Slave Bitches Part 2

To her slave’s relief, Mama Ogupo bypassed that part of the market. Angela shrank at the prospect of being paraded in her present state before so many male eyes. It was true that many of the crippled and beseeching beggars who attended every hopeful occasion, were clad only in rags, but they only reinforced the stigma of her own nakedness. She felt herself examined and criticised, newcomers clapping black hands to lips, inadequately stifling feminine giggles, as her mistress led her slowly from stall to stall. Angela suffered a few sly pinches or two from passing men, but the first springs of disaster came as she was struggling free from a more licensed fumbler.
The big Negress had just sold an assorted lot of empty bottles and jars to the proprietor of a stall dealing in home made medical remedies, when her eye was taken by a neighbour selling clay pots. Unusually the stall-holder was male, an ancient cripple.
“I stopped making them long ago.” he cackled in answer to Mama Ogupo’s query. People didn’t want dull old pots; they preferred cheap coloured plastic. Now the plastic stuff all crumbles to dust, so I started making them again. They’ll cost you dear. Not many people still have the skill.”
She engaged him in bargaining, while Angela stood dutifully by, conscious of the old goat’s sly side glances and endeavouring to avoid the pinching fingers of evil minded urchins.
“Not many white people to be seen now,” the man commented. “They are all dead of cold, they say. You could do well with one. You can buy a woman now for a dried fish, but rarity is always more valuable.” Dried fish had almost become a currency. Angela’s mistress bought one of the man’s pots with a string of it and then, as was the custom of the country, he demanded that the transaction be topped up with a trifle of some sort by way of a bonus. It turned out that the trifle the old goat in mind was a quick grope of his customer’s shapely follower.
The old man had just reluctantly let go of Angela, who was trying in flustered fashion, to refasten one-handed the G-­string that he had wickedly tweaked undone, while holding up her burden with the other, when she heard Mama Ogupo suddenly bellow in rage.
Angela’s heart plummeted like a lead weight as she saw that during her brief tussle with the lewd stall-holder, her mistress had been accosted by a uniformed man, one of the Administrator’s orderlies with a note. Mama Ogupo’s rage was due to her reading of the note, a page from a school exercise book. Angela’s limbs turned to jelly.
“Arghhh! You wicked creature! You wish to trouble me!”
It was the note that Angela had believed to be on its way with Jonas downriver to the capital. She had been betrayed somehow! Her note had been delivered into her mistress’s vengeful hands! Her knees gave way and her fingers lost their grip on the fastenings of her G-string. The sight of the khaki uniform and the evidence of the black woman’s fury brought an instant vision of that wooden post in the Administration compound.
With a shriek of fear, Angela dithered. She would be sent to the whipping post for sure this time. Dropping her bundle, she dived for the nearest haven, beneath a stall piled with domestic appliances of woven straw and cane. She had forgotten that her mistress still held one end of the rope halter and was brought to a choking halt before she could get right under. Mama Ogupo hung on to her determinedly; more furious than ever at the sight of her goods tumbled in the dust.
“Come out, you wicked creature!” The black woman appealed to the amused crowd. “This wicked slave sells herself to men by night to cheat me!” She snatched up one of the long cane carpet beaters from among the goods on the stall.
“Come out, you wicked bitch woman!” Splattt!!! The woven cane smacked down on the round pink bottom still protruding from underneath the stall. The loosened thong sprang loose, disappearing from between Angela’s reddened bottom cheeks and her disconnected G-string fluttered to the ground between her knees, a little scrap of blue.
“Come out!” The stalwart cook hauled Angela out, slithering backwards upon all fours despite the white girl’s desperate resistance. Splattt!!! The trefoil pattern of the woven cane left another vivid impression of itself printed in red upon Angela’s squirming behind. Splattt!!! The audience backed Mama Ogupo’s energetic efforts with noisy exclamations of wonder, amusement and encouragement as more and more of the naked culprit emerged to view. Angela had completely lost her head under the impact of the sweeping whacks. She was somewhat hardened to the cane, but this instrument was designed even more to the purpose. She twisted in a complete half circle in her attempt to escape its smacks, bleating. “Please ... Don’t ... Please don’t.”
Suddenly hers was the only voice a sudden silence had fallen all about her, the crowd had hushed expectantly. Mama Ogupo, her implement up-raised, forbore to strike. Now wriggling at the extremity of her halter and fully revealed stark naked, upon all fours, her hind-parts showing the vivid imprinted pattern of the carpet beater, Angela squealed dismally, waggling her rear from side to side, seeking to dodge the anticipated blow and unconscious of the reason for its suspension.
The Administrator of Bamba had swept into view, parting the crowd in between the stalls, backed by the usual following of orderlies and suppliants.
“So! You have trouble keeping your debt slave in order?”
Mama Ogupo curtseyed, rolling her eyes. “Sir! When she gives me trouble I beat her, you see!”
Eyeing the patterns imprinted upon Angela’s rump, the man nodded, his face muscles rigid. As if by accident he had planted his foot upon her halter rope, anchoring her in place before she could reach her lost G-string. Swiftly stooping so that his face was momentarily concealed, he retrieved both halter and G-string handing them to Mama Ogupo.
“You lead her like a little dog, a little bitch eh? You keep her in a kennel?” His voice was low, hardly carrying beyond the pair. “Your son in law has confessed all, you see!”
The instinct of the market trader in the black woman made her look narrowly at the official. “Sir! If she behaves like bitch-dog with men in the night, she should live like bitch-dog!” She too had dropped her voice. “Msieu! Moussa dit il!”
The official leaned over as if to inspect Angela and Mama Ogupo did the same, their heads together as they murmured together for a few moments. Then he straightened and began examining the neighbouring stalls as if his interest in Angela had waned. Mama Ogupo set about re-packing her bundle. Then, retrieving her naked female porter with an admonitory shake, she re-loaded her.
“I hear you are keeping a cookhouse for my soldiers and others,” the Administrator remarked as if casually, glancing at the chattering giggling crowd. “There are many men who would try to steal such a possession. She is undoubtedly a showpiece. Keep her well secured in future and do not disturb the good order of the market.”
Angela’s mistress bobbed curtseys with repeated expressions of fulsome gratitude, expressing desires to be of service to her patron.
“I shall have to sample the quality of your entertainment.” The tone was un-emphatic but the man’s cold eyes held Mama Ogupo’s meaningfully. He turned away to continue dealing with the problems of the moment as petitioners and claimants jostled for attention. Over their shoulders his eye lingered reflectively as the last of Angela’s pale nakedness bobbed away in rear view between the stalls.
“You like to escape the whipping post, I think!”
Angela nodded, fervently, but not daring to speak, feeling her bottom cheeks clench involuntarily at the thought, and eyeing Mama Ogupo’s cane.
“You are lucky I have found a use for you which will make it worth while keeping you!” Angela quivered in trepidation. Was this it at last? Was she to be forcibly prostituted to paying customers?
“You are no use as a slave. I am going to train you for dog. I am going to make you into a little pet dog. From now you will go on four legs like dog. You not speak, only bark like dog. If you try to be like human, you will get whipping every time.” She prodded Angela with the cane. “Do you understand, eh?”
Angela opened her mouth but the cane tapping her bottom reminded her just in time and she nodded dumbly. Her life had been cruelly curtailed. She had been deprived of her freedom. She had been savagely punished and abused with impunity. Now her humanity was to be denied. Was such a thing possible? Of course not she told herself. She would merely be a woman acting a part to save her skin.
“First I teach you commands. Since you are ignorant woman and understand nothing they will be very simple. Sit up like dog does, to begin!”
After some experiment and without viable alternative Angela satisfied her mistress, squatting on her haunches like a seated dog.
“When I say Dah, you become dog walk on four legs. When I say Hooah, you sit up and make like dog begging. Let us try this!”
The fat woman sat down on the little wooden stool, the cane resting across her knees. “Dah!”
Angela dropped to hands and knees and crawled forward. Mama Ogupo stood up and brought the cane down hard. Angela yelped miserably.
“Quicker! Make it look you like to do!”
“How …” Angela began then yelped a second time, just anticipating the descent of the cane.
“Dog don’t talk!”
Angela moved more briskly, wagging her rear and lolling her tongue.
“Good! Like that all times! You do all like that!”

The small yard behind the kitchen became Angela’s permanent prison and there her mistress pursued this system of training assiduously, putting through her paces whenever she had a spare moment. In between times she employed the other members of the family to keep up the practice until eventually Angela began to respond to the commands without having to think about it. She was forbidden to talk and could only gain a little relief from her quandary by shamefacedly barking or whining. She had to bark for her dinner and for the amusement of the children.
How far this would be kept up or what the purpose was other than humiliation Angela couldn’t imagine. She could only speculate that her captor had given up hopes of getting the value of the debt out of her and this was just idle revenge. She was slow to realise the true motivation.
In the early morning the small compound behind the cookhouse lay dusty and bare under the eyes of a solitary lurking observer. The high mud coloured brick walls enclosed a rectangle of sun-baked earth. The single window looking out onto it was a pool of deep shadow within which the observer lounged at ease, a lean dark figure barely distinguishable.
Mama Ogupo emerged from the kitchen doorway and waddled towards a long low hutch built of re-used weathered timber with a door of heavy interlink metal mesh, behind which, as the stout Negress approached a pale form stirred into movement. She carefully avoided looking towards the window, but she was attired in her smartest gown, crimson and brown, with a turban of snowy white, a complex creation, the result of much labour. In one hand she carried a wooden bowl full to the brim, in the other an evil looking dog-whip doubled up in her fist. She stooped to place the bowl on the ground before the hutch but within sight of the observer and about ten metres from his viewpoint. Then, going on to the hutch and fumbling with the latch, she swung the door wide.
“Angeela!”
The observer in the window leaned forward a little. What emerged into his view wasn’t a dog but a woman, stark naked, white skinned, her fair hair in a short bob. Upon all fours she bounded past her mistress like a dog set loose. Not rising from hands and knees she made straight for the bowl. Her figure was nothing dog-like, of course. A long narrow back suddenly swelled into a rounded bottom that bobbed and swung with her movement, their smooth ivory curves delicately traceried with criss-crossing pink lines. Beneath her body her breasts swung with liquid heaviness, the big nipples prodding loosely outwards.
She gave only the briefest of glances about her, suspecting nothing, before lowering her head and plunging her face into the bowl. Head down she began gulping and slurping the contents noisily, in as near dog-fashion as her human physiology would permit.
The lone voyeur clutched the glass in his hand in near ecstasy of appreciation. Viewing the scene from the privacy of his lair, he reflected upon the Ogupo woman’s sensitivity to his requirements. Sweat beaded his brow and trickled downwards as he savoured the further possibilities. He wiped it away hastily with a large white handkerchief, anxious not to lose any moment in enjoyment of the judiciously positioned tableaux. Madame Angela in the posture and demeanour of a canine bitch, her only adornment, as the forward swing of her bobbed hair revealed, a heavy brass studded dog collar.
