Dianne’s Desert Disaster

by Kurt Knout

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© Copyright 2009 - Kurt Knout - Used by permission

Storycodes: M+/f; M+/f+; bond; kidnap; transport; bdsm; oral; anal; sex; cons/nc; XX

"Gentlemen, we’ve got a problem". Chet said.

He frowned across the big conference table. The room was cool and clammy, thanks to the noisy air conditioning; Outside the Arabian American embassy under the glaring sun of Riyadh, it was at least forty degrees hotter. Chet––Chester Gathright, assistant ambassador to Arabia (but, as every one knew, the head of the CIA station) frowned again at the four men, his associates, around the table. He is fiftyish, well built, balding, with mild features; forgettable in a crowd; one might say an attribute in his profession. His frown is tinged with rueful deprecation, and just a little humor.

Groans from his staff. "What else is new?" sighed one.

"This isn’t Egypt, or the last OPEC thing, this is bit of garbage." Chet said. "It involves our esteemed ambassador. And his daughter."

General groans. "What ‘s that asshole gone and said now?" Harvey asked.

"It’s not Bailey this time" said Chet–"it’s his irrepressible sweet daughter Debi. She’s missing. For three days now."

"Probably shacked up with some Al Qaeda guy" offered MIke. "that dizzy bitch is way more trouble than the ambassador is worth!"

"Which isn’t very much" Chet said. Among the professionals he shared a thinly veiled contempt for their supposed boss. G.Thornton Bailey was a succesful manufacturer of lawn mowers and other garden equipment who had contributed heavily to the Bush campaign; his reward was an ambassodorship to one of the most sensitive sites in the world. With a minimal resume, little knowledge of the region, unable to speak the language, he was a Warren G Harding type of ambassador: Florid, handsome in a tuxedo; white haired, and, Chet thought, dumb as a post. Much of his time and energy had been spent keeping this asshole out of trouble, rather than concentrating on the ageny’s chief mission. And now, tnis!

"Right. As I think all of you know, our little Debi is here becouse her mother split about a month ago. Background: Debi has been kicked out––well, dismissed––from at least three schools, the first for doing the football team, the second––an all girl college––for doing the lacrosse team, the third for doing the dean. And now she’s here, in Arabia, with dear old dad. And she’s gone missing for three days, and the ambassador is demanding we do something. What have you got, Mike?"

MIke Forbish adjusted his glasses; he had been assigned to keep track of Debi Bailey, an almost impossible assignment. "Well, as you know" he began nervously: "She hangs out with some of the princes and that crowd: alcohol, drugs, all that good ––if you’re royalty––Islamic stuff. We think she caught the eye of Prince Najib, who has a history, Sam?"

Sam cleared his throat. He was slight, dark skinned, Armenian; he was fluent in Arabic, and pernaps Chet’s most valuable man on the ground here in Riyadh.

"Prince Najib has a thing for blondes. Three Swedes, one Russian. and one American, a real estate saleslady from Wisconsin--have disappeared in the last thirty months. We got the Wisconsin lady back: evidently when he found out from her pubic hair that she wasnt blonde at all, he turned her out into the desert. Luckily, a caravan found her. One of the Swedes was found in a Moroccan brothel, frankly psychotic, Her stories of desert life with our good prince, if believable, are terrifying."

:"So where is this son of a bitch?" asked Leo. Quiet, relaxed, like a cat or a coiled spring. Leo Chavez was the enforcer, should the agency need one.

"Leo." Chet said, "It’s not quite that simple. OK? To answer your question, the prince has an elagant spread at an oasis about two hundred miles west of here; real desert. More importantly, he’s royal family, untouchable. And third, he’s moving all the time. A real fucking nomad, you might say. So: here’s the problem, gentlemen. How do we determine : One: Does Najib have Debi? What is she doing there? In the harem, shacking up, or what? and Two: How do we get her out of there without some sort of international incident? Oil is king, need I remind you gentlemen––we have to thread the needle on tnis one. Any suggestions?"

There was a long pause. Harvey spoke."you know, if we could just get into his camp, send an agent, or something, to see if she’s really there...."

"Unfortunately, we’ve tried that. Two of our best agents--haven’t returned." said Chet. "That bastard’s tough."

"Or maybe a decoy! Set up another blonde, see if he snatches her!" Harvey continued.

"And we would need someone who could somehow get her back without a major fuss." Leo said. "Chet, I don’t think it can be done; let’s just take this guy out, do a covert raid on the oasis, grab the chick. and bring her back home to daddy,"

At that moment Dianne Prince, Chet’s administrative assistant, entered after first knocking. She brought a tea trolley, wth a coffee urn, cream, sugar, and a tray of rich mid east pastries and sweetmeats. She served coffee to each man, smiled briefly at Chet and turned to leave,

A tall brunette, slim, but with flaring hips and a full bosom, wearing a short white linen sheath, she pushed the trolley out of the conference room, her bottom swaying. There was a moment of silence.

"Chet, you old dog! Where did she come from?" Mike whooped. "Goddam! thats a lovely...." he looked at his boss; Chet was not amused.––"er, I mean, she is certainly a striking woman."

"Dianne is gorgeous, as you just saw, but she is also a talented case worker. I like your decoy idea, Harvey. I think that Dianna could pull it off--with a blonde wig, of course."

"Come on, chief," this was Leo; "even if she’s kidnapped, taken to this guy’s oasis and guess how much fucking she’ll see in the meantime––how does that help the ambassadors flaky daughter?"

"Fair question, Leo. Let’s just say that Dianne has the talent to pull this off. You have to trust me on this." He was the boss.

There was a long pause. Harvey finally said. "This is your baby, Chet. I’ll set up the decoy thing, but I hope you’re right."

"Yeah" said Mike: "Or else see the most gorgeous ass I’ve ever seen disappear into the sands of Arabia forever." Leo smiled, concurring.

"Gentlemen, thank you for your imput: I take full responsibiliy for this operation, of course. I’ll need to talk to Ms. Prince now; she may not wish to volunteer for such a demanding mission. If all goes well., I will inform the ambassador; I understand he’s at a falconry and hiunting weekend witn one of fhe other princes."

After the others left the room, Chet called Dianne in. She sat down; they looked at each other in silence for a moment. Dianne spoke first.: "I overheard your problem. Is this a job for Wonder Woman?" she smiled.

Chet, as CIA head at the embassy, was the only one who knew Dianne’s secret identity: Wonder Woman. They had worked together before; once in Indonesia, once in Colombia, (Where he had helped her escape from a bad scene with some drug lords.) They had developed a friendship based on mutual self respect, just barely sexual––Chet knew how often Wonder Woman got in trouble, despite her super powers; how often she seemed to get captured, bound, shackled and usually raped before she always triumphed. So Chet ––he wasn’t quite sure how he felt––was just a bit reticent around her overt sexuality. But professionally, like now, they worked together well.

"No. Dianne, this is not about Wonder Woman; though she might be needed before this is over. This is a lousy assignment, absolutely voluntary, let me stress that, even before I describe it."

"Chet. You know I’ll do it. It’s my job; destiny, maybe. I can’t help it, you know that. So tell me what you have in mind." She smiled sweetly, crossed her legs.

"The ambassador’s daughter has got herself kidnapped by Prince Hajid––unless she went on her own––never mind, we’ve got to get her back––with the least fuss. So, knowing the Prince’s lech for blondes, we’ll set a trap. And you, I’m afraid, will be the bait. We’ll let you get snatched, and follow you with a GPS and find where he’s got Debi hidden away; we think it’s his personal oasis."

"And then, I’m supposed to get her out?" Dianne smiled.

"Uh, yeah. We can send in a task force., once you locate them. But the hard part is if she doesn’t want to come. That’s where Wonder Woman might be useful, woman to woman bonding, that stuff. you’ll have to use your judgement."

Dianne said; "You know I’ll do it. Kidnapped, a victim –at least at first––but how do you know he’’ll try to––you know––seize me? I’m not even blonde!"

" No problem." Chet was relaxed now. With WW on the job, he felt anything was possible. "A blonde wig. And you dress like the standard offensive American tourist:: loud, rude, with a short skirt, and a camera, blundering into sacred spots without a veil; I don’t have to tell you how to do it. And we’ve got one rug market where three of the women have disappeared. Don’t worry, he’ll grab you; you are too delectable for him to miss!"

Dianne beamed; Chet knew she would, "A real challenge ! Of course, I’ll have to pretend to be, you know, a victim at first. But when I find the girl, I’ll get her out; you know I will!"

Another chance to get tied up and raped, Chet thought. He felt for her. But what the hell, national interest prevailed. His job was to get the ditzy girl. Putting Dianne in harm’s way, although she loved it, was just––well, his job. He supressed his emotions, and got down to the business of setting up the kidnapping, the details, the costume. the watching agents; the whole operation.


