SUMATRA  - After the War
By Michael Elk
A young man encounters a female soldier.


Part 1

I'm not sure anyone will ever read this narrative. After 50 years, I still
feel a certain humiliation over what happened, and I may burn this paper to
prevent the story's disclosure. In spite of my shame, and though events were
far from enjoyable at the time, I now look back on them with surprisingly fond
remembrances. These days my recollections are fading and I have few material
joys left, so this adventure is being put to pen in order to relive it in my
mind in as vivid a way as I possibly can.

Back in 1947, I was a 21 year old student at the University of Canberra,
spending my summer in the mountains on the island of Sumatra running bird
surveys. Nothing of the kind had been done for over 10 years (mostly because
of the war that had lasted from '41 through '45). Our research group, financed
by the Biology Dept of the University, would split up each day and I would
spend the daylight hours by myself, observing and counting the wildlife.

Meeting a Japanese soldier on the path shouldn't have been a complete
surprise. Almost monthly there were reports in Southeast Asia of
remotely-stationed troops being discovered who were unaware of the war's end.
However when I did meet one face to face, the shock was twofold. First I
didn't expect to see anyone in that desolate location, and second, I was
flabbergasted that it was a woman. I'd no idea that the Japanese had used
females in the military. She stood about 5' 7", was slightly built, and looked
about 30 years old, though I still find it hard to guess the age of orientals.
Her uniform consisted of a light short-sleeve tunic, khaki pants, and army
boots. She was comely enough, though in uniform and with her black hair
cropped militarily short, she looked tough and there was little feminine to
her appearance. Still, I was glad enough that the soldier was not a male.

Perhaps I'm alive today because she was carrying a load of firewood, and not a
rifle. She spat out the word 'American' (the normal 'r' sound replaced by the
Japanese 'l'), hurled down the sticks she was carrying, and came at me, in a
crouched, stalking manner.

With no time to protest my nationality, I threw up my hands, palms toward her,
and cried, "No! War is over! War is over!"

She may have understood me, but not believed what I said. I was dressed in
military fatigues, as were probably 60% of people in Sumatra in those days
(with the huge surplus of post war army clothing available), so my outfit
didn't lend credibility to my claim.

She must have telegraphed her first move, because I moved my leg instinctively
and took her knee in the thigh muscle. It was far from a pleasant sensation,
but not nearly as painful as what she had planned for me. Then, using the edge
of her hands, karate style, she swung and struck me two or three times on the
shoulders and biceps before I could get my hands up to fend her off. The
strokes showed indications of training; they hurt and would leave bruises on
my body for days afterwards. Then, as soon as my arms were up, she changed
tactics and stepped inside my defenses, forcing me to focus my attention once
again on the menace of the knee. An odor of stale sweat from a body
unaccustomed to soap and water permeated the air. I was still off balance from
the speed and ferocity of her aggression, and she managed to hit me several
more times on my chest and solar plexus with short choppy jabs and closed
fists before I began to react. Her punches were too constricted and her arms
not strong enough to deliver killing blows, but her small fists concentrated
the force and were not pleasant to endure.

I was hesitant to strike a woman, and my back pack prevented me from swinging
my arms freely. So I shoved her hard and sent her back several feet, giving me
time to wriggle free of the pack before she attacked again. I met her charge
by swinging the back pack at her and knocking her off balance. Then I leaped
at her and took her to the ground, letting my body fall heavily on top of
hers. Though we both had slender builds, my superior height gave me at least
30 pounds on her, and in close-quarter grappling, my weight could be used
effectively as a weapon. I glued myself to her body, pressing down heavily,
chest on chest, so that she had to work hard as she struggled. Then I managed
to catch hold of her wrists and force them to the ground on either side of her
head. That gave me control and a chance to admire the pleasantly toned and
defined muscles in her arms that no doubt derived from the rigors of her
outdoor existence. It was surprisingly excited holding her down like that, and
feeling her squirming body beneath me. A chance to physically dominate a
female didn't come often, and the idea was not unattractive. I had no real
plan, but innate male memories of past seductions or rapes took possession of
me and, in my perverted mind, transformed a legitimate battle into an erotic
frolic. Call me a romantic, but as I held her captive, I could envision
overpowering her, tying her up, and then gently winning her over and
eventually making love to her.

