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Aaisha's mind was blown. There was no way of putting it more simply. Her head almost literally exploded as she realised there was more to sex than a dusty-ass bag of meat ramming his erection between her legs, convulsing uncomfortably for ten seconds then falling asleep.

The sand coloured jackal was in her mid-twenties and had been sexually active for a long enough time. But in nearly a decade she'd never even come close to the repeated heights she was currently being brought to. In that time she'd only ever been slapped on her back and penetrated. She'd never been flipped over, twisted around or serviced as exclusively like this.

Bent over the rickety dining table, she undulated back and forth with the long, rhythmic strokes of her enthusiastic lover. She wanted to scream, scream for more but with the shock of how good she was feeling simply couldn't muster up the brainpower. Instead she breathed heavily, letting small moans escape her throat as she dug her fingers into the table, savouring the wet sounds of her sodden pussy being rammed again and again for what seemed to be hours on end.

In actuality, Aaisha had only been fucked for about twenty minutes, and she was already working up to the second orgasm in her life. The first had been in the opening minutes of their rendezvous, during 'foreplay' as he called it. He'd done things with his tongue that... well, Aaisha just didn't know what to make of it other than she had caught a glimpse of Allah's face.

Was that blasphemous? Oh, fuck it. She didn't care anymore as her body worked up for another trip around the moon and back. The crackling kindling in her pussy was close to flashpoint, prompting her to throw her head back and let out a throaty "aa-aa-aa-aa-aah!" that broke with every smack of her lover's balls against her thighs.

Behind her, slick with sweat and his expression focused, Todd Underwood focused on gripping Aaisha's skinny, furry waist and keeping his strokes smooth. Never for a second did the human stop, counting a steady _1-2-1-2_pelvic march. His focus was rewarded just a moment later with a familiar, wet contraction around his erection.

Numbly he registered the torrent of heat leaking from Aaisha as she came again. The first time had been when he surprised her by laying her back across the dining table and pressed his lips to her pussy. She'd never had that done to her before, which was a travesty in itself, so Todd had taken his time with long, wet laps all up and down her slit, followed by some firm TLC on her previously un-loved clit.

Her hips bucking back and forth, Aaisha's inner walls squeezed him a few more times before relaxing again. Given the opportunity, Todd went back to work, only something in the lovely jackal's moans changed. She gave a sensitive whimper, coiling almost as if hurt.

"Please..." she whispered harshly, reaching back with one hand and setting her nails into Todd's hip. "Please tell me your close. You're driving me crazy. Are you going to finish?"

The human, unseen by her, smirked. "Can do if you want." He'd never made a girl orgasm twice in a row before. He was going to bask in confidence a while.

"Allah, help me," Aaisha moaned. "I've never felt... nobody ever... oh... oh! F-f-f-ffff-..." she bit down hard on her own lip so she wouldn't curse like some western devil.

He was glad she didn't finish her sentence. That nobody had given this beautiful young woman a climax before, which was a war-crime in itself. The thought alone made Todd want to punch something, not that he was a particularly violent (or strong) individual. In reality, he'd probably just feebly slap the wall for a bit.

Aaisha was indeed lovely, built like a lingerie model, but with the abaya robe she usually wore it was hard to tell. Todd was glad she'd torn it off entirely while he'd been eating her out, and he was rewarded with the sight of her taught, voluptuous tan-furred body. Her curves begged for his hand to run along them, her breasts were firm, but large enough to swing nicely back and forth as she tipped back to meet his thrusts with renewed vigour. Her raven hair was still tied up into a bun under her hijab, which gave her pretty features a nice frame of focus. Although since he flipped her over and slid inside doggy-style a few strands of her black hair had come loose and slipped past the seams of the scant veil along the side of her face and at her neck.

Looking over her shoulder, her smouldering gaze caught Todd unaware and he almost blew his load right then. He managed to clench and side-track himself with a polite smile reserved for impressing less naked girls.

