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Winning Hearts and Minds - Helmand, Part One
by JamesE82

A small city near Balbul Karez, the Helmand Province of Afghanistan…

There must have been a terrible mistake. A terrible mistake…

“I’m here to help!” the American woman sobbed for what may have been the hundredth time since being captured and bound to the torture device. “Please, you don’t understand! Somebody! Somebody, please! Let me out of here!”

Janet Raison shifted her weight from the left side of her body to the right, gritting her teeth in pain. A sob was ripped from her as the blood swirled beneath the surface of the indentations in her flesh on her left side, then she moaned as the spikes on the right half of the chair poked her skin and dug deeper into her muscles. “I’m here to… aah! Please, it hurts!”

It was like sitting down for so long your legs fell asleep, she thought; the longer you sat, the worse it tingled, and you knew that the longer you put it off, the greater the discomfort of moving would be when you finally did it. This was not tingling and discomfort, though--it was hot stinging and sheer pain, and her agony was increasing by the minute.

There was no clock in her prison, but she could hear the adhan, the Muslim calls to prayer, emitting from a nearby mosque throughout the day. The fourth one had rang out some time ago, meaning the day was nearly done. She did not need that method of tracking the passage of time, however, as they were keeping her in a cell that must have been quite high off the ground, and not sparse when it came to windows.

She was utterly perplexed at both the fact that her captors apparently were not going to great pains to hide her, and that the people below could hear a woman in distress and not do anything about it. Were the sounds of women screaming in pain so common that nobody paid attention? Didn’t they hear her, and didn’t at least some of them understand that she was a peace worker, not a soldier sent there to murder and destroy?

“Somebody…” she moaned. Her body, slick with sweat both from the blazing heat of the day and being in a state of constant suffering, shivered as a chill crept into the air. “Gaaah!“ she shrieked, her involuntary movements making the spikes dig further into her naked buttocks. She grimaced and leaned forward slightly, bare feet clenching from the effort as she relieved the pain in her seat. She was only trading one agony for another, however, and the feeling of the spikes digging into the backs of her thighs made her gasp.

The aid worker’s eyes went wide when she realized that the temperature was only going to drop further, and eventually the cold would cause her to shiver nonstop. “You have to let me go!” she wailed, knowing that her own body’s uncontrollable movements were going to be the cause of excruciating torture. “You’re good Muslims!” she called, tears running into her mouth as she spoke. “Allah does not want this! He can’t! Please, I respect your religion! I-aah! Oh, it hurts! Please, Islam does not cause pain! I’m not like other Americans, I know this! I’m not a soldier! I’m an American, but not hateful! Don’t you underst-ow! Ooow!“

Janet Raison, head of the Angel Falls chapter of Conscientious Global Citizens, screamed in desperation as the faithful around her were called to prayer for the fifth and final time that day. And while an atheist, the writhing woman found herself joining them in a plea to a higher power, and prayed that whatever god was hearing her would deliver her from this humiliating and agonizing plight…

* * *

An abandoned cannery on the Waterfront, Angel Falls, USA…

“Sounds like she’s got her ass in trouble, alright,” the Crimson Conservative said, mouthing the words around her unfiltered Lucky Strike.

The man across from her nodded. The redheaded supersoldier was seated on a stack of large metal ammo containers, and had not offered him a seat of his own. She had also corrected him when he had the gall to caller her “Connie” during his recitation of the facts concerning the disappearance of his boss, some ditz in charge of one of the countless liberal do-gooder outfits that littered the world.

“She thought she was watchin’ a little kitten getting stepped on by mean ol’ jackbooted American soldiers,” Connie mused with a smirk. “So she listens to her bleedin’ heart and dives right in to save it. Only when she gets on the ground and the soldiers have marched on, she realizes she’s all alone with a damn tiger, and not only don’t the tiger want her help, the big beast is hungry…”

The man sighed and closed his eyes as the giantess laughed. Dillon Trombly wanted to clap his hands over his ears; the sound of her voice was so cruel that it seemed to jab him in the heart like a black knife. “I see that I’ve wasted my time,” he said, voice shaky with a mixture of despair and anger. “I-I see… I see that you’re about as helpful as the State Department is going to be in getting M-Ms. Raison back.”

He turned and began quickly walking to the door, not wanting the monster he had pled his case to to see the tears that were about to come. He was a fool to go to her, he realized; he should have tried one of the Guardians, or-

A large box of ammunition slid across the floor at a frightening speed, kicked with tremendous force by the woman behind him. It slammed into the door as Dillon reached for the handle, causing him to squawk in surprise and dance backwards.