I stayed on top of, and constrained her, for several minutes. Though she
continued to try to get free, it was relatively easy to keep her arms pinned
and my weight across her chest; and her struggles seemed to be diminishing. I
was savoring my domination of this vixen, telling her to relax and that I
wasn't going to hurt her, and plotting how to truss her permanently, when she
bit my arm. In reaction, I pulled away and made the mistake of releasing the
grip on her wrists. In an instant, her arms were retracted between our chests
where I couldn't reach them and she was utilizing them to claw and pinch. She
was pretty strong and wiry as hell, and when I was forced to lift my weight
from her body to elude her nails, she managed to squirm out from under me.
Then we were rolling painfully back and forth over the sticks she had dropped,
me wary of her teeth and her claws, and neither of us gaining a clear
advantage.

Then we broke free and were on our feet and breathing hard. This time she
didn't come at me, but pointed at the ground and said, "Pick up sticks."

It was somewhere between a suggestion and an order, and there was no reason
for me to obey. However it appealed to my baser instincts. I badly wanted to
get her down again to enforce my superiority, and if we were going to wrestle,
it would be more comfortable without the lumber beneath us. Without thinking,
I bent down to clear the sticks from the path. I saw her foot coming, but had
no time to react. The kick was only a glancing blow to the side of my head,
but with the army boots, it stunned me and sent me sprawling onto my back.
Like a tiger, she was on me again, with fists flying, hitting me savagely
about the face several times before I could buck her off. Then we were rolling
over and over again, clawing at each other, me forgetting all carnal thoughts
and finally realizing I was in a real fight and that my opponent had no
intention of fair play, nor mercy if she ever got the upper hand.

Somehow she managed to wrap her arm around my neck and catch me in a headlock.
Once more I began enjoying the pleasure of her small fist being driven
viciously against my face. One blow caught me full in the eye. My vision
blurred with tears. It was only then that I realized that she could actually
hurt me, and began questioning my ability to withstand her savagery. However I
wriggled free from the headlock and found myself in the fortuitous position of
being behind her. I quickly locked my arms around her chest and squeezed her
in a bearhug. She squirmed and fought like a demon, but I held on fairly
easily.

Assuming that I finally had the upper hand, I was trying to decide what to do
with my prisoner, when suddenly an excruciating pain seized me just above my
left elbow. I glanced down to see her digging her finger into the joint, where
she was finding and exploiting a nerve. My control over her evaporated in
seconds. The pain was so unexpected and excruciating that I flung her away to
break her grip. But my arm was damaged, and now had no feeling below the
elbow.

Giving no quarter, she was on me again quick as a cat, her relentless attack,
no doubt, a product of her military training. She was also likely in military
shape, while I was rapidly tiring under the constant attacks. And now with
only partial use of my left hand, I was also at a physical disadvantage. This
time we rolled only once, and she wound up on top straddling me. Both her
hands were locked tightly around the wrist of my one good arm, pinning it to
the ground above my head. I struggled as best I could, but with only one arm,
found it tough to throw her off. For a small person, the strength in her arms
was impressive, and I now found those muscular biceps, that I had admired,
frighteningly masculine. Arching my back frantically, I almost succeeded in
bucking her off until she clamped her legs around my abdomen. That made it
twice as hard to unseat her. And with her teeth clenched, and face grimaced
with effort and determination, that is how she rode out my struggles until
exhaustion ended my efforts. Sensing how little fight I had left, she kept
hold of my wrist with one hand, and began driving the fist of her other as
hard as she could against my head.. I ducked and tried to avoid the battering,
but her punches were effective and a couple got through. By surmounting my
exhaustion and starting to struggle again, I forced my opponent to recapture
my wrist with both hands and to stop the pummeling of my face. However I had
little left and as soon as I collapsed back into the lassitude of fatigue, she
was flailing away again with the fist. We repeated the cycle at least twice
more, with the period of my struggles ever shorter, and the number of her
blows greater. The assault was devastating, and I was, by then, pretty well
beat up and largely punch drunk. Now she released my wrist and began flailing
at me with both arms, concentrating fully on pummeling my unguarded head and
face with both her vicious little fists. I lay there in a stupor, helpless to
defend myself, as she beat me silly. Surprisingly, though I was fully awake
and cognizant of what was happening, I no longer felt pain. I suspect it is
the same for the antelope being dispatched by the tiger. The adrenal rush and
the shock of injuries seem to be nature's means to dull senses and mitigate
suffering. I expected to die, but felt no fear. However she stopped hitting me
while I was still conscious, and I couldn't believe my luck, attributing my
good fortune to either the mercy of my persecutor or the soreness of her
hands.

