Stolen Savior by Limnophile

A literotic sexstories: Stolen Savior by Limnophile ,

Dying is only the start of our hero Alex’s story. She’s stolen from a happy afterlife to rescue a girl in need.

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Author’s note: This is only the first half of the story. If you don’t like reading incomplete works, please find something else. I’m having trouble coming up with an exciting but plausible ending. I will post the rest when it’s ready.

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I hadn’t believed my sergeant when he told us time slows to a crawl in combat, but it really does. I clearly remember every bit of my seven-on-one firefight in Ramadi Iraq, down to the tenth of a second. Maybe even millisecond.

My initial burst hit the leader in the face, as an RPG rocket missed me by less than a foot. It blew up a car behind me as I fired again. I took at least five hits in only a few seconds, but kept on shooting. My 3-shot bursts were still deliberate and accurate, since most of the pain would come later. Somehow I had time to hope the armor plate in my vest would protect me. I wore my body armor, as usual, but some of the enemy used armor-piercing rounds.

My carbine clicked empty and I knew reloading with a broken arm would be far too slow. I dropped my weapon, reached for a frag, and pulled the pin with my teeth. New blasts of pain erupted in my knee and belly, but I was delighted at my accuracy and timing. My grenade exploded chest-high in midair, within a yard of two black-clad terrorists. A splatter of blood, an AK-74, and the severed al-Qaeda arm holding it flew across the street. I fell to the pavement, mortally wounded but satisfied.

Three surgeons and a crowd of nurses urgently tried to save me, but my body didn’t cooperate. If I hadn’t been shot half a block from the hospital’s rear entrance, I might not have made it that far. They lifted and slid me from the gurney to an OR table. Two very bright lights shone on me while they cut away my bloody uniform. I was in shock and instinctively tried to resist, when a nurse pulled the safety pin ring from mouth.

Despite the painkiller injections, I could still feel many gunshot wounds. Two in the right side of my chest weren’t too bad, and I barely noticed the five in my abdomen. The bullet that broke my left arm passed all the way through, but the wound still hurt quite a bit. The one that shattered my left kneecap and drove part of it into the cartilage between my upper and lower leg still hurt like a SONOFABITCH! I was also PISSED OFF that grenade fragments had grazed my chin and torn off my right ear. My cook time and throw were perfect, but I hadn’t ducked quickly enough.

The trauma team were giving me saline in my left arm and O negative in my right, but it was leaking out faster than they could put it in. I knew the blood I coughed out with every breath was a bad sign. Before I died, I needed to know. I gathered the bit of energy I had left and forced my mouth to work. “Did I get ‘em?” Through the din of doctors asking for tools, a female voice answered, “You took out all seven before they got their bomb to the hospital! You’re a hero…”

The doctor in charge loudly exclaimed, “We’re losing her! Put an O-neg I.O. in the left femur and large bore IV with Ringer’s in the right ankle!”

His order came too late. When my eyes closed for the last time, a monitor showed my blood pressure was down to 60 over 30. The last thing I heard was a high-pitched whine, as my heart stopped.

I wasn’t a person anymore. I didn’t have a body. I felt another formless something near me. I was at my funeral, watching it from above. A deep masculine voice said, “You deserve to see this.” He was Mars, the God of War.

I was amazed a US Army Major General was giving my eulogy, standing next to an Iraqi Regional Governor. My parents and little brother were sitting in the first row.

“Corporal Alexandra Cortez was only in the Army a year and a half, but her bravery will live on in the hearts of all those she saved. By order of the Presidents of both our countries, and on behalf of all the people of the Republic of Iraq and the United States of America, we are proud to posthumously award her a Purple Heart, the Iraqi Medal of Valor, and the Distinguished Service Cross.” A Captain saluted my coffin, then solemnly laid the medals on it.

The two-star made everyone’s eyes water, but lifted their spirits with, “We have lost a valued colleague and wonderful soldier, a beloved daughter, sister, or friend. Despite our grief, and despite the efforts of our enemies, heroes like her will ensure freedom prevails around the world…”

Only a moment later I was my civilian self again, wearing a nice forest green dress with a red sash. My hair was in long braids, as it had been before I joined the Army. I stood under a pear tree, facing a vineyard up the hill. Only a few steps away an orange fell from another tree. Across a wide field of grain was a sandy beach and calm sea. Mars said, “Welcome to Elysium. You’re one of the very few who deserve this. Existence here is comfortable and eternal. Many other great heroes will be happy to meet you. I will return shortly.”