The collapse of her hopes of escaping by the employment of feminine wiles had demoralised Angela and by long subjection to the cane and whip, she was now thoroughly broken-in to her canine role. The physical effects were still evident in the markings across her naked curves, but the mental effects were not so quick to fade. Her only ambition now was to get through the day without being punished.
The observer watched approvingly as the food bowl was slowly emptied, noting that Angela licked it assiduously clean, without venturing to make any use of her hands which she kept curled into small fists. She turned to the water bowl next and repeated the procedure, sucking and slurping. He was almost sure he could see her flat belly swell into a curve.
Mama Ogupo stooped and clipped a long chain leash to the dog collar. She walked the pseudo-canine in a leisurely circle round the compound. By the back door was a flat box of sand. The fat cook led her pet up to the box and stopped. Angela knelt over the box without needing to be told, spreading her knees wide with a look of concentration coming to her face. The observer had a clear view between her open thighs as a wet stain rapidly spread over the dry sand. She even jerked her behind several times as if to make sure she was done, before responding to the renewed tug on her leash.
Contemplating her absolute docility the observer savoured the sight of Madame Angela as his pet bitch. The world had changed. He was the man of power. His word here was virtually law. What was to deny him any desire?
Mama Ogupo kept discreetly out of his line of sight, her bulging eyes watchful. She too, was planning more ambitious ways of displaying Angela’s docility to her new owner. The whip twitched in her grasp. She was a woman who knew how to arrange things discreetly. A woman who knew where power lay and was ready to indulge any whim of its wielder.
“Hooah!”
Like a well-trained animal the European woman sank onto her haunches. Her hands made two fists touching the ground between her thighs. With her head up, it gave the onlooker a clear view of her face; the traces of the meal still smeared on her cheeks and chin.
Mama Ogupo gave a call. The kitchen door opened and two children emerged, a boy and a girl. The girl wore a short print dress with her woolly hair in a multitude of tufts, the boy in a striped loose gown with his head shaven. Between them the pair carried a large tin bath of a sort once commonly on sale in Bamba market. The bath was set down in the yard and between them Mama Ogupo and her juvenile assistants carried out several buckets-full of water to fill it half full. Mama Ogupo returned with the empty buckets to the kitchen, leaving the field apparently without qualm to the two children.
“Angeela!”
The childishly self-important command brought obedience as prompt as if it had been addressed to a real dog. The youngsters directed their naked charge to climb into the bath, where she knelt meekly upon all fours while they set about scrubbing her from end to end. They took turns with the long handled scrubbing brush, their ‘dog’ hanging her fair head and enduring all in dumb submission, until the boy used the brush between her legs, thrusting deep.
A sound emerged for the first time, a plaintive whine, at which the evil child, reversing the brush, thrust the long smooth handle where its head had been. From the doorway came an angry shout. Mama Ogupo started forward but then swerved aside in response to a briefly gesturing finger summoning her to the window. The children reverted to the more orthodox use of the scrubber and then ordered the dog-woman out of the bath and set about drying her with an old rough towel. Their grandmother kept an eye upon them while she received her orders and made suggestions.
The wicked entrepreneur made quick progress in carrying out the orders and soon the little compound behind the school building was the venue for another display of canine simulations for the benefit of its sponsor.
The Administrator of Bamba was seated in a comfortable cane chair with a cool glass at hand, slightly withdrawn from the window, which gave him so excellent a view of events. His hostess and collaborator already had Angela in the ‘sit’ position on her haunches before a well-filled food bowl.
Critically the man surveyed the naked creature that was now his property. There were no pale bikini patches upon her she was all uniformly smooth, her flesh gleaming golden from nape to toes with a sun-proof coating. Her hair was sun-bleached blonde. His penis roused beneath his gown at the sight. Her heavy breasts swung forward, squeezed between her forearms, dark russet nipples pertly prodding. Her full hips were emphasized by her posture her thighs spread wide, fingers curled into little fists, planted like a dog’s paws between her splayed toes.
Her head lifted, blue eyes looking anxiously from the food bowl to the dog whip and then to the ugly face of her trainer. Normally, Angela would have been expected to scurry to the bowl and wolf it down in the dog-like fashion that was enforced upon her. But he anticipated something different. There were two food bowls this time. The food was only to be had as a reward.
The fat ex-cook turned and waddled in leisurely fashion, back towards the doghouse, leaving Angela behind her, squatting motionless, her tongue appearing spasmodically from her lips like a panting dog. Her training had moved up a level in the interval between his visits. The long thin bamboo cane her trainer normally employed was still in evidence, hanging from a nail by the kitchen door, but this time Mama Ogupo carried the thin dog whip donated by Leonie the Administration wardress. If there were to be any temptation to recalcitrance, Angela would know very well how effective that whip was in quelling it!
The doghouse had been extended since his first visit. Mama Ogupo was opening a second door. Out of it bounded another naked girl, dark haired this one, her white body displaying the multiple red traces of the whip, which had been used upon her mercilessly.
She had been picked up as a refugee, one of the latest arrivals. Most were turned away at the borders to die in the dry bush, but the Administrator had recently given orders that any young females should be permitted entry, to be escorted to Bamba and lodged with Mama Ogupo.
The name inscribed on the newcomer’s little metal dog tag was Rosalie. She was as naked as Angela, but her features were partly hidden by a dog-faced mask with prick ears, glassy eyes and long muzzle complete with a dangling pink tongue, the back of which pressed upon her human tongue and so acted as a gag. By moving her bottom jaw the woman could jiggle the dog-tongue realistically. Below her smooth belly she carried a long, sagging artificial dog-penis held in place by thin leather straps buckled around her hips and thighs, with one running centrally up her bottom cleft. This middle strap supported a long flag-like tail sprouting above her rump and the same dark shade as her hair, while below it, two large imitation grey coloured testicles dangled between her thighs.
The rigorous application of the whip had evidently brought the dog-woman to a thorough understanding of her role at any rate. She pranced and bounded on all fours, tongue lolling and tail flagging as if excited, in wide circles around the squatting Angela who quivered but made no move, only turning her head slightly, following the other with her eyes as the newcomer pranced in tighter circles thrusting the snouted mask forward as if to sniff her rump.
“Hooah!”
Mama Ogupo took command, flicking free the short lash of the dog whip.
The masked girl desisted at once and took up a position alongside Angela sitting similarly though not as quietly since she kept up a steady whining. Squatting on their haunches, both girls were about equal in size and stature. Both watched Mama Ogupo, the dog-mask leaving its wearer’s expression enigmatic, but Angela’s visibly apprehensive.
The fat woman’s words carried clearly to the Administrator as he took a deep gulp of his drink, feeling his throat dry with tension and his erection becoming stiffer where he sat.
“Up, bitch!” she ordered, adding as Angela gathered her limbs. “Dog fuck first! Eat after!”
The white woman seemed to expect it, reluctant but too fearful not to obey. Her muted groan seeming to be of mingled shame and resignation sent shivers of delight down the onlooker’s spine. Yet with hardly a blush she rose at once onto all fours, turned her rear to her masked companion and then posed with ripe breasts swinging beneath her, back hollowed and bottom up-thrust with thighs spread wide. She was so positioned he was sure, in order to give him, the unseen voyeur, the best possible view. Every inch of intimate cleavage was exposed to examination. Her small reddish puckered anus stood out conspicuously in the widened furrow. Below it a dark orifice was fully revealed within the split lips of her glistening pink vagina, the slot of which led the eye downwards to that furry brown bulge that he felt gave European women something of an animal character.
Mama Ogupo’s fat black hand momentarily obscured this revelation as she stooped over the postured white woman. She had tucked the black dog whip under one arm, holding a small pottery jar in that hand while with the other she briskly anointed Angela’s rearward thrusting sex with the contents.
“Up dog!”
The Administrator watched the masked girl go onto all fours in her turn, body stretched out, mask outthrust black dog-nose pointed directly at Angela’s behind. The black woman used the contents of the jar again, this time upon the long red spear hanging below the second girl’s belly.
“Display!”
The black ex-cook re-capped the jar, stepping back nimbly to reveal that in response to her order, Angela was both looking and reaching one hand back between her legs. With two splayed fingers she spread the red split of her vagina even wider as if to display its well greased depths to her companion.
Simulated growls came from behind the animal mask behind Angela. Her companion had moved forward, gunmetal testicles swinging low between her smoothly female thighs and the coral red spear wagging beneath a naked female belly. Behind her, the flag-like tail waved almost erect.
Angela subsided on her elbows until her pendulant breasts dangled their russet nipples in the dust. Her up-thrust rump was now the highest portion of her, vagina prominently displayed and still held open, glistening visibly. Nothing else moved within the compound. Angela held her pose with barely a tremor. A long quavering moan emerged from her as the only reaction. The other girl’s growling sounded a little anxious.
The man within the window held his breath, barely aware of what his own hands were doing, busy in his crotch.
The two women were clearly well trained to enact their parts as submissive woman and dominant dog. Rosalie had reared up over Angela’s rump, her arms planted firmly on the other’s white back. Beneath her arched belly the glistening coral-red cock, long and sharply pointed, speared from its leather base pointing directly at the plump bulge of her partner’s vagina where it split open like an overripe fruit.
The Administrator relished Angela’s cry as her colleague mounted and pierced her in dog-like fashion. There was no doubt that she was unwilling, but she put such an abject note into the cry that he could guess it held an admission of a reaction to this bestial imitation of a beast cock. His breath came tightly in his chest as he leaned forward on the windowsill his attention fixed upon the lewd display before him, hand still at work below the level of vision.
Angela seemed to lower herself closer to the earth as Rosalie thrust hard, black straps biting into pale haunches. Her breath was suddenly expelled in an audible hiss. With her chin now flat to the earth it raised a little puff of dust before her.
The watcher, still intent upon Angela’s reaction, saw how her wide-splayed thighs quivered to the dog-mimicking thrust. Her fingers scrabbled raking lines in the dust. Her blue eyes widened, her teeth showing white in an involuntary grimace. She was surely fully impaled now upon that thrusting coral spear.
The mask made the reaction of the mounting female impossible to judge, but the waving tail, a hairy contrast to the rest of Rosalie’s smooth nakedness, went up and down with every thrust as if wagging with profound enthusiasm. The false tongue too, dangled as if in ecstasy. Both women whined simultaneously and on rising notes. Rosalie clutched Angela, and the latter splayed her fingers on the earth to steady both of them. The pair were clamped together in a vibrant curve, intimately co-operating in this hideous imitation of an animal coupling. It was evidently having a real effect, for Angela’s expression, though half obscured by falling strands of hair, was one of growing desperation.