Now she sat lethargically atop of me, her chest heaving, her breath coming in
gasps, her head thrown back and her face contorted in agony. The exertion had
taken a lot out of her, but I was vanquished and she knew it, not even
bothering to monitor me while she recovered her breath. Only after a couple of
minutes did she finally direct her gaze downward to examine her conquest; and
with scorn on her face and venom in her voice, launched into a tirade in
Japanese that made me thankful I didn't understand the language.

With the lull in hostilities, I began to feel my wounds and to realize how bad
I felt. Every bone in my body ached, and my face was bloodied and my eyes
almost swollen shut. I was too bruised and sore to feel the fear that I should
have.

Suddenly she began to stand, and I thought she was letting me up. However she
grabbed the wrist on my good hand and immediately threw herself backwards onto
the ground. In a confusing whirl, and far too fast for me to react, her legs
wound around my arm and her feet locked together tightly at my shoulder. She
pulled my arm hard towards her and then began bending it backwards over her
knee. I'd never experienced an arm bar before, and never saw it coming. And I
certainly had no idea of how to counter it. I screamed with pain as the elbow
was stretched into a position that nature never intended. I tried to pull the
arm free, but she was locked onto it like a python. I tried to stand up, but
was so weak and needed the power of my other arm which was still numb. I cried
and pleaded. "I give! I give!", but got no reaction from my antagonist.
Meanwhile she kept bending the elbow further, and began chatting amicably and
sadistically, in her broken English, about the benefits of training and
discipline and the superiority of Japanese society over American. I realized
that she was enjoying herself immensely, could break the elbow anytime she
wished, and was only prolonging my torture for her own pleasure. At this
point, I could see little sense in correcting her on my nationality.

When she finally did let up, the arm was useless. It wasn't broken, but she
had taken it far enough to severely strain it and to perhaps tear ligaments. I
was in excruciating pain and curled up in the fetal position, awaiting my
fate. From somewhere in her uniform, she produced a pair of handcuffs, twisted
my useless arms behind my back, and cuffed them together. Then she reached
around under me, undid my belt, and pulled it free from the pants. She looped
it once around my neck and down around the cuffs, where she refastened it so
that I wouldn't be able to bring my hands down and around my butt to the
front.

Part 2

If I thought the pain in my arm was bad, it was nothing to the hell she put me
through for the next 15 minutes. With a knee in my back and a hand on my neck,
holding my face in the dirt, she worked me over with her other hand, finding
nerves in my neck that I never knew existed. She would knead the flesh until
she hit a sensitive area, causing me to scream with pain and writhe in agony.
Then she would stop and question me on my knowledge of the war; and, if not
satisfied with the answer, resume the torture.

At first, I pleaded that the war was over. But she obviously didn't believe
me, and when I realized how badly the truth was hurting, readily admitted to
my role in the military, and managed to manufacture a complete division, along
with the strength and location of my unit. However I never revealed the
presence of my biology group that had to be less than 5 miles distant, and
that would begin a search when I failed to return to camp.

Eventually my tormentor seemed satisfied, and got off me. My back felt like it
was broken, and I could hardly move my neck. I rolled painfully over onto my
back and arms and saw her cutting a 5 foot staff from a young tree. Then the
bitch started going through my backpack. I watched her deposit my flashlight
and compass in a deep pocket of her army pants, then examine and throw away
everything else including the sandwich I'd brought for lunch and my extra set
of clothing. Once finished, she gathered the firewood that our battle had
scattered about and put it in the empty pack.

"Get on feet" she ordered, and when I was too slow, helped by grabbing my hair
and pulling me up. She tried to place the firewood on my back, but when she
realized that the straps from the pack wouldn't work with my arms cuffed
behind me, undid the belt from around my neck and used it to tie the straps
together across my chest. Then she picked up the pole she had cut and
indicated the direction I should go by applying it with some force across my
buttocks. Almost immediately, my pants, without a belt, fell to my knees and
then to my ankles, causing me to trip. For the first time, I heard my captor
laugh as she pulled the pants over my runners and threw them away. I hiked the
rest of the trip in my undershorts.

We walked for about an hour though I doubt we went more than a mile. I was in
bad shape and the weight of the backpack made it difficult for me to move
fast. It became heavier and heavier as we went, and only encouragement from my
captor with constant whacks of the staff across the back of my legs and
buttocks kept me moving. By the time we reached her camp, I was on the verge
of collapse and couldn't have gone on for much longer.

