Chapter 4

Fatima’s pronouncement that she wanted to make love was more than fine with me. I was already hard just from her talking dirty to me. That it was fine with me caused me a moment’s pause, as I am normally a pretty straight-laced guy. Yet here I was raring to go with a second woman in two nights. My new horniness seemed to go hand in hand with a general feeling of well being that I’d come to accept as the prisoner of the Hassan widows. I rationalized that maybe I was returning the favor for the care they had been giving me. Also, it was they who were initiating the sex not me, so I certainly wasn’t taking advantage of anyone. Besides, their bubble was going to be burst soon enough when the search and rescue folks widened the search for me. All that went through my head in a millisecond as I pulled Fatima closer to me. This time it was my lips that sought hers.

Fatima was shorter than the other women in the house. Even Adara was taller. Even though I hadn’t seen her body, she also seemed curvier somehow, but I might be making that assumption based on her face being rounder. The clothing the women wore was intentionally designed not to give a hint as to what their body might be like. I decided to find out if my theory was correct by getting her naked, as we kissed I reached down and started working her burka up her legs. The burka’s voluminous skirt was easy to push upward even though she was lying on the back of it. In seconds I had her exposed from the waist down. I trailed my fingers up her thigh until I reached the juncture between them. Fatima was as smooth shaven as Basheera had been, I was curious about that but pleased, too.

When I traced my fingers across her plump nether lips, Fatima gave a startled little jump and kissed me even harder. Kissing seemed to be something new to her, but she was sure enthusiastic. Fatima felt as I imagined she would, she was soft and curvy in all the right places. I softly stroked her thighs and around her puffy lips for a minute then started to try to get her burka off her. Fatima sat up so that she was on her knees facing me. She reached both hands up to the right side of the square shouldered burka, released a couple of concealed buttons, then whipped the garment over her head. My breath caught in my throat, as I took in the sight of her kneeling there nude, arms at her side, eyes downcast, and cheeks rosy with embarrassment.

“Husniyah (beautiful),” I whispered.

I said that reverently, and I meant it whole-heartedly. Her body was magnificent, all soft flawless skin and gentle curves. She blushed at my unabashed stare but didn’t try to cover herself with her hands. T there was no coyness in Fatima. After a minute she reached forward and started to ease the green boxers I wore off me. I pushed my right foot against the mattress to help. She giggled when my fierce erection caught on the waistband and she had to free it. She made as if to swing her body astride me but I stopped her. She looked at me inquisitively but acquiesced when I maneuvered her until she was prone beside me again. As I said, I liked Fatima and her body was to die for, so I wasn’t in a hurry to get to the main event.

Fatima was nervous as she lay back beside Nick on his sleeping pallet. She wasn’t nervous about being nude with him. His obvious admiration of her body had cured that. Instead, she was nervous about what he was doing and how it was making her feel. Fatima had never felt loved or cared about like this in her life. She had been the least favorite of Hassan’s wives and a frequent victim of his casual cruelty. He had referred to her as a worthless cow because she didn’t give him the son he coveted. She had accepted his condemnation for years until she figured out that his impotence was the problem, not hers. Now here was a man doing things to her that felt indescribably good. The intensity of her response to his touch confused and scared her.

His lips upon her Buah dada (breast) and his languid stoking of her faraj were making her forget that her purpose here was to become with child. His fingers at the top of her opening felt infinitely better than her own had felt on the rare occasion she had resorted to the sinful practice of self-gratification. Soon he had her bucking her hips up toward his fingers as she experienced the first orgasm she’d ever had that was not self-induced. He kissed her again as she recovered from her orgasm, she loved the way his lips felt on hers and marveled at his patience with her.

As the kissing heated them both back up, he began moving her so she was over him. He held his rigid shaft as she squatted above him. He moved the blunt head of it around some to get it lubricated, and then guided her down on it. Fatima’s eyes opened wide as she felt the thick knob pushed into her. She had never felt anything remotely akin to the pleasure radiating from her core as she slowly worked her way down on him. But the large girth of Nick’s Zakar wasn’t the only new sensation Fatima was experiencing.

As Fatima began to raise and lower herself over Nick’s turgid shaft, she began to sense something move within her faraj. It was subtle at first, but as she built up to a rhythm of long, forceful strokes, this sort of tickling sensation became more pronounced and quite pleasant.