Only at one moment had it looked as if she might make some effort at recalcitrance. Out of the corner of his eye the Administrator saw Mama Ogupo flick loose the lash of her whip. But the girl on top, more conscious of her vulnerability, somehow conveyed to her faltering partner the urgent desirability of submission
The voyeur at the window chuckled in approval. The girls had clearly learnt the need for of self-discipline. In which he was right. Mama Ogupo had been training them ruthlessly for this performance despite all their tears and pleas, thrashing one for the misdeeds of the other until they kept each other in line.
The simulated dog-fuck gathered speed at this, as if both girls had simultaneously resigned themselves to their roles. The glistening red shaft, well greased, was sliding faster into Angela’s fuzzed sex mound, the gunmetal balls bouncing freely behind. Both pairs of thighs strained widely, Rosalie’s toes thrusting hard against the earth, Angela’s raking dust aside in her effort to assimilate the penetration more easily.
Behind the dog mask, Rosalie was silent now except for her steady, rapid panting. Angela keened in a breathless way at first and then, her breath evidently growing shorter, gave even that up, settling to a steady panting too, in tune with that of her colleague.
The curious onlooker scanned the recipient’s expression for evidence of the couple’s progress. It was increasingly desperate; Angela’s lashes lay flat on her deeply flushed cheeks. Her mouth opened and closed time and again as if upon a protest still born. Suddenly she let go a shrill squeal, visibly quivering from head to toe, her eyes opening wide in shock. The watcher almost applauded, so vividly did she convey what had happened. She had been brought to orgasm on the replica of a dog-cock. Her eyes closed again as if in despair and she let out a wail as if to deny the reality.
Nothing seemed to happen for a while. The pair remained in place, immobile like a pair of coupling dogs, only Angela’s expression visible, her eyes flicking nervously this way and that, her lips moved as if she was counting. This no doubt was meant to represent the tie, the knot of the dog-shaft lodged immovably in the bitch’s vagina while it pumped in slow spasmodic delivery.
In the semi-darkness the onlooker still stirred, his hand pumping slowly as he watched the two humping females. Then Angela stiffened, stretched her arms out to brace her body and simultaneously Rosalie stirred, too. She lifted a white leg and reached out a hand. Like a gymnast performing a difficult feat of balance she swivelled herself round, keeping her belly firmly clamped against Angela’s rump. Her leg swung right over and she turned completely round, back hollowed, her false tail following her so that when Angela and she ended up facing in opposite directions, butt to butt, the dogtail curled up between their two bottoms.
The lurking watcher hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the two gasping females in the yard. Now he stifled a gasp himself. He had finally lost control and his own cum spurted into the space between his thighs, spattering on the wooden floor. Shakily he reached out and drained the tepid remnants of his drink.
The postured pair remained still; he supposed them to be counting again. He glanced sidelong to where their trainer was seated on her kitchen stool. She raised an enquiring brow and made a slight gesture. Evidently it was up to him how long the simulated tie should last. It would be a final humiliation for them to have to wait like a pair of dogs to be allowed to eat. It was growing dark by now, however, so he didn’t keep it going as long as the real thing might have lasted.
At his cough, Mama Ogupo rose and the crouching pair slowly came apart, the two young women moving stiffly after having been motionless for so long.
Before he had adjusted his clothing and composed himself, Angela was head down over the food bowl upon all fours, slowly consuming the contents. Rosalie of course had to wait until Mama Ogupo removed the dog-mask. Then she too joined her companion, feeding from the second bowl, the false dog-cock still in place dangling wet and glistening.

The Administrator returned regularly thereafter to Mama Ogupo’s establishment, taking his place in the window of the private room looking out onto the little yard. Each time the fat ex-cook would mate her two European captives like pet animals. Angela and Rosalie often exchanged roles in training sessions, but for the enjoyment of their owner, Angela was normally presented bare face and Rosalie wearing the dog mask. The old craftsman skilled in leather working who had produced the masks and tails had been put to work to supplement them with other equipment.
The two captives now wore smart collars of studded black leather as deep as the palm of their hands, with rounded and padded edges and brass locks which closed about the women’s necks very snugly, fastened with a very final sounding click. They came up under the wearers’ chins, forcing them to hold their faces up, so that they could not avoid looking their audience in the eye. To reach their food bowl they had to stick their backsides in the air and incline their entire torso downwards. From a stout brass D-ring in the collar dangled a medallion, literally a dog tag, with the name of the wearer inscribed in the local script.
Black leather kneepads were buckled behind the knees and both fists were encased in black leather socks. Like the kneepads, they fastened with buckles and straps, the fingers permanently tight-curled into a fist. The finishing touch was that both the kneepads and the mitten knuckles carried on the underside a stylised pattern of leather ovals like a dog’s paw pads.
The size of the false dog penis was increased and fitted with an ingenious squirt, operated by its wearer squeezing her vaginal muscles. The reservoir in the dangling testicles took a good deal of squeezing to empty and effectively governed the length of the tie since it meant a whipping for both participants if any remained un-discharged.
Rumours now began to get about. The inhabitants of Bamba had, by ancient tradition, seen dogs as unclean animals. The only ones they knew were a few slinking scavengers, which notoriously had survived by feeding upon the starved, or disease-ridden bodies that lay scattered unburied in the waterless bush. The rumour that Mama Ogupo’s white slave, condemned for immorality, had actually been copulating with a dog, they took for confirmation of her wickedness and depravity. Still nervous of being too publicly associated with scandal, the Administrator had kept secret the arrival of a second captive and now he had the pair removed a few miles away to a place where he might visit them with less public notice.
The new rendezvous consisted of a small walled enclosure with several dilapidated huts within, the peaks of their thatched roofs just visible above concrete walls defended by rusty barbed wire. It had once been an equipment store for a Chinese agricultural mission that had been running crop-planting experiments in the vicinity, long since abandoned. It now stood isolated amid the waterless low scrub to which the land had reverted. The lascivious mind of the official had chosen to have it renovated to house his private kennels.
Mama Ogupo was appointed as a salaried dog trainer, her assistants were to be of her choosing and she didn’t neglect the opportunity to get her relatives onto the public food-roll. She posted Beata and her daughters out at the kennels to act as resident trainers, with Gibril and some younger children as dog-handlers, while Jonas, given a uniform and a spear, was in his element as a government watchman.
Two other trained dog-women were presented with Angela for the Administrator’s entertainment when he made his first visit to the new venue. The show took place in the open compound before the best preserved of the huts. It had a shady veranda where a large punkah fan had been fitted under the thatched roof operated by one of the smaller boys. The kennel owner occupied a long cane chair with a selection of stimulants to hand.
The lead ‘dog’ was Rosalie and the experienced performer duly performed her part, managing her artificial cock with all her accumulated skill. Angela too, needed no instruction, but offered herself submissively, simulating eagerness and wagging her well-lubricated sex before the animal mask. She squealed loudly as Rosalie pretended to give her a thorough sniffing and licking, before finally mounting her and going immediately into top drive. They had been taught to be quite uninhibited in their reactions by now and from there on kept up a steady chorus of barks, whines and groans.
Mama Ogupo approached the veranda where her patron and collaborator sprawled in the chair, enjoying the sadistic spectacle of two white women slaves, over whom he enjoyed absolute power, noisily fucking one another like randy canine animals. The fat ex-cook was happily swilling locally brewed beer from a jug, the spillage running over her chins and dripping into the cleavage between her melon-like breasts. Introducing a second ‘dog’ might be amusing, she suggested. She had a candidate to hand, whose first exhibition it would be.
Laughing, the man assented. “Send Beata to me also!” he ordered. Mama Ogupo beamed happily. Two targets achieved. The Administrator had lost all his caution since the move out here. He normally became very randy after one of his pet’s lewd performances. Beata would serve him very well.
Rosalie took almost half an hour to complete her fucking of Angela, desperately pumping out her loaded spunk reservoirs, then Celia the young novice was led out by Gibril and made to squat alongside the older pair, ready to be used. She was masked, paw-strapped and the loaded cock stood up stiffly before her belly. Her mask was white and her tail made a white curl behind her, visibly trembling a little. The younger woman had not hitherto performed before her master, but she profited by her observation of the long muscular clenching and dimpling of Rosalie’s thighs and bottom cheeks.
By the time Rosalie had done and dismounted, the other had lost some of her nervousness about her ability to perform with the artificial cock. Well drilled and eager to avoid any taste of the whip, she needing no guidance from her juvenile handler. She mounted rapidly and confidently, dog-fucking Angela all over again.
The repeat performance took Angela by surprise, almost shaking her discipline, but the new girl’s vigour and thrust soon reduced her to resigned compliance. She was already thoroughly lubricated and this time she went through it almost without a thought for the presence of the audience.
She was still the star of this establishment. By now she had been acting the part of a dog for so long that she could hardly remember how she came to it. Playing the human bitch in all its bestial aspects had become an automatic necessity for survival and she had often been held up as an example to Celia whenever the newcomer baulked at her fate.
The women where kept in separate cages in the kennels, but they constantly mingled during exercise times. In the daily practice sessions they were still made to exchange functions. Whichever one was acting as the bitch, having no gagging dog-tongue could hold a whispered one-sided conversation in between thrusts with whoever was busy mounting her.
Rosalie was a former opera singer who had come from a stranded airliner. She and her group had bought bicycles immediately after the Catastrophe and cycled south across the desert. It had been a disaster and those who survived the crossing had been turned away at the frontier. Had it not been for the orders from the Bamban Administrator, Rosalie would have perished with them.
Celia had been brought to Bamba in the first instance, having been picked up as a refugee and given employment as nursemaid to the family of one of the nation’s diplomats fleeing his post to return home. Finding themselves in Bamba and in desperate straits, Celia had been surrendered in return for admission of the family to the food dole.

Collared and leashed, three naked dog-women followed their attendants upon all fours, moving across the dry, hard-packed earth of the compound. Angela moved the most steadily, head up, looking across to the audience gathered upon the viewing stand.
The other two moved with a sway of the hips and twitch of the rump that indicated the effect of their sex harnessing. Both wore the dildo ready to take the part of the dog. The bases of their dildos were set into an oval leather pad to which each of the three thin fastening straps connected. The inside surface of the pad was raised into a rounded ridge, glossily polished and ending in a prominent nodule almost like a blunt hook. Their vaginal folds had been carefully measured and casts taken. The oval pad fitted closely over the soft bulge of their vulvas with the shaped protrusion pressing into the groove between the women’s sex lips. When the straps were tightened around hips and thighs, and drawn tight up the soft cleft of their bottom cheeks, the little nodules fitted gently and exactly against the tender nub of the clitoris. It felt exactly like the pressure of a soft fingertip.
