tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37118186518940581032024-02-29T21:39:47.663-08:00Black DelightsMy Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-32535496607655236252007-10-04T15:46:00.001-07:002007-10-04T15:46:49.329-07:00A few stories007 The Transformation of RobertAs you all know I was away out of the country on business for some time. In my position I am in a position over others, training them in the workplace. However, I never miss an opportunity to help train them or their spouses when off work. So when I noticed that Anna, one of my trainees and married to Robert, was being secretly kissed and fondled by Max, I took notice.I said to Anna, "Are you going to see Max tonight for a little fun?”Anna did not appear shocked at all and responded, "No, I'm not in the mood for more sex."Surprised, I said, "More sex?"Anna replied, "Robert wants to have sex three or four times a day and, frankly, I'm getting tired of it with him: I want some variety, but I'm just too worn out.""I see," I said. "So Robert is a little too frisky and you have better or, at least, more fun opportunities that you're turning down? That's a shame, but there is a cure for it, you know.""What do you mean? How can I cure it?" Anna asked."Well, if you can join me for dinner at my place tonight I can explain it to you and turn your life into something you are only dreaming of now.""Okay; sure, I'll call Robert and tell him I have a meeting."So it was that Anna went home with me and we had a wonderful dinner prepared by my maid, Sissie. Anna was unaware who Sissie was and I left it that way for the time being.After dinner, I said, "Anna, if Robert is that horny, you must take charge and use it to totally control him.""How do I do that?" Anna asked, intrigued."Sex is like a drug to men and if you withhold it you can totally control them. You can turn them into a willing, obedient slave who will encourage you to take and enjoy other lovers. I know it sounds far-fetched but here is how you start. Next time Robert is all excited, stop him and say, ‘Robert I can't take it any more. I love you but the hair on your body totally turns me off. I just can't stand it. I will no longer have sex with you until you do something about your hairy body.’ He'll ask what to do and you tell him to shave it off; all of it; legs, underarms, chest, belly and backside. Then turn over and go to sleep. Stick to your guns until he does it. And then inspect him. Make him do it all. He will most likely not do his pubic area so you tell him to tuck his cock between his legs and put on a pair of panties and shave the bikini line: that that is the only hair you will allow. Be firm and insist and don't have sex with him until he does it. Then really give him great sex; the best he has ever had. This will teach him that if he does as you say he will be rewarded but that if he does not do what you want then he suffers.""It sounds pretty easy. Is it really that easy?" Anna asked incredulously."Yes, as long as you don't give in. Now buy him some hair remover and get him used to keeping his body clean every day or he gets no sex. But now if he delays for a day, you delay for two days; if he delays for a week, you delay for two weeks. You must show him who is in charge. If he persists, tell him you may have to find a lover as you need sex but cannot stand it with a hairy guy. Once you have him keeping himself smooth, tell him he needs to check the bikini line daily and so, as a reminder, you've replaced his underwear with bikini cut panties. Always tell him how sexy he looks and how hot it makes you when you see or think of him in panties."Next begin playing with his nipples. Rub them; suck on them; keep stimulating them. Tell him you think they're not sensitive enough and you really love to play with them so you’re going to help make them more sensitive. He'll ask how. Get a bra and put it on him. Then go wild with desire and reward him well for obeying you. Tell him he's a good boy for trying to please you. Tell him this every time he does what you want."Anna wasn't convinced. "That sounds like I'll be turning him into a sissy. I don't think he'll like that.""I assure you he will love it and thank you for it once you're done. Males truly love to please women but they have no training or guidance on how to do it, so it's up to you to do it. They're so much happier and healthier once they're trained and we girls have so much more fun. For example, you know that I'm married, right?""Yes, but your husband isn't around to stop you.""You're right in a way: he's not around to stop me; he's here to support my efforts and serve me as a proper sissy maid cuckold husband should.""What are you talking about?” Anna asked. “The only person here is your maid and she's here to wait on you hand and foot. I should be so lucky."I laughed and called Sissie to the dining area. "Sissie, turn and lift your uniform and lower your panties for Ms Anna here."Sissie did as he was told and Anna kept looking at her bottom and at me, back and forth with her mouth open. She was obviously a little shocked and seemed to be unable to speak. I began to explain to her, "Anna, this is my husband, Sissie. As you can see, I've transformed him into my personal maid. He is completely sissified and very subservient and exactly what I propose for your Robert. Sissie was much like Robert when we first got married; wanting sex all the time, but I was used to a variety of men."I'd dated a lot of men before I married Sissie. And, once you get used to a variety of good lovers, you miss it. I also loved being in charge and in control and never liked the housewife routine so, in talking to friends and doing a little research, I found out I could have my cake and eat it."Sissie, tell Mistress Anna about my lovers and keep it brief, please."Sissie said, "Madam has a lot of lovers in the States, Ma'am, and she has already found three here. They’re all good lovers and can make love to her at least three times before needing a rest. She tried several others but they weren't good enough for Madam."Anna said, "Well, you seem to be okay with her having lovers. Doesn't it ever bother you, I mean being her… ah… husband?""Yes, Ma'am, it does bother me sometimes; mostly when Madam is looking for a new lover and has to go through several losers to find a good one,” replied Sissie. “I know how much better she feels when she has the attention and skill she needs and deserves and it's sad to see her have to go days without that kind of service.""You mean it doesn’t bother you that she goes to bed with other men?""Why would it?” Sissie asked. “My purpose in life is to make Madam happy and please her in any way I can. She would be really bored with me and would most likely divorce me if I were her only source of sex and I'm sure she'd be extremely bored. No, Ma'am, I much prefer that she is happy and that happens when she has good lovers. I'm sure you can see that I don't consider myself to be the head of the house nor do I think women fall over themselves for me. My position is to look as pretty as I can for her and serve her as best I can by doing what she despises, namely housework. I love my position and am happy she trained me for it. I love being with her and, as her maid, I'm with her more than any of her lovers so it's good for both of us.""I see," mused Anna. "So you're truly happy she dresses you like this, makes you do the housework and screws other men?"Sissie didn't hesitate. "Yes, Madam, I couldn't be happier. Although I must beg your forgiveness because she does not make me dress like this or make me do housework. At first she did to me what she's telling you to do to Robert and I must confess that soon I was loving to be "made" to dress in feminine attire. It feels so good! I also found that when I was dressed like a maid I thought and acted like a maid and actually loved to do housework. Madam has explained to me that the proper uniform puts you in the correct frame of mind for the task. And that certainly does apply to me. When I am to study my female studies I change into a schoolgirl's outfit and when I exercise I put on my cheerleader uniform. When I go to sleep I dress in a nightie so my mind is correctly aligned for the task and it helps me to do it so much better - and it's really fun, too.""Okay, Sissie, you're babbling now," I interjected. "Turn back around and let's show Mistress Anna the details of your bottom." Sissie did as I told her. "Anna, do you see how his penis head is back near his hole? Do you see the little ring going though the penis head and the skin on his bottom? That keeps his little toy back there where it belongs. He must sit to pee and has no bulge at the front. It rubs between his legs which keeps him slightly stimulated and enjoying his situation. His ring is soldered shut so it can not be removed and he can't use his penis as a real man would - ever. You can use a lock if you wish to control Robert and still use him but eventually I think you'll see that doing as I have done here is the best way to handle sissy boys.""So he never gets any sexual relief?" Anna asked.I smiled. "Oh, sure he does, but he gets it like a girl. He gets screwed and the friction against the bed will allow him to cum but it's often indirect and he must mentally cum like a female to get a climax. This serves several purposes. I retain better control and the reward he gets when he gets it is much better. He must work very diligently at being as female as possible to maintain his ability to cum in this manner. He must assume a submissive female sex position and take a dildo, strap on or real cock to get relief. Each time he does this it reinforces the fact that he is not a real man and is a sissy and my property. They find it frustrating at first but become very submissive and agreeable soon enough and after that I think it's the best sex they ever had.""So you think I could really do this with Robert?" Anna asked thoughtfully. "You think it would really work?""Sure, it works on any male if you follow the program," I reassured her. "Men are really weak when it comes to things like this. I don't recommend a head to head match, but use your feminine powers and you'll have him inpanties and a bra in no time and soon, if you keep after it, you can have him waiting on you and your lover in his cute little French maid’s uniform and, best of all, he'll love doing it! Now, are you ready to begin? Do you have any questions?""I have a million questions," Anna laughed. "How long have you been doing this to Sissie? Has Sissie ever been made to suck a cock? You may think I'm weird but I fantasise about making Robert suck a cock.""First it is just as natural for a woman to want to see men suck each other off as it is for men to want to see women making love to each other," I reassured her again. "And yes, Sissie has learned to be a good cock sucker. Some of my lovers make him suck their cocks and some don't want anything to do with it. I've also put him with other sissy husbands and made them suck each other off. They love it, they really do. I've kept Sissie in panties and petticoats for 21 years.""So if I get Robert trained do you think we can make him and Sissie suck each other off?""Most certainly. Now keep me posted each day with what happens and DON'T GIVE IN."Anna went home and began to train Robert as I had suggested. When I saw her the next day she said he'd refused to shave his body so she didn’t give him any sex. The following night he was shaved except for his pubic hair: guys always try to avoid this area. So she gave him a pair of panties and told him that, until further notice, he had to wear panties all of the time and if no hair showed from under them he could have his way; if not he was shut off. He did as he was told and she was delighted.In my experience, many women know they want a perfectly trained husband but don't believe they are strong enough or capable enough to accomplish it when, in reality, women usually far out-class males in this area and it simply takes not giving in to hubby out of guilt. Believe me when I say you will be much happier and he will be a much better person and love you for it once he is trained.Anna kept me posted on the progress Robert was making. It didn't take long for him to learn that he had to wear panties, he had to keep his body shaved and he had to be tucked to get the sex he craved so strongly. Anna was doing well and we discussed his progress, or lack of, every day.She started dating her lover and was really starting to enjoy life. As time moved on she became more and more interested in training Robert to be just like Sissie and was impatient to see him move ahead. I cautioned her that it needed to be a steady forward progress and not to rush into things.She began working on Robert to wear bras and nylons as well as nighties to bed at night. It went well and she had Robert down to sex three times a week, down from at least 21 times. She was ready to take some permanent steps and I was anxious to help her take them.One morning Anna said, "I need to get Robert under complete control: my lover wants to start staying over at night and I am afraid that if he does now Robert may revolt.”"Well...yes, he probably would since you have not even worked on letting him know you are seeing another man," I agreed. "You need to do some ground work before you start having men to the house. This is all still pretty new to Robert and you need him in a situation he feels he can't get out of before you drop that bombshell on him. So here's what you need to do. Draw up a contract that says if he cheats on you then you get everything he has and all of the money he might make in the future and any possessions he might acquire in the future. Then, after you list several pages of items and details and possibilities, put in a paragraph that says this also applies if he fails to keep you sexually satisfied or is unable to immediately and naturally satisfy you. Keep this brief and amongst other details and as plain as you can so as not to draw attention. When you give it to him, tell him you're afraid he's cheating on you and make a big deal out of it. You know he isn't and he'll be highly offended and assure you he is not and will not. At that time you say, 'Then if that is true you won't mind signing this, will you?' Tell him it's about cheating and if he signs it you'll take him to bed. Toy with him and he'll most likely read the first few lines and sign it. If not, you'll have your work cut out, but get him to sign it."Anna hesitated then said, "Okay, I'll do it tonight, but what then, Rebecca?""Then you start talking about how you saw a pierced penis and how sexy it was. Tell him you climaxed just looking at it. Tell him you want to see a real one and tell him that he shouldn’t mind if you look at a real one if you don't use it. He'll argue but tell him that you don't think he's man enough to have his penis pierced and tugged on and other games played with it. He'll assure you that he's man enough but may find some other excuse. Go on about it over the next week until he gives in. Find someone who's good atsuch things and invite them to your house. But time it so you'll have complete control over Robert. I'd suggest that every third night, when you let him have release, you tie him over something with his penis back between his legs in his panties and rub and tease him. Then lick and suck him so he really has a great time getting off. Do this twice and have your piercer there the third time."Get Robert hot and then time it so the piercer comes to the door. When they come in tell them that Robert wants his penis pierced and fastened by a permanent ring back near his anus. Be sure it's a permanent job so he can't remove it. Before he's released, have him sign a paper that says, 'I Robert, beg my wife, Anna, to allow me to pierce my penis and fasten it permanently back between my legs to help control my sexual urges, which I have been incapable of controlling, and beg her help. I agree to cooperate in every way possible and agree that she shall have power of attorney over me. I understand that it will now be up to her to decide when I shall or shall not have sexual release and I agree to wear what she tells me and do what she tells me. I can no longer operate as a man and wish my wife to treat me completely as a female domestic from this day forward.' Make Robert sign this and then have the piercer witness it after he has been pierced but before you release him. Leave the house after he signs it but before you release him and have me sign it and then make copies. Give me a few and take two home, one for you and one for Robert. Read it to him then ask him if he is now able to satisfy you. He'll realise he can't and you need to read the important part of the first letter to him so he understands you will now have the right to take lovers."He'll soon be pretty upset and beside himself and probably crying. Tell him that you have really wanted lovers and tell him there's a guy who you've been seeing and you'd love to bring him home and introduce him to Robert. He'll panic and beg you not to. Tell him that if he'll put on some additional feminine items, you'll consider his feelings. Then get him in a slip, dress, heels, make-up and wig and tell him to bend back over the chair or table over which you had him before and you'll play with him. Re-tie him securely. I think you'll find him pretty pliable at this point. Once he's tied up, start to play with him. Then pause and go and get your phone. Come back to Robert and play with him and pause to dial the phone. Then play with him as you talk to your lover."Tell your lover that Robert has decided to cooperate and has signed a document to that effect. Explain that you had several witnesses and made multiple copies and gave them to a friend; that your friend had the address of all Robert’s friends, co-workers and relatives and was ready to mail a copy to each if Robert didn't cooperate."Invite your lover to come right over and your lover will ask what you plan to do with Robert. Tell him that you plan to train Robert to be your domestic; a sissy maid cuckold, trained to do housework and wait on guests. Tell him how Robert is already dressed and tell him to hurry."When your lover gets there, introduce him to Robert as, 'Darling, this is Robert, my new maid. HE will soon be a well trained sissy maid cuckold and completely obedient and dedicated to serving us both.' Robert will be embarrassed to death and your lover will laugh at the wimp. Then kiss him in front of Robert and then have him make love to you where Robert can see or at least hear: be vociferous and show Robert that he was never the lover you have now."When you're done and your lover has left, play with Robert and tell him how much fun you had and how great it was to have Robert there while you were so satisfied. Explain that this is just the start and that he'll soon learn to love it. Explain about my Sissie and