I looked around at the beautiful scenery of the ancient farm and orchard. I picked a pear and took a bite. It was the sweetest thing I’d ever tasted! I walked up the hill, past the vineyard, to a small village. Somehow, I knew I would be staying in the third cottage on the left. It was simply built but looked homey and comfortable.

A group of men smiled as I walked near them. All eight or nine were muscular and attractive, wearing clothing from many eras. Two would have been at home in Abe Lincoln’s time. A very tall one had a ‘Death Before Dishonor’ tattoo, a blonde mullet haircut, and bell-bottom jeans from the 1970’s. Another three had white powdered wigs from centuries-ago Europe. I wasn’t sure about the others, which were probably ancient. A particularly handsome one in a simple toga told the man next to him, “I’ll wrestle you for her.”

I felt a smile appear on my face while I asked, “How about you wrestle ME?” He nodded and chuckled, then led me to a grassy square in the middle of the village. Many people came out to watch us. He moved left and right in the knee-high grass, trying to get on my side before I could turn, but I was quicker. I had no idea how they knew my name, but a few started chanting, “Al – ex! Al – ex! Al – ex!”

I didn’t realize the significance of the name at the time, but a few others chanted, “Spar – ti – cus! Spar – ti – cus!”

We circled a few times and he sprinted toward me, attempting to grab me in a bear hug. I ducked and rolled, gripping his ankle as he moved past. He fell to the ground as I finished my roll. He was quick too and rolled away before I could grab him again. We circled some more and he lunged for my left leg. I jumped up and squeezed his head between my knees.

The sudden shift in weight made him fall to the grass with me on his back. We wrestled on the ground for half a minute. I managed to sit on his belly with his back to the ground. I reached to grab his wrists, but he was stronger than I thought. He rolled us over and grabbed my wrists instead, then slowly moved them above my head. I felt his groin pressing against my thigh. Several people clapped or whistled. I thought he was very sexy, so I reduced my resistance as he leaned down to kiss me.

The deep voice of Mars returned, “NO! She deserves it! MOTHER!”

An extremely powerful but kind female voice echoed off the hills. “Sorry, Alexandra. I need you to do something else first.” As the exciting and sexy scene faded into a fond memory, I knew she was Minerva, Queen of the Gods.

My body was breathing and I could feel my heart beating! I was alive again!

The floor I sat on was cold and uncomfortably hard. My legs and everything between them ached, and I felt lesser pain in both arms. I opened my eyes and couldn’t see anything. Was I blind? I lifted the short skirt my new body wore and reached to check on the pain between my legs. I had long razor stubble instead of pubic hair. I had no panties and felt some sticky liquid. I moved my hand near my face and sniffed. The liquid was semen and blood. My hands and arms twitched as I shivered, and a bit of the filth touched my nose. I hurriedly wiped it off with my other hand, then rubbed my hands on my skirt in a futile attempt at cleanliness.

I slowly investigated my surroundings by touch. I wore a thin t-shirt on my upper body and was in a small room about one meter by two, the size of a typical closet. I smelled something unpleasant, the latrine pail by my feet. My new hair ran all the way down to my waist. The ten extra pounds I had been trying to lose were gone. I could feel most of my ribs and was very hungry. I wondered what happened to my breasts. Instead of an annoying pair of 36C’s that got in my way, I was nearly flat as a boy!

I felt around and found a wooden door. I probably could have kicked my way through the thin cheap closet doors used in most houses these days, but this one was solid wood. I did kick something soft by accident and remembered it was a plastic jug of water. I was so cold! Maybe approaching hypothermia! I flexed my arms and legs many times and rocked back and forth, trying to warm myself.

I / we remembered that at a clinic a few months ago, we were 150cm and 46 kilos, but had lost about four kilos in the three weeks I / we had been a prisoner. I mostly understood the metric system, but was more comfortable with US units and converted in my head. My new body was an inch short of five feet tall, and about 90 pounds. Before I died in Iraq, I had been 5 foot 9 and 145. I’d need some time to adjust. The small scrap of cardboard I sat on was precious to me, since it kept at least my buttocks off the chilly concrete.

Where was I? WHO was I? WHAT THE HELL!