Wearing this harness, every movement of the women made the dildo bounce gently and its base to rock excitingly within their vaginal lips, thrusting the little finger-tip to and fro against the clitoris. As they swayed upon hands and knees towards their most shameful public performance yet, they were subject to an even worse shame. They were already unwillingly half aroused.
Their owner, whose exercise of daily power over life and death had been made more and more ruthless, had brought a group of guests. These were some of the local leaders, brutal men whose prominence was built upon ruthless exploitation of the famine, heads of local family networks beyond the town, half chieftain half gangster. They had with them several loose women whose survival techniques consisted of keeping in their patron’s favour.
When the three white females were led out, each at the end of a leash held by a child, and paraded like performing animals before the audience seated in the shade of the veranda, they drew exclamations of appreciation and intrigue. White skins had become a mere memory in Bamba and the stories of the depraved woman who coupled with dogs had nearly been forgotten. Angela was bare faced, the other two dog-masked. The flagging tails raised a laugh, reinforced when their eyes fell to the sagging dog-cocks below. Then they looked with new interest at Angela who was clearly to be the female of the trio.
The three dog-holders unclipped the leashes and retired to squat in the background. The kennel-mistress, their grandmother, was presiding over this first exhibition to be given with the new equipment in place.
“Hooah!”
Obediently, Angela squatted, placing herself automatically at right angles to their line of view. Her feet were nearly together, knees spread with thighs apart. Her black dog-paw mitts were set flat between her thighs and her breasts thrust forward, head kept erect by the deep dog collar. She was dutifully immobile but her eyes flickered sideways, her cheeks flaming as heard the applause from the veranda.
Her first partner was to be Celia.
“Hooah!”
Celia sat in her turn, right behind Angela, settled on her haunches in the same fashion, but with her face masked fixed in its grinning and panting expression, fake tongue dangling.
Mama Ogupo clapped her hands. Angela and the dog-masked Celia rose simultaneously onto all fours still at right angles to the audience. Angela hollowed her back until her elongated breasts brushed the dust. She parted her thighs, shifting her knees wide so that she spread herself before the advancing dog mask. The dark muzzle thrust forward between the open thighs. A squeak came from one of the female viewers. The watchers could see nothing for sure of what was happening, but the up and down motion of the muzzle made it look as if the lolling tongue was at work.
A long quavering sigh noisily emerged from Angela as if to confirm it, though her pose showed hardly a tremor. The dog-mask had its black nose right between Angela’s round bottom cheeks and its long soft tongue was dangling quivering down the soft furrow between them.
To the giggling onlookers it seemed that the well-trained dog-woman was doing her entirely human partner a service few females could resist. Craning curiously from their seats, they studied Angela’s exposed face for confirmation. It showed shame and confusion intermingled. Confusion seemed to predominate, though the up-thrust white rump had begun to bob up and down just as if reacting to a steady licking, and her trembling lips were giving vent to quavering sighs and whimpers.
“Hooah!”
The dog-woman backed away, her tail wagging comically back and forth with the motion of her hips and sat again, her mask showing its dangling tongue unchanged but revealing that the black nose had acquired a wet gleam.
Her partner remained where she had been left, bottom in the air and nose to the earth. The fat kennel mistress strode quickly forward scooping a finger within a small pottery jar. Stooping she quickly drew the loaded digit this way and that, between the crevices of Angela’s vagina. When she stood back the cleft was revealed, red and glistening, agape between the wide parted legs.
The trainer switched her attention to the male equipment of the other performer.
“Hooah!”
The other dog-masked female had risen and both dog-masks were facing each other, their wearers making realistic growling sounds. There tails were flagging wildly to and fro as if their rumps were subject to an internal quake. The audience was highly amused by this representation of two dogs fighting over a woman, while she remained meekly upon all fours as if helplessly awaiting the animals’ decision.
“Hooah!” The crack of a dog whip and a loud yelp apparently resolved the quarrel. The supposed rival sat quickly on her whipped bottom, clumsily almost anticipating the order in her over-haste. There was a subdued rustle and an eager craning of necks in the shadowy view point of the veranda as the winner of this dispute approached the prize and mounted her without further preliminary.
Rosalie, dark dog-masked, reared up over Angela’s hindquarters, sliding her arms forward to clasp her about the waist between black mittened paws. The audience murmured to one another. Did the white woman want it? It was difficult to tell. Angela’s head swung a veil of fair hair across her face. Certainly it was obvious that she was co-operating fully with the dog-rigged female who was shafting her. But then they had been assured that these two were experienced and frequent partners.
Mama Ogupo gratified their curiosity by reaching out and lifting Angela’s hair back from her face with the tip of her cane. They could see then that it wore an expression of concentration, with flushed cheeks and gritted teeth. She glanced sideways and it altered before their gaze to one of shame and self-consciousness, expressed by a little despairing squeal.
The onlookers were in rapt appreciation of the performance before them, the men licking their lips, and the women stifling giggles. Rosalie shafted Angela with her usual humping vigour, gasped desperately and went quickly into rapid strokes beginning the ejaculation of fake sperm into Angela’s throbbing channel before her startled colleague could grasp the need for urgency. Rosalie had more reason for shame than Angela. She was feeling the appalling result of her new model dildoe; the act of inserting the fake dog-cock into another woman’s sex-slot affected the wielder even more than the woman she mounted. Angela’s obligatory squeal acquired an additional vigour, further increasing the visitors’ amusement.
Rosalie echoed her. She had been overtaken by the building orgasm, helpless to resist her self-excitation. Groaning in shame, thankful for her mask she came down at last and was forced to settle into the steady state of slow muscular squirting. Angela, now solidly connected onto the huge artificial cock, combined with her partner in unhappy co-operation, both of them panting and groaning with uninhibited noisiness.
The audience re-filled glasses and exchanged opinions and congratulated their host upon the show, while the third performer was brought into play.
Angela had her head down and her bottom thrust high in the air. Celia was sent to squat in front of her so that Angela could reach her rearing dog-cock addition with her tongue. Angela licked obediently, while Celia trembled and whined with noisy vigour enhanced by the effect of Angela’s tonguing had upon her buried clitoris as it bobbed the intrusion up and down against it.
By lifting her head, Angela could get her lips to the red tip and, closing upon it, suck hard. What had showed had been unimpressive, but the shaft was only held down into its housing by friction. Angela sucked, her cheeks hollowed, pulled away to draw breath, sucked again, withdrew again. Each time a little more coral shaft appeared, just as if it was real, until she had a good eight inches of saliva-glistening shaft rising free. Meanwhile, buried within her, Rosalie was working hard on impelling the last thin spurts, while gasping desperately in the throes of a second orgasm.
Open mouthed and pop-eyed, or watching through lowered lashes and giggling, the onlookers saw the rumours they had heard and only half believed, played out before their eyes. Three randy, naked European women imitating dogs and locked whining, growling like animals obviously all self-absorbed in a triple sexual intercourse.
Angela’s white body was humped and contorted in her effort to accommodate her two users the sun glistening upon sweat-slicked curves of all the bits of the three that were visible. Celia had risen and slid forward, pressing the dog-cock into Angela’s lips. Angela captured the protrusion between her teeth before it could ram the back of her throat and fortunately her practised trick was disguised by the rapid closure of their two bodies. The shaft retracted as readily as it had slid forth, allowing it to seem that she had swallowed the lot, as she sucked diligently beneath the other’s arching belly. Now Celia reared over her head and shoulders, paws planted on her back, almost howling in the throes of an unwanted orgasm, while Rosalie surmounted and half obscured Angela’s other end, gasping to her own conclusion.
The two dog-masked women played their well-trained parts growling and whining loudly in canine fashion for the benefit of the audience. Angela of course was largely mute; her particular part in the performance precluded any verbal contribution.
Celia’s artificial dog-cock had the identical system of discharge as Rosalie’s. Angela’s head was trapped at an awkward angle beneath the other’s belly, but her lips held tight to the pseudo-cock and it was one of the visitors’ whores who pointed out to them what the dog-woman’s strained white throat clearly showed. Every time Celia flexed her naked haunches, Angela swallowed hard, constrained to encourage the slow expulsion of imitation cum, little by little, squirt by squirt. This oral assistance performed the task much more effectively than anything her vagina could do, and she drained Celia well before Rosalie could finish.
There was a measure of applause as Celia was led away, desperately trying not to yield to the temptation of exaggerating the flexure and jut of her rump to add to the unavoidable stimulation. Her departure left Angela’s face exposed to view once more, flushed and hot, her lips and chin shining greasily, her eyes glazed. With Celia gone she was suddenly more aware of her sole remaining partner and of a good deal more pain from its occupancy than she was accustomed to. The dog-cocks had been remodelled, growing bigger with each performance.
At last Rosalie gave the signal. The pair of them had remained the subject of only occasional attention from the guests. After the usual count Rosalie slid sideways off Angela’s back and turned herself right round, painfully for her unfortunate partner who jerked and squealed in protest as she felt her vagina screwed unmercifully in a circle. Thereafter they remained back to back still interconnected, Rosalie’s dog-tail tickling Angela’s tailbone and making her twitch, at which with each movement Rosalie would groan.
From time to time, drunken visitors lurched across to examine the pair who were never so thankful for their connection, since it blocked ready access to their sex and excused their desperate quiescence. At last they too were allowed to uncouple, but one last humiliation was reserved for Angela. She was made to present herself for closer inspection of her reddened sexual parts while Mama Ogupo thrusting a thick finger into the dripping pussy demonstrated to the audience how wet she was.
The fat woman-trainer was full of plans. She was now high in the favour of the sole exerciser of power in Bamba. At least as long as she could show him new and more bestial uses for his helpless victims. When the emergency should end she envisaged the acquisition of other debt slaves who had been sold, or traded themselves into slavery for food. With these she would set up as a brothel owner and use Angela in particular for sexual exhibitions to stimulate the customers.

In the kennels, the rising sun warmed the backs of the three dog substitutes. All three had been paraded for their master wearing dog-masks and tails, ready to take whichever role was allotted them and he personally had seen them fitted with the latest product of his ingenious leather worker.
They were now fitted with short leather boots with what appeared at first to be a kind of stiletto heel. It was actually a metal fin under the sole of the foot. This effectively prevented them from standing upright without removing the boots and there was no hope of that with hands reduced to useless paws. Under the whip they were made to experiment by straightening their legs and running on their toes, but the best they could manage was an awkward arch with bottoms higher than their heads. They were practised like that, scampering faster and faster round the compound, more like baboons than dogs. They quite enjoyed this by comparison however. Clearly it would make their daily exercise a more vigorous performance, since they could go round the obstacle course much faster than they could upon their knees.
