AlwaysFaithful
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2016
- Posts
- 1,763
Sitting in the dirt that was the floor of her prison, Katherine Doyle sat in the corner, wrists cuffed above her head to the stone wall, there was no windows in her cell, but by the heat that filled the room, covering Kat in a layer of sweat, she knew it was day time. Pale grey eyes opened, looking at the cell she had memorized, she knew the exact count of the number of stones in every wall of this cell. Long ago the brunette had lost track of how long she'd been in this cell, and she'd stopped expecting rescue. The only thing she couldn't figure out was why she was alive. Her team was dead, that she had been told and from what she could remember of the crash she'd believe it.
Kat couldn't remember why they'd been out, what they'd been doing, she only remembered riding shotgun in a Humvee, laughing at something, Jack, the driver, had said, when the Humvee in front of them had exploded. Seconds later, she'd felt a huge impact at the rear of their Humvee, it had flipped, rolled a few times. She'd passed out and woken up to members of the Taliban dragging her out of the humvee, shouting. She'd glimpsed Jack as she was drug from the truck, and he looked dead, she'd passed out again soon after, so she didn't get a chance to see any of the rest of the members of her unit.
They'd moved around a lot in the beginning but as of the last while they had stayed put. Some days, the good days, they never came in, on the bad days, they dragged her out of her cell to beat her, or rape her, or threaten her. She'd long ago given up on rescue and given half the chance she would try to take her own life, just to end all the pain. Looking up at her hands, she saw the uneven fingers, from repeatedly have her fingers broken and healing incorrectly. Her skin was marred with scars from knives and burn scars from cigarettes.
Her mahogany hair had been chopped to just below her jaw line, after it had gotten too long for her captors liking. Though they still wanted some to grab her by. Sighing she looked down at her body, at one time her 5'6" frame had been an athletic 130 pounds, fit and toned from hours of working out. But now she looked gawky and malnourished, she'd be surprised if she was much more than 100 pounds. Her naturally gold-dust skin, a legacy of native american heritage, was covered in a layer of dirt and scars. Closing her eyes she laid her head back against the stone wall, praying today would be a day they left her alone.
Kat couldn't remember why they'd been out, what they'd been doing, she only remembered riding shotgun in a Humvee, laughing at something, Jack, the driver, had said, when the Humvee in front of them had exploded. Seconds later, she'd felt a huge impact at the rear of their Humvee, it had flipped, rolled a few times. She'd passed out and woken up to members of the Taliban dragging her out of the humvee, shouting. She'd glimpsed Jack as she was drug from the truck, and he looked dead, she'd passed out again soon after, so she didn't get a chance to see any of the rest of the members of her unit.
They'd moved around a lot in the beginning but as of the last while they had stayed put. Some days, the good days, they never came in, on the bad days, they dragged her out of her cell to beat her, or rape her, or threaten her. She'd long ago given up on rescue and given half the chance she would try to take her own life, just to end all the pain. Looking up at her hands, she saw the uneven fingers, from repeatedly have her fingers broken and healing incorrectly. Her skin was marred with scars from knives and burn scars from cigarettes.
Her mahogany hair had been chopped to just below her jaw line, after it had gotten too long for her captors liking. Though they still wanted some to grab her by. Sighing she looked down at her body, at one time her 5'6" frame had been an athletic 130 pounds, fit and toned from hours of working out. But now she looked gawky and malnourished, she'd be surprised if she was much more than 100 pounds. Her naturally gold-dust skin, a legacy of native american heritage, was covered in a layer of dirt and scars. Closing her eyes she laid her head back against the stone wall, praying today would be a day they left her alone.