Asif hurried back to the tent with a pitcher of water. He was worried he’d be in trouble for being slow and, since he was in a bad mood already, he was worried he would accidentally start a confrontation with the warriors. That would make him feel bad, but he couldn’t help but be upset by how he had been treated.
He had risked everything to come to Syria to fight for what he believed in, and the Islamic State had him doing womanly tasks like getting water and making food. He had come here to get away from the feminization that the Western society imposed upon him back in his native Britain, only to find out that the Islamic State didn’t treat him any better. He had been promised a paycheck and health care and a job and a place to live, but all he got was a piss-stinking corner of a tent, prayer as the only health care and a paycheck that was “just delayed a bit” for over a month now.
He could have lived with all that if he felt like he was truly making a difference. He wanted to smash the old society that had failed him so bad, and rebuild in its place a glorious and Islamic holy land stretching over the entire world, or at least the Middle East. But he wasn’t making a difference at all — the Islamic State didn’t think he had enough experience to be a warrior. He thought maybe he could work as some sort of administrator for the organization, but they didn’t trust him because he was British and his Arabic wasn’t very good (and was Moroccan anyway, not a dialect they liked much).
Asif stopped at the edge of the tent. It was long and wide, and would have been spacious for a small family; with him and three dozen Islamic fighters, it was a cramped hellhole. His prison cell in Britain had given him more space and better amenities. He reminded himself of his duty to Islam and walked inside.
“Took you long enough,” said Faisal as he tied the tent flap shut behind Asif, who had to bite his lip to avoid cursing at Faisal — back in the United Kingdom, Asif had had a serious temper problem before finding Allah, and he felt like it was returning now that he was away from Western civilization. The jerks he was living with were making it hard to maintain his serenity. Faisal grabbed the pitcher of water and drank straight from it before passing it on to the other fighters. “We are warriors, you know. We put our lives on the line to create an Islamic State for people like you, the least you could do is get us water promptly. I know you can’t fight because of your upbringing — Allah does not hate the meek, but he does require you to serve those who can fight for Islam”
“I could fight! They won’t let me, they-“
“Because you are small and weak. You are English,” Faisal said, and the other men in the room laughed. “Get down on your knees, Englishman.” Faisal, who was well-muscled and burly, much bigger than Asif, slowly pushed down on his shoulders.
“I’m not, I’m Arab. I’m Moroccan!” Asif sunk to his knees as Faisal’s crazed eyes bore down on him. The other warriors surrounded Asif, who suddenly felt like the heathens must have felt before these same warriors cut them down. He reminded them that he was Muslim, but they were murmuring to each other in Arabic too quickly for Asif to catch any of it.
“I will dub you an honorary woman for the Islamic State, since we have very few. And a whore you shall be, like all English women,” Faisal said. He repeated himself in Arabic, and the other warriors burst into cheers. “Open your mouth.”
“I could fight,” Asif said glumly. He bit his lip.
“Then fight me.”
“If you can fight, go ahead and do it. But if you can’t, you need to stop using that mouth for talking like an untrained woman, and use it for whoring like all British women,” Faisal said. “You are a whore.”
He smacked Asif in the head. The other fighters all began laughing, and then chanted “Be a man! Be a man!” in a mixture of Arabic and English.
Asif desperately wanted to prove his manhood, so he charged for Faisal. He hoped to tackle him, but the bigger, more experienced fighter just shoved him to one side. Asif fell to the floor in a humiliated heap of flesh, surrounded by Islamic holy warriors.
Someone kicked him. Asif let out a choked cry, and said, “Come on, I gave up my life in the West for this-“
Faisal kneeled down over his chest and grabbed Asif by the hair. “You have been assigned a role in this organization, you pussy,” he loudly hocked a loogie and spat on Asif’s face. “Allah demands you submit. If you will not fight, you must submit. Open up your pussy-mouth.”
Asif’s heart pounded as he opened his mouth; a part of him said to keep fighting, to prove that he could hold his own — he was sure Faisal wouldn’t make him suck dick if he would prove he wasn’t a fighter, but it was clear to Asif that wasn’t true. He decided to give in for now. Faisal pulled up his light robes, and a long, hairy uncircumcised cock was visible right in front of Asif’s face.
Faisal he lowered his robes over Asif’s head, so no one had to watch as Asif felt his first cock push into his mouth. Asif gagged and choked, and Faisal laughed above him. “See? You will learn to appreciate the role Allah has chosen for you,” Faisal said. “We all have duties to perform, in order to create this glorious Islamic State. We shall rule the world soon, whore, and you shall be servicing us all the while.”
With the man’s white robes covering his head, Asif could see nothing but the pubic hair in front of his face. The smell of Faisal’s unwashed crotch made Asif’s stomach churn, but he couldn’t look away — there were other men holding him in place from outside of Faisal’s robe.
He gripped Faisal’s thighs for support, and Asif clawed at his skin. But Faisal had been making war for more than a year, and he was impervious to pain. His thick leg hair was coarse and stank of his sweat, as did his balls which slapped against Asif’s chin.
Faisal stopped moving for a moment. He held his hand up for quiet, until there was no sound in the tent but Asif’s tortured gasps for air. Faisal pulled his dick out, holding Asif’s head in place, still underneath Faisal’s robes so no one had to see his whorish face or Faisal’s cock.
“Have you accepted your role, Englishman?” Faisal said. “Or will you fight?”
“I… accept,” Asif said.
He had no sooner finished speaking before the men around him burst into cheers once again, as Faisal translated for them. Faisal rammed his dick back down Asif’s throat and cackled as Asif choked on his throbbing shaft.
Finally the taste of cum flooded Asif’s mouth. He was gagging profusely by then, copious spit dripping down his chin and onto the floor. Faisal chuckled, his laughter turning into a sexual moan that made the other men laugh.
Asif choked loudly, and most of the salty cum landed on the ground. Faisal pulled away, baring Asif’s head. The other Islamic State warriors were looking down at him.
“Go get us some more water, Englishman,” Faisal said. “When you come back, there will be more dicks to suck.”