"I want it on me," she announced out of the blue, voice low and crackling like wood on a fire. "I want to feel it on my body. I want the taste of a real man."

The 'real man' comment amused Todd to no end. He'd never been one of those overconfident frat boys who just walked up to women and slung them over his shoulder (metaphorically speaking of course). IT-students weren't the rockstars of the western world. It's not like he had women forming an orderly queue outside his apartment door.

"Your wish is my command," Todd joked, and Aaisha's body shuddered with pleasure. She clearly wasn't used to men doing what she told them and she was savouring the unusual situation.

Pulling out of her with a step back, Todd took her hand and helped her slide off the table. She was on her knees in an instant, her slender fingers wrapped firmly around his erection and tugging its length with more enthusiasm than skill. But that was not to say it didn't feel good.

As she was stroking him closer to the cusp of orgasm, Todd suddenly realised the irony of his situation. Back home the few girls he got with were usually dressed up in skimpy dresses, showing off as much flesh as they could in a display of sluttyness. Sluttyness that turned out to be feigned up to the point they jumped into the sack and boringly pulled Todd into a silent and vanilla missionary affair.

But now, half a world away from home in Durijah, a country where women were stoned to death if they didn't cover themselves from head to toe, Todd had found what was supposed to be an oppressed and shy woman who had willingly gone into numerous sexual positions without complaint, moaned like a nymphomaniac getting her fix and was ready to jerk him off all over herself without even a hint of revulsion or hesitation.

When he first arrived in country he immediately labelled Durija as a backward shithole. Since meeting Aaisha he suddenly did a one-eighty on that opinion.

Todd stiffened with a suppressed groan and Aaisha welcomed the hot spray of slimy cum with a gasp.

The first shot found her mouth, the full pressure of the spurt hitting her tongue and disappearing into the back of her throat with a long "Mmmmmmh~!" The ropes that followed lost pressure with each spasm, draping across her muzzle, dripping from her tongue and several long streams splattering down her throat and across her chest.

By the end of it she had a precious pearl necklace with which to make all the other local girls jealous. That and actual experience with an orgasm. Neither of them really knew which was more valuable.

Todd had never cum all over a girl like that before and figured the aftermath was something to be relished. Somehow Aaisha made the trails of white bodily fluids look like lingerie on a model and he wanted to burn the image into his brain for proud reflection on his deathbed...

Unfortunately, the moment was cut short by the front door, which flew open with a bang.

Tucked in the ever-volatile Middle-East, Durijah wasn't all sunshine and orgasms. It was a country in turmoil, which didn't make much sense of Todd's presence. He seemed more the type to visit countries like Spain, or the Maldives if only he could've afforded it. Durijah wasn't much of a holiday destination on a normal day, and now less so since Daesh had made the capitol city of Shaqih their new home.

In stepped a man dressed in the rags that Daesh found so fashionable; midnight black pyjamas and a sand coloured chest rig holding ammunition and other fighting equipment in place on his abdomen. His customary balaclava was pulled down around his neck like a scarf, revealing the jackal's face dominated by a set of enormously bushy eyebrows. There was something familiar about the Daesh jackal, but Todd couldn't figure out what it was in his surprise of the sudden invasion. Where he had seen that face before didn't seem to matter much anyway, because the insurgent barging in looked about ready to send him to his aforementioned deathbed early.

The first thing Todd thought was that he'd just been caught fucking this man's young wife, but Aaisha had sworn up and down before they got started that she wasn't married. The young woman had probably been telling the truth. But she was shocked and embarrassed by the insurgent's entrance all the same. She straightened up and threw her hands over her naked, cum-drenched body. And then the shouting started. Todd's limited grasp of the language couldn't tell what was being said in the angry Arabic exchange, it all sounded like cursing to him. But one phrase did stand out.

"Baba, la-a! La-a!" Aaisha screamed shaking her head.

