WEIGHT: 50 kg
Services: Strap-ons, Soft domination, Fisting anal, Massage professional, TOY PLAY
T he slave market opened at night. We could hear the commotion downstairs where militants were registering and organising, and when the first man entered the room, all the girls started screaming. It was like the scene of an explosion. We moaned as though wounded, doubling over and vomiting on the floor, but none of it stopped the militants.
They paced around the room, staring at us, while we screamed and begged. Now the militants touched us anywhere they wanted, running their hands over our breasts and our legs, as if we were animals. It was chaos while the militants paced the room, scanning girls and asking questions in Arabic or the Turkmen language. I howled and screamed, slapping away hands that reached out to grope me.
Other girls were doing the same, curling their bodies into balls on the floor or throwing themselves across their sisters and friends to try to protect them. While I lay there, another militant stopped in front of us. He was a high-ranking militant named Salwan who had come with another girl, another young Yazidi from Hardan, who he planned to drop off at the house while he shopped for her replacement. The girl with the pink jacket! I said, stand up! His eyes were sunk deep into the flesh of his wide face, which seemed to be nearly entirely covered in hair.
Islamic State planned it all: how they would come into our homes, what made a girl more or less valuable, which militants deserved a sabaya [sex slave] as incentive and which should pay. They even discussed sabaya in their glossy propaganda magazine, Dabiq, in an attempt to draw new recruits. But Isis is not as original as its members think it is. Rape has been used throughout history as a weapon of war.
On the lower floor, a militant was registering the transactions in a book, writing down our names and the names of the militants who took us. I thought about being taken by Salwan, how strong he looked and how easily he could crush me with his bare hands. No matter what he did, and no matter how much I resisted, I would never be able to fight him off. He smelled of rotten eggs and cologne.