“Compare me to those gutless terrorist appeasers again,” the Crimson Conservative said, “and I’ll make whatever hell your bimbo boss is being put through seem like a stroll through a fairytale garden, singing unicorns ‘n all.”

He stared up at the woman, who had stood and was stretching her limbs. The display of her sheer mass shocked him for a moment, then he swallowed and started to apologize. Despite his hatred for the woman and all she stood for, he did not want to be trapped with her while she was in a bad mood.

Which is why he was extremely relieved to hear the words that came out of the supersoldier’s mouth.

“Don’t worry, kid,” she told him, reducing her cigarette to ash in one final inhalation. “If I have anything to say about it, you’ll get your pretty boss back, all safe ‘n sound, and in time to waste her money on the next PBS pledge drive, too.”

Dillon Trombly blinked. “You mean…”

Connie flicked away the spent Lucky and nodded. “Yup,” she said, taking another from her pack and popping it into her mouth. “Looks like I’m headed back to the sandbox.”

The aid worker felt like he was about to faint, like he was going to be bowled over by the wave of relief and hope the woman’s words had sent crashing into him. Help is on the way, Janet, he thought. He was about to thank the redhead, but was halted by something he thought he saw.

It was hard to tell, as most of her lower face was blocked from his view by the enormous hand that was bringing a lit match up to her cigarette, but the young man thought he saw a flash of teeth in a very large, very eager grin. When the hand was lowered, however, her lips were sealed around the burning Lucky, and he could not be sure…

--To be continued--

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Keywords: Boobs, bondage, shameless pageview-grabbing attempt.

Credit for this cruel-yet-stunning picture goes to , who had a few renders laying around and was generous enough to give me permission to post them. That was very kind of him, especially when you consider that he’s obviously one sadistic SOB. Seriously, he’s a nice guy, and obviously as talented as he is rough with his 3D models.

is where this takes place. Well, Afghanistan, too, but Angel Falls is where my girl and a whole lot of other interesting super-babes call home.

The Crimson Conservative is my creation, © 2009.

Comments welcome, even if it’s to tell me you’re sending this picture to Jennifer Aniston because you somehow think she just might get a kick out of it…

Description
Winning Hearts and Minds - Helmand, Part One
by JamesE82

A small city near Balbul Karez, the Helmand Province of Afghanistan…

There must have been a terrible mistake. A terrible mistake…

“I’m here to help!” the American woman sobbed for what may have been the hundredth time since being captured and bound to the torture device. “Please, you don’t understand! Somebody! Somebody, please! Let me out of here!”

Janet Raison shifted her weight from the left side of her body to the right, gritting her teeth in pain. A sob was ripped from her as the blood swirled beneath the surface of the indentations in her flesh on her left side, then she moaned as the spikes on the right half of the chair poked her skin and dug deeper into her muscles. “I’m here to… aah! Please, it hurts!”

It was like sitting down for so long your legs fell asleep, she thought; the longer you sat, the worse it tingled, and you knew that the longer you put it off, the greater the discomfort of moving would be when you finally did it. This was not tingling and discomfort, though--it was hot stinging and sheer pain, and her agony was increasing by the minute.

There was no clock in her prison, but she could hear the adhan, the Muslim calls to prayer, emitting from a nearby mosque throughout the day. The fourth one had rang out some time ago, meaning the day was nearly done. She did not need that method of tracking the passage of time, however, as they were keeping her in a cell that must have been quite high off the ground, and not sparse when it came to windows.

She was utterly perplexed at both the fact that her captors apparently were not going to great pains to hide her, and that the people below could hear a woman in distress and not do anything about it. Were the sounds of women screaming in pain so common that nobody paid attention? Didn’t they hear her, and didn’t at least some of them understand that she was a peace worker, not a soldier sent there to murder and destroy?

“Somebody…” she moaned. Her body, slick with sweat both from the blazing heat of the day and being in a state of constant suffering, shivered as a chill crept into the air. “Gaaah!“ she shrieked, her involuntary movements making the spikes dig further into her naked buttocks. She grimaced and leaned forward slightly, bare feet clenching from the effort as she relieved the pain in her seat. She was only trading one agony for another, however, and the feeling of the spikes digging into the backs of her thighs made her gasp.

