ASHA in IRAN

My friend Asha has the long, thick black hair that is her heritage from India, and her slim, tawny body balloons on top into the most remarkably perfect half-moon breasts - the same kind you see on Indian temple statues. She has a lovely slim throat, slightly marred by a purplish mark that goes most of the way around, and other marks on her body that you can’t usually see. But it’s her eyes you notice, especially today. They’re large and dark, and looking into them you see at once both the coldness of marble and almost unbearable sadness.

In 19__ Asha, then barely twenty, spent the summer studying in Iran. Turmoil was in the air, and the regime was clamping down on all things non-Islamic, but Asha felt secure that her American passport, as well as her knowledge and adherance to Iranian customs would protect her for the few months she planned to be there.

One afternoon she went to the market, wearing as usual the black, floor-length robes that hid all but her eyes from the insolent stares of men. At some point a commotion erupted, and she was trapped in a churning crowd of women. Asha could see a American school bus at one side of the market, and pushed through the crowd toward it, expecting to find shelter. As she neared the bus, soldiers appeared. Thinking they would help her or at least tell her what was going on, Asha spoke to them. In her haste and excitement, her headgear slipped off, baring her face for a moment. If was enough. Three or four soldiers grabbed her, dragged her to the back of the bus, pushed her inside, and slammed the doors.

It was dark in the van, because the windows had been painted. Asha had just a glimpse of uniforms before they pulled her robe up over her head, blinding her. Her arms were twisted behind her back and handcuffed. The handcuffs had a chain that went up around her neck which, in addition to wrenching her arms upwards, bit painfully into her neck, half choking her. Then her robe was ripped off, and she had another quick glimpse before an ace bandage was wrapped around and around her head, covering her eyes and mouth, so she couldn’t see and could only make incoherent grunting noises through the tough cloth.

Those soldiers must have had quite a sight. Most Iranian women wear layers of clothing under their robe, as custom requires. However, it’s pretty hot there in the summer, so Asha typically only wore a bra and panties - frivolities forbidden under the new Islamic regime. One of the soldiers held her from behind, while others felt her up, leaving no part of her untouched. It seemed to go on and on. There was lots of discussion, but all she could make out was that she was too pretty to get the usual treatment (which evidently the soldiers were highly interested in giving her), but would be taken somewhere for "special" handling.

There must have been some other women in there, too, because Asha heard muffled screams, but she was too scared to worry about them. She was crying through the gag that she was an American citizen, when suddenly someone punched her viciously in the belly several times. The pain was intense, and Asha couldn’t breath. Just before she blacked out she remembers thinking "I’m going to die here in this truck". But she didn’t.

Later she wished - many times - that she had.

When she came to she was still blindfolded and gagged, and sitting on some kind of hard chair. Her arms ached and her wrists were sore where the manacles had rubbed. The handcuffs were gone, but her arms were lashed together behind her wrist to elbow with straps so tight that already her hands had lost most feeling. Some kind of rope was tied tightly around her chest and bruised belly and kept her arms from moving at all. When she tried to move her legs she discovered that her ankles were also strapped to something that held her legs spread apart and she couldn’t move them. Again she tried to protest her citizenship, but someone grabbed her breasts, which she suddenly realized were bare, and yelled at her something about how "these are your only citizenship now, American whore".

They then started yelling at her, demanding she tell them names associated with some women’s protest march, but she had never even heard of the event. They continued yelling and cursing at her, squeezing, poking and slapping her breasts as she twisted and turned what little she could, which no doubt resulted in her big breasts bouncing around ludely.

Then the real torture started.

A piece of cloth was tied around her neck - not so tight as to strangle her, but snug nevertheless. A rope was tied through the cloth behind her neck, and pulled upward. Asha screamed. She stood up, legs shakey, but the rope was pulled up more and more, hurting her neck and beginning to strangle her. By standing on tiptoe she could just breath. More yelling. The cloth dug into her neck. Her calves were getting sore, but whenever she tried to put her heels down she couldn’t breath. It was horrible. And diabolically simple: she was going to hang herself, very, very slowly.

The cloth made sure that she couldn’t break her neck or cut an artery to end the torture. In addition, standing like this with her ankles strapped apart, they could feel every part of her now totally nude body, which they did. Some slapped her thighs, breasts and ass; others grabbed her crotch. Every part of her bare flesh was punched, pinched, or twisted as she shrieked with what breath she had into the gag. Her calves felt like they were on fire, and she was writhing, kind of dancing to avoid death, getting less and less air, and finally slipped into unconsciousness.

She came to seated back in the chair, still tied, the cloth still around her neck, her wrists and ankles burning where she had yanked desperately at the straps, her breasts, belly and thighs sore from the beating she had taken. She started crying, and the tears pooled up inside the blindfold, making her eyes smart. She pleaded with them, but her muffled cries had no effect.

Then they went at it again.

The rope was again pulled upwards, and again she was forced to stand on tiptoe. Almost immediately, however, she felt a terrible pain in her crotch as one of the soldiers jammed something - maybe a bottle - up into her, working it in and out, twisting it from side to side as Asha howled in pain. After a while he stopped working the bottle, but left it sticking out of her cunt. She heard the soldiers snickering and taking bets on how long the bottle would stay in as she again fought desperately to breath, her jerky up and down movements making the bottle flop up and down. She was on the verge of blacking out when the bottle suddenly popped out and smashed on the floor.