how I'm helping you. Get him excited while telling him how you're going to turn him into a complete sissy wimp and let him cum. As he relaxes, kiss him and tell him how you love him and how, as long as he does what you say, he will always have a place in your home. Do not let him call you by your name unless he uses a title. He is now YOUR domestic and MUST show respect when addressing you. Do you think you can do this?"Anna grinned. “Oh, yes, I think so. I think I am sooo ready to have a real man in my bed while Robert prances around in high heels and make up, wearing a French Maid's uniform like your Sissie. Yes, I am sooo ready, Rebecca."When Monday arrived Anna was so excited she asked me if we could go outside at break time. I agreed and she was bursting with happiness. She had invited Max over on Friday night and he ended up staying the entire weekend. She said when she got home on Friday, Robert was ready and waiting for her in his Maid's uniform. He was quite humble and told her how much he loved her and how much he loved it when she touched him. She took him in her arms and reached under his skirt and played with him until he was quite excited. She then explained to him that she had bought something new for him to wear and asked him if he liked what she had been buying him so far. He said he did and she kept working him up. She told him that if he were a very good girl tonight that he would get the greatest reward of his life; that the sex that night would be better than he could have ever imagined, but he had to wear what she had bought for him. He quickly agreed and Anna took out a harness and started to put it on.Robert wanted to know why he needed to have his elbows and ankles restrained and Anna told him, "Because the sex tonight may be more than you can stand if you're not restrained where I can control you."Robert, of course, had a different idea of who was going to be the direct beneficiary of that sex so he did as he was told.Anna placed a collar on his neck with a chain that went to his ankles. The chain forced him to bend and be about six inches shorter. His ankles were locked into cuffs that allowed him about a three inch step. His elbows were attached tightly to his waist so he could still do his domestic duties, such as serving, but not have free use of his arms.Anna said that about 45 minutes after he was locked up Max rang the bell. She told Robert to answer the door. Robert was scared but she told him if he did not answer the door she would push him outside and call the police and tell them there was a peeping tom outside her window. Robert was mortified and so scared to go to the door he could hardly stop shaking and crying, but he did and, when he opened it, Max was there. Anna brushed past Robert and gave Max a huge kiss which lasted several minutes and ended with Max fondling her. Robert had escaped to the kitchen and when Anna went looking for him he was cowering on the floor.She introduced Max to Robert as her lover and then said to Max, "This used to be my husband but he decided he would rather be my sissy maid, didn't you, dear?" Robert nodded his head yes, his tears making his mascara run.Max laughed and said, “I can see why. He isn't much of a man, is he? What a pansy."Anna agreed. "No, dear, he's not and that’s why you're here. And… Pansy... I think that’s the perfect name for you, dear. Thank you, Max: I've been wondering what to call him and Pansy is just perfect. And Pansy will be at our beck and call from now on; serving us our meals and cleaning up. You see, Pansy, Max and I have been having an affair for some time, but we've always ended up being interrupted, snatching just a minute here and there, and now we want to expand it by having it here, in our bed. And since you are now doing all of the domestic work and since I don't have to sneak off with Max I will be able to enjoy my lover much more and still be able to supervise your training. Isn't that wonderful?"Anna waited a second then said, sternly, "I asked you a question, Pansy.""Why are you doing this to me?" Robert whined."Oh, Pansy, you have it so wrong! You've done it to yourself. You signed the papers and made the agreements and my boss, Ms Rebecca, and others know all about your desires and have copies of the paperwork so there is no going back on your word. Besides, Ms Rebecca has trained her husband in the same fashion and says that soon you will learn to love your new life. She says her sissy husband, Sissie, does very much and that we should get the two of you together, since you have so much in common. I think you would like to have a sissy friend to share cleaning and makeup secrets with, wouldn't you?""I don't understand," Robert whinged."You will, Pansy, you will. Max and I plan to train you to be a perfect sissy maid waiting on us and our guests, serving in a domestic capacity like a proper sissy maid. And Max has agreed to discipline you for minor infractions which will most likely consist of over the knee spankings, right, honey?""Yes, my love," confirmed Max, "and so Pansy knows how serious I am he should know that when I do spank him I plan to have an audience of at least three or four people and that it will be over my knee with hands tied behind his back and his dress up. Should I give him a sample?""Pansy, do you want Max to give you a sample?" Anna offered."No, please, no," Pansy begged."Well then, Pansy, I want you to stand up and welcome Master Max to my home and pledge your obedience to him as you have to me.”Pansy stood up and, trembling, said, "Welcome to my wife’s home Master Max. I am so happy you are here and I will be very happy to serve you, Sir."Anna wasn't impressed. "Not bad for a first try, but don't refer to me as your wife: it denotes ownership and you don't own me: I own you. Also, I think you need to try much harder to show your new Master how much you really love his being here; how willing you are to serve him and how glad you are he will be taking care of me in bed. This is your last chance and if you don't please me with this welcome I will ask Max to demonstrate how you will be spanked.""Master Max, Sir, I am so happy you are here, Sir. Nothing could make me happier. My life was empty without you here, Sir. I will love serving you, cooking and serving your meals, washing and ironing your clothes, cleaning your shoes, washing your car and being your humble servant. And, Sir, it is my greatest pleasure that you will satisfy Ms Anna in bed and pleasure her beyond what I could ever dream of doing. I am so happy that she has you, Sir, and that she will be able to enjoy you at any time, most honoured Sir.""Not bad for a Pansy, but keep thinking about it as I will ask you over and over and each time your commitment must be better. Now get dinner on the table for us. We want to finish dinner so we can get to bed early."Pansy did as he was told. He had cooked dinner for two as he had been instructed and so he went without dinner. Anna wanted him to lose weight and so missing a few meals was in her plans for him. Anna said his serving was okay but she could see he had a long way to go before she would want him serving at a tea. She said the whole thing was making her so hot she wanted to rip Max's clothes off right there and screw him on the table but she knew she must restrain herself for Pansy's benefit and training. When they were done with dinner, Anna ordered Pansy to get the bed ready for her and Max and to bring one of the straight-backed chairs to the bedroom. Pansy did so and Anna asked Max to fasten Pansy to the chair so he could learn a thing or two.Anna's eyes really lit up at this point and I thought she would climax right there, telling me how great it was to be made love to for hours by a hunk like Max while her sissified husband was under her complete control, confined to the chair. She said she never knew sex could be that good. I explained to her I knew what she meant as sex was never as good if Sissie was not present in his sissy maid cuckold capacity. She said they turned Pansy loose in the morning and gave him a few minutes to freshen up and then prepare breakfast, but after breakfast it was back to bed.Over the weekend she had Pansy in the chair, sleeping on the floor with a leash tied to the bed and standing in the corner. She said next weekend she planned to have him start performing clean-up duties. She also said she wanted Pansy and Sissie to meet and spend some time together. I told her I thought that was an excellent idea and if she wanted she could drop Pansy by on Tuesday and Thursdays and they could spend time together.Anna wanted to know if I was concerned about leaving them alone. I told her that Sissie was completely trustworthy and knew very well his lifestyle was the envy of millions of men and he could be replaced in a heart beat. I told her that Sissie fully understood his place and the need to convert more males into sissydom and he would be an asset and not to worry at all.On Tuesday morning, Anna brought Pansy around to my home. He was quite embarrassed and uneasy about being out in public and being taken to my home. I met them at the door and had Sissie standing in the corner for Pansy to see when he came in. Sissie was dressed in a little pink fully ruffled party dress, pink turndown socks and black Mary Janes. He had a big pink bow in his hair, which was in pig tails. As he stood there he was holding up the back of his dress, exposing his panties; a pair of panties that said, "Steve and Rebecca July 7 2003.”Anna was pleased and excited but a bit nervous as well. She wanted assurance that it would be alright and that her work would not get set back by leaving Pansy and Sissie alone all day without supervision. I assured her she would be well satisfied with the results, which calmed her down."Sissie, tell Madam Anna what your panties say and what it means," I ordered."Madam Anna, my panties say, 'Steve and Rebecca July 7 2003' and they were a gift from Madam Rebecca to me. She wore them that night when she was with Steve and when she got home gave them to me to sew the date of her affair and the name of her lover so I would always be reminded what fun she had that night. I have many, many more pairs of panties with other names and dates on them." "Do you like to wear them Sissie?" Anna asked, her curiosity piqued."Yes Madam, I love to wear them," Sissie said unhesitatingly."Sissie, come over here and meet Pansy," I said.Sissie left the corner, dropping the rear hem of his dress as he walked to the area where Pansy was standing. Sissie gave a curtsey and said, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Pansy. You are very sissyish."Pansy blushed and Anna smacked him behind the head and told him to copy Sissie. He did as he was told but was quite awkward. Sissie took his hand and told him she would her practice her curtseys; that she loved to practice curtseys."Okay, Sissie," I agreed, "you help Pansy learn some things and understand some things. Do not miss your routine and I want you both to take a sissy nap at one o'clock for an hour in the crib, do you understand?""Yes, Madam. We will be good, Madam," Sissie responded immediately.Anna and I left for work and returned at six o'clock that night. Sissie will describe what went on during the day.As soon as we'd bid good-bye to our Mistresses, I turned to Pansy and said, "Well, Pansy, you look very cute as a sissy. How do you like being treated as a pansy?"Pansy gave me a look of contempt. "Well, frankly, I hate it. Can we dispense with the pretend stuff now that they're gone and figure out how to get out of this mess?"Although I'd hoped otherwise, I was expecting this reaction. "Oh, MY, you're really confused. We cannot get out of this mess, as you put it, and, honestly, I wouldn't want to get out of it for all of the money in the world. I can see you're a very selfish and foolish girl. Do you have any idea how lucky you are? Do you understand what this really is and means? You'd better wise up fast, is all I can say. You sound like a person who would cut off their nose to spite their face. Oh...how could you be so awful?"Pansy gave me a look of incredulity. "What are you talking about? Are you really telling me you like being dressed like some little play dolly? You really like -"I quickly interrupted his rant. "Oh, Pansy, you are so much like a stupid boy. Don't you get it? Your wife has taken the time to save you; to make you into a better person; to open your eyes and show you the universe. You're so wrapped up in being a stupid boy that you can't see past your big nose. It's no wonder women are so tired of men and get so disgusted with men. Here your wife is trying to help you and you act like it's an effort on your part; that you're at a loss. You're a jerk.""What do you mean, helping me? Helping me to lose my manhood maybe; helping me to be a slave; helping me to be humiliated!""Oh, really?" I snorted. "Are you telling me that if you really didn't want her to do this to you that you couldn't have stopped her? She is so much stronger than you that she just twisted your arm and put the panties on you with her other hand? Wow! She doesn't look that strong to me."I had Pansy on the defensive now. "Well, no," he stammered. "I mean she tricked me: she got me all hot and had me sign papers and she tricked me and now I can't -""You can't what?" I interjected. "You wanted to blow this place now that they were gone: that's what you said. Look, don't lie to me and I won't lie to you. You're a Pansy and so am I. I've been a Pansy for more than twenty years and I have accepted it. I like it and I want to stay that way. I feel good about serving my wife, obeying her and pleasing her and if you had one ounce of brains you would do the same.""You're wrong, Sissie," Pansy said with despair in his voice. "You don't know what you're talking about.""Oh really?" I said disbelievingly. "Well, okay then; walk out the front door and leave if you want, but I have things to do, nice things and I am going to do them so leave if you want and I won't tell anybody." I knew that Pansy was going nowhere dressed in a mini skirt, heels and make-up."Well I just might," Pansy blustered.I went into the bedroom and begun to suck on a large Black dildo, then lifted my dress and lowered my panties and impaled myself slowly and purposefully onto the dildo with my lower legs on the floor to the rear so she could pump my sissy pussy up and down on the hard Black cock. I then placed my lips on a second Black cock in front of me and stared at a collection of twelve photos all showing Madam with her various lovers before turning on the vibrator switch for the cock in my bottom and beginning to pump. I noticed that Pansy had entered the room and was watching me. She stood transfixed and watched in fascination rather than horror. I spent about 20 minuets on the altar and came to a wonderfully slow climax. I calmed down and removed myself and fixed my appearance. I just smiled at Pansy and said, "You're such a fool: this is the life."I then changed into one of my maid's uniforms and walked to the kitchen and started to scrub the floor.Pansy followed and soon was down on her knees helping me but I stopped her and said, "Sorry, Pansy, you must dress properly to do this type of work."Pansy looked at me with sad eyes and said, "But this is all I brought.”"I can lend you one of mine if you wish," I offered kindly."Would you?" Pansy asked gratefully."Yes. Let's go and pick one out and try it on."We two sissies went back to my bedroom and looked at six different uniforms that I had in my closet. Pansy chose a frilly French maid's uniform that was more suited for dress maid's work than dirty housework, but I knew it was best to allow her to be as pretty as possible. I helped Pansy put on a full slip and then the dress. Next I put a maid's cap on Pansy and got her a pair of three inch heels. The outfit was completed with a pretty white lacy maid's apron. Back in the kitchen we two panty waists begin to talk about housework and every chance I got I put in a positive word about being a sissy maid cuckold.When we had finished cleaning the kitchen we moved to the bathrooms and then the living room. At noon I said I'd fix us lunch. I split a hot dog between us, explaining to Pansy that losing weight would give her a nicer figure and make her look sexier in her outfits.I then suggested we fix each other's make-up and Pansy said she knew very little about applying make-up; that Madam Anna always put it on her. I gave her some tips and Pansy was soon enjoying her new-found skills.Then I announced that it was time for their sissy nap as Madam Rebecca had ordered."What is a sissy nap Sissie?" Pansy asked."Well, Pansy, it's where two sissies like us get in a crib, the one in my room, and to fit we need to be in the 69 position. Come on, I'll show you."We went to my bedroom and got in the crib. I arranged my head between Pansy's legs and Pansy her head between my legs.I said, "Oh, Pansy, you have such pretty panties! May I feel them?""Thank you, Sissie. Yes, you may."I started to feel her panties around Pansy's weenie and rubbed his little head so it would feel good. Pansy reacted right away in a positive manner but he said, "Oh, Sissie, do you think this is right to do?'"This is one of the many benefits of being a sissy," I explained. "We're not men: we don't look like men; we don't act like men; so it's okay for me to rub your panties and it's okay if you want to feel mine."Pansy had long been without sex and was in bad need of it, so he succumbed really quickly, not to mention that having an excited weenie rubbed through a pair of silk panties is past being in Heaven. Soon I started to tug Pansy's panty leg aside to expose the tiny weenie head. I then licked it and kissed it. Pansy was near exploding and I knew it so I told Pansy to do the same for me or I'd need to stop. Pansy did as she was told and then I took the tiny head between my lips and sucked slowly and deliberately. I paused and told Pansy to copy me or I would have to stop and go to sleep. Pansy did so without hesitation and soon we two sissy husbands were sucking each other's chastised penis heads. Pansy's chastisement was exactly like mine and so neither of us could get more than the little weenie heads in our mouths. I sucked away slowly, making Pansy love the action but not increasing the tempo to cause Pansy to spurt. I knew that Pansy would be far better off to have this go on for a half hour, if possible, so that she would then be addicted to having it done; that she would then accept herself as the pansy she was.Every once in a while I would stop and say, "Don't you just love wearing a bra?" and Pansy would say, "Yes.”I'd then say, "Yes what, Pansy?”Pansy would say, “Oh, yes, I do just love wearing a bra.”Soon Pansy understood that yes was not adequate and when I asked, "Oh, Pansy, don't you just love serving your wife's lover as a sissy maid?" Pansy replied, "Oh, Sissie, I love serving my wife and