They were fed and watered under the eye of their satisfied owner and then had seen him depart with his escort towards the town and his day of business. There was no ceremony for departure, though when the return of their master was announced, the dog-women would be expected to greet him with a chorus of barking and howling.
He left his trio of human pets being prepared for the regular daily practise session. The prospective boredom of long hours confined in their cages made these practise sessions together almost a welcome distraction. With plenty of time to fill, they could take as long as they liked and as many mutually induced orgasms as they cared to manage between them.
This day turned out differently. The practise session barely began when the women were bundled back into their cages with a flurry of whacks, still masked and tailed. The sound of men furiously yelling grew rapidly in volume and proximity. They could see nothing of what was going on outside, their vision limited by the masks. The noise eventually died away for a while except for occasional shouts, but then revived in a different way.
This time the sounds were of rowdy jeering followed by the intermittent repeated sounds of leather meeting flesh and a man’s voice raised in pain, each time followed by acclaiming voices.
The cage doors were opened. Gibril and the other juvenile dog-handlers had returned, seeming frightened and their actions hasty. They clipped the leashes onto the collars of their bewildered charges and led the three back out onto their customary practice area.
Quite a lot of men seemed to be present, perched along the top of the walls, but audiences were nothing new to the submissive captives. The three women expected no more than another routine practice of a sexual performance in which they were well drilled, but this time they were to be surprised by a strange addition. Another performer was introduced.
The intended ‘dog’ was a black man crawling upon all fours. Both his ankles were wrapped in bloody bandages. Clearly he was not a volunteer since another man followed close behind, flicking him occasionally with a whip to keep him moving. Though he had one of the spare dog-tails stuck into his rear, dog mitts and a dog-mask clapped onto his head, he carried his own sexual equipment dangling limply below his belly.
The mask was too small for him, so most of the man’s face was visible beneath it. It had so distorted an expression though, that it took the two girls some time to recognise the former Administrator of Bamba.
Clearly they were to give a performance with him, but how could the man-dog give a satisfying display if he was so limp? Visions of being whipped for failure by their disappointed captors filled Angela with panic. The idea was firmly implanted in them that the whip would fall impartially upon failure, whether their fault or not. She made urgent sounds and surreptitious gestures at Celia, who seemed equally in a panic. Whining plaintively, she scuttled towards the man-dog and ducked her head under his belly. He groaned but remained motionless in co-operation as she put her head sideways, squeezing her mask between his thighs. The false tongue fell sideways too, allowing her to just reach his cock with the tip of her own tongue. It had already begun to lift a little, fortunately, just from the effect of her hair and skin brushing his belly and thighs. Encouraged, she got her lips to it as well and heard him gasp.
Celia had grasped her colleague’s plan and, coming up in front of the man-dog, turned and put her head down, elevating her rump before his face, waggling her swollen sex invitingly. Neither female regarded the jeering crowd of men as anything more than a background noise; they were used to being watched and this audience was only a larger one than usual. The unwilling male participant might have been more affected. Groaning as if the weals on his back made arching it too painful, he made only half hearted attempts to perform at first, but the well-trained females had no mercy, he was assaulted and overwhelmed by sexual stimulus at both ends, while encouraged by Gibril’s cane, Rosalie joined in behind, licking the man-dog’s balls.
At last, just as his female inciters were beginning to panic, the man began to do his part too, mounting the impatient woman-bitch provided for him, encouraged by her colleagues with little dog-like growls.
They made false starts. The victim, confused by his situation and hampered by his painfully reacting whip weals, slipped off Celia’s sweat-slick body until he got the hang of the unaccustomed mitts, grasping her with his arms and elbows. Angela and Rosalie had to use a paw each, trembling lest it incur the penalty of the whip, to direct his thrust to the right orifice. Once home in Celia’s slot, however, he performed with more vigour. Used as they all were to the biggest of dildos, he caused her no difficulty. Angela’s saliva sufficed for lubrication almost as well with the real thing as it had with the imitation.
Once she had been mounted securely, Celia began using all her acquired skills to keep him hot, while Rosalie rose on her colleague’s shoulders to bounce her un-doglike breasts in his face and Angela, behind him, contorted herself into even more ludicrous positions to lick his balls, her bobbing head bouncing the dog-tail up and down in time to her tonguing.

Across a barren, salty, gravel plain a few weeks later a line of camels plodded northwards. Front and rear watchful riders swathed in blue- dyed cloth formed an armed escort. The lead camel carried a swaying wicker cage fastened to the saddle and swathed with a matting cover into enigmatic dome shape. The carelessly slung cover showed a narrow gap where a slim pale hand dangled through the bars and a sun-bleached strand of hair tumbling loosely down. There was just enough room inside the cage for a woman to squat or lie curled up. Angela was the prisoner thus conveyed.
Behind them had been left confusion and slaughter. Mama Ogupo hadn’t lived to enjoy the success she anticipated. Food had run short in Bamba as the rains failed to appear. Apparently the seasons were still changing. Peasants began to disappear from the vicinity, scattering, some in one direction some another, as rumour told of depopulated lands where the erratic rainfall had created new opportunities.
Inside the town, the powerful families had turned their houses into fortresses, while those peasants and fishermen who clung to their homes resisted forced contributions to support a town in which they now saw little future. The result was starvation in the town and the insurrection along the river. The rebels had bought support from the only armed and mobile force still available, a band of desert dwellers, followers of a great man who was said to have brought them victory and prosperity and made the desert blossom for them.
Bamba had been stormed. The Administrator had been seized as he left his kennels on his way to the town and his soldier escort killed or dispersed. Mobs of starving townspeople looted and murdered those who had been his supporters. As both foreigners and protégés of the Administrator, Ernestine Ogupo and her family were prime targets. The former school was burnt down and most of them perished in the flames.
Jonas had been the only casualty at the kennels, having attempted to bar the strangers. Ignorant of the events in the town, he had taken them for a party of ignorant nomads indulging their curiosity. The three European prisoners were taken as trophies. Beata and one of her daughters who had been in residence, as well as the juvenile part of the staff, were rounded up as well and carried off in chains as being the Administrator’s creatures.
The raiders had come from the deep interior of the desert. Shrouded in deep indigo robes, their eyes glittered with the haughty stare of a master race. They were survivors from an earlier era, culturally acceptant of the idea of a slave class and now proudly remembering their past as raiders and slave traders. The co-operation of the desert nomads had come at a price. Their great leader was said to be a collector of women and a connoisseur of rarities. After the liberation of the kennels, the victorious rebels had offered as part of it one of the Administrator’s pets to add to their ally’s collection.
The captives had been conveyed by water upriver in canoes until they reached the riverbank base of the victorious rebels. Mechanised civilisation was a thing of the past, bridges had been destroyed by earthquakes and roads washed away by salt-laden downpours. The land was empty and barren on either side for many days’ travel. However the freakish rains had swollen the river and created a country of shallow lagoons and sluggish watercourses where the land was prospectively more fertile than it had been for centuries. Originally uninhabited and only visited occasionally by fishermen, a melange of survivors from many tribes and former states had gathered, people from places too isolated to have suffered epidemics and too deprived to have been considered as a possible refuge. In the last extremity they had submitted to the desert raiders and had been settled here. Supplied with seed by their new overlords, they were currently enjoying the rude plenty of their first successful harvest.
At one of the bigger agglomerations of rude huts the captives were disembarked. The victors of the attack on Bamba were welcomed enthusiastically with a feast and celebration at which the desert warriors were guests of honour. The new settlers were mostly small and very black people but evidently regarded themselves as loyal subjects of the desert chief from whom all their blessings flowed.
The nature of this strange booty of three white women and their young attendants naturally aroused curiosity. Gibril had done his best to emphasise his importance as expert trainer and, since the nomads were equally as curious, he was ordered to have his charges perform.
The village had the customary public open space. Up against a large tree stood a raised, matting-covered platform upon which the men were accustomed to gather to smoke and gossip. This now served as a stage. In the rapidly falling darkness, the open space was lit on either side by large fires. The audience were squatting in a half circle before the platform cross-legged on the bare earth, picking their teeth and hawking to spit. This was supposed to be a strictly men-only affair, but boys large and small were perched like crows in every dead tree with a view.
Two of Gibril’s siblings, a boy with a drum and girls with flute and tambourine, gave a musical introduction. Rosalie and Celia then emerged from behind the cart, stark naked and on all fours, straining at the leash like two large dogs, each with a child hanging onto her as if barely in control. The lolling tongues of the dog masks made this quite realistic in fashion. Gibril led Angela after them, unhappily the star of the show, equally naked and as usual without even the dog mask of her fellow performers.
They were paraded in this fashion before the front row where the more important members of the audience could examine them more closely, laugh at the waving tails and appreciate the long dangling false cocks of the two ‘dogs’.
White skinned people had been rarely seen in these parts, particularly females, even in colonial days. Since few elderly people had survived the difficult times since the Catastrophe, no one in the audience knew much of them, except for half-forgotten tales and fragments of recent hostile propaganda. The avidly gaping crowd of men judged therefore by what they saw paraded before them.
None of the three women had seen scissors, comb or razor since they had fallen into the hands of their first owner. Indeed he had preferred the wild aspect of long tresses and felt that a display of untrimmed pubic hair made his pets seem more animal-like. The hair of the two appointed ‘dogs’ was thrust backwards by their masks but Angela’s luxuriant tumble fell all about her to trail in the dust, thick and tangled. Her naturally abundant pubic bush was now a dense gingery-brown thatch, which, between white thighs, appeared particularly striking. Since their own women had little hair on either head or pubis, this display enhanced the strangeness of all three to the eyes of their audience.
Behind Angela the two dog imitators both made the canine noises in which they had been trained. Angela kept her eyes down, envying them their masks as she was led past under the close scrutiny of so many strangers’ eyes, hearing the exclamations of astonishment and fascination, not un-mixed with lecherous grunts that greeted their progress. At last she passed the ranks and, urged on by the boy, sprang athletically up onto the platform, Rosalie and Celia leaping up after her like large white dogs, their whines enhanced by the effect of their bouncing inserts.
The tale of this performance had gone before. Dogs had always been unclean animals, consumers of every kind of offal and carrion. The scavenging strays were feared and reviled by everyone, tolerated only as a means of disposing of unclaimed corpses human and others rotting in the bush. The symbolism of the masquerade of heads and tails was not lost upon them.
Up on the platform Angela was posed sideways to her audience, still on all fours, her head up and her hair spilling over back and shoulders. Roughly coincident with the beat of the drum she parted her thighs, spreading her knees wide, hollowed her back and thrust her bottom up. Her white skin was still quite pale, having been kept out of the sun much of the day at the kennels and showed a glossy sheen of sweat as she posed in abject shame before the crowd.