The next morning, an American tourist shopped the narrow alleys of the Riyadh market. She was a tall, voluptuous blonde but a bit garish, wearing tight––very tight––khaki shorrts. a bulging, braless tee shirt with a Madonna logo, high heeled sandals, a camera slung around her neck, and a big straw purse. As she sashayed through the bazaars, hips rolling, she drew stares; veiled women, turbaned men, both attracted and furious. Several observers had a more focussed interest. Not just another outrageous American tourist, they knew.The two ill-disguised CIA agents were backing up Dianne’s shopping trip. Two rug merchants, one, Ahmed, slavering over the prospect of obtaining this luscious addition to the prince’s harem, followed her every move, almost willing this big blonde into his store. " Come to me, lovely slut!" he whispered to hinself.

But Dianne turned again and wandered into a mosque, camera ready. No veil, no head scarf. Two young uniformed policemen had been watching her provocative dress with increasing anger, and this was the final straw! Desecration by this infidel! They stepped in and siezed her by the arms, roughly, and hustled her into a wider square, where their unmarked squad car was parked. "Harlot! Infidel! Whore!" one of the policemen hissed at Dianne. "You shit on our way of life!"

Dianne was confused; this was not in the script. Perhaps she had been too outrageous, calling attention to herself. The other cop twisted her wrists behind her back and handcuffed her, shoved her roughly into the back seat, and drove away. In the market, one of the CIA operatives stuttered into his cell phone: "I don’t know what happened; she’s gone; the cops have her!" In the rug shop. Ahmed ground his teeth; if only he could have snagged this one!

The two officers jabbered in Arabic. Dianne couldn’t quite understand all they were saying. But as they veered into the shabbier part of the city, and finally stopped behind an abondoned factory, she realized that this was not quite a routine arrest. The car stopped. Both men got out; one (she never learned their names) jerked her out of the back seat, steered her to the hood of the car, and bent her over. She could feel the engine heat against her breasts. The other cop held her shoulders as the first one reached under her belly, unbuttoned, unzipped, and tugged down her shorts. She struggled, he swatted her, sharply. "Infidel whore! I give you punishment now!"

He did; they both did. Thoroughly raped, Dianne was bundled back into the car, now naked from the waist down, thighs and pubic hair clottted with their semen, for the official visit to headquarters and probable booking for heresy. Cuffed, sprawled in the back seat of the car, Dianne considered her options: She could whirl, become Wonder Woman, and destroy these two bastards! Or she could stay the course, enduring indignities; even though the plan had not gone well: she had signed on to the project , after all. And the rape, as brutal as it had been, had stirred her–– her sexual urgency, she called it her dark side––She felt the subsiding warmth in her pelvis, flexed her hips, and decided to go along with the project; at least for now.

Slightly withdrawn, spaced out , she endured the police station routine. She was stripped, searched, (vagina and rectum were both invaded by a thick fingered leering clerk) photographed, finger printed, Still cuffed, now naked, she was pushed into a windowless interrogation chamber. A middle aged balding but trim man confronted her; he wore a police uniform, not traditional arab garb. He had a suave smile. His English was fluent.

"I welcome you to Arabian justice. Unfortunately, you have violated two or three serious Islamic taboos. I suspect you work in the Embassy, despite your falsified papers; I’m sorry, that will make no difference. Your offence has been widely reported, even photographed-- what can one do?"– He smiled, spreading his hands. "There is no way your rich, arrogant country will be able to intervene. You will be charged by a Sharia court, and sentenced to a public flogging, I’m afraid. That mosque you violated is one of our most sacred sites! Well, what do you say?"

Dianne was stunned. This had nothing to do with her mission! Flogging! What was that about? She’d better play the dumb American: "Please. Mr..––officer, whoever you are; I know I made a cultural mistake. Perhaps you can call my employer, Mr.Chester Gathright, at the American embassy. I’m sure you can work something out!" Squirming naked on the hard chair, wristscuffed behind her back, cunt still swollen and throbbing from the multiple rapes, she hated herself for pleading to this smug officer, but still–– Hassam Il Badi––that was his name––leaned back and smiled at the distraught woman; he loved her pleas, intuiting that this was a usually proud woman. How delighful to have this desireable western woman, nude, handcuffed, thighs slightly spread, in his hands!

"I know Mr. Gathright, of course: I’ll call him in a few minutes. But you must understand, Sharia law is strict, inflexible. I can perhaps make your evening a little easier; cuffs off, some clothing, no night with the men in the police barracks––but, I fear that the whipping must take place. Of course, I would hope for ––some sort of reward for this kind treatment." He smiled even wider, walked around the table and lifted Dianne to her feet, caressing her breasts. then, hugging her close, his strong fingers exploring her buttocks.

Fucked again! Dianne again felt the mix of despair and excitement that so often swept over her. Il Badi lifted her onto the plain table and spread her legs, standing between them and quickly entered her. Minutes later, sweating. pulling up his trousers, clearly satisfied, he told her:" You're magnificent. I will now call your Mr. Gathright."

Dianne sprawled, vagina dripping, violated once more. The bastard had not yet uncuffed her. Would he keep his promises? She suspected not.

When Chet got the call from Il Badi, he had already debriefed the two agents who had been caught by surprise in the market by the sudden arrival of the fanatic policemen, so he was not too surprised when Colonel Il Badi purred at him: "Ah, Mr. Gathright, I regret to tell you that one of your nationals; her identification is a bit uncertain, she had violated some of our most serious religious restrictions. I’ll do every thing I can, of course; you are my friend, but––the judge she will see is very cruel, very inflexible. I’m afraid she’s going to be stripped, exposed in the city square, and whipped. There’s nothing I can do. Sorry." He paused. "Chester––she’s beautiful, isn’t she?"

Chet hung up with a sinking feeling. He would station agents around the city square, to protect Dianne from fanatics who might assault her while chained; he could do nothing about the flogging that Dianne would endure, but he could be sure she was cared for when that ordeal ended. Meanwhile, the missing daughter problem was still unfinished ; the ambassador was on his case daily. ‘Poor Dianne!’ he sighed. She was a closet masochist, perhaps, but inevitably, she was going to get her lovely ass severely whipped. And there was nothing he could do about it.

At dawn, Dianne was led into the city square, where a whipping post had been erected. Two policemen fastened her chained wrists to the post above her head; she was almost on tiptoe. She wore a black chador, but not for long. One of the policemen as he retreated, crooked a finger into her neckline, and ripped the garment all the way down her back. The chador now hung in shreds; her back and lush bottom fully exposed.

There were several hours until the ritual flogging was to begin. Already a crowd was gathering; an arrogant American infidel to be whipped! A not-to-be missed event! Already, youths were circling Dianne, jeering, spitting, pelting her with spoiled vegetables and a few pebbles. One angry old woman hobbled up to the whipping post, and tugged away the remnants of Dianne’s clothing; now completely nude, stretched, almost suspended, she endured the abuse of the crowd. Chet had four agents in the crowd’; they attempted to protect Dianne from serious trauma, but the crowd reaction was unstoppable.

Dianne’s ritual whipping as a major event was televised for those who couldn’t crowd into the central square. Chet forced himelf to watch as the elderly mullah with a rhinoceros hide whip lashed a writhing, sobbing Dianne. Wonder Woman had many enhanced senses; her ability to feel pain was one of them, he knew.


Two days later. The embassy staff had unchained Dianne after the fifty lashes, she was semi conscious, whimpering in pain. She was rushed to the embassy hospital, Now, still on her stomach, poultices covering the welts on her back, her ass, and her upper thighs, now requiring fewer narcotics and sedatives, she weakly turned her head as Chet bent to talk to her: "Dianne. I’m so sorry; we did what we could, but someone in the State Department... Get well soon. Needless to say, the ––uh–– initial project is off! We’ll come up with something else."

Dianne tried to smile; not very succesfully. "No. Chet. I’ve been lying here on my belly for two nights waiting for my flogged ass to heal. And I’ve been thinking. I messed up your plan. I was too obnoxious; that’s why the cops grabbed me. Your plan is still doable, if the daughter is still missing."

Chet could only pat her hand, What a fool for punishment! Or, maybe, just a fool! But Debi was still missing, and the ambassador was on his case day and night; and none of the other attempts to infiltrate Prince Hajid’s oasis had succeeded; two of his most seasoned agents were missing somewhere in the desert. She’s got extroardinary healing powers, he found himself thinking; maybe, just maybe, I should let her try it again. What a bastard I am. He gave her a reassuring pat on her bandaged bottom; she winced.