her lover as her sissy maid."I began to smile as I knew this male was fully hooked and would learn to be a good and useful feminised sissy maid cuckold. I knew Madam would be proud of me once again and I would be rewarded, perhaps with a new and tighter corset.I kept up the teasing for as long as possible but suddenly Pansy began to stiffen and jerk. I sucked hard and fingered Pansy's weenie until Pansy shot her load into my mouth. I carefully sucked him dry and swallowed all of the cum Pansy had to offer. Pansy tried to return the favour but I knew that cum doesn't always taste great to the first time sucker so I let Pansy suck a while before telling him it was okay: I had cum earlier on my altar and that, as a sissy, I had enjoyed the kissing and sucking enough to be content.When we got out of bed, I kissed Pansy on the cheek and told her, "Pansy, I hope we can become very good sissy friends and spend a lot more time together cleaning, dressing, doing make-up and, of course, taking sissy naps."Pansy smiled shyly. "I do, too, Sissie, but is this okay with your Madam?""If you're a bad sissy and don't obey, don't do your work properly and don't make your owner proud you won't get to do these things," I warned her, "but I love being a sissy maid cuckold and Madam is very pleased with my work so I get rewards such as these.""You mean you get a lot of sex," Pansy said jealously.Sensing that this was a really important thing to Pansy, I said. "Yes, Pansy, as much as I want and sex like you could never imagine as a man; sex that really goes deep in your mind; submissive sex that is like sex taking total control of your mind and body and your entire body and mind orgasming at one time; actually total satisfaction. Have you ever experienced that, Pansy?”Pansy was intrigued. "No, but I want to learn how. Will you teach me? Was that what you did this morning with the black cocks?""That thing this morning, well, that was just a training exercise to get me in shape to be able to enjoy the real thing. But before you can enjoy that you need to fully accept your place as a sissy maid cuckold. You need to take some initiative on your own and show Madam Anna that you love what she is doing to you and show an interest in talking about your training; thanking her for her part in it and telling her how much you enjoy spending time with and learning from me.""Do you really think it will work?" Pansy asked breathlessly."I know it will, but you must try very hard and NEVER give her a hard time and always support her decision even if it is to whip your bum or humiliate you completely in front of your friends or in public.""Well, I like you Sissie and I think I can learn from you so I will do as you say,” Pansy said uncertainly."I just love that maid's uniform on you; you're so sexy and sissy in it. I just love being a sissy, don't you, Pansy?" I asked, changing tack slightly."Yes, I do, Sissie, I really do and I guess I have but I was afraid to admit it and then when I met you and you are a guy I thought I had to pretend I hated it to save my ego," she confessed."Oh, Pansy, you silly girl! I am not a guy. Do I look like a guy? Do I act like a guy? Do I suck like a guy?" and we hugged and laughed. "Okay. Now we need to go outside and wash the front windows." I needed to test her new-found resolve."You're kidding! I can't go out there! I'd die if someone saw me!" Pansy said close to panic."You are so silly, Pansy! Let me tell you, the first time a guy wolf whistles at you your heart will race and you'll want to run and hide and then you'll wish it happened more. Come on; we're going to be silly girls and go outside and draw some attention and have some real fun teasing the boys."So we did and we had a few horns honk at us as we stood on chairs, bent over slightly, washing windows. It was a lot of fun for both of us and we felt even more girlish after having done this.Eventually I said, "It's time for me to get dinner ready. Why don't you go to my room and try on some of my dresses? I'll take photos of you so you can show Madam Anna."Pansy did and I took photos of her. When the Madams got home dinner was ready for Madam Rebecca. I gave a quick report and Pansy told Madam Anna she had learned a lot and was ready to accept her position. She then showed her Owner the photos. Madam Anna thanked me and was quite pleased with the results. Madam Anna and Pansy left and Madam Rebecca ate her dinner while I excitedly relived the day's events. Madam Rebecca told me I had earned the corset I wanted!<br />1144 The ForemanThe ForemanMy mother had been put in the hospital and I went to visit her. I could only spend a few hours a day with her and the rest of the time was free. It did not take long for me to become bored. I went shopping and bought a couple of western dance outfits and went out to a honky tonk. I had not been there long when guys started to ask me to dance and I quickly accepted. As the night wore on a Black Cowboy came in. He sat at the bar for awhile and then he spied me. He looked at me and smiled a big smile and came over. He was very polite and quite handsome. His jeans were really tight and there was a very nice bulge in the front.His name was Wil and he asked me if I wanted to dance. I was attracted but somewhat hesitant at dancing with a Black Man. He got me on the floor and he was by far the best dancer there. I found out he was a real cowboy and did some rodeo. He had been one of the few Blacks in the circuit and had to really prove and sometimes fight his way. From his size, build and muscular condition I expect he had little trouble.As the night wore on and I got a few more drinks in me, we got closer and friendlier. Soon I felt his hands on my ass and being pulled tight against him. I resisted a bit at first but when he pulled me tight and his bulge pressed against my snatch, I was in trouble. Soon my body rubbed against his. He knew exactly what he was doing and kept me tight.Near midnight he suggested we go some where quieter. I agreed and we went to his pickup truck and he lifted me in. I was impressed as he did it with no effort. I am not a small woman. I am 5'8" and weigh 125 lbs. Wil quickly went around the other side and got in. He reached over and placed his hand on my thigh. He said he lived nearby and why not go to his place and listen to some quiet music for awhile. So we did, and soon we were sitting on the couch and I was lying against his strong body.We talked for awhile and I told him I had inherited a ranch from my folks and my husband ran it. He asked if it bothered my husband that I had inherited the ranch. I said it did but more from the stand point that the will said I or my children were the only ones allowed to own it. He wanted to know how many children I had and I told him none that we had tried but no success. He then told me that the ranch he had been working on did so well that the owner sold it for a large profit and he was out a job in two weeks. I told him my husband was a poor manager and we had a hard time keeping one hand on the place.It was not long before his hands and lips had me totally seduced. My clothes came off and our bodies were as one. The contrast of his Black Skin against my white skin fascinated me. But when I reached down to feel his cock it nearly frightened me. I stopped kissing him and moved to see the humongous Black rod attached to his two huge balls. He told me he was 10 inches long and 2 ½ inches thick. If that was true, I thought, my husband must be only five inches long and 1 inch thick. Wil was experienced with the surprise white girls showed at his size. He reassured me that I could handle it and he would go slow and be very gentle. Then he said, "But first I will let you examine it better. Go on, get close to its and kiss it." He did not have to tell me twice and soon I was licking, squeezing, rubbing, feeling, kissing and then sucking on it. Wil rubbed my ass and then began to finger me as I treated his Black love pole as an all day sucker. When he thought I was ready he told me it was time for him to soak his cock in my married white pussy. I noted he said married but I did not care at all about being married. Soon he had me on my back and took complete charge. I felt his Black cock head probing at my clit making me wild with desire. Soon I heard my self begging him to fuck me, something I had never done before. He waited until he was ready, then he entered me slowly and in small steps until he was completely buried and I could feel his Black balls pressing against my ass. He let me adjust then he moved ever so slowly in and out. Never had I felt so filled. God it felt good. But it was frustrating as well as he moved at his pace and I wanted it faster.Before long I was begging him to fuck me faster. Then I told him that he had to remember to pull out so he did not get me pregnant. That's when he started to talk to me while he fucked me. He said, "Id be glad to pull out. I wouldn't want you to get pregnant. After all you don’t care about that ranch or your property going to the state cause you all don’t haves no children. Just cuss your worthless husband can't do what he’s supposed to and get you with child. Sound likes you need me at your place to take care of lots of things. Buts if you want I will stop right now." And with that he stopped moving. It drove me crazy, I begged him to fuck me. The faster he went the harder he pounded his big Black balls against me. I was about to cum when he said he was ready to cum and was going to pull out. I screamed, "NO, NO, don't pull out, fuck me, fuck me, keep it in me, don't pull out I don't care if you cum in me just keep fucking me, please, please."The pounding got even faster and harder until I felt him explode in a torrent of hot cum. Never in my seven years of marriage had I ever experienced a feeling like that. I came a dozen times and wanted more. Will screwed me for over two hours and never let up once. I was a satisfied woman when he was done.I stayed with him the rest of the time. He had to only work a few hours a day as they were just changing things over to the new outfit. I visited my mother when he had to work and we either danced, ate or fucked the rest of the time. And not necessarily in that order. It was soon time to leave to go back home but I did not want to leave the best lover and most decent man I had ever met. I began to formulate a plan. We talked a lot and he told me he loved to fuck married white pussy. He said it was a lot of fun pleasuring women who had gone without good sex and really appreciated it. I knew it was the truth as I was one of those women. We had no Blacks at home and I knew I would not go without the kind of sex that only a Black cock could provide. I had to find a way to get Wil on the ranch. Then it hit me. My husband, Tom had said he was ready to fire the current hand. What if Wil showed up at just the right time?I told Wil about my plan but he was not sure. He asked about Tom and I told him Tom was half his size. He said that may be true but Tom would still be the boss. I said, "Maybe not, maybe you can switch places with Tom in bed and as ranch foreman." Wil's eyes got big and asked me if I was serious. I told him I had never been more serious. He told me he did not want to break up our marriage. I said not to worry I knew some things about Tom that could put him in jail if I talked. Then Wil told me that he had to warn me. He said he disliked white men as much as he liked to fuck married white pussy and that was also part of the fun of it, putting those stuck-up white boys in their place by fucking their pretty white wives. He said he had a bad habit of getting even with white boys that treated him badly. I just smiled and said that I could assure him that Tom would treat him badly because he treated everybody badly and he hated Blacks. "But", I said, "it's time Tom changed his ways and if you will agree to let Tom be boss for 30 days I will promise you that if you will submit to his bad treatment that after 30 days I will make you ranch foreman and he will be your hired hand and you will be unchecked in how you treat him. And I said, the Foreman sleeps in the main bedroom while the hand sleeps in the shack. And one more thing Wil, if your half the man I think you are as owner I will be submitting to you as well, your word will be law! Wil liked the idea and said he could put up with Tom for a month if he could have his revenge. We got naked and got it on and God did it feel great.I went back home and Tom was complaining about Roy, the hired hand. So I taunted Tom and said well guess he doesn't think your man enough to be boss of this place. And maybe your not if you take that crap from him. Tom stormed out and Roy was gone. The next day Tom was bitching about no help and I told him we could not afford to pay anybody what he had been paying. I toldhim$200.00 a month was it. He said he could not get anybody for that. I told him he could if he tried. Then a few days latter Wil showed up looking for a job. At first Tom told him to get lost but Wil put on a good act and told Tom he would work real cheep, he had a run in with the law and needed place. Tom asked him if he would work for room and board only. Wil said he would. Tom came and told me he had just hired a dumb Niger that would work for$200.00 a month. Tom planned to pocket the money. Wil walked into the place leaving his new $50,000.00 pickup in storage so he could put on the act. It was hard for Wil to do I could tell because he knew he was ten times the man Tom was but Wil saw the need to go along and then he would have his day.Tom treated him like garbage. He called him, his boy and treated him like a slave. Toms chest stuck out as he finally had somebody to call him Sir and to push around. I truly don't know how Wil took it. He cowered and acted like the dumb boy Tom thought he was, well at least when Tom was around. When Tom went to town, Wil came to the house and was treated like a king, my king, with the best white pussy I could give him. Towards the end of the month Tom got even bolder and when Wil had not completed his work while Tom was in town, Tom got furious. Tom took Wil to the wood shed and tied his hands over his head and whipped him with his belt. I could not stand this when I found out, but Will said, not to worry, he was looking forward to the pay back and he gave me a big smile. I accused him of enjoying it and egging Tom on he told me I was right on.Well the ranch was not making money and something had to be done. Tom and I got in an argument and I told him we needed a new manager. He told me there was nobody who could do it as good as he could. I bet him that, that stupid ranch hand he hired could do it better and he said how much do you want to bet. I told him anything. Well since being with Wil I had cut Tom off of all sex, he had not got much prior to that for a long time but now he had none. So he said if he was the best man I would provide sex whenever he wanted for as long as he wanted. I said ya sure but what if Wil wins does he get the same? Tom just laughed and said, "I am going to write the test and it will be a fair one but he can't win, he's a stupid Niger" I said, "you just make it a real managers test and we'll see." He looked at me and said, "you have lost your mind woman, that boy don't know shit about ranching and you better get both sets of lips warmed up cause your going to be using them a lot."Tom spent the rest of the week getting the test ready. He had practical vet questions, roping, bronco riding, fence building, feed requirements and where to sell. He had it set for Saturday and I said that all was fine except we should have three impartial judges. I suggested the vet, the feed store manager and the sale barn auctioneer. Tom agreed and was very confident. When the competition was to begin Tom explained to Wil so that he could understand what was expected of him. The first was the roping. Wil roped and tied the calf in half the time Tom did so Tom ordered a rematch. Wil won in 1/3thetime this round. When it came to breaking the horses, Tom got the easy one and Wil got the Killer. Wil stayed on and showed the judges a real ride and they gave the points to Wil. Will won every part of the competition even though Tom had the answers from a book. The problem was, the book was old and new ideas were being used and Wil was up on it. Wil won every contest. He still acted dumb to Tom until after everybody left. I stormed to the house with Tom behind me. I hollered back for Wil to pack his stuff and bring it to the house. When we got in the house, I scolded Tom and told him he was stupid, he made the contest and still lost it so to get his stuff and move to the hired hands house cause that was what he now was, the hired hand and Wil was his boss.Tom refused, saying he would not go. I reminded him I knew he had changed some brands and I would both divorce him and put him in jail if he refused to live up to his bargain. He wanted to know where the boy was going to sleep, I told him he had better not call him that any more and He would probably sleep where ever he wanted now that I had to provide sex to him any time he wanted it and for as long as he wanted it. Tom just glared at me and I reminded him that it was he who made the rules and the bet.About that time Wil came in the house and heard the argument. Tom still had not accepted his new position and made a smart remark to Wil. Wil just reached out and grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the ground and told him how it was. He also told him that to remind him of who was boss he thought Tom needed to feel the belt. Just like he had felt it when Tom was boss. That's when Wil set my husband down and folded him over his lap like a doll. Wil began to spank Tom and Tom tried to cover his back side. Wil grabbed his hands and told me to get something to tie him with. I was happy to do so and brought him a long boot lace. Wil tied Tom's hands behind his back then took his pants and underwear off. Then he bent him back over his lap and paddled his behind with his hand, then I got him a brush and then he finished off with a belt. Tom was actually crying now and begging Wil to stop. But Wil would not stop. Wil asked Tom what he was going to call him from now on. Tom said whatever Wil wanted. Wil told Tom to come up with ideas. Tom started out with Wil but Wil said that was too informal. Then Tom said Mr., but Wil did not like that either. Tom tried Foreman, sir and boss but to no avail. Wil just kept spanking the tied white boy. Finally Tom cried out how about Master. Wil thought about it and told Tom to repeat it several times. I almost had to laugh out load as I watched my big shot husband bent over this Black man's lap calling him master while he submitted to a bare bottom spanking with tears rolling down his cheeks.Finally Wil asked Tom if he wanted to call him Master and Tom said, "Yes master I want to call you master". Wil said, "I don't care for