Bad Bob in Indonesia

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Bad Bob Indonesian Story
Found on a message board

  Indonesia Bad Bob Synopsis: A young man is snatched by terrorists while teaching abroad in Indonesia, and held as a political hostage. Meanwhile, a female member of the gang takes a shine to our hero, and subjects him to horrific (?) sexual abuse.                                            

Chapter One     

I was 21 years old when I finished university.  And at 21 years old, I had no idea what I wanted from life or what I wanted to do as a job.  I certainly wasn’t ready to sign my life away to an accountancy firm and start the beginning of the rest of my life sitting in an office, staring into a computer screen.  My career advisor recommended that I take some time out to travel and see the world.  "There’s no hurry", he said, "there will be plenty of time to get a job in the future, you’re still young".  And of course, he was right.  In my heart of hearts I knew that inside the body of a young man lurked a naive boy, and that I needed to experience more of life before settling down to nine-to-five hell.      So it was to the grave disappointment of my parents that I set off to Indonesia to teach English, having completed my "TEFL" course (teaching English as a foreign language).  It was not a difficult decision to make - tropical beaches, hot weather, cheap cost of living and gorgeous young Indonesian girls were all strong lures.  I knew that in one or two years’ time my friends and family would all still be there for me, and I could go back and visit whenever I wanted.  I thought that this was the best decision I had ever made.      

I arrived in Indonesia in May 2001 to find a country of both extreme beauty and extreme despair.  The incredible natural landscape was blotted with the scars of the country’s recent history - civil war and economic breakdown had led to widespread physical and moral destruction of Indonesia’s islands.  Everywhere we went, we saw derelict and destroyed buildings, people living in shacks, and filthy, diseased animals roaming the streets.  Despite all of this, the people seemed remarkably happy; many of them seemingly glad just to be alive.  These people made me feel ashamed when I thought of how quick we British are to moan about the slightest hardships we have to endure.     

Despite my initial shock, I was determined to stick it out and it was with a certain amount of excitement that I started my new job, teaching the English Language to the children of this country.  At first it was hard - my Indonesian was not good, so teaching was an uphill struggle.  After a few months, however, my Indonesian improved, as did their English, and I established a rapport with my pupils.  Despite our different cultures and backgrounds, and despite everything these children had been through, they always made me feel welcome in their country and treated me with the respect that no teachers in a British school are ever afforded!  Likewise, I had respect for them and their country that had shown me so much hospitality.     

One pupil, however, gave me cause for concern.  He was a young boy of around eight years old, from the nearby village.  Unusually, his attendance record was poor - unusual because in this part of the world good education is seen as a rare blessing that many children are unable to benefit from.  When he did turn up to school, he was invariably late and would sit at the back of the classroom, not talking to me or to any other pupils.  Perhaps even more worryingly, I often saw bruising around his face and arms.  Now, maybe I was putting two and two together and coming up with a hundred, but I was concerned for the well-being of this child.  Indonesia does not have the kind of social care that we in the Western world take for granted, so I saw it as my responsibility to look out for my pupils.  No one else was going to.  Going against the advice of my colleagues, I decided to go to the boy’s home to try and talk with his parents.  I have no desire to stick my nose into people’s private lives, and I appreciated that as a foreigner I may not be welcome uninvited into their home, but my concern for the boy (and to be honest, my curiosity) got the better of me.  I found the address in the school files, recognizing the area of the village as a no go area, one which the UN had decided was unsafe for foreign nationals to venture into.  However, having grown up on the mean streets of South London I considered myself to be pretty savvy, so I ventured over towards the address in the Northwest corner of the village.    