Her camp consisted of a weathered tent, a log for sitting, and a fire pit. I
sank down onto the log with exhaustion. However this seemed to annoy my
captor, and she removed the backpack with obvious vexation, then grabbed my
injured arms and used them to force me to the side of the clearing away from
the log and fire pit. I had no choice in the matter, since any movement of my
right elbow resulted in shear agony. Then she forced me to lie down on my
stomach, with my head rammed against a small tree, and sat down in the small
of my back. I couldn't see what she was up to, but felt her tinkering with the
handcuffs, and suddenly my hands were free. I had no thought of trying to roll
her off my back and renewing the fight, because my right arm was too weak and
injured. It was immensely painful even to move it off my back and to the side,
though my other arm had recovered feeling and seemed OK.

"Roll over", she ordered, and lifted the weight of her body from mine so that
I could comply. The effort was agonizing, and perhaps would have been
impossible, had my antagonist not lost patience and helped by grabbing my
shirt and physically hauling me most of the way. Once again, I experienced the
unpleasant whiff of body odor, and wished for a more hygienic adversary. It
was decidedly no Geisha that had captured me.

"Hands over head" she said. I was too scared and too injured to contemplate
resistance, so I made an effort to do as she wanted. However my weakened arm
didn't work well or quickly, and I received two hard slaps to the face before
I could obey. Once in the required position, my arms were on either side of
the small tree near my head, and she leaned forward, her chest pressing
heavily down onto my face, in order to handcuff my arms around it. Then she
went inside her tent and emerged with a basin of cold water and a cloth and
worked at cleaning up my injured face. When she finished, the water was almost
crimson in color, and very little of it had come form her bruised knuckles.

I was left by myself to contemplate my probable fate for about 20 minutes,
when she suddenly appeared with a coil of thin rope over her shoulder. With
one end, she made a loop, positioned it around my ankles, and in spite of my
kicking and flailing, pulled the noose tight. Then she pulled hard on the
rope, stretching my arms and body painfully, and tied it to another tree a few
feet away. All the time she worked at trussing me, she giggled, laughed, and
scolded in fractured English, and seemed to be genuinely enjoying the
struggle. When she finished her work, my body was prostrate and secured head
and foot in a manner that prevented movement.

My captor stood back to admire her handiwork, smirked down malevolently, and
then began removing her clothes. When I comprehended what she intended, I was
horrified, and began yanking futilely against my restraints. It wasn't just
that I was a virgin, and saving myself for someone special, or that she exuded
a rather pungent odor, but after I'd been beaten so viciously, any allure she
might have had was overwhelmed by my fear. I no longer thought of her as
feminine, and would have felt the same way had the perpetrator been male.

Disrobed, she stood above me, a hawk lusting over its helpless prey. Her build
was slight with few curves, and her breasts small. The nipples, however, were
dark, erect, and surrounded by large purplish areolae. They looked like nubile
tire studs and served as the only indicators of femininity and also of the
degree of her arousal. She was the wolf and I was the lamb about to be
devoured. She grabbed my shorts and pulled them down to my ankles, then sat
down on my stomach while she unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it aside to reveal
my hairless chest. With graceful ease, perhaps trying to be seductive, she
eased her naked body down on top of, and covering mine. She tried to kiss me,
but I turned my face away, and suffered her lips feathering lightly over my
neck instead. It sent shivers up and down my spine. Her face was only inches
away, and I could feel her hot and faintly sour breath, as she hissed, "Open
mouth".

That I had no desire to do, but a finger threatening at the site of the
recently abused nerve in my neck proved extremely persuasive. Grudgingly, I
separated my lips and teeth enough to avoid seeming uncooperative, and then
had to endure her tongue forcing its way between.

"Suck", she snarled, the tongue retreating only long enough to deliver the
decree before resuming its violation. I had little choice, but to latch onto
it as requested. However when I showed little enthusiasm, she changed orders
and commanded me to place my tongue in her mouth instead. I relished that
proposal less than the initial one, and did so reluctantly and timidly.
However her exuberance and oral technique took my breath away. Expertly, she
captured my tongue and siphoned it so deeply into her mouth that it hurt at
the root. There her tongue probed and caressed my imprisoned member, writhing
about it snakelike to maximize skin and saliva contact. The sensation was
immediate and electric. And in spite of my repugnance, I felt, for the first
time, my sex hardening against her leg.