" Oops! Sorry! We can talk about this later." He left , unsettled.

Dianne––Wonder Woman––dare he use her again? The ambassador ––and his white house contacts–– were all over him. Dear Debi had been gone for eight days now.

"I know she’s uncontrollabe, a real pain in the ass." Ambassador Bailey had told Chet. "But, goddamit, She’s my daughter. We gotta get her back!"

Six days later another tourist walked through the bazaars and shops, the narrow streets of Riyadh. She was dark blonde, with a striking figure, but dressed modestly: a short linen skirt, a demure blouse, modest high heels, and, of course, a camera and a guide book, which she paused to study, frowning prettily. Dianne, of course. But this time a much more muted presence (and no wig; she had dyed her hair––even her pubic hair; no one was sure what sort of scrutiny she might have to endure.)

A rich American tourist! Merchants surrounded her, offering fantastic values, bargains. When one of their number stepped forward to make his pitch, the others seemed to recede, deferential. "This is the one" Diana thought, and pretended to respond to his spiel. She followed into his shop; he was promising unbelievable treasures, authentic rugs––"Everything, Madam! Will you have a cup of tea, while I show you my gorgeoous wares?" Here in my back room, if you please!" He bowed her in.

"Here it comes" Diana thought,. ‘Probably a drug in the tea. I’ll just.... ‘

They were not that subtle; as soon as she passed through the beaded curtain to the back room, Dianna felt a sharp prick in her rump. Achmed’s assistant had injected her with some sort of drug.. She slumped to the floor; the animal tranquillizer was very quick acting. Moving efficiently, they tied the unconscious woman: wrists and elbows behind her back, encircling ropes above and below her breasts, thighs, calves and ankles roped together; unconscous or awake, she was totally immobilized. Achmed opened her mouth and inserted a leather gag. Quickly they rolled her up in a expensive carpet and tied it in a tight roll at both ends and at the middle; she was cocooned. Dianna’s limp body was hustled intlo a Toyota van idling in the narrow alleyway behind the shop, The two men in the van nodded silently to Achmed and were gone down the labyrinth of crooked streets.

This had taken perhaps five minutes. Chet’s agents, who had planned to identify and follow any suspect vehicle, were still at their posts, waiting for Dianna to emerge. After all, this was the first stall she had visited, unlikely to be the kidnap site. A few more minutes passed. Slowly they realized that Diana was long gone; bursting into the shop they confronted a placid Achmed. "What woman? What tourist? As you can see, I have no customers at the moment, alas. Would you gentlemen be interested in some very old, very rare...."


Wonder Woman awoke, groggy, disoriented, paralyzed, it seemed, almost unable to breathe, unable to see. "Where?––What? she tried to say, then realized she was gagged. And tightly bound. Now she remembered; the rug bazaar, the needle prick. So, the same questions: Where? What’s happening? She could scarcely move, the ropes were too tight. And she was in some sort of––she rubbed her nose and forehead against the constricting fabric around her; an exquisite silken nap. Of course! A rug! I'm all rolled up in some fucking rug! The mission and the whole decoy episode came back to her now. "Well," she thought, " At least they took the bait. And––I’m it."

She felt the bumpy road as the van moved through the night, Now totally awake she tested her bonds again; no give at all. And,unable to twirl. she could not become Wonder Woman. And breathing with the smothering rug in her face was increasingly difficult. The van lurched and bumped on; clearly we’re not on the freeway, Diana thought. ‘Finally they halted. She waited; in a minute or so she heard the doors open, felt her rug encased body roughly lifted then dropped on the ground. She heard two voices whispering, but could not make out what they were saying. She felt the ropes around the rug loosening. The two men unwrapped and roughly dumped her onto the sand where she flopped, bound and helpless.

"‘Samir, this is not wise! The prince does not want us to toy with his––guests! "

"Just a quick peek, Abdul. How can that hurt?"

The two drivers (they had carefully chosen a desolate and nearly deserted oasis for their stop) viewed their prize. "This one is truly gorgeous." Abdul whispered;

Dianne, tightly bound and gagged, was still dressed; the kidnapping had been too fast, too efficient for the lovely dallience Achmed would have preferred. Now Samir knelt over the helpless woman and slowly ripped open her blouse, roughly fondled her breasts and tore off her brassiere, then unzipped her skirt, pulled it off, and tore away her panties. Diaina moaned, muffled behind her gag, and wriggled away from his probing fingers; to no avail.

"Samir! What are you doing? the prince––!"

"But––– she is so beautiful....I must have this woman! Abdul, help me untie her legs, open her gorgeous thighs! You, of course, will have her, too. After me!"

The men lifted her back onto the rug, untied Dianne’s legs, keeping her upper ropes intact; her breasts jutted between the turns of rope around her torso. Samir spread her, reaching for her dark blonde pubic hair, her inviting labial lips slightly parted.. Abdul held down her shoulders: Any slim chance that Dianne could twirl and become Wonder Woman was gone.

"Shit!" Samir said. A string protruded from Diana’s vagina. "Shit! " he turned to Abdul. "That is one of the things infidels wear when they are bleeding! As you know the Koran forbids fucking at this time." He stood, furious.

"Luckily, I am not as devout as you, my friend." Abdul knelt between Diana’s splayed thighs, and fondled her breasts, then her inviting cunt before he pulled on the string. What appeared was not a tampax, but a plastic wrapped metal capsule.

Abdul looked at Samir; Samir looked at Abdul. "I think I know what this is" he said.."A kind of spying machine. It tells someone where she is."

"The prince! We are dead!:"

"No, maybe not the prince. Anyway, we will be rid of it! And then, spy lady, whoever you are, we will fuck you good!"

They did. Samir first, then Abdul, then, turning Diane over, Samir once more, this time finishing deep in her tightly puckered but finally surrendering sphincter. They retied her legs, rewrapped her in the confining rug’ and tossed her back into the van. Through this hour long ordeal, Dianne had slowly regained consciousness, woozy at first, then increasingly in touch with her deep pelvic throbbing as she was repeatedly raped and sodomized and now retied, regagged and rebundled in the smothering rug..

Diane’s whole pelvis was on fire, her inner muscles contracting. Her gag mufled moans and cries that not been noted by the two rapists, but Diane––make that Wonder Woman––had climaxed repeatedly during her defilement.. "I did it again!:" She told herself. "Maybe I need some help; some kind of twelve step program about masochism and pathological horniness." She slumped back in her ropes; GP tracker gone; she was essentially on her own; still wet, she tried to concentate on the possible encounter with the prince, and, perhaps, Debi. Dedicated, stubborn, perhaps a bit stupid, Wonder never bailed out on an assignment, nor did she now.

Abdul, the brightest of the two had climbed over a low dune, crept up on a small caravan sharing the oasis, and slipped the GPS transponder into a convenient camel’s pack. Returning, he helped Samir toss Dianne into the back of the Toyota. They sped back into the desert.

More agonizing hours passed. It was nearly dawn when the truck finally bumped to a halt. Again Dianne was dumped onto the sand and rolled out of the rug. Blinking, she saw an Arab in desert attire standing over her. Behind him a Mercedes limousine idled; several other Arabs stood by. The first man nudged her with his booted foot, eyes bright, his evil grin widening as he inspected his prize; The two drivers had not attempted to redress Dianne after their orgy of rape; she sprawled naked, trussed and gagged, in the hot desert sand. The apparent leader prodded her with his boot again, this time between her thighs, then turned and barked orders to the others in Arabic too rapid for Dianne to understand. He paid off Abdul and Sapir, who salaamed and hurried back to their truck. The other two men bundled her into the trunk of the limo, fondling and exploring her body as they did so. As the trunk lid slammed shut, she heard the leader berating his men; this time she understood what he was saying: "Idiots! Fools! She must be unblemished for the Prince!"

Dianne endured another long dark ride, jackknifed in the trunk. At least she was free of that goddamned rug! She tried to rethink her mission. She was getting closer to the Prince. Reluctantly she tried to keep her outrage over the rapes under control; she needed to keep Wonder Woman’s fury under wraps until she knew more. Was Debi even with the Prince? It ws now clear that she was about to meet him; she didn’t relish the prospect.

Hours later, the big car stopped. As the trunk was unlocked, Dianne hoped to surveille her destination., perhaps morph into Wonder Woman. But even as she craned her neck she felt a heavy hand grasping one buttcheek and then the sharp sting of a hypodermic. "Oh shit! she muttered, her vision blurring as she lost consciousness. They had used the animal tranquilizer again.

