SGT ROCK BADASS AMERICAN SOLDIER
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The Soldier free porn video
The Soldier
CAPTURE
Apart from the occasional sex-game, I have never beentied up before.
This is terrifying. My arms are pulled behind my back.Real ropes, as thick as my thumb and probably capable of holding half a tonof strain, are wound four times about my wrists, then passed three times betweenthem - forming rudimentary handcuffs from which I have absolutely no hope ofescaping. The knot is tied tightly between the tops of my wrists, well beyondthe reach of my fingers. But that’s not all. After tying my wrists, theypass a second rope about my arms, just above the elbows - winding it four times,pulling it so tightly that my elbows almost touch. It sends pain through myshoulders, forcing my ribcage out, my breasts up. The knot is drawn tight.Even if I did manage to free my hands, my arms would still be pinned behindmy back, rendering me helpless. Finally, a heavy cloth is placed across myeyes, tied at the back of my head, a blindfold that encloses me in completeblackness.
I sit on the wet ground, feel fingers at the laces ofmy combat boots, and, moments later, my feet are bared. I have never felt soterrified, so helpless, in my life.
"Let’s go."
It is a long walk, an hour at least, by my reckoning,and not easy going. My bare feet find countless twigs, thorns, roots; afterthe first ten minutes, I am hobbling. Worse, branches sometimes flick back,catching my shoulders or face, whipping my breasts. Unable to see where I amgoing, I rely on the warnings of soldiers who obviously care little for mycomfort. The heat is awful, my own bare arms wet, my fatigues soaked and clingingto my skin.
Eventually, my bare soles touch the sharp stones of agravel road. I limp, arms bound behind me, for perhaps twenty paces, beforeI am unceremoniously lifted into the back of an army truck. We drive for anotherhour, by which time I know I am well behind enemy lines.
Finally, the truck stops. I hear voices, other vehicles,and I realise I am at some kind of base. Soldiers lift me down from the truck,setting me on searing concrete. For a time, dazed, feeling intensely vulnerable,I stand. The sun scorches my dark hair.
I hear the command, though its significance doesn’thit until a few seconds later. "Undress her." Hands, suddenly, atthe belt of my combat pants.
"Hey!" Sightless in my blindfold, I try to stepaway, but there’s a soldier behind me, catching my bound arms. My belt-buckleis undone, and despite my protests, my pants are dragged down my legs. My knickersfollow.
My face burns with humiliation. My legs, I know, are good- athletic, quite muscular. But my guess is that they’re ogling my thickdark pubic bush.
Because my arms are bound, they use a knife to cut awaymy tank top. There is a whistle of appreciation at the sight of my bare chest,my worked abdominals. Though my breasts are probably far too small for most,the way in which my arms and elbows are bound behind my back accentuates them,my nipples are like pencil erasers in the humid air.
"Kneel."
There seems no point resisting, so I do as I am told,though the rough concrete hurts my knees, so hot my shins and feet feel asthough they’re burning. For perhaps twenty minutes, I am left, utterlynaked but for a blindfold and the ropes on my arms. The sun is fierce on mybare skin, searing my breasts and belly, my thighs, my face, my shoulders.
Eventually, I become aware of people standing over me.
"And what’s your name, pretty girl?" Awoman’s voice, amused.
"My name is Private Kirsten Smart." I addressthe blackness of my blindfold, lifting my wet face towards the scorching sun. "Please,may I have some water? And I want my clothes back."
"It’s not cold. You don’t need clothes," thewoman says. "You are a prisoner, now, of the Free Nationalist Army. Iwon’t muck about: we need to know the positions of your various battalions,artillery, and aircraft."
"You have the wrong person, I tell her. "I don’tknow that stuff."
One moment I’m kneeling, the next I’m lyingon my bound arms, my head pounding, ears screeching, the whole world spinning.I had no way of anticipating the punch, and I groan in pain and misery.
"Jesus, fuck! That hurt my hand! Bitch!" thewoman shouts, and kicks me in the guts, driving the wind from my lungs. "Pickher up!"
Soldiers grab my tightly-bound arms and wrench me backto my knees. I sway, my head still ringing. The woman bends over, her mouthlevel with my ear. She smells of perfume and shampoo. "You don’tfuck with Rachel Paglia. Ever. I’m going to give you some timeto think, because you’re probably tired, confused. But soon, I’mgoing to want answers. And you’ll give them to me, whether you like itor not." To the soldiers: "Take her inside."
I am wrenched up. From the sensations and sounds, I ammarched through a metal doorway into a bare concrete corridor, heading intothe depths of a building that smells of disinfectant and ozone. It is chillin contrast to the air outside, and the hairs on my arms bristle as goosebumpsturn my skin coarse.
At the end of the first corridor, another heavy door isopened by a guard, and we descend stairs, the metal icy to the soles of myfeet. With my arms roped behind me, my ribcage is bare to the freezing air,and my nipples tighten and swell like bullets. I am being taken underground- I count at least three levels before we access a new corridor.
This passageway is deathly silent. My bare feet sloshin shallow puddles, the air icy this far underground. Finally we stop,I hear a door open, and I am thrust into a room. From the short echo, it’sbarely three metres square, concrete, empty. I stand, naked, bound, blind.I hear my captors leaving. I call after them: "can you untie my arms?Please?"
"Cool down in here for a while, bitch," oneof the guards snarls as the door swings.
"No! Please!" I rush for the door. "Evenif you leave my hands tied! Please, my arms hurt so much!" My cries ofdesperation are lost as the door bangs shut.
I burst into tears, and sink to my knees. My arms, twistedback and roped, are tense and aching, unable to relax. I try ineffectuallyto move them, but such is their position that my muscles have no strength,no chance of leverage. I can flex my fingers, twist my hands and feel the hardcoils of the rope, but that’s all. I guess my elbows must be perhaps threecentimetres apart at most, the ropes rough against my bare shoulder blades,biting into my elbow bones.
Kneeling, still blindfolded, I weep, teeth chattering.The cold keeps my skin rough with goosebumps. My nipples are puckered and aching.Even the fine hairs on the bare nape of my neck are on end. They obviouslykeep it cold down here on purpose, to remind prisoners of their nakedness.
After a time, I creep, on my knees, across the concretefloor, aware that it would be too cold to lie, too awkward to sit against awall. I try, briefly, to rub my blindfold off with a shoulder, feeling thevelvet of my own skin against my cheek, but with arms so pinned behind my back,denied leverage, I am unable to dislodge the fabric. Defeated, I sit, the concreteicy to my buttocks, the soles of my feet, the air chill around my arched ribcageand lifted breasts. The only warmth is in the gentle trail of tears that oozesfrom beneath the cruel blindfold.
Eisley
- 08.12.2022
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