To the uninhibited enjoyment of the aroused audience, the dog-masked Celia, her wagging dildoe impressively big, its motion imitated by her wagging black tail, now mounted Angela from the rear and performed her well-practised part without evident hesitation.
Rosalie then reared up before Angela, her own dildoe extended straight out before her belly. Angela dutifully licked and sucked the implement as if it was real, while Rosalie howled, dog-like, with all her trained lung power.
Their performance as human-dogs, very extraordinary to the peasant audience, served to confirm the European women as weird creatures, not quite human and probably the creation of some devil. Despite this reaction of the spectators, the general shortage of women in the village impelled many of the men to risk bad luck. After the performance, they queued up sheepishly or nervously, behind the scenes to copy the imitation dog coupling with the three performers.
The desert warriors were in no hurry to leave this place. The three European women, still together, were made to give a second performance the following evening, this time to satisfy in conditions of more privacy for the audience, the curiosity of the female portion of the settlement. The display was greeted with some jealousy of this competition for male attention, but so much had happened to the world that the fate of these strange white creatures was accepted as merely another confirmation of changed times.

Long days had gone by for Angela, now alone in her lurching cage before the caravan, having wound all morning through ranks of salty, sparkling yellow dunes, mounted the last one, slipping and lurching. Clinging to the bars, Angela heard the men laughing and calling one to another. The leading riders, who had hitherto kept an easy pace that didn’t test the endurance of those on foot, at last urged their beasts to a trot and quickly disappeared over the sand ridge. The rear-guard urged on the remainder and all ran, slithered and stumbled, in a rush to top the ridge. Roused by the shouts and the lurching, Angela peered through a gap in the cover, her curiosity briefly revived by the stimulation of change in her circumstances.
What could happen to her that would be any worse?
They paused atop the dune, the eminence of the camel’s back making her perch feel dizzyingly insecure. Before her she saw a shallow valley widely carpeted in astonishingly green foliage. There had been no problem with salt contamination here. It was an oasis in the salty desert, but one with very regular boundaries. It was laid out in an artificial looking manner, all regular lines with the cubical white shapes of houses regularly disposed among the greenery. Across the valley on the far side of the oasis was the only thing to break the regularity. A low rocky hill intruded among the groves, crowned by a fortress like a walled medieval town with white buildings and a stubby minaret visible above the dark walls.
The caravan reassembled and, at a more moderate pace, descended the last sandy slope and entered into sudden feathery gloom among the date palms. The hot white world outside was instantly reduced to splinters of light held at bay by tall colonnades of rough tree trunks and arched fans of overhead fronds that sometimes descended to brush the canopy of the camel canopy. Each palm stood within its own square of earth ditch in a chequer pattern of irrigation channels. The main arteries that fed them crossed the track at intervals spanned by steel girder bridges, the only visible remnant of modern technology. In a little while they emerged again into the heat and glare of the sun beneath the walls of the fortress where the track crossed an open expanse of sand and gravel thick with camel dung and the evidence of old campfires.
A few black tents were pitched here, evidently for the convenience of using the public well. The elevation of this rising ground above the general level of the oasis required the lifting of water a few feet over a low stone coping into wooden troughs. The apparatus used was simple, a cranky system of sun bleached poles and rough rope with a dipping counterweighted leather bag to lift the water. But although a few little grey donkeys had been at work in the palm groves and several gawky camels grazed by the black tents, this well was worked by womanpower. Two-woman-power in fact, both of them naked except for battered straw hats and leather sandals.
They were undoubtedly European, for although their skin was tanned by the sun the hair that hung around their shoulders was a bleached blonde. As the caravan approached they stood side by side, drooping a little, under a little palm-thatched shelter. They were harnessed about the shoulders and torso with knotted straw ropes, from which a bridle of two short ropes joined the pair to a longer and stouter one made of plaited hide, running back to the well. There it ran over a pulley block and disappeared down the well.
A woman was emerging from one of the tents carrying the ubiquitous tin water container glinting silver in the sun. She crossed in front of the approaching caravan. Her voluminous gown was a vivid turquoise, the hood of dark blue, a corner of which she drew across her face with a hand loaded with silver jewellery as she glanced towards the newcomers. Her garb, modesty and ornament formed an erotic contrast with the naked exposure of the harnessed pair.
She set down her water container on the rim of the well and picked up a slim rattan cane that lay on the stones. Calmly she dealt a sharp blow across each of the naked feminine rears in quick succession, accompanying them with a shrill commanding cry. With clumsy celerity the naked pair started into life and set off plodding side by side across the sand. Behind them the rope tautened, the poles creaked, the pulley squeaked and the rope running downwards began to rise out of the well.
The hauling pair trod a well-marked path in the sand, bowed forward and making a noticeable effort, breasts jiggling and bottoms swinging, feet thrusting back hard, an enormous leather bag, heavy with water, rose dripping out of the well on the end of the line. Evidently it was meant for the watering of stock rather than the modest container the woman had brought. The two naked European women were now stationary, brought up by their middles against a wooden bar, hanging forward over it slightly, breasts heaving with the effort of their task. Their buxom bottoms, out-thrust, still showed the red mark of the cane.
The woman at the well repeated her cry, hanging onto the dripping bag. Obediently the roped pair stepped back, two paces together. The water bag swung in heavily to the margin of the well and the blue clad woman tilted it to fill her can. Satisfied with that she wet her face and lips in leisurely fashion. Then while the harnessed pair waited patiently she tipped the rest of the contents of the water bag into one of the wooden troughs. Calling a few words of greeting to the camel riders as they came up, she stooped gracefully, hoisted the container and settled it onto her head. Not looking at the two naked white women, she let out another cry and, without waiting to see if it was obeyed, turned and walked slowly back the way she had come. Behind her the pair retreated obediently, carefully backing until the bucket had descended once more into the well and they had regained their place under the scant shadow of the thatch.
The camel caravan had come to a halt alongside the well troughs with a good deal of grunting, roaring and shrill yelling. Still peering from her cage, Angela could see that the men and children were drinking avidly from the trough that had been filled. The pulley wheel above had resumed its creak and she saw that the draught-women were on the move again. This time they were under the governance of a small black urchin in a long white gown. Armed with the rattan cane and strutting with juvenile importance, he was laying resounding whacks across the pair of flinching female bottoms while the recipients strove mightily to increase their speed. Out and back they went, responding to the shrill exhortations of their driver and the whacks of his cane, with dismal groans and protesting squeals.
Angela grabbed wildly at her cage, flung sprawling as her camel tipped and subsided. By the time she recovered her viewpoint the camels were all kneeling and unloading. Beyond them the bucket was rising, spilling and re-dipping, with clockwork regularity, spilling its silvery splashing load into the long troughs, and as they were unloaded the camels were being led to drink at them.
At last one of the men yelled to the boy and the pulley abruptly ceased to squeak. His exhausted charges were allowed to stagger to a halt, sagging over the wooden bar, their flogged rears now showing a whole network of red stripes.
Angela’s cage had been set down too, not far from the well machinery. Seen close to, the women who were its motive power were not entirely naked. What had seemed to be a dark triangle of pubic hair at the base of their bellies resolved itself as a small piece of leather held in place by strings no more substantial than a shoelace. The strings encompassed the hips and ran between the bottom cheeks, fastened behind by a knot enfolded in some kind of elaborate seal. Their cane-marked bottoms left perfectly exposed were plump and round, the women’s figures well fleshed and curvaceous, their ages about the mid or late twenties. If somewhat dusty, and despite the lingering traces of the cane, they showed no sign of having been hard worked beasts of burden for very long.
The oasis to which Angela had been delivered had formerly been a poor place hardly visited by Europeans and largely ignored by the government of the state in which it lay. Its settlement had consisted of a cluster of mud and palm frond huts on the shore of an almost undrinkable lake, with a ruined Kasr on the hillock nearby. Its inhabitants then were Negroid, ex-serfs of the family to whom Abdullah its present lord belonged.
This man was the descendant of a tribal hero famous for his exploits against the infidel colonial power. The young Abdullah, however, had been taken from his family at an early age and educated abroad at government expense in the hope of breaking the resistance of his tribe to re-settlement. Although trained as an engineer he proved an even more adept businessman. Returning after a change of regime, he became a very wealthy man as a concessionaire in a new tourist development on the coast, using his engineering skill to solve the problems of water supply and sewage. Remembering his distinguished ancestry and having a degree of contempt for the kind of European life style from which he had made his money, he had maintained his patronage of the distant tribesmen. He had taken over a government scheme to develop an artesian borehole in the oasis. The idea had been at that time to rebuild the Kasr as a tourist hotel, offering tourists the desert experience in modern comfort, with camel back visits to a desert wildlife sanctuary.
At the approach of the Catastrophe, Abdullah turned his remote oasis home into a refuge and, in the wake of the chaos, became a hero and leader to his people. It had been the government’s intention to force the nomads to settle, educate their children as sedentary people and to employ them as guides and servants for the tourists. Instead Abdullah gathered black labourers from the abandoned iron mines and debt-slaves from the desert salt works and other low class refugees and settled them as cultivators in the new oasis. The nomads who were mostly related to their hero by blood or marriage, continued to wander at large over land ruined by salt rains. Their way of life was more suited to the irregular pattern of rainfall than that of the vanished farmers.
The hotel was finished to be the Kaid’s palace. The simulated Moorish town within the old walls, meant to house craftsmen producing silverware and leather-crafts for sale to tourists, became homes for loyal servants recruited from the refugees. Its fake Souk became a market for the wandering tribesmen to bargain with chosen refugee specialists.
The new Kaid’s habit of collecting women the inhabitants considered as being of no discredit to him. The status of their own females had traditionally been dependant upon that of their family. Those of low status were treated as little better than beasts of burden. Women detached from any family setting were of no status at all. The local women themselves rejoiced in the easier life of the oasis and the institution of a new underclass to who they themselves could feel immeasurably superior. European women were well known to be shamelessly immoral in their sexual habits, whose services could be bought for money by any rich man. This public discipline enforced upon two of the Kaid’s slave beauties was therefore only a source of passing amusement.
Four of the men from the caravan seized Angela’s wicker cage by its corner poles and, hoisting it easily, bore her onwards up the slope towards the gateway to the town. This had been built only for show and it had neither gate nor guards, but inside the arch there was a scattering of spectators, mainly women and children.
The buildings on either side of the street were of stone and plaster with elaborately carved wooden window screens and narrow alleys between shaded by awnings and vine trellis. The covering of the cage had been stripped off, exposing its occupant to view. Dark eyes peered at Angela, women in billowing gowns of brilliant hues with blue tribal markings tattooed on their foreheads. Huge silver earrings dangled beneath elaborately plaited hair and wrists full of chinking bracelets lifted as they pointed fingers at her white nakedness. A hand or two reached to the bars as she brushed by in the narrow way as if to give her a pinch. The bearers shouted angrily. She was the Kaid’s slave and not to be idly damaged.