In the meantime, Leo and his crew had been watching the homing device. At first it traced a direct route across the desert, heading, perhaps, into the area where Hajib’s camp was thought to be. Then, inexplicably, it slowed, halted and seemed to be wandering back towad the capitol along an ancient trade route. Leo and the technicians looked at one another, puzzled. "Get Chet over here" Leo said. Something’s not kosher here;"

Ten minutes later, still sleepy, Chet scanned the sattelite track with Leo and his crew. "Shit! Something’s very wrong." He remembered the first fuckup in the market place; was Dianne in trouble again? He made a decison. "We’re going in. A helicopter, special forces. Let’s find out where she is,and what’s going on!" Never mind the ambassador’s daughter, He had put Dianne in jeapordy again!

A sleepy group of camel herders.drowsing by their dung fires were terrified, shaken awake by the sudden ‘takatakataka’ sound descending from the dark sky; Moments later black clad men with automatic weapons surrounded them. Their terror was so great that it took long minutes for the interpreter to suggest to Leo that these men were imbeciles, fools!-- they knew nothing. At about the same time one of the soldiers, searching the caravan, found the GPS beeping away in a saddlebag full of couscous. Leo looked at Chet. End of story. Dianne was--God knows where in this miserable desert and--on her own.

Dianne awoke. How much later, she had no clue. Still groggy, she found herself in a huge, ornate tent lying on some sort of wooden frame. She tried to move her arms; she was no longer bound and gagged but her wrists were handcuffed over her head and her ankles were also cuffed. She was stretched out on a slotted oriental wooden rack. Leaning over her was a veiled woman sponging her gently with a warm perfumed liquid. Dianne wiggled gratefully. Even in chains, this was such an improvement from being smothered in a rug.,covered with sand. She smiled at the woman--dark haired, her plump figure revealed in her floating, gauzy robes--who smiled back.

"Where is this place? Who--what am I doing here? Why am I chained?" Dianne thought she should get back into her role as a bewildered, angry American tourist. So she blustered.

The woman’s vague smile widened; she shook her head an continued to bathe Dianne’s body, langorouosy, softly, now sponging between her thighs, massaging her sex. Even as she squirmed with a bit of erotic pleasure, she was truly bewildered now. What was going on? From behind her another woman spoke: "She speaks no English; I do. Welcome to our--how do you say?--harem. I am Adjani, your mistress--boss, is that right?--boss of all the Prince’s women. I am the one you must obey. Do as you are told and it will go well for you. Otherwise...."

The speaker now stood over Dianne’s cuffed, spread body, smiling at her new slave. She too was veiled, but her dark cruel eyes were not masked., She was tall, slightly obese, with wide hips, a definite belly, and sagging soft large nippled breasts. Her diaphanous robes were black but as revealing as the handmaiden’s. A belt of golden chains cinched her waist; she wore a heavy gold pendant around her neck dipping between her overripe breasts. A leather whip dangled from her braceleted wrist.

‘ A very scary lady!’ Dianne registered. ‘A dominatrix right from central casting! I don’t like that whip, not one tiny bit!’ She went into her act.

"Where am I? Who are you people? Turn me loose! Right now! I’m an American citizen! Some rug merchant must have drugged me and now I’m in chains in some goddamn cheapo Hollywood set with fat dancing girls!"

Adjani’s smile froze. She slashed Dianne’s breasts with her whip, once, twice, then stood back, breathing heavily. " Loud shouting, foolish complaints are not permitted here. The Prince wishes to hear pleasant obedient, soft voices from his --guests. He also demands that his visitors be unmarked, or else I would have whipped you to a bloody pulp! Do you understand me?"

Dianne winced and nodded. ‘It was that fat dancing girls crack’ she thought. ‘Be very careful with this bitch.’ " I--I just want to know --what’s going on here.." She faked a few tears, not difficult with her nipples smarting.

"That’s better. This is what will happen. You will be suitably prepared and presented to your generous host, Prince Najib. I hope for your sake that you please him. Being a big titted blonde may work in America, but not here. And should your attitude need further adjusting, I will attend to it. Believe it!"

Dianne allowed herself to be ‘prepared’ with no further show of resistance. Unchained briefly she was bathed and perfumed by several of the veiled handmaidens, (She noticed that they all wore light cuffs and ankle shackles.) Her hair was elaborately styled, her pubic hair was trimmed and combed, she was dressed in transparent silk scarves and then rechained by Adjani herself. These cuffs were not the delicate silver bracelts worn by the other harem women, they were heavy manacles pinioning her wrists tightly behind her back connected to a massive steel belt and heavy chains leading to heavy ankle shackles. And, a discordant note, elegant high heels. "What is this about?’ Dianne wondered.

"These are your training cuffs. After a month of good behavior you may earn something a little lighter. Take a look at Inge, here."

Inge was a forlorn blonde slumped in a corner of the tent. She wore the same cruel cuffs as Dianne. "Inge has been very stubborn haven’t you, you Swedish slut?"

Adjani whipped her across the shoulders; the blonde whimpered and looked up at Dianne with haunted eyes.

"Three weeks now, isn’t that right, Inge? With her hands chained behind her, she’s only been able to eat from the camel trough. I hope you don’t follow her example. Come! The Prince will inspect you now!"

As Dianne was led out of the tent she saw ten or twelve other chained women sitting quietly on cushions or low benches. Most of them were blonde; most had a defeated hangdog look. One or two were obviously pregnant. She didn’t see Debi. She also noted for the first time--there was so much to take in in this bizarre setting--the two well muscled black men at the tent entrance. Statuesque, arms folded, wearing only loin cloths on their oiled bodies, they stood there, impassive. One of them caught Dianne’s eye and gave her an almost imperceptible smile.

‘Ohmigod!’ she gasped. "Eunuchs! Cecil B. Demille kitsch!~ I don’t believe it!" She couldn’t help glancing at their bulging loincloths. How much did they--cut off, when.... Adjani prodded her along, her eyes slightly amused. "Arabian nights, no? Shambu, here will escort you to the Prince." The giant who had smiled at her nodded, took one of her backstretched chained arms firmly, but gently, she noted, He led her across a courtyard covered with rich carpets under the blazing mideastern sun towards another fanciful tent festooned with pennants. Hobbling in her heavy ankle chains and high heels, she could scarcely keep up with her huge escort.

Entering, she gasped again. Another Hollywood set! Rich draperies, carved heavy wooden chests, elaborate lamps and--she felt a sudden cool breeze--air conditioning! And then she saw to one side a modern electronic display: large plasma television screen, multiple monitors, two robed Arabs manning computors. ‘ ‘Bill Gates, meet Ali Baba’ she thought as she was led to the throne at the end of the magnificent tent.

For it was a throne. Raised, ornate, gilded. And on it sat an imposing figure. The Prince. Not a large man, but-- proud, regal. He wore traditional Arab garb of the finest cloth. His face was lean and intelligent with the proud nose and trimmed black beard she had somehow expected. His Rolex wristwatch struck a slightly jarring note. Dianne had a momentary impulse to kneel, but remained standing as his intense dark eyed met hers. He was silent as his gaze roamed over her shackled nearly nude body doubly enticing in her gauzy scarves. And to his side, sitting on a silk cushion, her hand resting on his thigh--Debi!

Dianna had been so mesmerized by the prince and all these medieval trappings--and the man himself-- that she hadn’t registered Debi at first. She did now. The blonde, the archetypical valley girl, the reason for all her problems, Dianne thought, lounged at Najibs’s side favoring Dianne with an insolent stare. She was gorgeous, flamboyantly so, no question about it, world class gorgeous, Dianne conceded. Her long tanned legs were curled under her, her ripe curves, her full pink nippled breasts, accentuated by her silk robe,sheerer even than Dianne’s, shouted "sex.". Her face was an American icon, nearly. Part Angela Jolie, part Britney Spears’ adolescent guilelesness--or empty headedness, perhaps. and partly an echo from the fantasies one might have held over Doris Day in the 70’s; freckles, cute upturned nose, wide blue eyes and glorious long blonde hair; what was not to adore? ( Later Dianne would see the vacuousness behind those big blue eyes, the slight lack of intellgence hinted at by her slack pouting lips, but at first sight, she was spectacular.) Dianne had done this woman to woman assessment in just a few seconds. She turned back to the prince who was still looking cooly at her, appraisingly. He turned to Debi with a dismissing wave of his hand. He said: "Debi, my darling. Leave us for a moment. I wish to evaluate my new acquisition."

She stood, scowled at Dianne, and strutted out of the tent. No chains for this favorite, Dianne noticed, again aware of her own harsh metal restraints. Debi was beautiful but it was very clear that Najib was in charge of the relationship. And everything else around here; including me, Dianne realized.