I remembered I was Katina Orlova, an 18-year-old student from Volgodonz, a small city in Rostov Oblast. She / I loved dogs, was good at math, and had planned to start medical college in the fall. I / we finished assistant nurse training a few months ago and wanted to be a doctor.

Katina and her best friend Yulia went to another friend Anya’s birthday party nearly a month before. After the birthday cake, five of us / them secretly shared a bottle of vodka in her bedroom. A group of men kidnapped Yulia and I/we on our way home. We were barely sober enough to lean on each other and stagger down the sidewalk, let alone fight off four grown men.

I touched the cool metal doorknob and heard a voice in my head. “The door’s locked, and he said if I try to run away he’ll cut off my feet!” It was more of a frightened thought and memory than a voice. I saw a dim light through the crack at the base of the door as a distant switch made a ‘click’, and heard rapid footsteps as somebody walked down a flight of stairs.

I was grateful I wasn’t blind but had another thought, “NO! I need to be asleep or he’ll hurt me again!” I couldn’t control my body anymore. Something made me lay on the cold concrete floor and close my eyes. My breathing sped up and my heart started pounding. My body was terrified!

I heard more footsteps and a much nearer ‘click’, then a key was inserted in the lock and the door opened. I felt my bladder about to let go and clenched to retain my urine. There were a few bright flashes, then I heard a man’s voice quietly say something in Russian. I’d taken a year of Russian in high school and learned a little more in the Army, but only understood a few phrases; “mily malenkiy shlyukha” – “cute little whore”, and “oh platite bolshi” – “he pay bigger”.

Somehow a moment later I knew he had a Serbian accent, and in Russian he had said, “No tits and tiny cunt. Rich jackass Zoloyest be happy for such cute little whore. Blonde, too. I make him pay more for this one.”

“Zoloyest” meant something like “Gold eater”. I assumed it was a psevdonim, a nickname.

The one talking wasn’t the brute who had hurt me and threatened to cut off my feet. His voice sounded much older than the Monster’s, but I had smelled the Monster’s smell; diesel exhaust, male body odor, and the odd chemical and orange peel scent of methamphetamine smoke. They looked at me together as one of them took pictures. Before they left, the Monster grumpily said, “She pissed again. I’ll dump it.” The plastic pail scraped along the floor as he slid it and picked it up, then the door closed.

There were more footsteps and I heard a light switch turn off as the sound of footfalls faded away. I felt a thought again, as I stood and reached for the doorknob without trying to. “He forgot to bring back the bucket and lock the door. I’m scared to go out, but if I pee on the floor he’ll be mad.”

My body opened the door slowly and felt it’s way along a wall in total darkness. Two other doors were open slightly. I knew they were tiny rooms like mine, which held our friend Yulia until the Monster killed her, and a girl he sold the day we arrived. As I touched the bathroom door, I realized if the men heard a toilet flush they’d know I was awake. I thought to myself as hard as I could, “Pee in the toilet, but DON’T FLUSH! DON’T FLUSH! Then find the bucket in case we need it later!” I bumped into a sink and was tempted to wash up, but turning on the water might make enough noise to alert the Monster.

We found the toilet in the dark and urinated, then crawled around in the dark until we found the large plastic pail. There were a pair of metallic thumps which sounded like the doors of a heavy vehicle closing, then a large diesel engine started. The engine noise faded and I presumed the Monster and the other man left. My memories knew that was the Monster’s truck, and he often went places and left me/us locked in the basement.

As I / we cleaned up in the bathroom, I realized I should explore my surroundings while I had the chance. I navigated along a wall by touch and found a light switch. I ‘heard’ my memories and emotions say, “One of the Monster’s friends lives close to here. If he sees light through the basement windows, I’ll be in big trouble! I’ll be able to see again when the sun comes up. The Monster held me down as the fat and ugly guy tore my virginity three weeks ago. Then he held me as the Monster raped me too! I … it was SO terrible!”

I wiped away many, many tears, but pushed myself to do what I could in the dark. I remembered that my small new self had seen wooden crates stacked on the other side of the room, at least 20 of them. I tried to remember what they held but hadn’t seen inside any. I did remember seeing writing on a few. One said something in Russian, “DShK Tyazhely Poulemet 12.7” At the time I hadn’t realized it might be important later. I translated in my mind – “12.7 millimeter Heavy Machine Gun”. It was a notorious ‘Dishka!’