The palace itself stood within gardens furnished in the Moorish style with fruit trees and palms its fountains fed by siphon from the same artesian supply that furnished the oasis. The building was three storeys of white-washed stone, the old part having two fat round corner towers and the new part carefully built to blend in was as large again as the old.
The bearers of Angela’s cage halted before another arched gateway. This one had a door of carved wood which was standing wide but guarded by two uniformed black women smartly clad in khaki, each armed with a sheathed sword and a short whip. One of the women reached out to strike a large brass gong that echoed and re-echoed under the vault of the arch. The men set down their burden and stepped away from the carrying poles as if their work was ended. They lingered however, expectant and aloofly amused in the background, while the two Amazon guards studiously ignored them, remaining dignified and silent.
Presently, from within the arch, came the light patter of many bare feet. Four diminutive girl children in brightly patterned red dresses trotted forth. They were dark skinned and black haired, their slender wrists and ankles loaded with silver bangles, silver hoops in their little ears. Each one had in tow a fair-skinned adult European woman, twice her age and stature, stark naked and led like animals by a collar and chain.
The little girls greeted the guards and the watching men with merrily piping voices. They carried thin canes suspended from their wrists with a length of silk ribbon. With these, quite matter-of-factly, they directed their naked charges forward to take the places of the men at the carrying poles. The naked women shrank a little, dropping their eyes as they advanced, in apparent nervousness at the sound of the roughly jocular male voices, but they obeyed the directing motions of the little canes.
Bending to the poles, long tresses tumbling over their bare shoulders, half concealing swinging breasts, the slave quartet presented the leering onlookers with a fine view of plump pink backsides. They remained stooped for a moment, grasping the poles while across their pale backs the diminutive slave drivers regarded Angela with knowing and assessing eyes. Then, at some unspoken signal, one of the children uttered a shrill cry of command and the four leashed and collared carriers hoisted the cage aloft, Angela with it, and bore them rapidly within.
Once inside, in the service area of the palace, they turned sharply right and through another arch into a place of musically splashing water, cool green shadows and the rustle of leaves. At the end of a long garden alley they were met by a tall black woman in a red gown, and a boy who Angela didn’t immediately recognise wearing loose spotlessly white trousers, tunic and cap. The women slaves set down the cage.
“Out!” The black woman commanded in English, crooking her finger at Angela. Cramped muscles long unused made the captive clumsy. One of the little girls gave her a shrewd whack with her cane to speed her up. It hurt. Evidently the canes were not just a symbol of authority. Angela knelt upon all fours on the damp sand, giving up any ideas of rising further, while the slave women picked up and carried away the empty cage followed by two of the little overseers.
“She go to Kaid at once!” the woman in red said, handing the boy a leash and, as he bent to fix it upon Angela’s collar, she realised that it was Gibril merely divested of his old rags. His new supervisor marshalled her squad and they continued at Angela’s best pace with Gibril nervously leading her in dog fashion at the heels of the tall black woman and the two little girls giggling a little, following behind.
In a very few steps they passed out of the garden and emerged into bright space with a cool marble pavement under Angela’s hands and knees. Before her was a pool that would have done credit to a Hollywood movie mogul. It was oval-shaped and shimmering blue-green from the reflection of its gleaming tiles. Enclosing it was a curtain wall of dazzling whiteness, relieved by panels of colourful arabesque mosaic and topped by the rustling green fronds of palm trees. To one side the boundary became an arched colonnade filled with dark shadows and on the marble pavement before it, ornamental pottery tubs holding flowering plants and green shrubs.
At the far end of the pool the water supply to the pool spilled down a staircase of marble basins and splashing fountains banked by ferns and flowers. Halfway down the pool a black bullet head broke surface with a gleam of white teeth. Cleaving the water in a powerful crawl the man in the pool swam speedily towards them. He planted his hands on the pool side, strong brown hands heavy with gold rings, hauled himself up with a rush and sprang to his feet. He was naked; his muscular body streaming with water was short in stature but perfectly shaped. Two young boys in long red gowns rushed forward from the shadows to dry him with thick towels. He suffered them only briefly then waving them away, threw himself casually into a cane chair.
The chair made a sound like that of a rubber cushion giving way. Angela’s eyes following the man that far remained fixed upon the piece of furniture beneath him. Seat and back were one, a curve of basketwork, but the support beneath was a naked woman fettered helplessly in a crouching posture with the seat resting on her waist and shoulders. It had been she whose breath had been sharply exhaled at the sudden imposition of weight.
The relaxed pose only lasted a few seconds then the naked man was sitting upright, snapping his fingers. A drinks trolley moved smoothly up to the man’s elbow in response. An array of glassware and bowls sat upon an oval top of thick glass but the tray was supported upon the back and bottom of another naked woman. She was fastened to the underside of the glass by black leather straps at neck, waist and between her legs. Her limbs were fastened to a light metal frame with small brass castors beneath her palms and knees. Her head, brown hair plaited into a neat coronet, projected a little forward of the trolley. A cruel bit between her teeth reared it erect and made her thrust her breasts forward like the figurehead of a ship.
In her septum she wore a large ring with a length of silk cord by which she might be drawn forward, but for the moment she was propelling the whole unprompted, with movements of her fingertips and toes. Her hazel eyes flickered sideways as she manoeuvred the glass top correctly into position in a concentrated effort. She was undoubtedly another European by origin and, as much as could be seen of the human chair alongside her, was equally as white skinned.
The brown man took a glass and filled it from one of the array of bottles. He gave the human-trolley’s bottom a lightly dismissive spank and stood up, while she scrabbled frantically with toes and fingers, swivelling her equipage round. The alteration gave Angela a clear view of the woman’s naked hind parts. Her bulging sex had been completely depilated.
Glass in hand the man came forward to where Angela and her escort waited subserviently for his attention.
He rapped out a question and the black woman curtseyed, stammering something in reply.
Her master broke in impatiently, waving his hand dismissively. He clapped his hands and at the sharp sound, what had seemed to be a marble statue suddenly came to life and emerged gliding out of the shadows. It was a woman who had been standing motionless all this time, waiting to be of service. She was holding ready a long loose white cotton gown replete with gold embroidery, which her master donned as he went towards the door. The attendant, falling back, was revealed to be not quite as naked as the furniture. She wore, as her solitary garment, a little lace apron the skirt of which barely reached to conceal her pubis and the bodice merely formed a nest of lace in which to display her naked breasts. From behind she was covered by nothing more than a large lace bow perched pertly over bare bottom.
The little girls, who had been sitting by the poolside unabashedly dabbling their toes in the water, sprang to their feet to follow their lord. The flustered black woman signalled to Gibril who yanked anxiously at Angela’s leash so that they too started after the masterful figure. But evidently finding Angela’s best pace to be too slow for him, the man turned back impatiently almost at once and, picking her up bodily from the floor, slung her backside-foremost over his shoulder to the evident admiration of the children. His lack of height was deceptive for he was as strong as any professional lifter of weights.
He trotted swiftly down wide marble stairs and along a shady garden, with Angela bouncing behind his brown back. They passed several gorgeously dressed women in brilliant robes, beauties with skins from honey all the way to gleaming ebony, as well as another pair of the naked white ones, their leashes in the charge of one of the small girls. All curtseyed to the rapidly moving head of the procession and some of the well-dressed women tagged along behind, chattering animatedly.
After passing through a vaulted stone tunnel, they emerged in an older part of the fortress, a narrow yard with a stink unpleasantly redolent of tainted meat, which made most of the followers grimace and stand back, holding their noses.
They halted before a wire mesh pen full of active tan coloured dogs, long-haired with narrow skulls and long fang-filled jaws, more like large Saluki hunting dogs than anything else. A wizened old man had materialised from somewhere, hastily wiping his hands on his dirty gown, and began uttering what seemed by his accompanying low bows, to be objections or excuses. His master took no notice. Swinging Angela round, he dumped her unceremoniously amongst the startled dogs.
It happened so fast that Angela was eye to eye with the pack before she quite understood what was intended. They weren’t the disorganised mob it had seemed in her first panic. A glance identified the boss animal. The others left it to challenge this strange creature first and it advanced upon the new arrival with intimidating snarl and a display of bared teeth enough to tear her to pieces. For a second Angela froze in fear; then there sprang to her mind a recollection from childhood of a neighbour’s puppy making the mistake of trying to play with a bad-tempered German Shepherd.
Whimpering like a frightened puppy, she crouched low, demonstrating her subordination before she could have it proved upon her. She rolled over onto her back and held her fists and knees aloft, exposing her naked breasts and belly, squealing as much like a frightened puppy as she could manage.
It worked. The boss dog relaxed a little, wrinkling its black nose curiously. It investigated Angela thoroughly, snuffling down the length of her body while Angela continued to whimper submissively. Suddenly from her lowly position beneath its body, she realised that the lead dog was a bitch. Trembling, she let her knees fall apart cautiously and then reached down between her thighs to hold her sex-lips apart and let the suspicious animal get every drop of female scent she hoped it could pick up from the damp fuzz or the crinkled depths of her sex.
Outside the pen, the old dog keeper and Gibril were both talking at once. The owner waved them impatiently into silence. He leaned over and yanked Angela unceremoniously upright by her hair and then out of the pen.
Unexpectedly he turned out to speak English. “You woman fuck with dogs? Why you not?” Briefly she wondered if he had even realised that the lead dog was female, but she wasn’t about to enlighten him.
“Please Sir,” she babbled, “they … It needs … others … They … They didn’t bring them, Sir!” She had grown so accustomed to any speech of hers being ignored that she was hardly coherent.
Seizing Gibril by the collar, the Kaid barked orders, the crowd scattering before him as he stalked away.
That left Angela alone with the old dog-keeper. He was a small man, grey haired, one-eyed and virtually toothless, but producing a thick plaited black whip he definitely made it clear that he was her keeper too. Refastening the leash to her collar, he led her across to the lean-to shed against the walls from which he had emerged. Alongside the door was a stone bench with battered carving round the sides. He gave her a command his gesture indicating that Angela should spring up onto its top, tapping her with the whip until she was posed to his satisfaction.
He inspected her dog-fittings, collar and paw-mitts, with interest and prodded her thoroughly, testing her anus for tightness, sliding his fingers deep into her vagina and spreading the lips of her sex to expose her clitoris to his experimental titillation. He held his fingers under her nose, chuckling. Angela was so sensitive after her long holiday from regular arousal, that now he had found her wet.