"So..." he finally said. "Turn around, slowly, Yes. Once again..." She turned, teetering in her shackles, feeling like a piece of meat, a black slave poked and prodded by a plantation owner. And then he smiled. Much of her outrage melted away.despite herself. "I’m really going to have to be careful around this handsome sonofabitch’, she told herself.

"Very nice. Very nice indeed. Your’e lovely. In a mature way, not like the delicious little piece I just dismissed-- my current lover, I should add.. What is your name, my dear?" His impeccable English had a slight Ivy League accent.

"Helen. Helen Trowbridge." She answered. She had an elaborate fake identity should he question her further; Chet had seen to that.. College graduate, Amnesty International field agent, recenty divorced, on her vacation, the whole nine yards. Now to show a little spirit: "Mr. Mr--I don’t know who you are, but you seem to be in charge here. I demand my release! Immediately! I was drugged, kidnapped, raped; I have no idea where I am, and these--these chains! I just--this is intolerable!" She didn’t have to fake her outrage. She was instantly furious again.

He feigned concern. "Now, now. I do apologise for your-- difficult journey. It was an unfortunate mistake. The men who brutalized you have already been punished. But now" he waved his hand again. "Now you are here. Let’s make the best of it, shall we?"

"Make the best of it! Stop the phony polite talk, you bastard! Release me at once! I’m an American citizen!. I demand..." It was Wonder Woman time! But the Olympian rules that governed her superheroine powers were inflexible. When chained or bound by a woman, WW’s powers were useless, and she had been cuffed and shackled by Adjani. She was truly helpless and knew it.. She continued to sputter, thrashing uselessly in her confining chains. "You-you monster! Oh! I can’t beieve that this is happening to me! I just can’’t..."

Najib seemed untroubled as she fumed; he waited several minutes for her rant to subside. Finally he spoke, again with that wide white toothed smile:

"Are you quite finished, angry lady? Because I want you to be very quiet and listen to me, Closely. First, your American arrogance has no clout here. None. Here you are my possession, my plaything, what ever I choose. Perhaps an object of torture. Please understand me. You are lovely; you seem to be intelligent, if a bit out of control. It is possible that we could grow to enjoy one another’s company, I do love to chat with Americans: so loud, so shallow, so arrogant! So out of touch with the rest of the world! I must confess a weakness for your type: luscious, sexually unawakened blondes. if you behave you will be tamed, humbled and disciplined, find the full awakening of your womanhood; erotic and submissive as Allah wills, and perhaps you may finally attain wisdom."

He paused gazing levelly at Dianne, no longer smiling. She stood in her chains, spent from her ranting, now trembling. His focussed presence had her head in a whirl, her Dianne, WW, secret mission, Helen, whoever, personas jumbled together. For a moment she forgot her mission, and just--trembled. His quiet firm voice had let her know that she was indeed his plaything, his slave. She tried to pull herself together. No facile role playing now..A few minutes later she answered in a tiny but firm voice:

"Prince Hajib. Yes, I knew your identity. I understand your absolute control over me. I understand that you have the power to dominate me, use me, hurt me. But you can never gain my acceptance or respect. With all your power, you’ re subhuman! Pitiful! I will defy you in any way I can! Do your worst! Fuck me! degrade me even further! But don’t ask me to ‘chat’.with you, please!"

Hajib was silent for a long moment. Then slowly his smile returned. He said: "Helen. You are an incredibly brave or stupid woman, probably both. I could have your tongue cut out for your last insults. But then we couldn’t taik. ‘Chat,’ if you will. And I do have plans for you, my foolish new--pupil, shall we say?. I have’t been back to Princeton for years; it might be useful to catch up on your country’s moral collapse."

Dianne had a ray of hope. At some level , this absolute ruler is looking for my acceptance! He still wants to be an Ivy league big man on campus! So, how to play this? She met his eyes and said: "Save your charm, please. When I’m out of these handcuffs with a taxi ride back to Riyadh then we can chat. Until then I’m just one of your captive whores, a piece of meat, another blonde bimbo to fuel your sorry ego trips!" Risky, she knew, but what could she lose?

"I see." He arose from the throne and stood in front of Dianne, his eyes burning into hers, gripping her shoulders. He ran his hands over her breasts, her belly, betwen her legs, coolly, clinically. Dianne wa really trembling now; her knees knocked as he turned her slowly, poking her taut buttocks with a stiff forefinger, then grasping and squeezing her ass cheeks, gauging their resilience. "Slave auction" flashed through her mind again; she felt humiliated, angry, and very afraid as his strong hands explored her.. She had no idea what he would do now.

He released her and faced her again. His expression told her nothing. "Helen" he mused. "A rather ugly name, I think. No matter. You intrigue me. So defiant, so foolish. Such a splendid body! And yet,....You interest me more than those sorry Russian harem mates of yours, and that sullen Swede. Perhaps in a few days, your attitude will--soften a bit. Your sexual initiation, which I’m sure I will enjoy, can wait. You may go now;"

He clapped his hands once. Shambu appeared at the tent enrtrance, took her arm and began to lead her away. Hajib spoke once more: "You will wear those painful cuffs for a few more days and nights.; they will remind you of your true situation here. Just a suggestion. You might do well to humble yourself before my other wives and concubines; one of them might be kind enough to help you with the mundane tasks those tight cuffs do not allow; eating, bathing, other personal needs. In my recent experience, haughty Americans are not received with compassion, as your president might phrase it. Sleep well."

Back in the harem tent, Adjani curtly motioned her towards a sort of bedroll of camels hair; this was evidently her bed. "Welcome to your new home;" the swarthy woman said: "Be obedient, don’t make any trouble, and we’ll ge along fine. Or else." She swished her hippopotamus hide whip lazily. "You.ve seen the Prince now; he has seen your unblemished skin. Future whip marks-- a few, many-- are no longer a problem. Understand?" She flicked the whip once more. Dianna nodded. She understood.

She slumped in her cuffs for hours. Some of the other women seemed pleasant, but distant; no one approached her. She looked around for Debi; she needed to get close to the girl (the obnoxious brat!) as soon as possible. Debi was in a far corner of the big tent watching American soap operas on the small TV with several other lightly chained women. Dianne shuffled over to the girl in her high heels and heavy chains, now chafing her ankles.

"Debi," she began. "we may have got of to a bad start, but I would like to talk to you; we’re the only two Americans here as far as I can...."

"Big fucking deal! Look, lady, I’m busy. This is Days of our Lives. Beat it!" She turned away rudely.

Dianne hobbled back to her pallet. She was terribly depressed. This was going so badly! Well, maybe a little better than that public whipping, but still... She had lost her GPS, well, not exactly lost it; she vividly recalled Ahmed ripping it out of her pussy; she couldn’t become Wonder Women until these goddamn irons were unlocked (and who knew how long that would be); that miserable Inge had been wearing them for weeks!) and, worst, she hadn’t a clue what to do about Debi, how to befriend, convince her (because it looked like she liked it just fine here) to escape. Shit!

A little later the eunuchs brought in a low table and steaming dishes of spiced lamb and couscous. The harem women gathered around and began to eat, greedily dipping their hands into the two platters. Dianne suddenly realized how hungry she was and joined the others around the table. At the same moment she remembered that her wrists were cuffed behind her: there was no way she could eat. She crouched miserably as the women gorged, one or two of them giving her an amused sidelong lance. She couldn’t bring her self to bury her face in the stew. But it smelled so good!

And she was so hungry--it had been more than 24 hours since she had been kidnapped.

The dishes were almost empty now. Dianne hadn’t had a bite. Finally a slim brunette knelt alongside her. "Hello, my name is Colette. You’re the new girl, the American, right? You must be very hungry."She stroked Dianne’s shoulder,.smiled. "Listen to me. I will help you. Let me feed you now." Dianne nodded gratefully. The frenchwoman put balls of rice and bits of the stew; meat, tendons, an eyeball in her hand and placed it in Dianne’s mouth.; Dianne slurped it all down. Colette wiped her greasy mouth and then leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, then cradled her chin.

"I can take care of you, until you graduate to the silver chains, the ones I wear. But--you must be my friend, my very good friend" her hand slipped from Dianne’s shoulder and caressed her breast. "understrand!"

Dianne understood. She raised her mouth; Colette lips met hers in a long intimate kiss.

"Ah! I see that you do understand. Many of us have--special friends. The prince requires our service only occasionally. Me, I am a bit too skinny for his royal taste, and a brunette. The days can be very long here, and we all need--some distractions." She continued to caress Dianne, her fingers more urgent, and said: "Many of us use Shambu and Ali. Don’t look so surprised; I’m told that they are both wonderfully endowed. Having one’s testicles removed does not shrink one’s penis. And of course, there’s Viagra. As for me, i have other needs." Her hand had strayed lower, between Dianne’s thighs.