Hearing Aaisha call out to her father, Todd groaned and suddenly realised why he recognised that ugly mug. It was hard to believe the Daesh fighter had any kind of resemblance to the lovely Aaisha.

The man raised his Kalashnikov and unloaded a sustained burst of automatic fire. An oddly graceful reaction considering his daughter had just been glazed by a pasty skinned western infidel.

Lucky enough daddy had a terrible aim.

The pantry behind Todd exploded, and after just a split second of hesitation, the human threw himself to the ground. He was pulling his boxers up as he crawled behind a frayed couch, which was raked with more sustained gunfire. Dishes exploded, grit and plaster showered the uneven floor and no doubt the racket had woken the neighbours. But then gunfire was a common thing in Shaqih, so likely nobody gave a fuck. Nobody was going to come running, least of all the cops. In fact, Daesh were the cops in this town, and Todd didn't really want to see more of those assholes right now.

Aaisha ducked and snatched at her pile of clothes before scampering into a back room, leaving Todd and her father to work out their differences. Unfortunately, the insurgent had Todd at something of a disadvantage.

In just his shirt, the shemagh wrapped around his neck and his heart-print boxer shorts, Todd was about as defenceless as a newborn baby. His pants lay forgotten somewhere among the voluminous discarded folds of Aaisha's clothes, and by extension his belt, holster and thus pistol were beyond his reach.

The sustained AK-47 shots reached an inevitable, and God-sent, click. Todd was over the couch before his sense of self-preservation overrode his burst of courage. The insurgent was struggling with his gun, yanking the cocking lever for all the good it would have done. His magazine was empty. Didn't he know that?

So much for all the fanciful training Daesh had given him. In the end he was just another narrow minded loser prancing around in his jammies, trying to act the big man with a gun he had no idea how to use. The thought made Todd feel so much better about himself, considering he had no formal combat training either. With luck this would descend into a bitchy slap-fight.

Unfortunately, and Todd did not realise this until he got up close and personal, this narrow minded loser prancing about in his jammies turned out to be a rather large man. Accurately put, he was a very large man, standing nearly two heads taller than Todd.

"Oh, bugger," Todd mumbled with wide eyed realisation, but it was too little too late. He pressed into the tackle and they collided.

If he were more of a fighter, Todd may have been able to make it work. He could have thrown the insurgent's weight against him, gotten the upper hand and let the butt of the AK do its holy work on the face. But playing Call of Duty for hours on end didn't make you an effective operator. So, when their scuffle tipped over and they hit the deck, Todd ended up on the bottom with the top edge of the Kalashnikov pressing his windpipe shut.

Grinning venomously, the Daesh fighter kept his hands wrapped around the barrel and the stock, choking Todd out. The AK-47 was a relic of a thing, having probably served this very purpose against American soldiers during the Vietnam war. And Todd decided he wouldn't be another victim in this old weapon's gory history.

Thinking fast, he thumbed a little metal lever at the front of the trigger guard and yanked the magazine from the weapon. Though empty, it was still as heavy as a hammer and the unrefined edges of the pressed steel were sharp and jagged in places from rigorous use. Todd found the sharpest edge he could and jammed it into the insurgent's face.

Screaming, the old jackal rolled to one side and when he came back up there was a big bloody gash across his muzzle. Todd pressed the advantage, dusting the Daesh fighter in the face once, twice, then thrice more and mercilessly following up with a swift kick to the nuts. The insurgent gasped and dropped back to the ground, his Kalashnikov abandoned and his attack broken for the moment.

Dropping the empty and blood splattered magazine, Todd decided now was probably a good time to di di mau. If only he could find his damn pants!

Unfortunately, while he was looking, the Daesh fighter climbed unsteadily to his feet again. The sight was about as terrifying as watching the dead rise from the grave. Blood caked lividly on the light brown coloured fur on his face. One eye was half closed, swollen with heavy bruising, but his glare held and one ear twitched psychotically.

