That night, I was reassured to find myself summoned to the bed of the local commander, upstairs in the master bedroom on the second floor. I was allowed to drink some water, eat some food, and take a shower to make myself more presentable for my new master, as I now saw him. I never found out what happened to David, or to the other prisoners I had last seen lined up against the wall of the main dining room.

I entered the commander's room completely naked, wearing only my collar, a chain leash, and the thin ropes that held my wrists together behind my back. He first looped my leash through the bedframe and locked it in place, but I was surprised when, instead of simply kicking my legs apart and tasting the fruits of my submission, he untied my wrists and invited me to join him on the bed. I think, for all his skill and experience in leading men, he was unsure about how to use a slave girl. I undressed him slowly, licking and kissing at his body, finally taking him into my mouth and lavishing my talents on him slowly and lingeringly. He reared up, holding my head in place with his hands, and I gazed up at his face as I swallowed, continuing to caress him with my tongue, hoping to see some trace of contentment or pleasure in his eyes. I think he was pleased with his girl.

He made me sleep, bound once again, on the floor by his bed, and in the early morning he jerked on my leash to command me back onto its surface. This time, after letting me lick and kiss at him, he rolled me over onto my back, thrust my legs apart, and plunged into me violently, abusing me as the American slut he so hated, but also forcing me to cry out in joy, a vanquished slave girl responding helplessly to her master.

I spent the next two weeks in that one building, most of it in another second-floor bedroom where the soldiers could make use of me when not engaged in their more bellicose pursuits. I would be chained by my leash to the bedframe to prevent escape, but otherwise was left free, unless one of my rapists chose to tie me up in some fashion using the handcuffs and ropes available. Some of the men seemed experts in the arts of abusing a helpless, naked girl, tying me in positions that both caused me pain and opened me up creatively for their exploitation, or cruelly arousing me with their caresses or with physical implements and then refusing to let me achieve satisfaction. But for the most part, they were relatively unimaginative, the vast majority preferring either to have me serve them with my mouth, kneeling before them, or to push me over onto my belly and breasts and take me from behind like a dog. Whatever their tastes, of course, I knew to serve them with absolute obedience and with all the intimate techniques that I had learned. I knew that I was still under threat of death, should I fail to be pleasing.

For the first few days I could still hear the moans or cries of the other slave girls, similarly employed in other rooms on the second floor, but soon they were transferred to other groups of troops for their comfort and amusement, either as gifts from one commander to another or, perhaps, in exchange for guns and ammunition. At the beginning, too, there was a constant stream of men demanding my body, which I of course gave to them freely, but that began to tail off during the first week; as the commander told me later, he feared that my constant availability was making his men soft, and from that point he would only grant rights to my body as a reward for specific accomplishments.

Most nights I spent in his room, chained on the floor by his bed after having served him, but there were also nights when he allowed me to remain in the bed after he had made use of me. Then I would kiss and caress him gently as he fell asleep, and he would awake to find my lips and tongue warm and wet on his body, attempting to show a slave's gratitude for the kindness he showed me. Although each night he seemed to try out some new way of dominating and abusing me, using his new sex toy to experiment in the many pleasures that can be extracted from a naked, willing girl, there was also something innocent in him, in the almost naive joy he took each time he thrust my knees apart and entered me, once again establishing his dominion over my body. For my part, I did everything in my humble powers to bring him the pleasures a man may enjoy from a woman, not only because I feared him as the master of my fate, but even a little because of that innocence.

The end came quickly at the end of those two weeks. I was lying in his arms in bed, asleep, when we were both awakened by the low throbbing of helicopters. He sprang up and grabbed his rifle, but then two windows burst in and the room was filled with a sudden flash of light, sound, and smoke. I was knocked off the bed into a corner of the room, where I curled up in shock and fear; my master was thrown to the floor, dazed. Suddenly heavily armed men in uniforms burst in through both windows, releasing the ropes they had used to descend from their helicopters, instinctively covering the room and its entrances with their weapons. These were professionals, the real soldiers, I knew. Two of them quickly cuffed my master, and two came over to me, covering me with their guns.

"Please, masters," I said, struggling to my knees and opening them instinctively, "don't hurt me. I'll do whatever you want."

"You're an American?" one said in a flat Midwestern accent.

"Yes, master."

"What are you doing here?"

I swallowed. "I'm a slave girl ? a sex slave. I've been held here by these men."

"OK, don't worry," he said matter-of-factly. "We'll get you out of here." He fetched a pair of pincers from another soldier, which they used to cut the padlock holding my leash in place. They cuffed my hands behind my back with plastic cuffs as a precaution, and then one of the men lifted me up and began to carry me down out of the room and down the stairs. He handled me casually, but I noticed he could not resist brushing a hand over my breasts as I lay helplessly in my arms.

I never saw my previous master again.

The ground floor and the surrounding area had already been secured by other American soldiers. Outside the building, two large helicopters were idling. I was carried to one of them, already almost full with men, and handed in.

"Wow, who sent us this present?" one of the men asked, sounding like no more than a high school kid.

"Just get her back to the base and take her to see a doctor," my escort said before leaving. "She says she's an American, but we'd better be sure before we take those cuffs off."

All the bench seats inside the helicopter were taken, so I knelt on the hard metal flooring. Without thinking, I opened my knees and lifted my breasts appealingly. I blushed, realizing that I was posing as a slave. But I remained in that position, not knowing what my status was, whether I was allowed to assume another position, whether these men, too, would take advantage of my naked, unprotected body for their sport.

One of the men leaned over to me. "I'm Lieutenant Shipman," he said. "U.S. Army. Who are you and what the hell is going on?"

"My name is Jenny, master," I said. "I used to be Jennifer Nevins. I went to UCLA. I'm a ? a slave girl. A sex slave." I began to cry with shame and humiliation. "I was captured and kept here, and I had to serve the men with my body, over and over again."

"It's OK now, Jenny," the officer said. "And don't call me master. We're getting you out of here, and we'll take you to see a doctor, and soon you'll be on your way back home and all of this will be over."

"What's going on?" I asked. "Why did you come here?"

"This was a surprise raid to capture the leaders of the rebel movement here," he said. "We hit six different compounds simultaneously tonight. If everything went as well as it did here, the revolution should be over by tomorrow." He paused. "We had no idea we'd find you."