She squirmed. and tried to change the subject, tried to ignore the long fingers toying with, now probing her labial lips. "Wow! I thought that eunuchs couldn’t--you know..."

Colette smiled, her fingers now well inside Dianne’s moistening cunt: "They can fuck all they want! The prince only demands that no sperm but his impregnates us! He already has nineteen sons, I think. Look around you, See how many of these simple brood mares are already pregnant. I hope you and I can escape that fate. Move your pallet next to mine. Tonight we will make love." She kissed Dianne once more and sauntered away.

Dianne tried to collect her thoughts. She was surprised at how quickly she had been stimulated. ‘Well’, she thought,’ a girl’s got to eat. ‘ She pushed her bedding toward Colette’s, not easy in shackles and ridiculously high heels. No one seemed to notice; most of the women were watching Dallas reruns on the single TV set.

She awoke in Colette’s embrace. After the prolonged but gentle lovemaking, sleep had been fitful due to the irksome irons; she couldn’t sleep on her back with the cuffs digging into her, she clanked as she tossed and turned. Colette was still asleep, a satisfied smile on her face. "I need to know more about this woman" Dianne thought. "She might be an ally, maybe together we can escape." Then she remembered her assignment. Debi. Instantly she was depressed again.

After Colette had fed her the morning meal; some sort of eggplant and garbanzo paste with yougurt and wonderfully rich coffee, and bathed her, she sighed and sought out Debi. who was having her toenails painted by one of the serving women.

"Debi--"As far as I can tell, we’re the only Americans here. We must have a lot in common, a lot to talk about.."

The young blonde looked up. "I don’t think so! Look I’m Hajib’s lover. Everything is super here! Just don’t get in my way."

Dianne could have wrung her neck. She forced a smile and continued: "Hey! I have no designs on the prince, believe me, though he’s an awesome dude." (She hoped she had got the valley idiom right.) Look. We might as well be friends; who knows how long we’ll be here. Don’t you get kinda , you know, homesick?"

Debi seemed to be grappling with the concept. She answered: "You be homesick if you want. Hajib will fuck you once or twice, you’ll get pregnant, end of story. Me? What’s to go home for? He’s a fantastic fuck, as I’m sure you’ll find out, and I’ve got it made here. Hamburgers, pizza, fries, my own Ipod..."

Dianne leaned towards her. "How ‘bout shopping? the mall! Don’t you miss all that?"

Debi’s serene brow furrowed for an instant. "Well, yeah. Look, maybe we can talk later. Talk about stuff. You know." She seemed slightly troubled; Dianne gloated inwardly. "Stupid little slut!" At least it was a start. She sighed. What a dreary thankless assignment this had become! How long would it take to convince airhead Debi to go back to daddy? And how long would she be locked in these agonizing cuffs? Her strained shoulders and elbows ached constantly now.

But that afternoon,, a glimmer of hope: Dianne found herself led by the two servants to the elegant tub in the corner or the women’s pavillion. There she was stripped and bathed in a warm perfumed bath. Giggling, the handmaidens proceeded to clip and trim her pubic hair, administer a perfumed douche, and anoint her body with a light fragrant oil before they carefully brushed and arranged her hair. They applied eye shadow and other cosmetics, painstakingly, almost lovingly before they dressed her in rich, diaphanous robes, bedecked her with fine golden necklaces and belly chains, earrings. Despite all this attention, the hated iron cuffs stayed in place, pinioning her wrists behind her.

Adjani appeared. "As you may have guessed. Helen, you are to have the honor of dining with Prince Hajid tonight. A rare opportunity, if I may say so. I hope you remember the proper role for a woman so fortunate."

"Surely, the prince would not wish to dine with one so cruelly chained." Dianne said. "These ugly cuffs detract from the splendid costuming you have granted me."

Adjani smiled. "The cuffs will come off when the prince decrees it; not before. Hurry! He has summoned you." The big eunuch Shambu led her across the courtyard to the royal tent.

There, lounging on pile of silken pillows, Hajib welcomed her. The vast space was lit with candles. Behind him she saw a low table set with gleaming tureens and goblets. Delicious odors from the banquet spread before her told her how hungry she was. She did a little curtsey, bowed.

Hajib stood and approached her, eyes bright. He wore a elegant turban and a splendid silk robe. "Helen, my dear. As I promised, we shall have our little--chat. Are you pleased?" Dianne nodded. He continued:" If we were back in your country, this would be--how do you say?--our first date. I would arrive at your doorstep with flowers or chocolates., shake your hand nervously. We would have a fine dinner in an expensive restaurant, perhaps go to the cinema, and then, just maybe you might permit a handshake or chaste goodnight kiss. Am I correct?"

Dianne nodded again. He stepped close with a evil grin, siezed her shoulders and spun her around. "We are not in Boston now! Kneel! On that cushion! Bend over! Face down!" He rudely forced he into the ignominious position. stepped behind her, tugging his robe open. Dianne, as he forced her face into the pillow got just a glimpse of his good sized erection before she felt her ass cheeks grasped, spread, and the sudden violent stab as he plunged into her, stretching her anal sphincter, thrusting deeply with his first stroke.

She gasped. And continued to gasp, almost too full of shock and outrage to respond. He was fucking her now, rapidly, powerfully, now reaching forward to seize her breasts as he pumped away. He was so--so big! And so--unhh!--so--.As usual, Dianne found her body betraying her; her pelvis began to quiver deep inside, she felt herself getting wet, responding to his brutal assault. "How dare you!’ was all mixed up with "Oh yes! Yes! Fuck me!’ In her confused brain. She tried to organize her thoughts, her proper response to this awful--Ummm!--rape. She squirmed, now answering his lunges with thrusts of her own. In only three or four minutes, she climaxed, moaning.

He withdrew, and knelt on the cushion beside her, cupping her chin, lifting her flushed face, grinning at her half closed eyes, her parted lips. "That’s an Arabian handshake, Helen. You seemed to enjoy it." he said.

Coming out of her post coital half swoon, her eyes widened. She saw that he was still fully erect. He lifted her to her feet, more gently now, and held her close. Somehow she wanted to return his embrace, but could not. "These goddamned handcuffs!’ she fumed. Now he spoke again. "So now our ‘date’ begins. Let’s get rid of those shackles first, shall we?"

As he unlocked her, Dianne began to plan. Now she was free, now she could turn into Wonder Woman! Now-- He stroked her long imprisoned wrists, kissed her hands, stroked her shoulders, her breasts and gently lowered her to the cushions again. His touch was gentle, but masterful. His hands glided down across her oiled belly, fingered her clit, entered her. He kissed her. "Wow! He’s really a good kisser!" flashed through her head. Now he was on top of her, parting her thighs, and, still hard, sliding back into her moist cunt. Wonder Woman sighed and put her escape plans on hold.

For about forty minutes. During that time Dianne found herself fucked in ways, in positions she had never imagined.’ He’s a true master,’ she thought dreamily between orgasms. ‘Now he’s-- Oh yes! In my ass! Please!’ Finally he ejaculted, filling her, and leaned back on the pillows, gleaming with sweat, grinning, clearly pleased with himself. He tousled her hair.

"Well, my American friend. Shall we have our little chat now? About your glorious pussy, or my humble efforts to fill it?"

Dianne was too sexually besotted to respond with anything but a weak smile.

Hajib spoke again: "But no, first we eat. You must be hungry after such a performance! I know I am."

Dianne, slowly recovering from her sexual haze, tried to remember her mission. But--she was hungry! So they dined, side by side at the low table, Hajib’s left hand caressing her throughout the sumptuous meal, as he ate with his right. Pigeons in pastry, wild boar, exotic fruits and strange spices, a sweet herbed wine, cheeses, then tiny cups of syrupy coffee. Dianne surrendered to it all. the wonderful food, the wine--she was getting a little drunk--his talented hands on her, in her, throughout. She almost didn’t speak. Hajib discoursed, wittily, she thought, about the total disaster of American foreign policy in the Middle East, now leaning forward to tongue her erect nipples, now strumming her clitoris once more, keeping her in an almost steady state of arousal. Sated, he stood over her,amused, erect again. "Now for your dessert, Helen."

She didn’t think twice as she took him into her mouth, tonguing and sucking. one hand on his firm ass. His fingers tangled in her hair holding her close as he came again. And Dianne swallowed. As she swayed on shaky knees, Dianne desperately tried to clear her head from this sexual miasma; as from a great distance she heard him say: "It’s been a wonderful evening, my dear. Shambu will return you to your quarters, and Adjani will recuff you."

Dianne was suddenly alert. Not chained by a woman again! she smiled up at Hajib. "Not her, my prince, my glorious lover! If I must be chained, only you should enslave me."