Then for added effect he pulled a blade from the back of his belt with a rasp of metal on metal. Held comfortably in his right hand was a large, square bladed knife that would have been more at home in the hands of a butcher.

Todd sighed and visibly sagged. "What is it with terrorists and their fucking gimmicks?"

'The Butcher,' as Todd was deciding to call him, surged forward and drew back the cleaver for a swing at the human's head. He ducked away and the blade made several danger-close passes. He could feel the slipstream of the sharp edge cutting the air so close to his body that his heart skipped a beat with every shot of adrenaline.

They danced from side to side for a moment. A few times Todd had to lift his arms to block the insurgent at the wrist, the blows jarring his bones and bruising his forearms. And each block was a risk as it put him within striking distance. A few fists and knees found his ribs and gut, threatning to throw him off balance so that the cleaver could do the rest. But luckily - really depending on luck here rather than skill on either of their parts - Todd was able to step back and avoid each near-miss swipe.

His luck did however run out, and suddenly Aaisha's father charged. Todd tripped over the upturned corner of the rug and toppled backwards. The terrorist collided and they went down together, the knife halting just a few inches above his face when Todd slammed into the ground. The insurgent's weight pressed down violently on Todd's shaking arms, and millimetre by millimetre the gleaming blade came down with intent of cutting off his face. Sweat prickled from every pore on the human's body and he panted with exertion. His arms were numb, but his will to live uncut overrode everything else. He became desperate, glancing from side to side for anything that might help him.

Then he saw it.

In their frantic tossing and turning when he and Aaisha had fucked on nearly every flat surface in the house, one of them had kicked Todd's discarded pants under the couch. And looking sideways that's where he saw it. His holster still attached to the belt, pistol gleaming in the shadows.

A surge of inspiration hit him like the adrenaline and Todd lashed out. His fist met the Daesh fighter's elbow and he forcefully redirected the knife. At the same time he edged to his right, the blade slamming into the wood floor just an inch wide of his head.

Given reprieve from holding the violence at bay, Todd's free hand darted under the couch and found the polymer textured grip of his .45 - his thumb worked open the retention strap and with a rasp of metal across rugged nylon the pistol came free.

Two gunshots rang out before the insurgent knew what had happened. Todd fired the old faithful 1911 from the hip, straight up into the man's gut, just below where the chest rig hung. Two bloody flowers appeared across his black fatigues and he rocked back. Back just enough for Todd to curl into a ball and kick the man in the chest, shoving him back entirely. The cleaver fell forgotten to the side somewhere and Todd followed through by driving his weapon forward into a two-handed grip.

Aiming from where he lay, Todd feathered the trigger three more times. Two bullets entered through the man's chest cavity. The last bullet passed through his brain like a bad idea. He froze for a second as if processing what to do before flopping sideways to the blood-and-cum splattered carpet. Honestly, those were two bodily fluids Todd never thought he'd see pooling in the same puddle.

The thick silence was unperceived by Todd, whose heartbeat was still pounding in his ears as he slowly sat up. He'd seen plenty of this kind of shit since his arrival last year. Aaisha's father wasn't the first man he'd killed, but to be honest Todd didn't find number six any easier than number one. He understood the concept of kill or be killed, and in that respect he wouldn't be kept up at night; nor would he hesitate the next time he was forced into action. But every time he pulled that trigger he couldn't shake the feeling he was doing something horribly wrong.

As the adrenaline settled, Todd could only watch in a stupefied state as Aaisha briskly crossed the room, striding directly to where her father's body lay. He expected a lot of things to happen next. He expected Aaisha to burst out in tears. He expected her to scream, to curse him and maybe even throw a few punches. Of course, that didn't make much sense, considering Aaisha had thrown him the gun in the first place, but Todd wasn't exactly thinking about that right now.

"Oh, God. Aaisha, I'm so sorry..." he started stammering. He wanted to tell her he had no choice. Maybe that was true, but was it an excuse?