that either, I think I like Black Master better try that, let me hear you say Black Master twenty times." There was poor Tom crying, being spanked and calling Wil, Black Master. It was making me hot. I was already very respectful of Wil but my respect and admiration increased with every swat Wil laid on that dopy husband of mine. I thought to my self that I was finally in the presence of a real man.Wil wanted it real plain to Tom that he was now in charge. Wil was still spanking Tom's ass which had been lily white and was now beet red. He asked Tom to explain what my part of the bet was. Tom hesitated and Wil laid into him with the belt. He made Tom address him as Black Master and tell him I was to provide as much sex as I wanted when ever I wanted. Wil told him he wanted him to watch and make sure I did it right. As Wil's belt came down harder and harder Tom agreed to watch his wife suck and fuck the big Black cock he was bent over and being spanked on.Wil dumped Tom on the floor and drug him by the hair into our bedroom. He propped Tom up in a chair by the bed and told me to live up to my part. Wil stood there while I removed the clothes from his muscular Black body. Stopping to kiss and lick as I went. When I got to his cock I showed it to Tom pretending it was the first I had seen it and asked Tom if he could see how big it was and that it was at least twice as long as his. Tom could only squirm as he knew what was about to happen. Wil took my clothes off and kissed and sucked each of my nipples as he cupped my ass and fingered my pussy. He lay on his back and I lowered myself on his humongous Black cock in front of my husband. Within seconds I was ridding up and down that Black shaft like a cock hungry slut. Until Wil shot his load in me. I was very vocal through the whole thing for my subdued husbands benefit. Telling Wil how great it felt and how he was the best.Wil told Tom he was to do the ranch hand work as well as house work so I had more time for sex. He ordered Tom to wear a bra and panties and nylons al lthe tiem so he remembered his place. Wil moved into my bed and Tom stayed in the shack. Tom got spanked quite often and went to bed tied many nights. Wil often made Tom work just wearing his feminine underthings in the house and often remarked that he would have made a better girl than a man because of his tiny white penis. I happened to pick up some magazines on she males shortly after that and showed them to Wil. We talked about it and decided to turn Tom into a part time female. So after that when Tom came to the house to work he dressed as a female maid. When he worked on the ranch he wore feminine underthings and male outer clothes.Wil got me pregnant and in my ninth month I got to where I could not give him all the sex he needed. So we enlisted the services of Tammy (tom) as we now called her in the house. Tammy had to undergo some pretty hard spankings and did some gagging at first but I am happy to report that she now services her Black Master as a proper slave girl should.Wil has had a lot of fun getting even with Tom for the way he treated him that first month. Tom can now take Wil's Black cock in his mouth or ass without choking or screaming. Wil allowed Tom to compete again for the ranch foeman's job. Wil uped the stakes a bit more though. This time the winner gots me again but the looser got branded like a calf. We had a bit more observation thistiem as well about 30 people came out to see it. Word had spread tha tWil was running the place now and sleeping in the big house while Tom had moved to the hands shack. The cattle buyer had told everybody that Wil was the best ranch manager he had ever seen and could teach the rest of the folks some things about ranching. Wils big truck was the fanciest around so there were many reasons for people to turn their heads when Wil was near. This was the perfect excuse for the neighbours to find out what was going on in the big house, about a real ranch manager and to see a jerk, Tom, who had been put in his place. The rules were read as was the prise before the contest. People looked around when I was the first prise and branded was the losers fate. A lot of murmurs went up. A few of the ladies winked at me as their suspicions had been confirmed about me and Wil.The contest began and of course, Tom lost big time. I went out in front of the crowd and wrapped my arms around Wil and gave him a huge kiss and told him congratulations and how happy I was for him (not to mention for me). He then announced it was time for the branding. Tom started to run but Will threw loop and lassoed him and drug him back just like a steer calf. He quickly tied his wrists and ankles together just as if he were about to brand a calf. Then Wil jerked down Tom’s pants and reviled his pink lacy panties and garter belt for all to see. The crowd roared and Wil just smiled. He then went over to the fire and picked up the cherry red hot branding iron and laid it hard on Tom’s left buttock. Tom wailed a scream as the hot iron marked him but he was now branded. One of the women standing next to me began to climax right there in public as she witnessed this tremendous exhibit of power by a real man. I almost did to. It was so intoxicating seeing a real man take charge and follow through. Wil had made the promise that he would get even with any white bois who screwed with him and he had just proven it. As Wil left the corral, he left Wil tied up laying there in the dirt as if he were no more than a piece of property he owned and would deal with in his time, the crowed all rushed him and wanted to shake his hand. Up until this point Wil had been treated with distant caution. No one had really warmed up to him. He was not admired but this had hanged all that. They knew he was smart and capable now. And they knew he was a hell of a man to take his white lovers husband and dress him in panties and brand him in public. Some thought it was harsh but they all respected him now and wanted to be his friend.Wil is holding ranching classes once a week, one class for men and one for the ladies. Several of the other ranches have asked Wil to consult or even help manage their ranches. Tom serves refreshments to the ladies group dressed as a maid. This lesson session is geared to the ladies and is moving them to bringing in more Blacks to run the ranches. While none of these ladies have a husband that was as bad as mine most of them would like a lot more sexual attention than their husbands are getting them. The ones who are most serious have been treated to a special after meeting session with Wil. Just like me one time with a real man like Wil and as a woman having experience with a white husband they know what they want and it is NOT white. They use their influence and Wil’s example to encourage their husbands to hire a Black man as a manager. Tom is required at each of the meetings to tell the group why bringing Wil on was the best decision he ever made and why Wil is so good for the ranch, me and him. Tom spends all week writing and rewriting his speech to get it perfect or Wil puts him over his lap and spanks him good. At the meeting for the men, Tom serve as well but wears a pair of ladies pants and shirt instead of a maids uniform. Wil says it would intimidate the men to see Tom totally decked out like a sissy maid. Wil sticks to management issues, most of which are over the heads of these white country boys. He refers to hired professional management as the best way and explains that since they are the owners they can go off and enjoy themselves fishing or golfing or what ever. When the guys comment that their wives would throw a fit if they did that Wil explains that a ranch wife is in a different position. She needs to remain at the ranch to support the ranch manager and that in his experience they love working and feeling important like that so are all for their husbands going on trips. It all makes sense and several of the ranch owners are seeking professional services.Wil began Tom’s training in earnest after the contest was over. He called Tom to him from scrubbing the kitchen floor and told him to kneel in front of him. He explained that it was a white male’s position to always kneel in front of his Black Master to show respect. He then asked Tom if he recognised his superiority and Tom told him he did. Will then told him to take out his Big Black cock that I loved so much and to suck him off as proof of his commitment to serving him faithfully. Tom hesitated and I suggested that Wil make him do it. But Wil said, “no dear, Tom understands that he must do it on his own. He must do it to show proof of his acceptance of my superior position and his totally inferior place at my feet. When a white male kneels in front of a Black man and sucks his cock there is no going back for the white. He has committed to black supremacy and servitude to Blacks. He can not undo the sucking of the Black cock, he can not undue the swallowing of the fertile Black seed. He has admitted that he is a servant to blacks and will obey them at all times. Give him a few seconds to adjust to what he knows he must do. He knows he is not a man and he knows you know he is not a man in fact he knows that the whole community knows he is not a man.”Tom slowly moved his head into position and began to lick and suck on Wil’s cock. He did it with passion and expertise as if he had done it all his life. I could see how natural it was for a white male to kneel and submit to a real man a Black man like Wil who was talented and confident. My loins swelled with heat as I watched this picture. I lusted for Wil because of his power and control of my sissy white husband. Wil was everything Tom was not. It was obvious that Tom was now the property of Wil not just because Wil had branded Tom but his mind also belonged to Wil. Tom did an excellent job of suck on Wil’s cock and sucked him to completion with no hurry or remorse. When Tom was done he smiled up at Wil and thanked him for allowing him to worship him in this manner and thanking him for correcting his evil ways. As Tom licked away at Wil’s long Black shaft Wil informed Tom that there was one more step Tom had to take btu that Wil would give him two weeks to prepare himself of it and that was a solid sissy fucking and deposit of Wil’s cum deep inside. Tom’s eyes grew big but he just said, “yes Black Master, I will be ready Sir.” Then Wil turned to me and told me to get some butt plugs and dildoes and get little Tommy ready. I hope Tom learns to enjoy Black Cock as much as I do cause with the way Wil has been running the ranch we are going to have to add another hand. Wil has already told me he has a Black friend that is a good hand. And from what I know about Black cocks they need a lot of attention and on a real regular basis. Since my hands, mouth and pussy are already kept full with Wil's Black love tool, Tammy (we changed his name from Tom) is going to have to spend even more time as a girl servicing yet another Black Master! Wil is keeping Tammy seeded both orally and analy. He says there is nothing a white male respects more than a Master who uses him like this and regularly deposits his seed in him. Wil feels this once exclusively all white community is going to be seeing a big change in the colour of management and ownership. Two other ranches have already put in black men as managers and the white husbands have turned over the ranch business to these men who are already showing increased profits by over 30%. Both wives are a bigger part of the ranch operation now and partake in the regular benefits that only Black Master can provide to a married white wife. They are actively and aggressively promoting Black management at our weekly training seminars.<br />732 SandyBy Madam RebeccaSandy’s mother had always watched over him. She had been left a single mother by a boyfriend who did not care about or respect women. Mother was going to make sure Sandy did not grow up to be the same way. When Sandy turned 18 his mother announced that he could start dating. When he announced he had his first date, his mother handed him a bag and told him to put the contents on. Sandy opened the bag and found a pair of girl’s panties. He looked at his mother and said he did not want to wear them: he was a boy.His mother said, “That’s right and boys get girls pregnant and then leave them to raise the child on their own and you are not going to do that. With these on under your trousers you will be less likely to get in trouble, now go put them on.”Sandy knew how hard raising him on her own had been on his mother so he obeyed. He was very embarrassed but soon forgot about wearing the panties. When he came home from his date his mother found lipstick on his neck. She asked him about it and found out he had felt up the girl and she had kissed his neck.The next day his mother called him to her when he arrived home from work. She said, “I have made a grave misjudgement in making you wear panties. I can see that they will not be a proper deterrent to you destroying some young girl’s life. So I have decided that from now on you will also wear a bra, stockings and suspender belt or tights under your clothes at all times. There is just no telling when you might do something foolish. Then, when you find the right girl and get married, I won’t worry any more.”Sandy was really uncomfortable with this new twist. Panties were one thing, but a bra and stockings...? But there was no convincing his mother of anything different. When he went to get dressed in the morning he found his male underwear had all been replace with panties, bras, stockings, tights and suspender belts. Sandy was ever-conscious of his feminine underthings and was very careful not to get in a position where any girls would be touching him. When he complained that some of the bras seemed to show through his shirt his mother purchased him some light coloured camisoles to wear over them.But there was another problem that Sandy had not contemplated. He was getting snags and runners in his stockings and his mother did not appreciate it. She said that it was caused by a combination of things. First were his hairy legs: the hair had to go. Second were the rough edges on his nails: they would have to be filed and shaped - starting now. Sandy tried to argue but to no avail.Dating had become a problem for Sandy. He had always attracted women even though he was not athletic or macho. They all seemed attracted to his longish blond hair. The girls would come up to him and run their fingers through his hair and then place a hand on his back. That had been fun before but now a hand on his back would quickly reveal a bra strap and this scared Sandy so he avoided women as much as he could.That is, until he got a new boss at the bank where he worked as a clerk. Her name was Rebecca and she was very confident and bold and she took an interest in Sandy. Sandy noticed she watched him a lot.Rebecca was a great looking woman about five years older than he but he felt like she could see through him. He felt a power in her.Sandy was still spoiling too many pairs of stockings so his mother decided he needed to polish his nails. Sandy freaked out at this but she calmed him down, telling him that they would use a very light pink that would match his skin. She showed Sandy how to apply it and let it dry before applying a second and third coat. Then she had him finish his other hand and both feet.The very first time back at the office that Rebecca instructed him to bring her some papers; she grabbed his wrist as he handed them to her. She looked at his hand and asked for the other one. Then she told him that he had beautiful hands for a man and that she admired that. She stood up and played with his hair while she looked him in the eye and told him he also had beautiful hair and that he took better care of it than most of the women in the bank. She said that normally she did not like long hair on men, but it looked perfect on him. Rebecca then told him she was very glad to be his boss and asked him who had taught him such good style.He blushed and told her his mother did.When she asked him if his father helped he said he never had a father.Rebecca moved her hand to his back and patted him right on the bra strap. Sandy froze in his tracks. Then Rebecca said, “I think I should like to meet your mother, Sandy. Why don’t you have her call me, here at the bank?”“Yes, Ma’am,” stammered Sandy. He was sure his secret was out and that Rebecca was going to tell his mother and he would lose his job.When Sandy got home he was still upset and told his mother what had happened. His mother had little interest in his worry and wanted to know every detail about his boss Rebecca. She told Sandy not to worry; that she would call Rebecca at the bank in the morning. Then his mother told him she thought he need to get some sun and to stop wearing long sleeved shirts and trousers all the time; that for the rest of the summer she wanted him in shorts and tops when he was outside. She told him she had bought him four new outfits to wear while out in the sun and that they were all on his bed.When Sandy went to his room he found four outfits all right but they were girl’s shorts and halter tops and all four were pink. The only difference was the colour of the lace trim around the edges. Sandy went back to his mother and told her she had gone too far. He certainly could wear some of his denim shorts and go without a shirt.His mother was shocked. She said, “You will not go out in public with just a bra on. What is the mater with you? You will wear a halter top over your bra and, talking about those old denim shorts, they will cover too much of your legs for a good tan and they will not match your top. Now do as I say.”Sandy gave up and hung his head and went and put on the pink outfit with the white lace. He had a hard time getting into the shorts as they were quite tight.When he came out of his room with his black sneakers on his mother screamed. “Have you no taste? Here; put these on: they’re all they had that would match.” Then his mother handed him a pair of pink strap heels with three inch heels on them.Sandy sat and put the new heels on; he figured he had been yelled at enough already. Then mother handed him the laundry and told him to hang it on the line in the back yard. The yard was secluded and he felt comfortable once he got used to the things he was wearing.The next day, Sandy’s mother called Rebecca at the bank and they had a nice chat. Rebecca commented on how attractive and well mannered Sandy was and wanted her to know it did not go unnoticed. Rebecca said that she had looked a long time for the perfect mate. She was quite particular in her choice of mate and it was not to be one of those macho men: she was looking for more of the house husband type; the kind that would stay home and do the housework, laundry, cooking and such; one that would obey his wife and respect her authority. Sandy had impressed her as that type of person but before she started to date him she wanted his mother’s approval.Sandy’s mother was impressed by what she heard. She had always believed that men were a bad influence and felt that the feminine influence had paid off. Here was a woman who appreciated her efforts. She told Rebecca that she always felt that men who could show their feminine side were better mates and she had always encouraged Sandy to show a little of that.Rebecca told her she had taken the words out of her mouth. She also said that her sister had married a man who wore dresses and she never knew of a happier couple.