The going was tough.  I had no car, and the long trek along dusty roads and tracks in the hot late afternoon sun was an arduous one.  Sweat was pouring from my forehead and into my eyes, which combined with the low sun to effectively partially blind me.  The roads were deserted, and the afternoon was quiet except for the distant sounds of children crying and dogs barking.  When I eventually reached the area, I found no road name or house numbers, just a few rows of shacks, derelict buildings and scrubland.  Dead animals lay in the roads and the whole place smelt of decay and excrement.  Of all the places I had seen in this country, this was easily the worst.  And to make matters worse, I was completely lost.  The only people I had seen crossed the road to avoid me, and would not make eye contact.  Somehow I got the feeling that nobody around here was going to help me.     

It was while I was vainly searching through an abandoned shack, looking for the boy and his family, or anyone that could help me, when I felt something hard sticking into my back.  "Don’t move", I heard someone say, speaking English in a thick Indonesian accent.  It was then that I guessed that the object prodded into my back was a gun.  Somebody grabbed my arms and swiftly secured my hands behind my back, I guessed with handcuffs.  Before I could see my assailants, a bag was pulled onto my head and a drawstring tightened around my neck.  I heard voices shouting (at least two male and one female), in my panic and confusion I could not understand what they were saying.  Suddenly I felt a blow to my stomach, followed by a second blow to the back of my knees, leaving me kneeling on the ground, doubled up in pain.  Almost as soon as I was on the ground, I felt a sharp stinging pain to the back of my head, and I lost consciousness.  
  


Chapter Two    

  When I came around, I was sitting on a hard chair, with my hands still fastened behind my back and my ankles fastened together.  The bag was still on my head, which not only meant that I could not see anything but also that I was extremely hot and unable to breath adequately.  I began to panic, and started straining against my bonds, rocking backwards and forwards on the chair and trying to shake the bag free.  As I fell painfully onto the floor, I heard voices, followed by footsteps coming towards me. 

Two pairs of hands grabbed me, and lifted me and the chair up so that we were once again upright.   "Stupid bastard", I heard a man say in Indonesian, then somebody hit me hard on the side of my face.  I made no sound as I could feel my mouth filling with blood, and felt the blood running down my chin and down my neck.      "You idiot", I heard the woman say, "we need him unhurt".  Despite my obvious fear, I took some consolation in this comment. I decided that it was my turn to speak.  "Please", I said in Indonesian.  "Please, remove the hood, I beg you.  I can’t breathe."  For a brief moment the room was entirely silent except for my own strained efforts at breathing.      "Ah, he does speak Indonesian", a different man said in a higher, gravely voice.      "Is that right?" the woman said, while someone (I guess it was her) kicked me firmly in the shins with heavy boots.  "Is that right, English boy?  You speak our language?"  I nodded.      "What if he’s heard everything we’ve been saying?" the first man said.  "If he gets free he could ruin everything - we have to get rid of him".      "Relax", said the man with the high voice, "he’s been unconscious, he hasn’t heard a thing".      "I just hope so, for his sake", said the woman, grabbing a fistful of my hair through the hood and pulling my head sideways.      "I swear, I have heard nothing, nothing at all," I said in a panic. 

I soon felt a blow to the back of my head; this time more of a gentle slap than the fierce, sharp blow that had knocked me out, god knows how long earlier.      "If we are talking to you", the woman said, "We will let you know".  I nodded quickly, afraid to speak in case of further reprisal.  Again silence transcended, and again I noticed how hot I was and my breathing became even more labored.  I heard the three people talking amongst themselves, and then they walked away, apparently to another room.      

I was left on my own to contemplate my situation.  My initial guess was that these people were Islamic extremists.  Since the events of September 11th and the ensuing attacks on Afghanistan, anti-western feelings were running high amongst certain social and political groups in Indonesia, which is, after all, the most popular Muslim country on the planet.  The flaw in this theory was that they had a woman in their group.  Women are traditionally the homemakers in Muslim societies, rarely having jobs or any kind of life outside of their domestic duties, and covering their faces and bodies entirely before being allowed in public.  In fact, it is often seen as acceptable for men to treat their wives and daughters violently.  Such traditions surely did not fit in with involving a woman in any kind of war or terrorism.  Still, I imagined that in such a downtrodden and desperate community it might not be easy to recruit new ‘soldiers’, so possibly they did not have the luxury of choice.  With these thoughts on my mind, I eventually drifted into an uneasy sleep.