Fatima would learn sometime later that Nick’s foreskin was responsible for this exquisite sensation, for as his uncircumcised Zakar moved within her, the foreskin would retract and roll back over the tip, sending spasms of pleasure throughout her body.

Fatima was the tightest thing my dick had ever been in besides my hand. I stifled a groan as she sank down on me. When our groins finally meshed together, she immediately rose up until I was barely in her before slowly working her way back down on me. I didn’t last long with all the stimulation her tight little quim was giving me, but luckily, neither did she. We came within seconds of each other, my spewing cock seem to trip her over the edge. I pulled her trembling body down onto mine. She felt just right lying on top of me.

I was amazed and she seemed impressed that my erection never subsided. Our second bout of lovemaking was slow and gentle, interspersed with lots of kissing and touching. I lavished much attention on her marvelously full, impossibly firm breasts. We both climaxed again then lay cuddled up for awhile before she slipped into her burka, kissed me passionately and left. I slept better that night than I had in years.

I woke up on the morning of the fifth day after my crash feeling too good for words. My right leg felt as good as new. My left knee twinged and my ankle was still too sore to flex, but I could tell I was healing. My morning went as well as how I felt. Fatima brought me a bucket of water and allowed me to wash myself while Basheera and Tahani moved a small table into the room and a couple of more chairs. When Jamilah brought me breakfast, Adara had a steaming pot of tea and cups for the women. Adara was not happy that Basheera asked her to leave while the wives talked to me. Basheera, Jamilah and I sat at the table while Fatima and Tahani sat on my bed.

Basheera wanted an update on my physical status. I told her honestly how my leg was doing.

“I can walk now with a crutch or maybe a cane” I said, “but it will be another few days before I will be able to bear my full weight on my left foot. It will take at least another week after that before I can walk normally.”

Jamilah translated for the other women. Basheera nodded and gave the other women some instructions. I understood a few words, but didn’t understand the gist of what she said. I finished my breakfast and drank my coffee sitting there contentedly with them. That feeling of contentment bothered me some. I knew I should be totally focused on escaping but none of the SERE (survival, evasion, resistance, escape) training I had received had even remotely covered a situation like this. Yes, I was being held prisoner, but not in any military sense. I would try to escape if I wasn’t rescued before I healed up, but I wasn’t going to do it with violence. Meanwhile, the most I could say about my captivity was that I was being restrained while I healed.

My day brightened even more when Basheera brought me in some clothes around mid-morning. She handed me a pair of olive green trousers and a t-shirt. The trousers were loose in the waist and about three inches too short but they would do. T the t-shirt was a white rib knit wife-beater. While I thought I looked ridiculous, at least I was clothed. Adara and I worked on my Arabic all day. The other women dropped in often and conversed with me. I have a flair for language and I was making very good progress adding to my already basic knowledge of Arabic. Adara and I sat at the table where she continued showing me pictures and working them into sentences. She also started teaching me how to write in the right to left flowing Arabic script.

I covertly watched the other women trying to gage how much Basheera and Fatima shared about their visits. Neither of them gave anything away overtly. I did manage to make Fatima blush a few times by clandestinely touching her, though. That was a lot of fun. I didn’t do that with Basheera, though. Basheera was the matriarch of the family, so I made sure I treated her with all due respect.

I flirted shamelessly with Adara and Jamilah. It was as if I was in college again. The more I was around the mother and daughter duo the more they impressed me. Both were very smart and both of them had a great sense of humor. Adara was a joy to be around and I could tell she loved the time we spent together. Jamilah’s and my flirtation was of a more serious nature because we both could tell that, given enough time, it could lead somewhere. She acknowledged that fact when we finished our chess matches that night by kissing me soundly.

The Air Force crash site investigators finished up their investigation around noon on the fourth day after the two A-10s were shot down. They had arrived the day after the incident along with an Army engineer platoon from Basra. The engineers policed up every scrap of wreckage they could find and the accident investigators went through the flotsam with a fine-toothed comb.

By the end of the second day after the crash they had assembled most of Captain Collin’s plane. They could easily identify what plane the parts came from because they had the maintenance logs from both planes. The maintenance logs had the serial numbers for every component listed so they identified a part, checked the number on it against the logs, and knew instantly whose plane it was from.