Detecting the action below, my tormentor wasted no time in capturing my
traitorous member by hand and piloting it towards her harbor. I felt the
moisture and warmth first, and then the uncomfortable pressure as her small
orifice was rammed down hard onto my scepter. Slowly, I felt her forcing me
into her cavity; and then it was the cavity that was surrounding and
swallowing my organ. Her sex gripped me like the oiled fist of a wrestler. She
began moving against me, slowly at first, and then more rapidly as lubrication
increased with arousal. Inexperienced as I was, I should have come quickly as
she deflowered me; but an aversion to my hostess, combined with nausea from my
beatings, dulled both focus and desire. However there was no defense as she
took my virginity. Female sex organs are somewhat sheltered and protected, but
their male counterpart stands proudly to attention, exposed and vulnerable.

Her assault intensified as she approached orgasm. Renouncing normal sexual
cadence, her body hammered against mine in a frenzied manner, each thrust a
vicious and painful barrage against my defenseless staff. Any ardor that might
have burgeoned in me under a gentler hand quickly extinguished with the
discomfort in my member and the fatigue in my body. I was forced to suffer and
endure, while my tormentor used and abused me in her sordid quest for
pleasure.

A sudden cessation of her efforts and a corresponding decrease in my agony
marked the arrival of her climax. A long and contented sigh signaled the depth
of her satiation. She was as good as purring as she repeatedly clenched and
unclenched her sex against mine before collapsing in a limpid heap onto my
body. My welfare or pleasure had been of no concern to this witch. I'd been an
unwilling participant in the rape, and was left with feelings only of
repulsion and nausea from the attack.

My attacker used the sticks I had carried to light a fire to heat a few things
(most of which I didn't recognize) for supper. I was left sprawled out, still
attached to the tree, subject to the dampness of the ground and the occasional
transient ant, while she prepared the meal, and then fed me. That act was, I
hoped, a sign that she intended to keep me, and not kill me.

She raped me twice more after we ate and before darkness set in. But at least
her pace wasn't as frenetic, and she took me with her to climax both times.
Perhaps, living in the forest and with an absence of sex, her hormones had
build to irresistible levels, and then erupted with cosmic intensity that
first time.

After being tied in the same place for several hours, my muscles were stiff
and sore; and when she finally released my hands, I could move only with great
effort. You might have expected me to put up a resistance at this point.
However my arm was still in great discomfort, my feet were still tied, and I
was far too exhausted to fight. So I remained passive as she forced my arms
behind my back and handcuffed them together once again. She then freed my feet
and herded me into her tent, where I was allowed to share her blanket. I
wasn't enthusiastic about sleeping with the enemy, but it was certainly
preferable to spending the night prostrate on the ground, staked to a tree,
and feeding the mosquitos.

Part 3

This was far from the end of my (mis)adventure in Sumatra in 1947. However its
time for my afternoon map, and this story is now far longer than intended, so
I will end it with a brief summary. Perhaps I will tell the rest in full
detail another time.

A few days after my capture, I was marched several miles to a main camp where
there were 5 other Japanese soldiers, all male. That was when I learned that
my captor's name was 'Soon' and that she was a captain or general or
something, but at least the leader of the small troop.

Needless to say, I wasn't a popular addition to the group, and I think, at
first, there was real debate over liquidating me. However Soon seemed to plead
my case and I survived with this ragtag army, usually chained to a tree with a
leg iron, for 8 months.

I was forced to do most of the work around the camp, and also served as Soon's
concubine, sharing her tent each night. It was during that 8 months of my
incarceration that Soon and I legitimately bonded, though in an abnormal and
perhaps perverted manner. As an outcast, disdained by my male counterparts, I
grew to rely on her for sanctuary, and for company; and Soon's protective
instincts matured as I became her property and as she shielded me from her
peers.

My ordeal terminated as suddenly as it had begun. Word (other than mine) that
the war had ended, eventually arrived from the outside, and within two days I
was free and we returned to civilization.

Soon and I settled down in Kobe, Japan, and lived together for 3 years.
However it could never be a normal relationship because of our past. Soon was
accustomed to 'owning' me and insisted on a totally dominant position, even
refusing to allow contact with my family in Australia.

Even then, our association might have survived, had Soon not (in her
frustration at existence in a male oriented society) started drinking.
Inebriated, she would become abusive, both verbally and physically. I know I
should have been strong enough to prevail in any altercation with a 5' 7' girl
weighing 30 lbs less than me. However during that 8 months of enslavement, I
had been thoroughly conditioned to Soon's domination, and her authority in our
relation was absolute. I could no more resist her will than capture the wind.

Such a relationship could not endure. It was too unnatural to our
dispositions, and resentments flourished. And when I finally left, it was not
exactly of my own free will, but more a physical eviction by a demonic
mistress.