Then the rape began.

Asha wasn’t prepared for the first soldier who rammed his prick into her, and she screamed despairingly for help, making the soldiers laugh. The rape, too was diabolical: for as long as a soldier was raping her, he held her up a little bit so she could breath, and her calves got some respite. They did it over and over, so many times that Asha lost count. One would fuck her, then they’d let hang until she almost passed out, then another would jam his cock into her. It went on and on.

Finally they got bored and let her back down onto the chair. Her calves were permanently and painfully cramped, her cunt was painful beyond description, and her neck hurt from the cloth. A little time passed, and she heard soldiers coming and going, and a great deal of disgusting, filthy talk about her body. Apparently she hadn’t been "seriously" tortured yet, but would be later.

Finally she heard a door close, and the room got quieter, as if someone important had come in. A man’s hands moved over her body, assessing the fullness of her breasts, squeezing her damaged cunt, rubbing the bruises on her belly and thighs. She pleaded with him through the gag, but there was no reaction.

Suddenly she heard someone say, in English, "Pull her up", and the neck rope again hauled her viciously upwards, her legs very unsteady now. She heard some swishing sounds, then felt a sudden line of fiery pain across her belly, and screamed, choking, into the gag. Another swish, and another searing cut, this time across her already cramped calf. She remembers, speaking in a voice you can barely hear, that the whipping was like electric bullets, unimaginably painful. Her exhausted body hanging like a doll from the noose reacted, however, jerking in different directions as her torturer circled her, each slashing blow of the cane or bamboo coming unexpectedly to cut another part of her body. Nothing was spared - the insides of her thighs, her feet, her hands, her breasts, her face, her neck, her ears, her ass, her cunt. The blindfold was wet with her tears, and snot shot out of and sometimes back into her nose as each cut of the whip dragged another scream from her frail body. Finally she blacked out.

When she came to, she thought momentarily that it had all been a dream, because she was lying in total darkness on some kind of bed, but quickly realized that her wrists and ankles were strapped securely and very tightly to the sides of the bed, so she was spread out, completely helpless. They had, however, removed her blindfold and gag, though she found it almost impossible to move her mouth. She begged for water feebly. Suddenly a light went on, almost in her face, and several men tramped into the room. They smelled of beer and sex, and were talking grpahically about her naked, bruised body.

"You want water?" one of them asked, snickering. One of them began taking his pants off. "We’ll give you water." They were all undressing, crowding around her. One of them wrapped his hand into her hair, pulling her up, and simultaneously pinched shut her nose. Asha’s mouth popped open in a despairing cry, and the soldier jammed his dirty underwear into her mouth. The smelly mass was pushed deep into the back of her throat, making her want to vomit, and yet another pair was pushed in on top of the first, until she thought her cheeks would burst. They tied a cord around her head to hold the gag in place. Then they pulled another pair over her head, and then another and another, blindfolding her in stinking cloth.

Suddenly she was doused with cold water, and every cut on her body started screaming with pain. More water was poured directly on her head, which she jerked desperately from side to side, trying to breath. The water that got into her mouth tasted terribly like a mixture of ocean water, urine and vomit, and on top of everything else, Asha felt sick to her stomach. All she could get to breath was a little air mixed with water through her nose, which made her cough and retch into the foul gag.

She felt something pushing her legs even further apart, and then fingers dragging her sore cunt lips apart. She barely had time to scream before the first man’s cock was pistoning in and out of her. She cried piteously, her tired arms straining against the straps helplessly as one after another they raped her all during that long night. Between men they would throw more water on her, sometimes holding her cunt open so it would go directly inside, where it burnt like fire against her raw intimate skin. Her wrists and ankles hurt continuously, and must have been swelling, because it felt like the straps were getting tighter and tighter, as if they would cut right through her joints.

Gradually she found her self mercifully going in and out of consciousness, lying limp as they ploughed her, only occasionally roused to buck and heave when some man bit her nipples.

Kept without food or water, Asha was continually assaulted in this way on that bed for almost 36 hours, until she was more dead than alive. Her cunt felt like it was a crater of fire that took up the entire middle of her body, and her arms and legs seemed to be mere strings that disappeared into the distance.

Some time later, Asha awoke and opened her eyes, disbelievingly, and for a moment thought again that it had all been a dream, but the knifing agony between her legs and burning lines across all her sensitive flesh quickly dispelled that notion. Her arms were now handcuffed over her head to something, but her legs were free. And, although still blindfolded, she could move her mouth. Speech was almost impossible, however, and she was still making groaning croaks when she felt a hand gently touch her mouth with something damp.

She was gratefully swallowing some juice when other, less kind, hands began carressing her body, feeling the soreness between her legs and pinching her swollen nipples tightly until she screamed out.

"Section 32", she heard a man say.

RPP Stories is an archival service that relies on author submissions. If a story is found here that you believe has been posted by an author who does not have permission to post please contact Emma Soji and we will try and verify authorship, public domain status or remove the story.