Then the totally unexpected happened. Aaisha started lashing out at her father's corpse. Barely clothed and tears running down her face she started cursing in Arabic and kicking the limp, bloodied body. Blood splattered her shins, but she didn't stop. She didn't seem to care. She just kept kicking and spitting furiously at the dead body.

Todd jumped to his feet and tossing his gun on the couch, quickly enveloped Aaisha in a tight hug. Partially to comfort her, and partially just to get her to stop making a damn mess. Todd was by no means squeamish, but everyone had their limit.

She turned in his embrace and buried her face in his shemagh, snivelling and sobbing. Todd couldn't tell anymore if she was sad her father was dead, or if she was happy Todd was okay.

But one thing was certain. If your own daughter celebrated your death by kicking and cursing at your dead body, you had to be a sum-bitch of some sort.

~~~

Aaisha's father went to the same place all bad men went... the dumpster in the dark end of an alley, several blocks away from Todd's apartment. There were even five other dead Daesh guys to keep him company.

His guilt for pulling that trigger had long since passed by the time Todd stripped the guy and wrapped him in black refuse bags and duct tape. By the time he lumped the remains in the dumpster and slammed the lid shut before he was hit by the foul odour of trash decomposing dead-guy coming from the first of the casualties Todd had mounted, he actually felt rather good about himself.

By the stories Aaisha had told him, her father deserved a fate worse than what he got. There was no excuse for sexually abusing one's own daughter. And there was no fate more fitting than an anonymous and unremembered death for the man who had let his disgusting friends have their way with Aaisha - sometimes in turns. Sometimes at the same time.

Todd's only regret was that the man would not be made an example of. He would just have to take solace in the fact that the man would not be able to hurt Aaisha anymore.

Dusting off his hands at a job well done, Todd turned and left the alley serving as his impromptu graveyard. No longer having to worry about being spotted with a dead Daesh fighters lung over his shoulder, he afforded the more direct route home.

Shaqih was quite close to matching the modern aesthetic of cities like Damascus or Bagdad. There were sprawling urban developments along the outer edges of the city, large industrial estates with office blocks, warehouses and a few processing plants. Cars jam-packed the main streets and intersections around the high-rise apartment blocks closer to the heart of the city. The old city, a beautiful marketplace home to ancient architecture and traditional aesthetic had once been a bustling tourist attraction, now all but abandoned and serving as a slum for the poorer families Daesh had thrown out of their homes.

The air was alive with the foreign shouts of what sounded like abusive language, the howl of a wild guard-dog and a mighty rattle of triumphant, and thankfully distant, gunfire. There were some children playing ball in a quiet side street, despite how many weapons were being swaggered around. Some women wearing hijabs were visiting a corner grocery store and hurrying their younger daughters and siblings across the quieter streets.

Among the non-combatants, armed Daesh fighters patrolled every road and rooftop. There were checkpoints at nearly every intersection, much like the city enveloping cordon they had surrounded Shaqih with. At each checkpoint were black clad death-squads, Allah's self-proclaimed holy warriors stopping random cars for inspection or tax collection. Every so often the situation descended into a public execution of dissidents.

The population was a healthy mix of humans and anthros. Most of the anthros were of Durijah's native jackals and coyotes, and the rare fennec wandered among the many goats, camels, lizards and serpents. Very seldom a white, foreign human like Todd was found in the mix. His kind wasn't totally unseen on the streets of Shaqih, but he was very much in the minority and anxiously easy to spot. But it wasn't like Daesh gave him many second glances.

A fleet of trucks rolled by, kicking up a miniature dust storm, the rumble of their rusty suspension muted by the incoherent rap warbling from the old crackly speakers. The vehicles were laden with a bit of everything, from livestock to passengers, crates of supplies for the locals stores to siege weapons and heavily armed men.