Flattered. Hajib answered: "Of course! He stroked her proffered wrists and locked her into dainty silver cuffs, almost jewelry. "Shambu!" The big eunuch had materialized at the doorway. ‘How long has he been standing there?’ Dianne wondered. "Take her back. And tell Adjani not to mistreat this rare desert blossom." He waved his arm in a regal gesture of dismissal.

‘ I could free myself right now!’ Dianne realized. But--she was still under Hajib’s spell, she knew. Later tonight. Yes! Before dawn! She allowed Shambu to escort her back to the women’s tent, trying not to respond to his approving chuckles, lay quietly on her sleeping mat next to Colette, and tried to compose herself.

She scarcely slept a wink. She spent a full hour trying to get the giddy feelings of that stupendous sexual encounter out of her head--she was still wet, just thinking about it. About Hajib. About his big slick cock, deep inside her-- stop it! She spent the next thirty minutes castigating herself for being such a pushover. ‘Slut! Whore!’ she berated herself. And finally: ’What’s the use? Face it, Dianne, you’re a bondage freak, a masochist. And so is your dear alter ego, Wonder Woman! Is it any wonder you’re always getting tied up, raped, humiliated?.So get a grip on yourself! You’ve got a job to do! And you’ve always been a patriot. How dare that Hajib sneer at our leaders. infer that George Bush is an arrogant fool?’ She was slowly getting herself back into Wonder Woman mode: patriotic, unquestioning, maybe a bit dumb. "And, so I’ll rescue that self centered shallow little bitch for her stupid father."

She waited until almost dawn, then tiptoed out of the tent. Shadowed from the moonlight, she twirled a full 360 degrees, easily snapped the cuffs and transformed herself into--ta da--Wonder Woman.

She continued to puzzle over just how this worked; her mother back on Paradise Island had cautioned her not to be too inquisitive. All she knew was that a full circle pirouette (arms didn’t have to be widespread; that was from the TV series) and there she was: power belt, bullet deflecting cuffs, magic lasso, and costume (modified once or twice since the tacky early comic books, now greatly influenced by Lynda Carter’s sexy outfit, but updated for the millenium: Tonight, under the arabian skies she wore a sheer red white and blue one piece costume, skin tight, with a halter top that separated but scarcely covered her breasts and dipped to a high cut sheath that molded as it just covered her labial cleft. In back her costume was almost a thong, bisecting her buttocks but cut low enough to just expose her butt crease. The belt, cuffs, red boots and lasso were unchanged. Dianne had no idea why or how the costume evolved over the years, she just went with the flow. But, woww! this new outfit was really hot! "Am I still a dyed blonde or classic brunette?" She wondered. Too dark to tell, no mirrror at hand. Oh well.... She shook herself out of her fashion reverie; time to go to work!

She entered Hajib’s posh pavillion. There was one guard at the door; she easily disposed of him with one paralyzing neck pinch. She strode past the banquet table, the pillows on which she-- Dianne, that is--had so recently been gloriously fucked and into the prince’s bedchamber. In silk pajamas, he was asleep with a smug smile on his face--the bastard!--when Wonder awakened him with a thunderous clap in front of his face and a sharp kick in the side. He startled awake. He saw looming over him: A furious Amazon, arms akimbo, legs apart (wearing almost nothing, he registered.) Wonder was back lit by a sputtering oil lamp, heightening her dramatic entrance.

"What? Who? Guards! Guards!" he sputtered. Two men armed with K-47s stepped from the shadows and began firing at the interloper. Wonder deflected the hail of bullets with her bracelets then, quick as a panther, disarmed them with a series of kicks and karate chops. One was on the floor writhing with pain, the other scurried out of the tent. She again confronted Hajib, speaking in a low pitched ominous voice: "Hajib! I am a djinn sent from the one god, Allah! You have sinned! You must repent! Now!"

Hajib was terrified. This-- thing-- had so easily dealt with his trained bodyguard! But still..."What are you? Woman, who are you?"

"Silence!" her voice thundered. "I choose to come to you in the guise of everything I hate! The American heroine, Wonder Woman., the feminine symbol detestable to Islam! And yet, you keep two such women among your wives and concubines! They are shrinking your soul! They are corroding your faith! ‘

Hajib trembled. How attractive this fierce apparition was! He’d like to--he realized that he --she, whoever, was right. "I apologise, master! What am I to do?"

"Rid yourself of their polluting influence! At once! Early this morning’s OK."

"I obey! I shall have both of them executed!, the silly schoolgirl and the big blonde, Clumsy, unskilled in sex, but an exquisite deep cunt. I’m sorry, I..."

‘Unskilled in sex! Clumsy! That bastard!’ Wonder woman shrugged off Dianne’s wounded reaction and continued: "Do not kill them; their ghosts will haunt you here in the desert. Send them back to the infidel swamp from which they come!"

"America? It shall be done, master!"

"Actually, Riyadh will be fine. As Allah’s messenger, I have one more duty to perform. Stand! Take off your pajamas!" Hajib stumbled to his feet and undid his pajama trousers with trembling fingers. The djinn brandished the curved dagger he kept at his bedside and knelt, cradling his balls. His penis stirred. She smiled grimly, holding the razor sharp knife edge close to his cock, just nicking the skin. "Your untamed lust has brought you to this sorry state! Perhaps I should remove all such temptation!"

"No! no, my lord! Not that! The American whores are gone! I swear it! Never again will I seek out the yellow haired sluts! Please!" He was weeping now.

Wonder released him. ":Allah is merciful! Turn now towards Mecca and pray! Pray until the sun rises! Pray for the cleansing of your sex drenched soul!"

Najib knelt, prostrated himself, forehead to the rug, and began to pray. The djinn lubricated the rhinocerus horn hilt of his dagger with oil from the lamp and pushed it against his anus until the sphincter relaxed, then thrust it deep into his rectum. The terrified prince winced, shuddered as the shaft entered him, but continued to pray. How could he do otherwise?

"Until dawn, Prince Hajib. Allah sees all.": Wonder quickly left the tent, whirled, and was Dianne again. the sky was just starting to lighten in the east. She slipped back into her tent, cuddled alongside Collete, who stirred drowsily. Now to wait. Would it work? That dagger up the ass had been an impulse. she grinned. She loved it! Unskilled in sex? He had been aweome. though. The sun was just coming up.

Dawn. Quivering with rage and humiliation, but still obedient to Allah’s sacred orders, Hajib rose from his prayer position and gingerly tugged the dagger handle from his rectum.. It took him several minutes to regain his composure, finally , taking deep breaths, he summoned his vizier, Muhammed. In a low, uncharacteristically tense voice, he gave his instructions. After the aide had left, he opened an ornate chest and extracted a bottle of single malt scotch (piety goes only so far) and gulped down a sizeable three or four ounces. He shuddered; he had never been so humiliated in his entire priveleged life.

A few minutes later, Debi and Dianne were rudely shaken awake by the two eunuchs. Debi was furious, sputtering; Dianne, with a tiny smile , allowed herself to be pulled out of drowsy Colette’s arms. Everything seemed to be going as planned. The two Americans were hustled in silence to the camel corral and chained, wrists overhead, to the wooden fence. Ankle shackles spread their legs and anchored them to the corral. Debi turned to Dianne, as the eunuchs walked away without a word.

"Helen! What’s going on? Just wait until Hajib hears about this! He will be so pissed! He loves me!"

Dianne had to smile. This poor airhead! She answered: "Debi, the Arab mind is inscrutable. And often cruel. Hajib is all powerful here--perhaps he’s toying with us." Dianne was enjoying the bewilderment that passed across Debi’s lovely vacant features as she continued: " He fucked me last night--he’s sensational, isn’t he?--but maybe he’s up to some kind of --little malicious bondage game."

Debi couldn’t quite handle this. She writhed in her bonds , snarling. "Najib didn’t fuck you ! You’re making this up--all of this shit! He’ll rescue me--you’ll see--you old bitch!"

Dianne winced. ‘Why am I trying to rescue this stupid asshole? where does national loyalty end?’ she asked herself. Her heart sinking, she knew the answer: part of the downside of her Olympian powers was an often inconvenient integrity and loyalty; she didn’t have to like it , but there it was. The sun was higher now, and the desert heat was warming the nearly nude bodies of the two chained blondes.