“Really?” said Sandy’s mother. “I find that quite interesting.”“Yes,” said Rebecca. “They shop together and he is very obedient. My sister said I should look for such a mate, but what are the chances of finding a perfect mate like she did?”“Oh, you never know, my dear,” said Sandy’s mother. “Why don’t you come over to my home on Saturday morning at exactly half past nine and we can talk further?”Rebecca told her she would.On Saturday morning Sandy found a new bra waiting for him when he finished shaving his legs. It was very padded. He thought about protesting but decided against it. He just put it on then the pink halter top and shorts. He also found his three inch heels had been replaced by a pair of four inch heels and when he went to do his nails there was a new bottle of polish that was several shades darker than the other, along with a note and a tube of lipstick. His mother had left him a note saying that she went to get more polish and chap stick for his chapped lips, but to be sure and put the lipstick on until she got home as it would do the same thing.Sure he was secure in his privacy he did as instructed. At twenty-five past nine his mother arrived home and instructed him to take down the laundry from the line in the back yard. He grabbed a basket and went out. At half past nine, Rebecca arrived and Sandy’s mother invited her to the den that overlooked the back yard through sliding glass doors.As they sat looking out into the yard, Sandy had his back to them and Rebecca commented that she did not know Sandy had a sister.Sandy’s mother laughed and said he didn’t; that the person she was looking at was Sandy and asked if she approved.“Do I approve? I am delighted. I did not realize how truly wonderful a job you had done. He is absolutely beautiful and so domestic; I just love it. Just look at how domestic he is. He is perfect. He looks so darling in those tight pink shorts and halter top and I just love those heels: they are precious.”Just then Sandy turned sideways and Rebecca could now see a side profile. This, too, was intrigued her. She said, “Oh look; you now have him in padded bras: that is fantastic.”Sandy’s mother asked Rebecca what she meant by “now in padded bras.”Rebecca explained that she had figured out long ago that Sandy was wearing bras and panties and stockings to work and that was what had first attracted her to him. Rebecca told her she had been the perfect mother.Sandy’s mother disagreed. “Not perfect, my dear; not until we can out do that sister of yours and get Sandy used to wearing dresses. I think between the two of us, working together, we can get him to win the perfect domestic of the year award.”At that they both laughed.Rebecca said she had some ideas of her own of how to out do her sister.Sandy’s mother said, “Well dear, anything you can do to further his education in the art of being the perfect mate I am fully support.”Sandy had finished removing the clothes from the line and came in the house. The sun had prevented him from seeing that there was a guest until he closed the door. He was quite startled that Rebecca was there and seeing him dressed as he was. But the women soon calmed him down and Rebecca made such a fuss over him that he blushed from her comments.She then told Sandy to sit on her lap; that she had something she wanted to say to him. Sandy was unsure but when his mother told him to obey he did as he was told.Rebecca played with his bra strap and his hair as she talked. She told him that she and his mother had decided that he would date Rebecca and if things worked out they would be married.Sandy was delighted at the news: he dearly loved and respected Rebecca and felt it was a great honour that she had chosen him.Rebecca said that there was a three day weekend coming up and she knew of a great getaway place they could go. She also told Sandy that there would be plenty of sun, but he would not need to bring his shorts as she would pick out some more appropriate clothes for her new husband to wear.Sandy was relieved at this and felt he could now get away from the feminine things his mother was leading him into.When Rebecca picked them up on Friday, Sandy was wearing his pink outfit and five inch heels again at the request of his mother. In fact they were the only clothes he had brought at the request of Rebecca, who said she wanted to pick him out a more appropriate wardrobe.Sandy was anxious to get to the cabin on the lake. When they got there, there was a mix up and they got a cabin with only two beds. The two women quickly decided it was time for Sandy to sleep with his future mate and so he did.Rebecca had Sandy undress her, fold her clothes and put them away. She then had him put her nightie on her. Then she had Sandy remove his top and shorts. He was to keep the feminine underthings on so accidents could not happen. She then produced a set of wrist cuffs and put them on Sandy behind his back. They got in bed and he cuddled up to her as they slept.In the morning she removed the cuffs and told Sandy to bathe. When Sandy was done he found new clothes laid out on the bed, but they were not what he had imagined. In place of his plain panties and bra were a delicately flowered matching set, panties in a size smaller and a fully padded bra. The plain suspender belt he had worn in the past was replaced with a lacy waist cincher style that was very tight. There were some new items that he had never worn before like the pretty cream coloured slip and flowered sun dress.Then he saw the note. It said to get dressed and do his nails and lips with the new colour provided. He stopped to look and found a bright red polish and lipstick. He also noticed that there was a new pair of white five inch heels and matching handbag. The note finished saying that the ones who loved him most were anxiously waiting for him to appear.When he was finished the ladies made a fuss over him and asked him to lift his skirt. There was a problem: his penis was sticking out the top front of his new panties. Rebecca scolded him for this and quickly pulled his panties down and pulled the male thing back between his legs then restored his pretty panties. She told him that from now on that was where he was to keep it. “Besides,” she said, “there are advantages to it being back here,” and she reached under the back of his dress and fondled his organ through the silk panties until he was seduced to her words.Sandy was told to sit down so they could finish him. The two women worked nearly an hour on him before they had his hair properly styled and face made up. They were very pleased by how he looked. They told him to stand and look in the mirror. His eyes grew wide as his appearance showed before him. He was amazed at how cute he looked.After some further instructions on make-up and sitting properly they decided to go for a ride. Sandy went without hesitation and was enjoying himself until they went into the department store and took him with them. They went to the ear ring counter and started to look at different styles. The clerk asked if she could help and Sandy’s mother said, “Yes I would like to purchase some really long ear rings for my daughter here.”The clerk asked “Pierced or clip on?”“Pierced, of course,” replied Rebecca as Sandy’s stomach did a loop.They found some very large ones and then had the clerk pierce Sandy’s ears. The clerk addressed Sandy as Miss several times during the course of events. Next they asked for a bracelet with Sandra inscribed on it. They left with Sandra wearing her new earrings and bracelet.They kept her dressed and in public the entire three days and by the trip home she was becoming quite confident, but they had one more goal to accomplish.The following week Sandy went to work at a new job. He hated being away from Rebecca but it was too hard to explain the transformation from trousers to dresses and make-up, so Rebecca arranged a job for him as a secretary to a female friend of hers. Sandra was quiet but performed her work well for her new boss.Rebecca was stopping over every night to see Sandra and one night Sandra’s mother went out for the evening. It was not long before Rebecca had her hand under the back of Sandra’s dress, one of the many new ones that Rebecca had bought for Sandra. She was rubbing the little silk-encased penis and Sandra was quite beside herself. Rebecca moved to the sofa and told Sandra to lie across her lap. Sandra did as she was told and Rebecca brushed the short skirt up over her back, together with the lacy slip. Then Rebecca began to rub Sandra’s bottom and play with the little tucked penis. Sandra was very hot. Rebecca pulled Sandra’s panties down at the back and, while she rubbed the tiny feminised penis through the panties, she wet her finger and began to work it into Sandra’s tight hole. As she did she remarked that Sandra was surely a virgin as tight as she was. She also remarked that they would have to loosen her up a bit.After several minutes of this pleasure Sandra was instructed to fetch Rebecca’s handbag. Rebecca had Sandra resume her position across her lap. This time Sandra felt a much larger object than Rebecca’s finger. Rebecca had brought along a medium sized butt plug to insert in Sandra’s tight bottom. Rebecca worked slowly and with a steady inward push as she played with the hard little sissy toy between Sandra’s legs. Finally it was in place. Rebecca told Sandra she was to wear it all of the time, but that she should remove it every few hours and lubricate it so it did not get dry. Rebecca knew that this would have the effect of teaching Sandra to take it easily andalso to be thinking about what was in her bottom.Three days latter on Rebecca’s visit, Sandra’s mother went out again to leave the two love birds at home alone. Rebecca got Sandra hot and over her lap once again. She removed the butt plug and examined Sandra’s hole quite carefully. She then inserted a large butt plug. The device went in fairly easy and Rebecca told Sandra she was very proud of her. Sandra was instructed to follow the same instructions as before.On each of Rebecca visits a new feminine gift was given to Sandra. Every day was special. There was always fussing and touching done in the process of make-up, fixing hair, doing nails, trying on clothes and such. Sandra looked forward to the visits and was falling ever more deeply in love. She was now doing all housework, cooking and laundry in preparation for her marriage. Even Rebecca brought her laundry over for Sandra to do.After three more days Rebecca replaced the large butt plug with an extra large size butt plug, telling Sandra that soon she would be ready and would find the feelings in her pleasure hole tremendous. Sandra asked why she had never heard about men using that hole. Rebecca told her that it was so special that it was kept very private but that later on she would get some literature on the subject and Sandra could read all about it. Sandra was satisfied. Rebecca kept her in a constant state of arousal, but never let her climax. She had learned it was easier to control the mind in this manner.Sandra had worn the extra large butt plug for five days now and the weekend was coming up. They were to be married in a month. Rebecca talked it over and decided it was time for Sandra to spend the weekend at Rebecca’s home. On Friday Rebecca picked Sandra up at work and took her home. Sandra was both excited and nervous. She had never spent a night away from home without her mother.At bedtime, Rebecca had Sandra place her hands behind her back, where she tied them. She brushed Sandra’s hair back and kissed her neck while she reached around and squeezed Sandra’s nipple through the flimsy nightie. Then Rebecca told Sandra to close her eyes and open her mouth wide, whereupon she shoved a penis gag in Sandra’s mouth and fastened the strap around the back of her head. Sandra was told to get in bed. Rebecca left and returned wearing a pair of women’s penis pants. These were especially developed for women who wore the trousers in the house. The penis that Rebecca was wielding was nine inches long and six inches around. Sandra noticed how life like it looked and how it fitted her like a glove.Rebecca got in bed and rubbed the hard cock up against Sandra’s bottom and told her, “Now, my dear, it is time to see if all of our work has paid off. I put the penis gag in your mouth so you can scream as loud as you want to and not bother the neighbours. Okay?”Rebecca then lubricated Sandra’s bottom and began to penetrate the virgin. Sandra had been well prepared and took the entire shaft quite easily. Rebecca continued to reassure her as she penetrated her soon to be mate. After Rebecca let Sandra’s bottom adjust to the pleasure stick for a moment, she began to pump her. The cock had a nice set of life like balls and soon these were banging against Sandra’s bottom. It was a wonderful first time. They both came at the same time and the action was fast and furious as Rebecca fucked her new sissy mate into complete submission.Rebecca knew it would take a sound fucking to totally subjugate the sissy male. She fucked Sandra on and off all through the night, the following day, night and most of Sunday. Sandra offered no resistance as Rebecca would fasten her hands and fill her mouth with the penis gag then fuck her into submission.Sandra longed for Rebecca’s touch and domination all week but was not permitted to receive what she needed until the following week. This time there was a new twist. Rebecca wanted to pierce Sandra right next to her bottom hole. Sandra offered no resistance and a shiny ring was placed in the hole and soldered shut. Sandra was instructed on how to keep the piercing clean until it was healed.Finally it was time for the wedding. Sandra was instructed that she was to wear no make-up or nail varnish and to wear men’s clothing on the outside. Sandra understood but hated to go without a dress, heels and make-up. She had grown to love the feeling of the pretty clothes and what they meant.There was only a small group at the wedding; Rebecca’s sister and her family, Sandra’s boss and her family and about twenty other guests, few that Sandra recognised. The minister was a woman. Rebecca was wearing a trouser suit and looked very nice. Sandra was led to the altar by her mother and left with Rebecca. The minister began to talk.“We are gathered her today to bind this male to this woman. Marriage bonds are bonds that are not only symbolic but real. We shall demonstrate this later. As marriage is a new institution for these two people, changes will need to be made. One must conform to the other’s needs and wants. There can be no secrets in a marriage; the secrets must be made to go away as of the removing of clothes. These removed secrets must be replaced, just as clothing, by the new covers that tie and bind their love. As in any relationship there must be only one head of the family. This person is commonly known as the one who wears the trousers; who makes all of the decisions and is to be obeyed without question. The head of the house is not without their responsibilities, however. They must make sure their mate is secure, properly taken care of and punished when bad.“I now ask you two people if you agree to these rules of marriage and if you are willing to take the vow of demonstration to prove your intent?”Both answered, “Yes.”The minister then told Sandra to remove her outer attire to symbolize the removing of secrets. Sandra was hesitant but took off her shoes and other men’s clothes. She now stood there in a well padded bra, panties, corset, suspender belt, stockings and painted toes in front of the world.“Now, Rebecca, you must symbolize the ties that bind the marriage.”Rebecca picked up a large bag and took out wrist cuffs and pulled Sandra’s hands behind her back and fastened them. She then placed the penis gag in her mouth and fastened it. This was followed by ankle cuffs with and an extra chain that attached to the wrist cuffs. The chain was short so Sandra had to half squat to wear it.When Rebecca was finished the minister said, “Your mate has symbolized the removing of secrets from your marriage. Will you now symbolize the replacement of those secrets with love and elevate your bonds to the next level?”Rebecca said, “Yes,” and placed a pair of six inch spike heels on Sandra. Rebecca said, “These high heeled shoes symbolized that we shall not walk in any lies and our marriage is lifted six inches above the temptation to do so.”Everybody clapped. The minister asked if there were any rings. Rebecca said there were. The minister said, “Then place them on your mate and we shall commence the thirty days of initiation of marriage. Rebecca placed both a diamond engagement and wedding band on Sandra’s ring finger then she bent Sandra over her lap and lowered her panties. Using a large needle, she pierced the end of Sandra’s little penis and worked a silver ring through it. Next she attached the new ring to the one she had previously installed by Sandra’s bottom hole and soldered it shut.The minister said, “As this ring closes into the other so do these two people and I pronounce you wed.”The crowd cheered. The minister announced that Sandra would remain in her bonds for thirty days to verify the marriage was on sound ground. Sandra was then put on display for all to see and examine. The women were all interested in the piercing especially and several vowed to use it on their mates.Sandra could do little more than stand half bent and watch at the reception. She got lots of attention from the women who asked her a lot of questions which she had to answer by nodding or shaking her head. Many times she was made to bend over and allow the curious to examine and re-examine her rings. There were many comments on how nicely her hole had been stretched as well.At midnight Rebecca decided it was time to go. She took Sandra home and to the bedroom, where another surprise waited for her. There was a large bird cage in the room with an electric winch set so it could be lifted in the air. Rebecca first put on her penis pants and fucked Sandra well. She then put Sandra in the cage and lifted her in the air where that cage swung at any movement. The cage was tiny for Sandra and there was a special platform built in the middle so that it matched Sandra’s six inch heels. The only position Sandra could be in was to put her heels in these spots and squat. The angle of the perch caused her ankles to bend as if she were standing in the six inch heels.Rebecca said, “It really is a nice cage, Sandra, and it has special features to help you. You will sit on your perch - like you now are - all day and all night for thirty days. I will take you out twice a day to use the bathroom and for me to fuck your little brains out and then you will be returned. You will only be allowed to eat and drink while I am fucking you. This will not be easy as your hands will be bound as they now are and only your penis gag will be removed. The reduction in food and water intake will help reduce the size of your upper body, as will the lack of use of your arms. On the other hand, your bottom will get lots of action and your legs will strain under the weight of you perching so your lower body will get larger. Your waist cincher will be tightened daily until we get a respectable twenty-two inch waist on you.”Rebecca then placed a large mirror on the front of the cage and told Sandra that now she could enjoy the view as well.Sandra now knew the full meaning of dependence. She felt totally helpless in her new position. Rebecca did as she had told Sandra: she removed her from her cage each morning and fucked her into submission. As she was being fucked Sandra tried to lap up water and bits of food with her tongue but found it difficult to do.