The last truck to pass was loaded with young men like Todd. They were clad in black, unmasked so it was clear to see the humans were westerners. The anthros among them were wolves, foxes, rabbits, all species you didn't often see in these parts. And most of them were mucking about with the same R-less accent as Todd's.

One spotted Todd on the side of the road and even went as far as waving, belting out a loud "S'up, guv!"

Todd waved back with feigned recognition.

There were two types of westerner in Shaqih. Idiots like Todd. And delusional idiots who joined Daesh looking to take part in a 'five-star' jihad. Most of them weren't even native to any predominantly Muslim country. Many of them were just stupid kids lured onto some online forum with promises of glory and self-fulfilment. The next step beyond that turned out to be taking up a Kalashnikov and pointing it at innocent people who couldn't defend themselves.

Todd stayed alive by pretending to fit in with the wrong crowd. Fix a computer here and there then yell "Aloha Snackbar" from time to time and you'd be surprised how long you can stay alive in a city run by homicidal mad-men. In fact, he was starting to make a go of year two in Shaqih. But that had very little to do with any kind of love for the city.

Near enough the city centre, Todd got off the streets and climbed an apartment building to the fourth floor. He took the stairs, the elevator had been out for months. No doubt the company that carried out repairs had been shut down. Elevators were probably an affront to Daesh's beliefs; whatever those might be. Todd just felt sorry for the folks living on the twentieth floor.

His apartment was at the end of the hall, directly opposite the stairwell. He undid the lock with a twiddle of his key, then locked everything he had recently fitted behind him. Two chain locks, three deadbolts in a security frame and then an additional padlock for good measure. If Daesh wanted in uninvited, they weren't going to be kicking the door down this side of the next century.

The apartment was modest to say the least. The kitchen and living room were joined together in an open plan, leaving just the bedroom and bathroom on opposite sides. The living room window had a fairly decent view over Shaqih's west-end. The mighty tower of the Mosque from which morning and evening prayers were yelled was clearly visible in the shimmering Middle Eastern sun. beyond that were a few smaller buildings, and then the industrial district on the city outskirts.

Normally speaking when Todd came home, he was alone. Nobody else lived here, and it certainly looked like an insurgent's bachelor's pad. He had a weapons rack hanging on the bedroom wall, with a spare shotgun standing in the corner of the kitchen. Pistols were mounted underneath he coffee table and the bathroom sink and another spare assault rifle stood by the bookshelf standing to one end of the living room.

By the bookshelf, Aaisha was scanning the numerous spines of books Todd had collected in his time here. Some were comic books. Others were English novels he'd found among ruins of tourist shops. Most of them were maps and tour guides for Shaqih and the surrounding province. A few others were English translations and interpretations of the Quran and Sharia law. It was those that Aaisha lingered on as she watched Todd enter.

"You've read the Quran?" she asked a little disbelievingly.

With a grin, Todd shrugged. "Not really. Daesh tends to kind of walk in an out. It helps keep my ass attached if I have some approved literature hanging about."

He chuckled, but Aaisha didn't smile. "I suppose that makes sense," she noted grimly.

Aaisha would be staying with Todd for a while, at least until this whole thing with her father blew over. No doubt if Daesh noticed his absence there would be inquiries. Inquiries that Aaisha would not survive if they pointed their suspicions in her direction. Even a young woman living alone with no man in the house was bound to arouse suspicions in these parts.

Her bag with what little she owned stood by the bedroom door. She'd showered while Todd was out dumping the body and she'd dressed in a clean abaya. The black robe covered her from head to toe, leaving only her face exposed. At the same time though, Todd couldn't help notice how the outfit was rather nicely fitted to the contours of her attractive body.

Todd gulped, feeling that familiar thing that drew him to her in the first place. He gulped and looked up again, realising she was watching him. Whatever she was seeing, she had that familiar look in her eye too, the look she held just before she jumped his bones the first time.

"Look, Aaisha... I..."