Two hours passed. Now the sun was blazing down on the two fairskinned captives. Debi. sagging in her chains, had stopped whining. A dusty Toyota panel truck pulled up to Hajib’s pavillion. Two men got out, one an Arab, the other in shabby western garb. The sallow slickhaired city man walked over to the pavilion, talked to one of the robed guards briefly, nodded and returned with the keys to the shackles. Without a word, he unlocked the two women and nodded to his helper, who begain to bind them with coils of rope. For a moment. Dianne tensed to do her Wonder Woman transformation. Then she realized: ’I’m in the middle of the desert, so is Debi; If my plan works we’ll be back in Ridayd. I’d better wait.’ She submitted, wincing, as the Arab bound her cruelly; the ropes were coarse hemp.

Debi spotted Najib in the shadows. She screeched: "Najib! Najib! My love! What the fuck is going on here? Tell them to..."

Najib gave a curt nod, then gestured to the Arab, turned his back and strode away from the the two Americans. Debi wailed as the assistant gagged her, then bound her even more painfully than Dianne, She struggled and sputtered futilely. The western dressed arab finally spoke. "We have a long ride ahead of us, Very hot, no water. I suggest that you do not waste your efforts in struggling. Jamal!"

Grinning, the robed arab lifted the two women into the truck, and tied their ankles, knees and thighs, knotting the ropes to D rings in the truck bed. Dianne squirmed. ‘Shit!’ she told herself. ‘ I can’t move to twirl! Well. later, when we get to Riyadh!, I’ll get my chance’ She looked at Debi; they lay almost face to face, and for a moment she enjoyed the pllght of this spoiled slut, now tightly bound and gagged, writhing miserably on the metal truck bed.

Mustafa (that was his name) bent over his two captives, fondled both of them for a long minute, and said: ‘I think I cover you with a tarp; my clients don’t want sunburnt pussy." ‘This bastard, his English is perfect!’ Dianne thought, glaring at him as he thrust his hand between her legs, exploring her, squeezing her breasts with his other hand. ‘I’m going to get us out of here as soon as he stops, desert or not! Oh shit!" She was getting wet again.

The long drive across the desert was almost unendurable.; hot, stifling under the canvas tarp, bouncing painfully as the truck jolted over the dunes. Dianne whispered to Debi: "Now listen to me. We can get out of this. I’ve been sent to rescue you from your wonderful lover, Najib. And you’ve been a real pain in the ass. Now listen. Stop snivelling. We’ve probably been sold to this slimy bastard who is driving us to his pricey whorehouse--or worse. Don’ t glare at me like that! God, am I glad you’re gagged. Now, do as i say. When they untie us, l’ll make my move."

Debi sputtered and thrashed against her harsh ropes; Dianne half closed her eyes and tried to relax despite the heat and bumpy bruising drive. She knew her chance to evoke her alter ego, Wonder Woman, depended on staying alert when her chance came.

Three miserable hours later, the Toyota halted in a seedy slum in the outskirts of Riyadh. Mustafa and his helper opened the tailgate, and roughly tugged the two tied women onto the oily dirt floor of the warehouse where they had stopped. A limousine awaited alongside. As her leg ropes were released and she was prodded to her feet, Dianne knew that this was her chance. She began her empowering whirl, even as she felt the sharp prick of the hypodermic needle. She began her twirl, tottered, and slumped to the ground. Almost there! She had only a few seconds to despair before the powerful tranquillizer took over.

Slowly, still drugged, she regained consciousness. She was having an intense sexual dream; she was being fucked, vigorously, and was responding., Half awake, she tried to sense where she was and tried to move her arms. No luck. Now only half alert, she realized that her arms were pinioned, widespead, lashed to some sort of device. She shifted; her ankles were also captured, immovable. And the fucking dream persisted--it seemed so real! Now she was aware of the leather hood loosely tied around her neck, cutting off her vision. And she needed to yawn, and now realized that her jaws were painfully distended by a ball gag between her teeth. Where was she? And why was this dream of her violation so real, so insistent ?

Thirty seconds later, now fully awake, she knew that she was strappped to some sort of wooden rack, splayed. And that someone was really fucking her. Very well, too. And her body was responding. Her hips lunged against the organ deep inside her. Her mystery lover climaxed and withdrew. Through an orgasmic haze, she heard muffled, but familiar voices.

" Holy shit, Leo! She’s fantastic! Your turn. Sometimes covering the ambassador really pays off! I’ve just got to get a look at this glorious piece of ass!"

Dianne cringed. She knew that voice. And moments later, as he untied her hood, she stared at the CIA second in command., Mike.

"Oh shit! Dianne! How did you-- I’m so sorry! Leo! Don’t!"

He was too late. The other agent had already spread her ass cheeks and thrust deep inside her; still orgasmic, she responded at once. even as Mike was frantically undoing her gag.

She wiggled her sore jaws, cleared her throat: "Mike! Debi’s has to be here, wherever that is! I brought her back! Uhh! Turn me loose and--ohh! --and I’ll--uuhn! Dianne was coming again; Leo was very skilled and very large; she couldn’t help it.

"Leo, cut it out, for Christ’s sake! Pay attention, Dianne! What do we...."

From the adjoining suite (they were in a downtown hotel) Dianne heard a hoarse male cry, then repetitive grunts. And a female moan, rising in pitch. Mike winced even as he was releasing Dianne’s straps. "Oh shit! he said again. For a second all three fell quiet and listened to the obvious sounds of sexual climax. The final female wail was: "OHHHH! Daddy!":

Mike bolted for the door separating the two suites; Leo was unstrapping Dianne’s legs, his eyes averted. He sheepishly tugged his trousers up over his still semi-erection. He couldn’t find words of apology. God, she was so hot! Dianne shrugged him off, still naked, still dripping, Her eyes were on Mike as he ushered ambassador Bailey through the door. The diplomat was flushed, disheveled, fumbling with his fly. He straightened up, blustering, trying to regain his poise, his gravitas.

"Well, men , quite a night, what?" He eyed Dianne's nudity, leered."You guys did pretty well, it looks like. A little R and R never hurts anyone. That young little honey I just enjoyed-- Heavily veiled, but naked as a jaybird otherwise, astounding tight little pussy--I’m not sure why you interrupted us, Mike. She called me ‘daddy", can you believe that?"

Mike looked at Dianne. Did this fool not realize he had just fucked his own daughter? She nodded. Apparently not. Mike was on his cell phone, summoning the security men in the hotel lobby. "Get up here! Get Bailey out of here. And we need a private car--and a nurse-- to secure the ambasador’s daughter. Don’t ask."

Finally he was able to face Dianne.. Clumsily, he took off his cotton shirt and handed to her. "I--I--an unfortunate mistake. I’ll report to Chet at once, of course; you can debrief him in the morning, Again, I am so--"

Dianne buttoned the too short shirt and said: "We’re on the same side, aren’t we? And about tonight, well, as they say, shit happens. But that doesn’t mean we can’t work together closely in the future." She smiled; her eyes met Leo’s. Her deep pelvic muscles still throbbed. "Mike, get me a ride home. I need a shower and a good night’s sleep."

The next morning Dinne strode into Chet’s inner office. The CIA chief stared at her for a long moment, marveling once again at her recuperative powers. He had her top secret report in his hands and knew, partially, what she had just endured. Yet here she was, fresh faced, perky. She wore a prim cotton blouse, and a short black skirt. but the blouse was gauzy, nearly sheer, and the skirt clung to her thighs and astounding butt. "No way she can’t look sexy, even in a burka’ Chet mused. He cleared his throat his voice grave, low pitched as she sat, crossing those lovely legs.

He said: "Let me fill you in. Debi is already on a jet back to the reluctant arms of her mother in Omaha. Ambasador Bailey will be departing soon, to a slightly less sensitve post in Tonga, I understand. And Prince Hajib will be dealing with his own, not necessarily forgiving family. So, I think we’ve covered our ass once again."

" And Dianne. Your report. Fantastic job! Above and beyond the call of duty! I don’t think anyone else could have... One thing, though. I don't understand why Prince Hajib banished you. That part is a bit vague." He shot her a puzzled look.

Dianne permitted heerself a tiny smile as she said:" Perhaps Allah made him an offer he couldn’t refuse." She recrossed her legs.

Chet sensed the unreported role of Wonder Woman in all this; clearly he wasn’t going to find out, at least not officially. Now to the delicate situation of last night’s-- let’say irregular--rescue. He said:

" Mike and Leo are critical to our mission here; they’ll stay. But under the circumstances, I'm prepared to promote and transfer you. Anywhere. Paris, Tokyo, San Francisco, your choice."

Dianne recrossed her legs once again, perhaps feeling in her pelvis memories of last night’s events. She smiled. "Chet. That’s very considerate. But you’ve built up an effective --and unusually talented-- team here. And I‘ve enjoyed--working with them. And so I’d like to continue working with you, if I may." She smiled once more.

Chet accepted her decision with obvious pleasure. She was looking forward to her date with Leo this afternoon.



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