<br />Soon the carpenter was there. Sandra was taken by how handsome and muscular the carpenter was. The carpenter and Rebecca examined Sandra on her perch for a while and then the carpenter got out a drawing book. Rebecca said that she wanted to include a vibrating dildo on the perch that could be removed from the outside. She also wanted a stick-though penis for Sandra’s mouth. This had to be mounted on a movable front wall so that once Sandra was on the perch it could be moved into place. There also needed to be an automatic wrist restraint to the rear of the perch so all Sandra had to do was place her wrists in it. The cage would need to automatically lift in the air, lock and stay secured according to a timer that would release Sandra in order to do her chores.Sandra sat and listened in horror as all of these things were discussed. Rebecca said to be sure and design overrides in so the cage height could be manually adjusted and both penis tools removed and replaced from the outside. The carpenter said he could do it all and asked if they still had the same financial agreement. Rebecca said they did and if he wanted a down payment right now she would be more than happy to give him one. He said he thought that would be best.Instead of Rebecca getting her cheque book like Sandra expected, she started to undress the carpenter. He soon returned the compliment and the two lovers were quickly entwined on the bed in full view of the perched Sandra. The two made wild love for over two hours before the carpenter finally got dressed and left. Rebecca told Sandra that she hoped Sandra would show her during the next fucking she gave her that Sandra had learned a thing or two about how to take cocks and how to treat them right because she expected Sandra to show her some of that pleasure as well.The carpenter showed up for work the next day and worked hard all day until Rebecca got home when she gave him another payment.Sandra was not quite as bored with the carpenter there. It was not long before he was ready to make some adjustments to Sandra’s current cage. To do this he had to remove her from the cage and put her back many times, trying position and distance. Sandra soon found that with the new cock gag she could no longer turn her head. It was also designed so that it could penetrate her mouth further. The setting was adjustable and the carpenter said he thought that she would want to increase it every few days. Sandra could do no more than nod her head a little as she sat there, bound and perched, in the cage. Rebecca had also wanted the perch tipped forward a little more. She felt this would help train Sandra’s ankles to help her navigate in her six inch heels once she was released to perform her housework.Each day when Rebecca arrived home she and the carpenter would spend several hours making love.When the first cage had been remade to Rebecca’s liking she put Sandra in and tested it. It worked perfectly, locking up and securing Sandra properly in such a manor that there was no way Sandra could get loose. Then Rebecca tried removing and replacing the dildos. They, too, worked great. She made the comment that this would allow for some options she might want to introduce later. Rebecca was especially pleased with the ability to adjust the cock gag. She found that the carpenter had built an automatic head restraint to hold Sandra’s mouth, preventing any movement of the head. This allowed Rebecca to insert as far as she chose and Sandra would be unable to refuse the depth.Rebecca was so excited by the completion that she invited her sister and Sandra’s mother to view it. They were soon there and marvelling at the new cage. Rebecca’s sister said she wanted one. Rebecca told her that the carpenter had one more to build for her first then several other devices and then he could help her out. They were quite curious about why she wanted it so automated. Rebecca said that, even though the minister had said this needed to be done for thirty days, she felt it would be great to have a daily reminder of their commitment, so she felt that Sandra should spend all of her free time in the cage. She said that she would allow Sandra so much time in the morning to get all of her housework done and then she would go to the cage and remain there on her perch only to be released at half past four in the afternoon to get dinner ready. On weekends, if Rebecca was going away, she could spend the entire weekend in the cage. The ladies thought it was a supreme idea and commended Rebecca on it.In less than two weeks the carpenter had the second cage done and installed in the living room. Sandra could now be on display when guests visited rather than being hidden in the bedroom, but when Rebecca had a lover or did not want to share her bed with Sandra at night she could be kept in the bedroom cage where Rebecca could look up and see her perched there, bound and with both ends stuffed.When the thirty days were up there was a celebration and many guests were invited. Sandra was kept very busy serving and waiting on people. She was attired in a very pretty French maid’s uniform and six inch spike heels. Everybody was amazed at how well she could manoeuvre in the heels. Everybody wanted to know about the bird cage. Rebecca promised to show them all about it later. Finally, when all the guests had been served and all were just talking, Rebecca realized Sandra had a few free moments. She told Sandra to go and perch in the living room.Sandra curtsied to Rebecca and said, “Yes, Ma’am,” and went to the living room. As she began to remove her dress and petticoats, everybody stopped what they were doing and watched. Then she lowered the back of her panties and got in the cage. As soon as her heels were in the proper slots, the door locked. She then placed her hands behind her and her wrists were secured. She quickly nestled her exposed bottom down on the huge penis that was behind her and then the front automatically moved in. Sandra opened her mouth and the large front penis filled it. Sandra instantly closed her eyes and settled in to her perch as the crowd looked on in amazement.“It’s wonderful; absolutely wonderful!” said one woman after the next. “This is the perfect cure for males; no more sports, drinking or wasting time. This is the answer to controlling their time the way we want it. If they do not have a function to perform then put them on the perch where their minds can focus on the important things in their life: us!”Then Rebecca introduced the carpenter who built it. She had him demonstrate how the cage could be manually lowered from outside and how the artificial penises could be removed and a real one substituted. Sandra’s eyes opened and grew big as a real cock was put in place of the artificial one and strokes were taken. Rebecca was quick to point out that the mouth hole allowed the operator to train Sandra to take the penis deeper and deeper. She said she hoped to train her to take one up to twelve inches long down her throat.Some of the guests asked what the primary goal of all of this was as they had not been introduced to it before.Rebecca said she would be glad to explain. “There are two types of males; the kind you marry and the kind with which you have fun. One absolutely will not do for both jobs. The kind you have fun with is like my carpenter lover here. He is great to look at and wonderful in bed. The kind you marry is like Sandra here. You want your mate to think only of your needs. His mind must be trained to serve you, worship you and to be some kind of entertainment. He must make you feel important and good about yourself. He must give you a sense of power. Second, you must shape this male into a pleasing and desirable form. This, as you can see, I have done through proper feminization, figure and diet control as well as dildo and high heel training, but what you must watch out for is their free time. If you are using them as a maid, cook or servant, or if you are bending them over and fucking their brains out they are have use. But what do you do with them the rest of the time? In the past it has been a problem. They are either bothering you or doing something you don’t want them to do. So, you do what I have done here. You put them on a perch in a cage where you know exactly where they are and what they are doing. This keeps the male in limbo at all times so that his mind is focused on you and only you, where it is supposed to be. As soon as the male is allowed to develop other interests you take a back seat. The cage cures that and it makes him completely receptive to any action you wish to take.“For example, I plan to entertain many people in my home. Having Sandra on display in her cage will make people remember and admire me. It will impress many of the women into implementing these ideas in their own homes. It will excite many of the men who will then pleasure me. Sandra here will even get to sample some of those men who wish to see how well the cage’s options work. And then there will be those males who realize they need to experience the cage as well to help them focus properly.”As the guests left, Sandra’s mother expressed her gratitude to her new daughter-in-law for taking such good care of her son. She said. “Dear, I am so proud of you. You have just thought of everything. I have given your phone number to all of his old friends who ask about him and I tell him he is married to the most wonderful woman in the world. Some of them are very handsome and may want to spend the night. I am sure they would enjoy seeing how Sandy has changed.”“You are so right,” said Rebecca, “and I think it would be wonderful for Sandra to show off her changes to her friends.”Sandra was contemplating what her old friends would think and how they would act when they witnessed her in her new role.As they all left Rebecca released Sandra from her cage and told her to get into the bedroom cage: she said she had to discuss some things with the carpenter and wanted to keep her promise to not have any secrets from Sandra. Rebecca and the carpenter had a very enjoyable discussion, if that is what an hour and a half of moans and groans can be called, while Sandra sat on her perch contemplating Rebecca’s words and actions.As the carpenter was getting ready to leave, Rebecca asked him if he knew of the Jones brothers’ carpet shop. He said he did and knew that a couple of black guys owned it and did all the fitting themselves and they did a good job. Rebecca said she was glad to hear that as she had asked them for a quote. She said they had plenty of time right now and could take their time estimating and doing the work. Then she said she thought she would give them the key so they could come and go as they needed.The carpenter said, “Now don’t forget to write out instructions about the cage for them: they will need it.”Rebecca promised she would.The following day Rebecca dropped off the key and instructions to the Jones brothers and told them to take what ever liberties they needed. They did not fully understand until they got to Rebecca’s place and entered the living room. When they saw the cage with the white sissy in it they let out a whistle. They were soon figuring out how to adjust the cage height and remove the artificial cocks and replace them with their ebony rods.The two black studs spent the rest of the afternoon feeding black cock into Sandra from behind and in front. The black men were even nice enough to shoot loads of hot black semen on the dildos before reinserting them on their departure.Rebecca returned home at twenty-five past four, before Sandra was released. As Sandra got out of her cage Rebecca told her to lie over her lap. She carefully examined Sandra’s hole and was pleased that it had been stretched even larger and was oozing black cum. When she looked at Sandra’s face she could see more black cum on her lips and chin where it had run down. Rebecca reached over and dialled the Jones brothers. When they answered she said she had just arrived home and was very happy to see they made use of things around the place. She then asked them if this job looked like it would take a long time. They told her it would and wondered if they should keep the key afterwards to make inspections from time to time. Rebecca told them that was a great idea and she wished they would.Rebecca then told Sandra what was going to happen and that the nice black men would be by daily for a while then they would stop in when they could. Sandra was a little out of it and just nodded her head yes. All Sandra could think about was how many times she had been fucked that day in the bum and mouth and how much cum was in her bottom and tummy.Then Rebecca told her to lean over the chair and get ready for a surprise. Rebecca returned with a new pair of penis pants - this time with a much larger black cock - and rammed it in Sandra’s wet and willing hole. As Sandra was fucked into total submission for the umpteenth time that day all she could think about was how lucky she was.<br />Then, after about a week, Rebecca came in and sat down and started to talk to Sandra, “I am so very pleased with your progress. You have become such a perfect sissy. You have learned to love your new feminine clothes and to obey me very well. Your tight little pussy arse has been developed into a wonderful fuck hole and you take large cocks nicely. I think you now realize that there are no traces of your former male self left. And I must admit that I really enjoy seeing you perched in your little cage dressed in bra, panties, corset, suspender belt, stockings and six inch heels, all bound up with that penis gag in your mouth. I think it is the perfect female-male relationship. The minister says we must do this for thirty days to symbolize our bonds but I wonder if it would not be a good thing to practice some of this every day thereafter. I have contacted the carpenter who built this cage and he will be over in a little bit. I have some additions to make and I am going to have him make one for the living room as well. I think it would be great for you to return to your cage whenever you are not performing one of your household duties.”<br />735 The Mechanic(Cuckold, IR, Slut wife)<br />By Rebecca (<a href="mailto:rebeccadom@sissify.com">rebeccadom@sissify.com</a>)<br />One day while my husband and I were driving down the highway, wepassed a car that had broken down. The driver tried to wave us downbut my husband just ignored him. It was a seldom traveled road and Iwas very displeased with my husband for doing what he did. I asked himwhy he drove by without stopping and he said something about, "If theguy is that stupid that he breaks down, then let him figure out how toget it fixed." This really pissed me off and I told my husband to turnaround and go back right this instant. My husband has learned over theyears we have been married, to obey me. I guess you could say I wearthe pants in our house.<br />In fact on many occasions when Jim has disobeyed me, he has found himself without pants. In fact, he has endured over-her-knee spankingswithout pants, corner standing without pants and on many occasions hasbeen put through petticoat discipline which of course meant no pantsat all. So when I tell him to do something he rarely disobeys meanymore.<br />He came to a screeching halt and turned around. The man was glad tosee us return. I told Jim as we approached that I fully expected himto fix the man's car and that I was going to entertain the man untilhe had done so. I could see him break into a sweat as I said,"entertain". Jim knew all too well what I meant by entertaining, itwas my polite way of saying I was going to have sex with someone. Ifurther explained that there would be other penalties for being socallas to someone in trouble and I would detail them latter.<br />Jim just hung his head as he got out of the car and approached theman. I went along to size up my catch for the day. The man quicklyexplained that the car had over heated and he thought the water pumpwas bad. Jim checked and said it was. I piped in and said, "Why don'tyou run to town and get one for the man dear? I'll stay here and keephim company while you are gone if that's ok with..."<br />"Jack, Jack Thompson, Ma'am, I could go along and"<br />"No Jack, I think you had better stay here with me. You see Jack, myhusband made a grave error when he drove past you without stopping andnow he is going to pay for it. Go on dear, get going, Mr. Thompsondoes not have all day, I will entertain him while you are gone."<br />Jim left with his head hung low and prepared to drive the half hour totown and then back. Jack was in his late 20's and a good looking wellbuilt man. I took him by the arm and led him to the far side of hiscar. I opened the rear door and sat him down. Then I began to teasehim. First I leaned over so he could get a good view of my cleavage.When I noticed he was peaking I told him I had an itch on my back andcould he please scratch it for me. He agreed, as he did I told him itwas under my bra strap and would he please unhook it and scratch mebetter. He hesitated at first and then did it. I told him he was notgetting it and took my blouse off and held it over my breasts while hecontinued to scratch my back. When he was done, I thanked him and saidthat it was time for me to return the favor. He looked surprised anddid not say anything. Then I let my blouse fall from my breasts as Ifaced him.