's funeral. But all this was swept aside by the site of Zara straddling him, by the view of her bountiful breasts from below, and above her breasts, by the face of the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, by the long, soft hair that spilled over them like a silken waterfall, and by the large dildo inside him, so painful at first, but now so stimulating. Ramirez stopped fighting, and instead gave in, and his own erection swelled. Zara felt it when she pulled back her cock all the way in preparation for another plunge. She reached behind her back.

"Someone's getting into this!" she said happily, wrapping her hand around the shaft of her prisoner's penis. The only answer Ramirez could make, was to move his head forward in invitation, taking his captor's penis into his mouth, enjoying now the feeling of the strange, soft hardness of her. Zara began to rock back and forth, resting more of her weight on him, and this pressed the dildo in him still deeper. He moaned with the pleasure of it, and would have grasped the woman's hips to keep her in place, had he been able to.

Then Zara's crisis approached. Her free hand was on her shaft, sliding up and down with quick, machine-like movements, and the suddenly her hips stopped. She pulled out, the head of her cock pressed against her prisoner's lips. The head of her cock swelled, and the first gush of semen came, a torrent of hot cum that took Ramirez by surprise, even though he knew it was coming. The first rush of whiteness splashed across face, and then an even bigger load filled his mouth. He swallowed, and as he did so, more strings of cum covered his face like wet lace. Then Zara inserted herself back into his mouth, and he fed on her, like a baby at the breast, sucking and sucking to get every last drop of the precious fluid. When she began to soften, with her free hand she directed the cum on Ramirez's face into his mouth, her camcorder getting a close up of her prisoner swallowing her cum.

"Not bad," she said, "not bad at all. Not like a first timer at all. But I think you can do better. What do you think?"

"I can do wayyyy better," said Ramirez.

"I thought so. Suck my balls for a while, and when I'm hard again, you'll get a chance to prove it."

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