 Chapter Three      

When I awoke, I heard the three voices nearby.  "Will you be alright by yourself?" the low-voiced man asked.  "Of course", replied the woman, "I may not be big and strong like you", she said sarcastically, "but I think I can handle one little boy".      "OK", let’s go, said the other man.  I heard a door close firmly, and then silence.  I did not move a muscle, not wanting the woman to know that I was awake.  I heard footsteps slowly circling me, round and round.  Despite the heavy boots she must have been wearing, somehow I could tell that these were the footsteps of a woman.  There was something about the way the fabric of her garments rubbed together, and the way her feet landed softly yet precisely on the ground, without a hint of dragging.  It is amazing, it struck me, how one’s other senses are heightened when vision is taken away.  Yes, this was definitely a woman.      "Are you awake?" she asked me.  I said nothing, and heard her walk towards me.  I gave the game away when I jumped as she gently flicked my ear through the hood I was wearing.  "I knew you were awake", she said smugly.      "Please" I said, my voice muffled, "please remove the hood, I can’t breathe".      "Let me see", she replied.  "Remove your hood... I don’t know about that".  And then, after a brief silence, she added, "What’s in it for me?"      "Anything, I’ll do anything, just please, let me breath..." I screamed, panicked that I may never see daylight or taste fresh air ever again.      "Shut up!" she shouted.  "You must be quiet.  Otherwise we will shut you up." 

She put her hand on my head, idly toying with me, shaking my head from side to side.  "OK, I will take off your hood, just for a moment".   Soon, I felt her hands at my neck, adjusting the cord that kept the hood closed.  Slowly, the hood was pulled up and off my head, and I gulped lungfuls of fresh air while adjusting my eyes to the relative brightness of the room in which I found myself.  My captor was standing behind me, with her hands on my shoulders.  Slowly, she walked round the front of me so that I was facing her. 

I got my biggest shock since being snatched.  The woman facing me was barely old enough to be called a woman - she was certainly younger than me, maybe around 18 or 19.  Despite her youth, she was tall and athletic looking, with a slim waist and defined limbs.  She wore a plain white vest, tucked into a pair of camouflage combat trousers, and a hefty pair of black boots.  Although not dirty, she had the look of someone who had been living rough for the past few days.  Her long, black hair was unbrushed and tumbled about her dark face, glistening with sweat brought about by the heat from the sun, which shone into the room in small patches through cracks and gaps in the walls.  As my eyes focused, I could make out her large, dark eyes looking down at me from where she stood, maybe four feet in front of me, with her hands on her hips.  She was beautiful. She left the room and shortly returned with a damp piece of cloth, which she used to wipe the blood from my face and neck.  She held a cup of water to my lips, which I drank greedily, clearing my mouth of any remaining blood and quenching my thirst.  She stood back, again looking down at me with her hands on her hips.  "If you do exactly as we say, and cause us no trouble, then you will come to no harm", she said, betraying no emotion.  She picked up a rifle that had been propped up against the wall and pointed it at my crotch.  "But if you do cause us trouble", she said with a wicked smile on her face, "then things can start to get nasty".      Now, there are certain times a man should not think about sex.  A job interview is a good example.  Or an important business meeting.  But this is surely the best example I can think of - if there is one time you do not want to offend a woman, it is when you are tied helpless to a chair with her waving a gun at your genitals. 