<br />His eyes focused on my nipples. I smiled at him and reached for thehard on in his pants. I caressed it with my fingers feeling it growingeven harder as I did so. It was big and hard and I was beginning toget another itch, an itch for his rock hard cock to be in me. Hestarted cupping my breasts as I undid his pants, slid them down andslid my lips over the end of his protruding cock. He groaned withpleasure as I licked and sucked his cock. He kept telling me how greatit felt. After teasing his cock to near eruption several times Idecided it was time for me to put some different lips around hismaleness. I told him to remove my panties and once was enough; he hadthem off in a flash. His hands slid up under my short skirt felling mybush and my ass. I moved into position and settled down on his hardmanliness for some serious fucking. I rode him slow at first but soonwas ridding for my life. We both started to cum at the same time andit was great. When we had climaxed for several seconds we rested thenI started over again. Using my lips and tongue it was a matter ofseconds before he was hard again. I teased him stalling him until myhusband came back. When I saw Jim's car coming down the roar, Iinserted the swollen cock into my wet waiting body and pumped himslow. I wanted Jim to see me fucking Jack and I wanted Jack to know Iwas in control of Jim.<br />As Jim approached, Jack began to panic. I told him not to worry andfucked him a little faster. The excitement over came the fear forJack. As Jim approached the car he could see what I was doing and wasturning around to walk away so he would not have to witness my lovemaking. Instead, I called him to me, "Well, did you get the part?" Isaid as I continued to fuck Jack.<br />"Yes", he replied. "Well then you better get it on, Jack has alreadyfucked me once and he is about to do it again, he probably only hastwo or three more in him so snap to it dear." I was pumping muchfaster as I spoke and Jack's pulse and respiration had increaseddramatically from the fear of being caught. We both came again beforeJim could leave, causing me to pause my talking while I groaned inecstasy... It was great. Jack was really turned on by the whole thingand Jim was quite embarrassed by being made to follow his wife'sorders while she was bopping a stranger right in front of him.<br />As Jim begun work, Jack laid me on the seat and climbed on top andstuck his hard meat in me for the third round. He was taking chargethis time and bent my legs high in the air getting deeper penetration.I asked him how it felt to be fucking somebody else wife right infront of the husband. "Great, Fantastic, Really Great" he grunted ashe really got into it. He was rocking the car pretty good and I had tolaugh as Jim was trying to remove the water pump. Several more minuteslatter I came again followed shortly by Jack. I know Jim was besidehimself as he tried to remove the bad water pump while this strangerwas socking it to his wife causing the car to rock quit hard.<br />After resting for a few minutes, I asked Jim how he was doing. He saidhe got it off sand was ready to put the new one on. I told Jack itlooked like he had one more shot at me if he wanted it and my answerwas fast in coming. He turned me over and had me get on my elbows andknees. He soon had his cock in me from behind and was pumping me slowand steady. He had gotten over any inhibitions he may have had and wastalking to me in a voice loud enough that Jim could plainly hear. Hewas describing to me what he was going to do to me and then doing it.After several minutes he picked up the speed and soon he was fuckingmy brains out. The car was rocking wildly as my husband trieddesperately to get the water pump back on so this stranger would quitfucking his wife. All three of us were done at the same time. Jimspoke up and said he was done. Jack exploded into me like a piledriver. Banging me real hard and real fast. That in turn caused me toexplode as well. Jack fell on top of me and laid there for severalminutes with his well used cock deep in me.<br />When we could move I called Jim over to the side of the car andintroduced him to Jack. I said, "Jack here is no mechanic. When heneeds work done I think he should have you do it for him. You willcharge him $40.00 per hour plus parts. During the time you are workingon his car I will entertain him as I have done today. Anytime Jackneeds work done he will call and make an appointment. Is that clear?"<br />"Yes Ma'am," said Jim as he hung his head understanding what this meant.<br />I then turned my attention to Jack and told him I had really enjoyedentertaining him. I continued by saying that Jim was not near as goodin bed as he was and I hopped he would become a regular visitor to ourmechanic shop. He promised he would and so I gave him the address andphone number to our home. I kissed him and her, me, and we parted. AsI got in the car I let out a large sigh and commented on howrefreshing that was. Jim was very quiet as I sat there with a smugsmile on my face.<br />I thought about the situation all the way home and decided that therewas an excellent opportunity here. Why not make my husband provide afull time mechanic service out of our home and I could entertain thecustomers while they waited. So when we got home I told Jim of myplan. I told him we would travel the area and provide the firstservice free as we had today. He would repair the vehicles and I wouldentertain the men as they waited. He was aghast at my suggestion and Icould hear him whimpering under his breath.<br />I then bluntly asked him if he agreed that it was a good idea. Hehesitated and I told him he could speak honestly. He hesitated a fewmore seconds and then meekly said he did not like it. I walked up tohim and slapped him across the face. He reacted with fear and shockstammering out that I said he could speak freely. "Yes, I said youcould speak freely but I did not say there would not be consequencesfor doing so. Who do you think you are, disagreeing with me? You are alittle panty waist wimp, you are not a real man and the fact that youwent to town and bought parts for a stranger's car with your own moneythen fixed his car for free while he fucked me four times right infront of you proves you are no man and have no right to challenge whatI say, is that clear?"<br />"Yes Ma'am", he said meekly. "You are a disgusting wimp, Jim. Now gostrip of those male clothes and put on your little girls outfit. It isfar more fitting of your personality than what you are wearing. I amgoing to give you a very sound spanking and then you will spend anhour in the corner thinking about how you are going to get enoughcustomers to quit your job and make a living as a mechanic. I alsothink you better think about how you are going to get some denimskirts and dresses to wear while you are repairing these gentlemen'svehicles"<br />Now his head was hung very low and tears were dripping from hischeeks. As he walked away to do as told I began to think about thesteady stream of hot lovers I was about to acquire.<br />About 45 minutes later, Jim returned dressed in a yellow lacy littlegirl's party dress. He was wearing a wig with pigtails tied off inhuge yellow bows. On his feet were yellow turn-down socks with whitehearts made from lace. He had on a pair of little girls yellow shoes.He was obviously a sissy boy who would do what he was told. I calledhim to me and had him bend over my lap. I removed one of the ribbonsfrom his hair and pulled his hands behind him. Taking the yellowribbon, I tied his wrists together tightly bending his arms behind hisback and high. Then I lifted his short frilly yellow dress and frillypetticoat and placed the hems in his hands ordering him to hold themout of the way. I rubbed his pantied covered bottom for a few secondsand then took the paddle to it. I spanked him hard with the paddleexplaining all the time how important it was that he obeyed me and gota lot of customers for his new work. He soon slipped into a defeatedattitude and lay there sobbing and wiggling as the paddle continued tofall hard on the thin nylon yellow frilly little girl panties he waswearing. After several minutes of continued hard paddling I asked himwhat he was going to do to please me. Between sobs he explained hewould find many customers who would want him to fix their cars andthat I would be a part of it by entertaining them as he did therepair. Finally after at least a full five minutes of hard paddling Istopped and kissed him and told him he was a good little girl fordoing what he was told. Then helping him stand I pulled his pantiesdown below his bottom and sent him to the corner. He stood their whileI watched one of my favorite TV shows and was then sent to bed.<br />The next morning was Saturday and we resumed our hunt for vehicles indistress. It was after about and hour we found one. It was a flat tireand the guy had no jack or spare. He was quite young, about 21 andvery trim. I asked him if he was in sports and he said he was in trackin college. I sent Jim to town and stayed with Brent. After Jim left Iasked Brent if he could go the distance. He was not sure what I meantat first but as I lifted my very short skirt he got the idea realfast. He asked, "But what about your husband, won't he back soon?"<br />"Yes he will, but you're in track so you must be fast so lets get toit." He was very nervous but soon had his pants down and was sportinga long hard dick that stood nearly up in the air. I knew he was goingto be a real rabbit. I grabbed his meat and stroked it and heinstantly came shooting cum all over me. He apologized and said he wasjust really excited. I told him it was OK and told him to lick me.Brent got down and started to lick me and he knew what he was doing. Isaid, "This is not your first time licking pussy". "No Ma'am, itain't," is all he said as he buried his face into me. He was very goodand I was very wet. After several minutes I pulled his head up andtold him to fuck me. He laid me back on the seat and climbed on. Hepushed his cock in me very slowly making faces as he did like his cockwas very sensitive.<br />Once he was all the way in he started pumping me. He began to pumpfaster and faster until he came in me in less than a minute or two. Iwas disappointed in him cumming so fast and tried to stop him. He toldme not to worry he would not stop, that he often came 7 to 9 ninetimes before he had to rest. I was very relieved to hear that becauseI hate it when a man gets his rocks off and I don't. It really pissesme off and I just want to cut their dick off and shove it down theirthroats when they do it.<br />Brent was good to his word and after cumming four times I came andcame hard as he just kept pumping me. He was like a machine. He wouldfuck for about a minute to a minute and a half then cum. But he neverslowed down. After the first few I really got into it and was startingto cum with him. We were on the 6 or 7th time when Jim pulled up. Ibarely was able to get conscious enough to speak to him. I called himover and asked, "Did, you, get, the, tire, fixed? AHHHH, OHHHH,GODDDDD, OH, OH, OH, Yes, Yes, Yes, Oh God that feels great. Well didyou?"<br />"Yes Ma'am I will put it on now" Jim answered. Brent was groaning andgrunting and he never missed a beat. I asked him, "weren't you scaredthat my husband was here?"<br />"No, Ma'am, I have fucked other married women in front of theirhusbands at the college, they seem to get off on it and that's what Ithought you were doing" he said. "You are a very smart and verytalented boy", I said as he came in me again and I milked his cock ofas much of its juices as I could get. He managed to make me cum ninetimes and he came at least 11.<br />When the tire was back on, I gave Brent a long wet kiss and theinformation about the mechanics service and told him we had a delayedbilling program for college students. His eyes got wide over that andthen asked me and then Jim.<br />We proceeded down the road and later in the day we came on a vehiclethat was pulled over and the hood up. Jim pulled in behind and we gotout and walked to the front. To our surprise were two black men. Wetold them we stopped to help and Jim looked at the car. It was a badfuel pump. I explained to the two blacks that my husband would go tothe parts store and get them a new fuel pump and would then put it on.They said that they had inquired about a fuel pump that very day atseveral of the local parts houses and they were out of stock. That theonly one was clear across town and that was where they were headed.The parts store was at least 45 minutes away.<br />So I suggested that Jim take the two blacks and me to our home whichwas only five minutes away and that I could then entertain them whilehe took care of the problem. Jim was about to faint at this suggestionand I could see he hyperventilating. I imagine the thought of meentertaining two black men in our white suburbia home was a bit muchfor him, but I insisted. Even when one of the black men, Carl,suggested he go along with Jim. "Nonsense, you have been put out tomuch already. I would be very, very offended if you did not let usshow our hospitality". I then took him by the arm and led him andWilly to our car. I sat in the back seat between the two of them andthey had a very hard time from not looking at my Lilly white legssticking out of my very short skirt. In fact, Willy already had a hardon when we got in the car.<br />When we got home, I said, "Jim, open Willy's door for him please" Jimdid as told and Willy looked at Carl with a surprised look. I told Jimto come back and get us when he was sure the car was fine. The Carl,Willy and I went in the house. I took then into the living room andasked them if they wanted a beverage. Both asked for a beer. When Iwent to get the beers, I opened my blouse buttons all the way down tomy short skirt. I kept it tucked in so it would not flop open and thenhiked my skirt a little bit more sop my panties showed when I bent atall. I returned with the drinks and sat the try on a low table off tothe side. This caused my back to be turned to them and I bent as I setthe try. I stood bent over pouring the beers into glasses providing atantalizing view for my two black guests. I admit I was a bit nervousnever having a black man before or ever having two men at the sametime before. But my pussy was tingling and I was dripping wet withexcitement.<br />When I was ready I turned to see both black men were enjoying theview. I said with a smile, "You guys like what you see?" A littleembarrassed that I was so bold they looked at each other and said,"yes we do like what we see, how about you?" I was a bit surprised myself but had heard black men were bolder than most white men andsmiled back coyly and said, "yes I do, very much so". Then I squeezedin between them and let my dress slide up even more. That was when Inoticed that both Willy and Carl had massive hard-ons. I could nottake my eyes off their pants as my curiosity was getting the best ofme. I had never seen a Black cock in real life before, only in pornflicks and I wondered what they would be like in real life. I wasfinding my self mesmerized by the thought of two hard black cocks andsoon my fingers were caressing their pricks through their pants.<br />I must have been so engrossed that I did not hear them speaking to eat first. When I did I was embarrassed that I had been so preoccupied.Carl was saying, "Hey baby, we had better get on with it if wee goingto be done before your husband gets back". "Oh, don't worry abouthim", I said almost as if in a trance. "What you mean, don't worrybout him, he ain't gonna like it if he comes home and finds his wifesucking on and being fucked by two black dicks", Willy barked. "No hewon't, but it don't matter cause he knows I am going to be and he isgoing to have to see it. You see, I am punishing him for being callasand I am setting him up in a new mechanic business where you can bringyou car and pay him to fix it while I entertain you while he is fixingit. This way you know he will work as fast as he can and thus you getcharged fairly." Carl asked curiously, "And he knows you gonna befucking and sucking while he is working and he ain't gonna care?' Iresponded while squeezing two hard black dicks at the same time, "Ohhe cares alright, in fact he hates it, but he is totally pussywhipped, he's a pantywaist and I control him. In fact you may find ithard to believe, but he is wearing a bra, panties, nylons and a garterbelt right now. I make him keep his little toy dick tucked backbetween his legs all the time"<br />"You're shitting me". Willy said. "No I am not, I'll prove it to youwhen he gets back but right now we gotta stop talking" I replied as Iunzipped and un buckled and exposed tow beautiful hard, huge blackcocks.<br />I held them, close together so I could lick both cock heads at thesame time. Both had some pre cum leaking and I tasted them as Ilicked. They were delicious and soon I was alternating from one to theother, sucking and licking. After about five minutes of this, Carlsaid, "Girl you gonna have to let us take over" and that's just whatthey did. Carl picked me up like I was a child and I knew right thenthat I could not resist even if I wanted to. He turned me around andtook hold of my head and begun to feed me his black cock. Wiley liftedmy skirt above my waist and ripped my panties right off and tossedthem on the floor by the front door saying, "girl if you want yourhusband to know you was fucking our black dicks, that will be hisfirst confirmation when he comes in the door." I shook my head yes andCarl said, "this girl is serious she agrees".<br />Willy was careful to inset his huge cock in me slowly so I couldstretch to accommodate it. But once he was in he took full control andI was only along for the ride. Both me had hold of me. Carl by thehead and Willy by the hips. It felt so damn good I could not stand itand then there was the mental aspect. Being fucked and sucking onblack dicks and two at once and being completely under their controlwas all too much and I came right away. Willy cursed because I came soquick. But Carl said, "Hey man calm down, these married white galsaren't used to getting real cock. She ain't ready to quit she's justgetting primed up for some serious black fucking, lets show her whatwe can do for her." From their on most of it was a blur. I know I hadmore cock down my throat and loved every minute of it than I ever hadbefore. And I know my pussy was filled tighter and fucked harder thanever before. I was swallowing and getting sprayed in the face with hotblack seed and my pussy was running like a faucet from cum beingdumped in me by Willy.<br />After a while they switched positions and were getting after it realhard again when barely I heard the front door closed and Jim call out.I tried to answer but there was way to much black cock in my mouth tomake any sense out of what I was saying, but Willy knew I was callingJim so he said, "were in hear shoving our Black meat to her" I wassurprised by smiled and came as I heard him say it. I knew it wouldoverwhelm my sissy husband to see his Lilly white wife being impaledfrom both ends by two huge black cocks. Cocks that were twice as bigas his.