Read Afghan Bound for Free Online

himself breathless, anxious that the Russian wouldn’t choose the beauty. With an inexplicable sense of relief he watched him return to Nikolai’s much sought after teenager, unclip her chain, and take her to a couch where she was bent over and penetrated once again.
    He was the last soldier to choose a girl from the line, and was finished very quickly before returning to his friends where the idle chat drifted into the early hours.
    David made no attempt to join them. He remained in his seat, except for frequent visits to the drinks table for fresh vodka. He was filling his glass for the umpteenth time when Petr came to do likewise.
    â€˜You don’t have to make a booking, you know.’
    David sipped his long cool vodka and scanned the women fettered to the wall. ‘What do you mean?’
    â€˜The girls,’ said Petr, resting a hand on David’s shoulder in a fatherly fashion. ‘They are there for our pleasure.’
    The Englishman wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. ‘I don’t know. It seems wrong to me. Isn’t there a Geneva convention or something about all of this?’
    Petr exploded into laughter. He took his new friend by the arm and guided him across to where the row of stinging backsides smiled out at the party. ‘You English,’ he spluttered through a wide grin. ‘Always playing it by the rules, toeing the line, and not upsetting the apple cart. Life isn’t all a game of cricket on the village green, you know.’ With that Petr shoved a hand roughly between the legs of a girl who looked little more than seventeen, forcing her to push her bottom further out towards him. ‘Why do you think God gave them that split? It’s not just for pissing. It is for you my friend, for me, for men. It doesn’t matter whether the meat she has up there is Afghan, Russian or English. It was designed for us, and any man who refuses his duty is an affront to his God.’ He released the girl with a heavy slap that brought a crimson imprint instantly to her cheeks.
    Doubt, however, persisted in David’s mind where it fought against a growing desire to possess the Nutmeg. He longed for her, craved her, coveted her – yet he knew it was wrong, knew he shouldn’t. But here there were no laws, indeed they were the law, they made them and they could break them.
    Petr could see his predicament; he could see the guilt and the desire fighting for supremacy within. ‘You don’t have long,’ he told him. ‘She’ll be shipped out to Moscow soon. A fortnight at the latest.’
    â€˜Who will?’ David asked.
    â€˜The beauty. We’ll get the information from her in a day or two, and then she’ll be sent to one of the government brothels in Moscow. Don’t worry; she’ll be all right there. A beautiful girl like her will service only the top party members. She may even be bought by one. In fact I may even buy her myself. I’ve got a little place of my own you know. Not big, about six or seven girls, but they’re all top class.’
    When he was back in Moscow at his private little whorehouse near the Beloruss train station, Petr’s speciality was to throw parties for members of the politburo and top officers of the KGB. They usually entailed a display of the girls he’d had shipped home from the conflicts he’d been involved in. His own particular favourite was a discipline show detailing some of the punishments meted out by the invading Russians. To this end he had designed several of the rooms in the brothel to resemble a torture chamber. Most of it was authentic, including the pommel, a contraption shaped like a pyramid atop a base. The unfortunate woman was made to sit on the pinnacle and weights were attached to her legs. The point of the pyramid would embed itself in her vagina, or if the fancy took the audience, her anus. The pain was further increased by spinning the woman on the point,