But somehow the situation got on top of me, and with this beautiful woman standing over me I got the stiffest erection I can ever remember having.  There was no way of hiding it.      "I see you like it when I threaten you," she remarked, the smile on her face growing once again.  She began to prod at my dick and balls with the butt of her gun as I squirmed in my seat to try and get out of the way.  She simply laughed at my pathetic efforts, and pointed the rifle at my face, slowly moving it towards me and eventually penetrating my mouth.  All the while she was laughing quietly to herself.  "I could kill you right now, all it would take is me to squeeze this trigger..." I panicked and tried to cry out, repeatedly shaking my head despite the gun barrel she was forcing into my mouth.  Eventually she retracted the weapon and put it down onto the floor as I let out a huge breath and sighed with relief.  And then slowly, she sat down to straddle my lap, looking me right in the eyes as she began to rub herself against my erection.  Even through my clothes, the sensation was amazing and I began to let out involuntary groans of ecstasy.  She grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled my head back roughly, and started to kiss my neck, licking and nibbling at me slowly while she thrust her hips. 

I strained against the bonds holding my hands in place, wanting to hold her and touch her.  But soon it became too much for me, as my body stiffened and I felt the familiar tingle in my spine, I erupted with such force that I almost toppled the chair backwards.  My tormentor stood up and looked down at the spreading damp patch on my trousers and laughed.  "You men are all the same".      Suddenly we heard voices approaching the shack, and the woman began to replace the hood back onto my head just as the two men entered the shack.  "Why did you have his hood off?" asked one.      "I had to give him some water", she said, "and I had to wipe the blood from his face".      "I hope he didn’t see your face", said the other man.      "Do you really think I’d be that stupid?" she replied.  Her comment was met with silence by the two men, who paced nervously around the room.      "What’s been going on here?" one of the men asked, his voice close to my ear.  I guessed that he was referring to the damp patch on my trousers.      "Oh", the woman laughed.  "He fell asleep, he must have been having dreams."  The men joined her in her laughter.      "Pathetic boy", one man said.  "He must have been dreaming about his mother!" 

Again they all laughed together.  I felt sick with shame, and hated the woman for the humiliation she was putting me through.  But I could not help but be excited by her.  I heard footsteps leave, and then shortly return.  I froze rigid as I felt a torrent of cold water cascade onto my crotch.   "Maybe that will cool him off!" said the woman.  More laughter.  My cock felt raw from the friction it had endured when the woman was grinding her crotch into mine, and the cold water made me shiver in pain as well as cold.  All three of them left the room while I sat there bound, sobbing like a child into the hood which had once again been fastened, starving me of fresh air and depriving me of sight.  I dreaded the next time I would be alone with the woman for fear of the humiliation she would make me endure, yet felt strangely excited by the prospect of being with her, and wondered what she would do next.      Chapter Four    The next few days passed relatively uneventfully. 

My hood was removed and replaced with a blindfold, and my bound hands were relieved, the rope being replaced by a pair of handcuffs that allowed better circulation to my hands.  It was not their intention to harm me, I had been informed, although I still had no idea what their motives were for taking me.  Neither had I seen the faces of either man.  The woman had not been around much, in fact most of my time had been spent by myself and at no point had I been alone with the woman since our ‘encounter’.  My captors would come in around twice a day, usually in twos, to feed and water me and to make sure that I was still in the land of the living.  During snippets of overheard conversations I learnt the names of the gang members. 

The man with the lower voice was Akhbar, the man with the higher voice was Omar and the woman was Saromad.  This was the only information of any note that I was able to pick up, but I didn’t even know if these were their real names. On one particular day I awoke to the sound of the door opening.  It was Omar and Saromad.  Of the two men, Omar was the one I hated least.  Omar at least had the courtesy to talk to me when he came to attend to me, even offering me some words of comfort, telling me I would not get hurt and that I would be released eventually.  Akhbar, on the other hand, would beat me, roughly shoving food into my mouth when feeding me and would only speak to hurl verbal abuse.  Saromad hardly had anything to do with me, certainly never talking to me or touching me in any way.  When she was present, she would let the man do everything, while perhaps idly chatting to him as if I weren’t present.  But somehow, I got the feeling she was watching me intently from where she stood.  It was with some relief that I realized Akhbar was not present today.      We went through our usual routine.  My face was gently slapped to make sure I was alive and awake, and my pulse was taken.  Some pieces of bread were put into my mouth one by one, which I greedily chewed, and washed down with water from the cup that was held to my lips. 