The jackal quickly closed the distance between them and pressed a finger on his lips. "No. It is okay, Todd. I know you had no choice. And I think given the choice..." A small grin formed on her muzzle. "I think I prefer you live over my father. After all he did..."

She shook her head and seemed confused for a moment. "Ya Allah, am I a bad person?"

Her question was punctuated by a rattle of gunfire down in the street. No doubt one of the checkpoints below had turned into an execution detail.

Todd shook his head. "I know bad people. I have_met_ bad people. And you are not one of them," he told her.

Deciding to trust him on that, Aaisha managed a smile. In response Todd felt his own spirits lift a little.

"Hey! How about something to eat?" He backed into the kitchen.

Frowning, Aaisha followed around the outside of the central worktop and leaned across the surface, watching with intent. "I've never had a man offer to cook for me before... then again, I've never had a man offer me any of what you've given me so far," she added a little huskily, making Todd chuckle.

He was by no means a master chef, but Todd made a pretty mean cottage pie. Albeit an improvised one with the ingredients he had to hand. Luckily enough he could get the basics like potatoes, onions, garlic and a variety of vegetables. For lack of gravy he had to make his own sauce out of roughly chopped tomatoes and he forwent beef mince for the more common goat's mince. Imported meats from the farther off farms had become a thing of the past since Daesh took over. But Todd made do.

Goat turned out not to be half bad.

He mashed the potatoes while his sauce simmered with the meat and veg, and when he was ready layerd the whole lot together in a baking pan. A bit of shredded cheese across the top and ten minutes under the grill; voila. Cottage pie a-la Durijah. Best of two worlds.

Which kind of reminded Todd of him and Aaisha. They hardly stopped talking, even as Todd was chopping and stirring. They talked about everything and anything. About life in Shaqih before Daesh. A life in which Aaisha had been training to be a teacher. The school she worked had of course since been perverted by Daesh, but before their conversations took darker turns either one of them would quickly change the subject.

Finally, as they sat down side by side on the couch to eat, the conversation turned to the inevitable big question.

Aaisha's body language was not difficult to read. It did not take a psychologist to realise she'd warmed to Todd beyond the physicality of their relationship. She was sitting with one leg crossed over the other but leaned into Todd slightly. Her body reclined in his direction to get all the closer, and every aspect of her pointed towards him, from her eyes to her knees and even her breasts as she turned to face him as best she could.

"How did you end up in Durijah?" she asked.

Todd chuckled. "That is a bit of a story."

"I have time."

"It also makes me look bad."

Giggling, Aaisha perked up. "Oh, well then it is a story worth hearing!"

They laughed and Todd thoughtfully put his empty plate down. "Okay then. It started about a year ago," he said at length. "I was finishing up my freshman year - that's my first year of university. We'd finished exams and such, and news of Daesh moving to Shaqih had only just vaguely broken through. I, in the meantime, was intoxicated as all hell. We were celebrating. House party, me and my friends. And when word got out we had enough alcohol in our house to put a battalion of marines on their ass, people just sort of started inviting themselves."

"It spiralled out of control," Aaisha translated.

"Oh, no! what happened here in Shaqih spiralled out of control. What happened at this party was nothing short of total fucking anarchy!" They laughed, and Todd continued. "So then at some point in walks Christa. Christa McBreen." He sighed dreamily. "She was the hottest girl in our university. And she walks into my party and sits down right next to me."

Aaisha was watching her food and he caught the slightest twinge of jealousy on her face. "Did you make this Christa as happy as you made me when we..." She trailed off watching Todd's expression.

He shook his head. "No. And I'm kinda glad we didn't click. Because she ended up dragging me here."

Aaisha looked confused and Todd explained, "Christa had been in contact with Daesh propaganda spreaders online. She had gotten it in her head that western capitalism was oppressing her. And if she aided terrorists and insurgents then Daesh would empower her with jihad girl power of whatever the fuck."

Aaisha gaped, angry now. "What? How could she think that? The women of my country have only just started to reap the benefits of equal treatment! And all that went away when Daesh came in and started enforcing ancient, brutal laws."