He spoke to her with what was obviously another order but of course she didn’t understand. However, the projection from the front of his gown that he was fondling, gave her the general idea and the sight of the dog whip evoked her trained response. She gave her best doggy whine and thrust her bottom from side to side, wagging a non-existent tail and then spreading her knees wide thrust it upwards. The old man chuckled.
She felt his cock head probe her a man’s blunt knob and nothing like the sharp point of the dog-cocks her colleagues had carried. For a moment the difference almost unbalanced her, reminding her of her humanity. Then he was entering her with unaccustomed thickness that made her groan and wriggle, driving deeper and deeper into her wet channel, as deep as any dog-cock. Hard up, he paused. She felt his gown pulled up and rumpled rubbing against her bare bottom, his wiry pubic bush tickling her tender flesh. Unaccustomed human hands gripped her breasts squeezing the soft rounds and, using them as leverage, the dog-keeper began thrusting in and out.
Angela gasped and groaned as she was shafted with much elderly wheezing. Guiltily she was conscious that she was making a lot of un-doglike noises, though her abuser seemed unconcerned. Turning her head, she saw that they were being watched by a huddle of curious dogs. They seemed just as interested, sometimes one stretching up on hind legs against the mesh side of the cage to get a better view.
Afterwards, she was taken into the dog-keeper’s shack to share his bed in the warm darkness like a special pet. Inside, there were dog collars and leashes and muzzles hanging from pegs on the inner, stone wall, a workbench with tools, and scrap lengths of leather and chain. The only other furnishing was the string bed. The floor was sandy earth upon which hers were not the only paw marks.
The dog-keeper spoke no language that Angela recognised. He stank even when he shed his clothes and she found out why when she and the dogs were fed next day. There was a tub of bloody bones mixed with offal, by the size from the butchery of camels. This was the store of dog food from which the animal’s trough was filled.
To her relief she was not expected to share with her neighbouring cage-fellows. The soup that accompanied the flat loaves of bread she and the dog-keeper fed upon she tried to shun at first, suspecting its ingredients, but hunger defeated her. For a few hours she was allowed to live like a human, though since the price was to spend them servicing the dog-keeper on the string bed, this was a mixed advantage.
She was only allowed these brief excursions into humanity. Most of the time she was kept in a small cage, which she shared from time to time with hunting dog bitches in heat. For exercise she was walked daily on a leash by two or three of the Kaid’s girls through the palace complex and amongst the date groves. If she were lucky she would be allowed to relieve herself there, squatting in the sand with only the giggling dog walkers to watch. The worst was if they ran into a squad of boys practising drilling or fighting with spears or bows, who seemed to be the little girl’s male counterparts, as if the Kaid had sheltered and taken into his service a whole refugee orphanage.
Gibril reappeared, but was not invited to share her services. The old man showed obvious signs of jealousy of this possible rival dog-trainer.
“I tell Kaid we need other girls.” Gibril said through the bars. “He sending for them. They come maybe in two weeks if his men find them.”
It was more than two weeks before Rosalie turned up to join her. She had been found by the Kaid’s men on a market day in one of the settlements of refugees turned fishermen. The disorganised collection of huts among the swamps had taken over the function of the ruined town of Bamba and become a regular market place. The peasants were eager to exchange their new wealth of foodstuffs for ornaments and useful items of loot acquired by the desert raiders. They were eager to obtain work beasts too and an exchange had sprung up where the few camels, horses and donkeys that were available were sold by nomads to huge advantage.
Rosalie had been discovered wandering naked through the streets of the straggling townships, on the end of a long chain connecting her to one of the former dog-boys. She was the gift of the local chief for the duration of the celebration available to any man who fancied her. There were rules. She might not be taken indoors, that would be an offence to the women of the house, but only enjoyed up against the wall of an alley or in the less precarious privacy of a garden. Her naked skin was defaced with black charcoal scrawls. Every man who used her was required to inscribe his name or have it done for him by her boy.
Celia they had located but she had become the favourite concubine of a leading chief and the messengers hesitated to deprive him of her without the express instructions of the Kaid. They duly returned to him with an offer the man could not refuse. Rosalie, re-introduced to her former doggy skills, quickly resumed her former life, and meanwhile a newcomer was put in training with them. Celia when she arrived had to be retrained completely, but eventually reconciled by the whip to the loss of her black master she became a well-trained dog-woman once more.
A new more spacious cage had been added to the kennel-yard. In the cool light of evening, it was the scene of purposeful activity by the black slave mistress and dozen scurrying young assistants.
In the centre Rosalie was lying upon her back in the posture Angela had adopted with the hunting dogs. Not to show submission in this case, but to have her costume laced up along the belly by one of the attendants.
Celia stood to one side, already in full costume. Below her dog mask, a cape of rough hair enveloped her neck and shoulders and the hairy coat continued along her back to just short of the rump where the bare womanly bottom was left completely exposed, with only the thin strap which supported her long bushy tail diving between the two cheeks parted below the tail by a steel ring exposing the anus. Her dog-paws continued also as a hairy skin gloves past the elbows. She looked almost wholly wolf-like above the waist and largely human female for the rest. The sagging dog-cock lay halfway between the two.
Rosalie rolled over on command and gave way to Rebecca, the new recruit who was standing by upon all fours waiting to be fitted out. As the novice, she was always made to follow her seniors in experience.
Angela was mounted up on the stone bench, naked and unadorned. Her costume was to be fitted as if she were an absurdly modelled kind of mannequin. Black lace knickers were fitted in two pieces with tiny press-stud fastenings up the hip. Her dangling breasts were levered into the cups of a black half bra, the straps of which fastened similarly at each side below the arm. A bright scarlet dress went on over these, fastened at several separate points at shoulders and sides. Sandals with six-inch heels completed the outfit. On the still evening air came the sounds of distant music and laughter and applause.
She was left kneeling there upon all fours until the last moment when the rest of the performers were marshalled in line. Gibril fastened a light rope halter around her neck and led her off at the head of the procession.
The first command performance was produced in the little theatre in the garden that had been intended to house floorshows for the entertainment of the tourists. The audience was chosen for their appreciation of novelty. About a dozen men, sophisticated survivors of diverse origins, squatted or reclined among cushions upon a raised dais making a half circle around the walls of the large room. They were attended by enough of the female slaves as servitors and sex toys to ensure any immediate needs were satisfied. They had dined well and were supplied with such stimulants as their tastes or prejudices suggested.
A circle of shaded lamps lit the acting space before them and, by contrast, left the audience discreetly in shadow. In the centre one of the slave women, voluptuous of figure, accompanied by two musicians on drum and strings was coming to the climax of a belly dance.
She was followed by two girls, identical twin blondes, carrying between them a little padded couch upon which they proceeded to give a demonstration of lesbian fellatio with more vigour perhaps than enthusiasm.
All three performers were familiar to their audience from other occasions and won only enough applause as was polite to their master. As the twins pattered off, hand in hand, flushed and glistening with sweat, the men around the walls stirred in anticipation.
The black slave mistress and Gibril entered and replaced the couch with the representation of a fallen log, then retired to crouch at each side.
With a long introductory drumming role and the sound of distant howling, Angela entered, hastily looking over her shoulder. She was wearing a flimsy scarlet dress, short of skirt and with multiple flounces, and trotting on six-inch heels. Three dog-women entered after and rapidly overtook her, loping on knuckles and toes, wearing grinning wolf-masks, prick eared, tongues lolling, with bushy tails swinging behind them and huge dog-cocks bouncing below their bellies.
With realistic snarling and growling effects, they leapt upon Angela in unison, the curving canines of the dog masks hooking into and tearing off her dress in loose panels. She struggled to her knees, squealing, with one of the dog-women clinging to her knickers, which then gave way with a sudden snap. She crawled a few feet clad only in her bra with two snarling dog-women darting at her from either side. The flimsy bra parted too, before she struggled up with loose breasts bouncing wildly, then promptly fell over her high heels, landing face down and bottom up over the imitation log.
The biggest dog-woman thrust the muzzle of her mask between Angela’s thighs while the fallen victim kicked her legs extravagantly, sobbing and wailing. It mounted Angela and set to humping her vigorously, the bushy tail bouncing up and down and the huge balls bouncing upon Angela’s pussy.
The other two circled round, scurrying upon knuckles and knees this time, then began to fight, rolling over and over snarling realistically and scratching.
The dog fucking Angela withdrew, sticky white fluid oozing from its dog-cock. The two fighting dog-women parted and one, apparently at random, immediately took the place of the first.
It mounted Angela who howled harder than ever as the dog cock was thrust not where its precursor had left a wet and dripping gape but into the higher and tighter orifice. The first dog retired a little apart and sitting on her tail curled her back into a tight curve to reach the tip of her dog-cock and thrust it under her muzzle as if licking it painstakingly clean.
The remaining dog-woman now backed her naked rear end up against Angela’s face. The victim’s cries were immediately muffled and then ceased. The dog-woman stood braced, arms and legs wide, with her long dog-cock wagging vigorously up and down beneath her belly as Angela licked its balls. Her tail began to thump Angela about the head and her bottom cheeks flexed hard, haunches hollowing in evident ecstasy.
The cock-licking human wolf was also quivering wildly now, opening and closing her thighs and bumping her bottom on the floor in almost the same state of excitement.
Finally the surmounting dog-woman swung her leg over Angela’s back and performed the reversal that left them butt to butt. Both she and Angela, though their outer parts were static, were now grinding their bottoms together like mad things.
One by one they quivered to a stop. Four young attendants hurried on and busied themselves fastening leashes. One by one the four performers were led panting round the audience, the dog-substitutes whining behind their masks their naked flanks quivering and hips squirming, tails wagging furiously as a consequence of unwelcome stimulation. They were patted and examined and allowed to lie by the side of favoured members of the audience who aware of the nature of the dog-women’s position amused themselves by caressing them until they were forced to submit to the release of orgasm. Angela, coming last and favoured with the position of dishonour alongside the Kaid himself, was coupled with Gibril as a reward for his contribution to the amusement.

From then onwards Angela and her companions were employed in the palace largely as ornamental watchdogs and pets. Permanently restricted to a dog posture they padded back and forth through the palace from the kennel they all shared to the Kaid’s apartments. Chained up outside their master’s door they were forced to announce all arrivals with an imitation of a watch dog’s bark and announce the arrival of their master with the appropriate howls.
In between times they were treated as pets, led by amused ladies round the gardens and put to performing for their diversion. The other slaves regarded them with horror not unmixed with fear as having been lowered even below themselves. The little girls regarded them as toys and harnessed them in pairs to a small cart for trips into the date groves.
At last, through all her subterfuges, Angela had reached what civilisation had survived the Catastrophe for certainly this oasis had the degree of organisation formerly thought requisite. But it was a civilisation in which she had only the status of an animal.