My ankles were then untied, and a gun held to my back while I went to the toilet in a bucket.  I was then sat back down in the chair and my ankles re-tied.  Omar asked if I felt all right, and I nodded to indicate that I did.  Omar and Saromad then had a conversation I could not hear, I heard one set of footsteps head towards the door, and I heard the door open and close.  One of the two had left, and the other was still here.  It did not take me long to recognize the sound of the footsteps walking round me, round and round.  A hand rested on my shoulder, then moved up to my head and round to my face, gently stroking my cheek.  I was scared witless, but my erection betrayed the fact that I wanted Saromad badly.      "Hello", she said.  They never used my name, even though they must have known it.  I had my papers with me when I was taken.  "How are you today?"      "I..."      "Shut up!" she stopped me, slapping me across the face.  I was breathing loudly. 

She walked round behind me, and undid my blindfold.  I used my eyes for the first time in days.  She then walked back round in front of me, and slowly lifted her rifle and pointed it at my head.  For several minutes she just stood there, her gun aimed at me, watching me shiver in fear and desperately struggling to free myself.  Eventually she closed one eye and took aim, and pulled the trigger. I cried out and closed my eyes, turning my head away, but the chamber was empty.  She laughed cruelly, as she removed the magazine, loaded it and re-inserted it into the gun.  Putting her rifle down, she walked up to me and stroked my cheek, running her thumb across my lips.      "Are you going to be a good boy today, hmm? Or are you going to make me hurt you?  Something tells me you’re going to do as I say", she said as she reached down and started rubbing my cock through my trousers.  I was so ashamed of my erection, but my dick had a mind of its own.  Without saying anything, she lifted up my arms and pushed me forward off the chair.  As I lay bound on the dirty floor, she kicked me like a dog, winding me and leaving me breathless.  She kicked me in the stomach, stamped on my balls, and punched me in the face.  I lay bruised, bloodied and in agony as she continued her onslaught on my helpless bound body.  Eventually she stopped, and pulled me up onto my knees, and stood in front of me so that I was staring at her crotch.  Without saying a word, she removed her boots, undid her trousers and slid them down her thighs.  The bottom half of her body was now naked apart from a pair of plain white cotton briefs.  "Remove them," she ordered, quietly yet menacingly.  Hesitating for a moment, I turned around, and tried to reach her underwear with my bound hands.  She watched me struggle for a minute or two.      "I can’t", I protested, turning round to face her once again, my face inches from her crotch.  "My hands are tied".  She walked forward, so that she was pressed up against my face, with just the thin material of her underwear separating me from her mound.  She reached round behind my head, grabbing herself a fistful of my hair, roughly pulling my face into her crotch.  Slowly, she began to rub herself against me.      "If you can’t do it with your hands... you’ll have to use your teeth," she said.  Facing the inevitable, I got hold of the waistband with my teeth and slowly pulled her underwear down around her thighs and all the way down her long legs.  She stepped out of them and I knelt before her, confronting her naked black triangle. 

Her smell overwhelmed me as she one again grabbed the back of my head and began to rub her naked pussy across my face.  She moved her pussy lips back and forward across my mouth, as her fluids began to slowly drip.  She maneuvered herself so that my nose touched her clitoris, and she used me to massage it by moving in a circular motion.  I would admit that I wanted this woman badly, but not like this, not as her mere plaything.  But I had no choice - I was the unwilling victim of sexual abuse.      "Stick out your tongue," she ordered.  Not being a fan of cunnilingus, I did not want to give in to her, so I did not do as she demanded.  "Now!" she shouted, as she kicked me hard in the balls, and seized me with one hand by my neck, the other pulling my hair.  I had no choice but to comply, I was bound and helpless and she could have easily killed me.  As soon as my tongue was out she mercilessly began to fuck it, again stimulating her clit with my nose.  Again and again she ground her pussy into my face, leaving me saturated with her juices.  Her lips were now engorged, and her hole was so hot I would not have been surprised to see steam coming off.  She held me firmly by the back of my head and used my mouth, my nose and even my chin to pleasure herself until she could take no more and I was once again reduced to tears - a pathetic creature sprawled out on the floor.     