"Ah, she was a spoilt, self-entitled little starlet. She didn't even know the definition of oppression. So, on a drunken whim and my dick doing all the thinking" - Todd held out his arms with a proud smile - "here I am!"

Unable to help herself thanks to Todd's blasé attitude, Aaisha smile. He reached out and gently stroked her cheek, and the jackal pressed her face into the gesture.

"Something good came of it at least."

Aaisha had to agree as she finished the last spoonful of her dinner and put the plate down next to his. Then curling her legs up underneath her, she shimmied over and coddled up beside Todd. Her head resting on his chest she enjoyed the strong thud of his heat for a while, losing herself on an imaginary ocean wave as each breath raised her head a little, then lowered her down again.

"Why didn't you leave?" Aaisha asked at length, almost regretfully. "You didn't have anything holding you here. You could have easily snuck past the Daesh perimeter, gone to the embassy in the next city over."

Todd shook his head. "Nah. No passport."

Aaisha lifted her head to scan his face. Todd nodded across the apartment then gestured with one hand.

"This apartment belonged to a journalist. An outspoken critic of Daesh. So naturally, his life and the life of his fiancé was in danger. I gave him my keys, my phone and my passport, then snuck him out of the city. I just hope they made it as far as Europe at least."

The jackal stared at him for a long time, not sure what to say. Then finally... "You are either incredibly brave... or incredibly stupid."

Todd chuckled, checking his watch. "I like to think I walk the fine line between the two. It's been a hell of a day. We should get some shut-eye. Why don't you take the bed? I can sleep on the couch."

Coughing out a laugh, Aaisha jumped to her feet before he did. Snatching his hand she pulled the human to his feet and led him to the bedroom.

"I don't think so." There was something in that smile of hers Todd hadn't seen before. "We've had sex already, Todd. And now that we're going to be living together, I think sleeping in the same bed isn't too big a jump in our relationship."

Todd could hardly argue that point. She'd seen him mostly naked already (all the important parts anyway) and he'd seen her totally naked. What harm?

With a shrug, Todd grinned and pulled off his shemagh before undoing the buttons of his shirt. Before long he was down to his boxers again and sat on mattress. He looked up in time to see Aaisha had her hijab hung over a nearby chair that doubled as a clothes rack and she undid the top buttons of her abaya. In one go the long sleek black robe cascaded down her body like a cotton waterfall and pooled about her bare feet.

Todd's eyes were fixated at the fact she only wore a pair of black lacy panties underneath that could well have been purchased at the local Shaqih 'Victoria Secret' before Daesh burned it down.

Hands on her hips she cocked one knee slightly as if to attenuate her figure. Todd noticed the pose and looked up to find her eyes. She had cocked an eyebrow and wore a little smile.

"Changing your mind about going straight to sleep?" she asked slyly.

Todd drew an enthusiastic breath to answer, but choked on a large and involuntary yawn. His limbs were on fire with fatigue, coupled by their rigorous fucking earlier that day and the violent run for his money Aaisha's murderous father had given him.

With a giggle, Aaisha walked over and crawled onto the bed. With a light push she shoved Todd down and curled up beside him. "It's okay. Like you said. It has been one hell of a day."

Cupping his face with one hand, Aaisha lifted herself up a little until her face hovered right above his. Then with her lovely eyes falling shut, she planted a long, delicate kiss on his lips.

When she lifted away she caught Todd with a big smile on his face. Licking him playfully on the nose, they shared a little laugh and eventually Todd rolled over. Aaisha slid one arm around his torso, her hand planted possessively on his chest and one leg wrapped over his as she spooned up behind him.

"Todd?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

The human was about to ask what for, but caught himself. He knew damn well what she was thanking him for, so he just nodded. "No problem."

She tightened his grip on him and he felt her firm breasts press harder against his back as she sighed contently.

Todd put his head down and fell asleep to the distant beat of gunfire, the muffled babble of religious gibberish in the street, and the lullaby of Aaisha's quiet breaths.

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