The aid worker’s eyes went wide when she realized that the temperature was only going to drop further, and eventually the cold would cause her to shiver nonstop. “You have to let me go!” she wailed, knowing that her own body’s uncontrollable movements were going to be the cause of excruciating torture. “You’re good Muslims!” she called, tears running into her mouth as she spoke. “Allah does not want this! He can’t! Please, I respect your religion! I-aah! Oh, it hurts! Please, Islam does not cause pain! I’m not like other Americans, I know this! I’m not a soldier! I’m an American, but not hateful! Don’t you underst-ow! Ooow!“

Janet Raison, head of the Angel Falls chapter of Conscientious Global Citizens, screamed in desperation as the faithful around her were called to prayer for the fifth and final time that day. And while an atheist, the writhing woman found herself joining them in a plea to a higher power, and prayed that whatever god was hearing her would deliver her from this humiliating and agonizing plight…

* * *

An abandoned cannery on the Waterfront, Angel Falls, USA…

“Sounds like she’s got her ass in trouble, alright,” the Crimson Conservative said, mouthing the words around her unfiltered Lucky Strike.

The man across from her nodded. The redheaded supersoldier was seated on a stack of large metal ammo containers, and had not offered him a seat of his own. She had also corrected him when he had the gall to caller her “Connie” during his recitation of the facts concerning the disappearance of his boss, some ditz in charge of one of the countless liberal do-gooder outfits that littered the world.

“She thought she was watchin’ a little kitten getting stepped on by mean ol’ jackbooted American soldiers,” Connie mused with a smirk. “So she listens to her bleedin’ heart and dives right in to save it. Only when she gets on the ground and the soldiers have marched on, she realizes she’s all alone with a damn tiger, and not only don’t the tiger want her help, the big beast is hungry…”

The man sighed and closed his eyes as the giantess laughed. Dillon Trombly wanted to clap his hands over his ears; the sound of her voice was so cruel that it seemed to jab him in the heart like a black knife. “I see that I’ve wasted my time,” he said, voice shaky with a mixture of despair and anger. “I-I see… I see that you’re about as helpful as the State Department is going to be in getting M-Ms. Raison back.”

He turned and began quickly walking to the door, not wanting the monster he had pled his case to to see the tears that were about to come. He was a fool to go to her, he realized; he should have tried one of the Guardians, or-

A large box of ammunition slid across the floor at a frightening speed, kicked with tremendous force by the woman behind him. It slammed into the door as Dillon reached for the handle, causing him to squawk in surprise and dance backwards.

“Compare me to those gutless terrorist appeasers again,” the Crimson Conservative said, “and I’ll make whatever hell your bimbo boss is being put through seem like a stroll through a fairytale garden, singing unicorns ‘n all.”

He stared up at the woman, who had stood and was stretching her limbs. The display of her sheer mass shocked him for a moment, then he swallowed and started to apologize. Despite his hatred for the woman and all she stood for, he did not want to be trapped with her while she was in a bad mood.

Which is why he was extremely relieved to hear the words that came out of the supersoldier’s mouth.

“Don’t worry, kid,” she told him, reducing her cigarette to ash in one final inhalation. “If I have anything to say about it, you’ll get your pretty boss back, all safe ‘n sound, and in time to waste her money on the next PBS pledge drive, too.”

Dillon Trombly blinked. “You mean…”

Connie flicked away the spent Lucky and nodded. “Yup,” she said, taking another from her pack and popping it into her mouth. “Looks like I’m headed back to the sandbox.”

The aid worker felt like he was about to faint, like he was going to be bowled over by the wave of relief and hope the woman’s words had sent crashing into him. Help is on the way, Janet, he thought. He was about to thank the redhead, but was halted by something he thought he saw.

It was hard to tell, as most of her lower face was blocked from his view by the enormous hand that was bringing a lit match up to her cigarette, but the young man thought he saw a flash of teeth in a very large, very eager grin. When the hand was lowered, however, her lips were sealed around the burning Lucky, and he could not be sure…

--To be continued--

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Keywords: Boobs, bondage, shameless pageview-grabbing attempt.

Credit for this cruel-yet-stunning picture goes to , who had a few renders laying around and was generous enough to give me permission to post them. That was very kind of him, especially when you consider that he’s obviously one sadistic SOB. Seriously, he’s a nice guy, and obviously as talented as he is rough with his 3D models.

is where this takes place. Well, Afghanistan, too, but Angel Falls is where my girl and a whole lot of other interesting super-babes call home.

The Crimson Conservative is my creation, © 2009.

Comments welcome, even if it’s to tell me you’re sending this picture to Jennifer Aniston because you somehow think she just might get a kick out of it…