She stood back, and looked at me as I hung my head in shame, my face soaked in her fluids.  She laughed at the site in front of her, my sobs only serving to amuse her more.  "Please stop" I begged, "please stop torturing me".      "But why?  We are just beginning to have fun", she replied.  "Besides, I don’t think you want me to stop".  She began to gently kick my cock and balls, and slowly began to rub it through my trousers with her bear feet until my cock was once again rock hard.  She reached down and undid my fly, her hand slowly entered my trousers and she started feeling around, grabbing hold of my balls.  I struggled and squirmed to get away from her as her powerful grip squeezed my testicles, but she just tightened her hold and laughed at me.  When she pushed me onto my back, undid my trousers and pulled them and my underwear down around my knees, I knew that she was going to rape me.      "No, please" I begged, "don’t... it doesn’t have to be this way".      She reached down beside her and picked up the discarded panties that she had made me remove a few minutes beforehand.  She waved them in front of my mouth and brushed them on my face, so that my nose was once again full of her scent.      "I warned you that if you didn’t shut up, I would shut you up", she told me, and cruelly rammed the panties into my mouth, gagging my cries. 

She then placed her hand over my mouth to keep them in place, and crouched over my vulnerable body.  Slowly, she lowered herself onto me until my hard cock was touching her pussy lips.  There she hovered, moving back and forth so that I rubbed lightly against her.  Still horrified by my predicament, I was struggling harder than ever to release myself from my bondage, but I knew that I could not escape. 

I just wanted her to know that I was not submitting to her, even though part of me wanted to do just that.  The pain in my back was intolerable as she bore down on me with her full weight, the handcuffs behind me digging into the flesh on my back.  I looked forward and watched my cock disappear into her pussy, and I let out a moan that was absorbed by Saromad’s underwear.  A broad smile came on her face as she began to thrust up and down, up and down, and she threw her head back in ecstasy.   My rape was fast and brutal.  Lying bound on the floor, I was unable to actively participate, and was reduced to the status of human dildo.  She mercilessly pumped up and down, ignoring my muffled cries and the tears rolling from my eyes.  She repeatedly slapped me on the face as she rode me, and told me that if I came too soon, this would be the last fuck I would ever have.  Eventually, when she was ready, a finger slid round to my crack, and fiercely invaded me, pushing up into my passage until it found its target.  I ejaculated with a ferocity I had never before experienced, completely draining me of energy. 

Momentarily, she remained sat on my rapidly shrinking member, savoring the moment, before slowly pulling away from me.  When she removed her underwear from my mouth, I was too exhausted to speak.  And I was too exhausted to refuse when she crouched over my face, lowered her cunt down to my mouth and forced me to lick her clean of my own semen.      When she was finished, she got up and dressed herself, and sat watching me lying bound and helpless on the floor, trousers and underpants round my ankles and my face covered in my own semen.      "You know" she said, "the others are away for a while... they won’t be back for days.  In fact, I’ve been left to look after you indefinitely.  So you’d better get used to making me happy!"  She smiled at me wickedly.  "Now, I’m going to have something to eat, and then I’m going to come back and watch you remove all of your clothes.  Then, I’m going to take you into the bedroom and tie you to the bed.  And there you will stay until I see fit". With that statement, I resigned myself to being Saromad’s sex slave, for her to use, abuse, beat, rape and humiliate as and when she liked.  The strange thing was, I wasn’t entirely unhappy.


  
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