I sadly realized that even if I could get it out of the crate and had some ammo, there was no way I could use it at my current size. From my Army training I knew the beast of a gun weighed 80 pounds, about the same as my new body. It was usually operated by a team of four soldiers, and required at least two strong men to carry more than a few steps. When Russians named something ‘Heavy’ it really was.

I tried to remember if there were other labels on the crates. I only recalled three others that wouldn’t help either, “MIG-29 Landing Gear Bolt Kits x 8”, “Emergency Life Raft”, and “Snow Boots x12 pair size M”.

I banged my toe on something metal and remembered it was a small toolbox. I searched through it, but didn’t find anything that would be an effective weapon. Small wrenches could cause a minor injury, but nothing that would disable or kill an enemy quickly. Squeezing an ear or finger with pliers might be painful, but not even close to lethal. I might cut the Monster a little with the edge of a dull utility knife, but I knew within a second or two he’d grab me and break my neck with his huge arms, like he had done to my / Katina’s friend Yulia when she bit his hand. There were a couple of short, stubby screwdrivers. Longer ones might be used for stabbing, but these only had an inch of metal protruding from the small handles.

I put the tools back then closed the lid. I felt my way around until I heard the vehicle return and its doors thumped closed. I crawled back in my closet and pretended to be asleep again. I heard more footsteps and the Monster complaining, “Why you no get more pictures first time?”

“Face no matter for usual whores, this one maybe good enough to use himself.” They opened my closet again. The Monster’s heavy boot kicked my feet and he demanded, “Up! Stand up and smile!”

I did and tried to force a smile to my face. I knew it was more of a pained grimace. The older man wore a gray and blue suit and held a cell phone near me to get close-ups of my face. The Monster wore his usual Russian Army fatigues. He had a wide scar going from the side of his chin, through his nose and right eye, up to the side of his forehead. Thankfully, he had an eye patch on, so I couldn’t see the milky white ruin I knew it concealed. I was beyond terrified of him. He had raped, kicked, and beat me many times.

I thought of the other one as ‘Suitman’. He was kind of handsome, but still very frightening. Instead of carrying a holstered pistol on his belt like the Monster, he had a cattle prod!

He said, “Open mouth, I need teeth picture.” I did, and he took more pictures. “Bend over and spread legs.” He took pictures of my butt and privates, then spread my labia with his fingers and took two more. He commented, “Not virgin anymore. Pity, virgin would get me double money.”

They walked up the stairs and the lights clicked off. I could barely hear them as Suitman said, “I get girl in three days. Feed and don’t damage her anymore. She worthless dead or maimed.”

The Monster replied, “Yes, sir.”

Only a moment later, Suitman said, “Actually, more pictures be better.” The door at the top of the stairs closed, then opened again sometime later. The lights came on and the two returned to my closet and opened the door.

Suitman handed me a bottle of milk with a clear straw in it. He said, “Drink slow, very slow.” He took many more pictures. He held out a banana and said, “Put in cunt.” My body froze in fear and disgust. “Do or I will.” I pushed myself to insert half of it, knowing it would be much worse if he did. He took more pictures, then pulled the banana out. He opened the top and said, “Lick slow, then eat.”

I understood the pictures were to arouse whoever he was going to sell me to, so he could get more money. I cooperated, since I knew he or the Monster would hurt me again if I didn’t. It was difficult to take my time eating, since I was terribly hungry. I remembered the last time we had eaten, three days earlier. After a painful pubic shave and agonizing anal rape, the Monster had rewarded me/Katina with a tin of sardines. She didn’t like fish but practically inhaled them, since her last meal had been a small bowl of porridge two days before.

Before they left again the Monster put a box of crackers and a bag of apples inside the closet door, and Suitman tossed me a scratchy wool blanket. The Monster shook a finger at me and said, “Stay, or I cut feet off. No need feet to fuck.” He slapped me to reinforce his point.

I smiled when Suitman asked him, “Are you STUPID? No more damage and no more fucking!”

It felt like winning the lottery to know I wouldn’t be raped or seriously hurt again, at least until Suitman returned. I sat on the old blanket and wrapped it around me as the door closed and locked. I enjoyed being warm for the first time in days, and devoured what felt like a banquet of apples and crackers in the dark.

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