<br />Jim entered the room with his head and eyes down so as to aver t thescene. But Carl asked him about the car. Jim said it was fixed. AndCarl said, "Hey sissy boy, your wife here says you got panties onunder your pants, that right sissy boy? Look at me when I talk to youand answer me". "Yes sir, that is right" Jim said with a strong quiverin his voice. "I want to see, drop them pants and show us", Carlordered. Jim did it but it was plain to see it was the hardest thinghe ever did. The Carl and Willy began to laugh at him and call himpussy boy. Then Willy told him to take off his shirt so they could seehis bra too. Jim did it with tears in his eyes.<br />Carl and Willy were taunting Jim with no mercy now. Carl said, "Heysissy white boy, don't your pretty white wife look good with two blackdicks stuck in her?"<br />"Yes sir," came the reply. "Willy said, "how cum you dress like a girland let other men fuck your wife, pussy boy?"<br />"Cause my wife tells me how to dress and cause I can't fuck her theway she likes and cause she will get mad at me if I don't do what shesays", my wimpy husband replied.<br />All the talk and Jim's presence and his humiliation had caused to cumthree more times, in fact I was cumming continuously now and suckingWilly dry as I was. It was the best, just the best. And I was startingto laugh at Jim's position. How much he was and how he was actuallyhelping them with his humiliation by telling them more than theyasked. I knew what was next and could not wait.<br />Carl said, "What happens when she gets mad at you?" Jim said, "Shemakes me dress like a little girl and spanks me and makes me stand inthe corner until she thinks I learned my lesson". Carl and Willylaughed and said, "No wonder you're out looking for real men girl, yougot a genuine wimp here don't you?" I was not about to let Willy'scock out of my mouth. It tasted way too good and I was getting aregular supply of hot cum from it that also tasted real good. So Ijust shook my head yes. Wiley commented on this and told Jim that hiswife liked sucking his black cock so much that she refused to removeit to answer a question.<br />They fucked me for a while more and I sucked them both off a few moretimes before taking a break. Jim stood there the entire time in hisfeminine under garments watching and being humiliated by these twoblacks. When we finally took a break they asked me about his dress andI told them that it was true. They wanted to see for themselves so Itold Jim to put on his little white lace party dress. You could tellhe wished the earth would swallow him up but he had no such luck. Itold him to wear his big girl heels with the out fit. Carl and Willyand I settled down to more fucking while Jim changed clothes. Carl wasteaching me how to take his black cock in my ass while Willy wasfucking my nipples and they were making me hot. I had never let a manin my ass before but it was like they owned me and I was going to dowhat ever they wanted.<br />When Jim came back they were shocked at how juvenile he looked. He hadon his pigtail wig with pink bows this time. His pretty lacy andfrilly white little girl's party dress with pink bra and pantiesunderneath. His white 'fuck me' pumps in four inch heels. We had himstand and watch as I rode up and down on the hard black cock I my asswhich was in full view as I was sitting facing Jim and the black cockshooting sticky cum all over my nipples and chest.<br />Then I suggested that Jim show Willy how he got his spankings. Shakinglike a leaf he bent over Willy's lap and had to explain how to removea ribbon from his hair and tie his hands. Even I have to admit howsurprised I was at how obedient he was in carrying out thesehumiliating orders. Willy took the white ribbon from his hair and tiedhis wrists. Jim then explained about lifting the hem of his dress andpetticoat and placing them in his hands to hold. I then gave Willy thepaddle which he set down and said he preferred to use his hand. I justsmiled as I watched Willy began to paddle Jim's pink pantied bottomharder and harder causing Jim to kick and squirm. The more he did sothe harder Willy paddled until Jim was completely subdued anddefeated. Willy's cock had gotten very hard during the ordeal and youcould see it was sticking into Jim's belly. When Willy figured thepussy boy had, had enough, he dumped him on the floor and grabbed hishead and stuck his hard Black cock into the sobbing lips ordering himto suck good or get it again. Jim had, had enough and sucked just likehe was a pro. Carl got on his knees behind Jim and stuck his hard cockinto the sissy's hands and told him to play with it. I am sure Jim wasthinking the same thing I was, that it would not be long before he toowas impaled on the two superior black cocks.<br />I was correct in my assumption and within minutes, Jim was learning totake Black cock in his ass just like I had done just a short timeearlier. He was also learning how to suck and swallow. Big smile cameacross my face as I watched the scene. It was truly more than I hadwished for. My husband was no completely humiliated and subjugated totwo wonderful Black men.<br />After Carl and Willy were totally spent, cum was leaking from my pussyand ass and from Jim's ass. It was all over my body and all over Jim'sass and face and hands, I asked them if they were interested in ourmechanic service. They assured me they were and if I wanted they wouldspread the word among the brothers and get us more business. I toldthem that was very nice of them and for each new member they broughtto us they would get 2 free hours of car care and the entertainmentthat went with it. They said it was a great idea and would back soon.They said that they thought Jim should drive them back to their cardressed like he was and I agreed. I put a robe on and got in the backseat with Carl and Willy and got fucked once more on the way back aswell as getting another mouth full of tasty black cum.<br />We now have a full time business of fixing cars. It goes six days aweek 12 hours a day. Jim does not get a normal lunch. He has tenminutes each noon to suck me clean of the mornings cum and then againat 4:00. He has lost weight which makes his sexy denim mini dress lookgreat on him. It is short enough that when he bends over a fender orin the trunk his pink panties are fully exposed and his pussy ass isavailable to any customer who wants it. Many nights his panties aredripping from cum that has been deposited mostly by black males whoget a kick out of pussy boy. He is not allowed to stop work when theyare porking him which means he must scamper about the garage with abig black dick stuck in him sometimes.<br />Some of the black customers like to just come by and have him washtheir cars in the front yard where all of the neighbors can view Jimin all of his feminine glory while they fuck me in the upstairs frontbedroom with the windows open. Oh yes, did I mention I am now a fullfledged screamer, at least when the windows are open!<br />End<br />Benefits of white ownership by Blacks<br />There is much speculation as to the proper way race relations should occur. Blacks have been mistreated and not provided equal opportunities in much of society while in other areas Blacks have excelled and dominate. Some folks say that when a Black male impregnates a white female is no more than a stud and being used. Others point out that only the top male does the breeding and such is a sign of superiority. In today’s climate is it right for the Black to push ahead? Is it correct for the Black to proclaim his rights or stretch his wings to see what he can truly accomplish? Much of this can be argued pro or con. Some say the Black should keep his place and be grateful for what he now has because he has so much more than his forefathers did 200 years ago or 100 years ago or 50 years ago or even 10 years ago. Ah but then that’s what they said back then as well. Is it not time for the Blacks in America to rise and take their God given place as leaders and demonstrate what they are truly capable of? Is not time that Blacks own their rightful property no matter if it is careers, property or servants? We are not talking about the shamefulness of slave days when people were stolen, captured, tortured, beaten and chained into serving unfit white masters against their will under penalty of death. No, not at all. We are talking about ownership voluntarily given by white servants to their Black Masters. Masters who are deserving and caring and who will uplift the white servants in their stables to a better more fulfilling life.<br />But how do we know this? Is it really true? No one wants to be part of a slavery system where people are unhappy, unfulfilled, poorly treated or that is done to them against their will. White slave owners tried it and it failed and whites in general were against it. All whites knew it was wrong, even though some partook in the act. We also know that Blacks were not happy under this system. They were mistreated and not there under their on volition. It was completely against their will, it was wrong. But now let’s look at the new society where white choose to be Black owned. Where whites ask to be trained and be servants to their Black Masters and Mistresses. If you have ever met, or seen or heard or read of an account where a white has become a servant and Black owned you will note that NONE, not one, ever complains about it. You will note that each and every one are grateful and content and fell a spiritual awakening. You will note that if they loose their Black owner they quickly seek a new Black owner so they can enter into Black servitude as quickly as possible.<br />In the old slave days the white masters used to breed Black female slaves. Some were married and some were not. But all accounts show these Black females hated it, fought against it and so did their husbands and brothers and fathers. But they had no choice, it was do or die. So now compare that to the white female owned by a Black Master, married or not. White husband present or not. She can’t get enough. She will cut her white husband off and he will gladly obey the Black Master and watch and serve while the Black Master breeds his wife. It is not the old slave days, it is nothing like that. It is about whites realizing they are inferior and will be better off serving their superior Black owners. They rejoice in serving, they rejoice in being owned so there is no moral dilemma. There is no dark evil side to Black ownership of whites. It is how the races were meant to function, whites serving and obeying Blacks. Blacks owning and taking care of whites teaching them how to serve and how to obey so they can take pride in their service to their Black owners. It’s how it is meant to be and will be so why not be a part of it now?<br />What are the benefits of white ownership?<br />1. Menial tasks are performed by the white servants permitting the Blacks to take care of more important business or enjoy more leisure time.2. White skilled at tasks Blacks choose not to do provide these services required by the Black owners with a true loyalty for the Masters needs and concnerns.3. White males learn their true place in the pecking order. They come to grips with the Black mans superiority and become an ally in all Black interests. For example every white placed into Black ownership is another vote for the Black cause this is worth two votes because one vote against the Black cause has been removed.4. White males become dependent and subservient to Black males showing true respect uplifting the black Man to his rightful place in society as a leader. No Black owned white male has ever remained a racist or oppositionist to any Black or any Black cause.5. Status amongst your Black associates and friends is elevated when they see you have risen to the point of owning white servants. Well trained and properly discipline white servants add a great deal to persona of a dinner, meeting or event. Seeing the whites scurrying around serving the Blacks in attendance shows an order that is to be admired by all intelligent people. Your Blacks friends will be impressed by your status and power when they see how well your white servants sever and how happy they are in doing so. They will be asking you about how they too can own white servants. You will be a very popular person with other Blacks seeking such capable and well trained white servants as those they witnessed at your home or office.6. White servants have a special talent for doing housework, laundry, gardening, lawn care, washing your car, polishing your shoes, cooking and serving meals. Lets just face it; they make much better servants than Blacks or Hispanics. While Blacks make much better leaders and owners than whites. It is the natural order of things and one no one can deny.7. Sex is a lot of fun with whites; they appreciate it so much when a real man or real woman is in control of them. They show that appreciation with enthusiasm and loyalty. How many times have you ever heard of a white refusing to obey a desire or command given sexually by a Black? N E V E R! Whites both females and males are sex toys for Blacks. It’s simple. A white can recognize a superior in an instant and they want to please that superior so they are compliant, they are desirous to please and they receive pleasure in ANYTHING a Black does to them. If you want enthusiastic sex on demand owning white sex toys is the way to go. No refusals, no argument, no resistance, just totally compliance and obedience. 8. Power, being Black and in control involves power. A Blacks power oozes from his or her persona. This power is like an aphrodisiac to a white. But the power is something a Black needs to feel and needs to experience or the Black feels repressed and downtrodden. Nothing like power to provide confidence and security. To make a person feel good and have fun in life. What greater power can one experience than to have a willing, loyal set of white servants? Think about the power one must poses to have a white husband willingly give his white wife to their Black Master and agree not to touch her. Think of the power a Black man must have to order a white husband to strip his white wife in front of several other people and prepare her and him to enjoy each other in bed! Think of the power a Black man posses when he tells a white male to kneel and polish his shoes in front of a group of people and the white says, “Yes Master” while the whites wife sits on the Black Masters lap being fondled and kissed! If you want to know true power, this is it. The Black Master need make no threat, raise no voice, the whites obey because THEY recognize the Black Masters power. This is real power. Power of leadership and recognition of superiority.9. Business can be greatly improved when you have people who are always loyal and dedicated to you. A white servant is this kind of employee. Many Black owners of white servants use their white servants in their business to watch their back. To protect them against lazy or thieving employees. When a Black owns a white, he owns that whites, mind, body and soul. That white can not function without his or her Black Master so they become extremely protective of that Master. That’s worth a lot in today’s business world.10. And last but not least owning whites is the right thing to do. It’s the Blacks most powerful tool to raising Blacks now and in the future to their rightful positions of leadership. Of running the country and the world. To stopping crime and poverty. To ending race problems completely. It can not be done by shortsighted or greedy Black owners. When Blacks own whites they must be ready to take responsibility to be good and caring owners. To teach whites how to serve and why they are destined to serve. Through proper white ownership intelligent capable Black masters and Mistresses can change the world to a much better place and create a world where we all live in harmony. It’s up to you but being Black has a responsibility and that responsibility starts with responsible ownership of white servants.<br />Lead, Follow or get out of the way. Make you decision to begin owning white servants to day or never complain about your lack of position again.<br />Presented by: Blacks for increased ownership of white servants.<br /><a href="http://groups.yahoo.com/group/whites4trublackservitude">http://groups.yahoo.com/group/whites4trublackservitude</a><br />alternate BBC training To: <a href="mailto:blkdommaster007@sbcglobal.net">blkdommaster007@sbcglobal.net</a> I had actually written a piece about how such training should be performed in our public schools.. with white girls being paired up twice daily with young black males and instructed publicly on the basics of black cock serving... These twice-daily BBC servicing classes would be done in specially designed rooms so all students - boys and girls - could view fellow classmates and girl "black cock apprentices" as the young girls are mastering their training. As in any curriculum, training is defined with achievment milestones and acceptable pass/fail critieria established. As a novice white girl first begins her training, she would concentrate on fundamentals - the general nature of black cocks (bigger than other races) and how they are best pleased manually and orally. Initial lessons for white female BBC apprentices would be in the mastery of black cock sucking and then they would move on to black cum appreciation and swallowing in later semesters.. As the young white girls begin their instruction, they would be counseled by white female members of the teaching staff who hold proper credentials in black cock submission and pleasuring.. These white female teachers mentor the young white girl in the proper dress styles for their black partners (short, tight revealing skirts, tight pants that display their asses most alluringly to young black bulls and how panties and bras should be avoided at all times) and these teachers would also diemonstrate the proper techinques to be used when pleasing black cocks orally.. As the girls view the female teachers demonstrating the basics of black cock sucking with balck male teachers on the school staff, they will mimic the teahers' actions on the cock of a young black male student assigned to them by the teaching staff... All of these cock sucking sessions would be video taped for later class discussions so the best and worst of the daily black cock sucking techiques can be seen by all the studets in school. Of course, eduactional achievement is best promoted when accomplishments and mislestones are achievedand properly recognized. Each white girl who successfully coaxes her first black cock to gush its cum into her virgin mouth, would have her photo taken as she kneels in place (between the thighs of the black boy she had ben sucking) and holds that memorable black cock in her mouth and as the black cum is still seeping from the corners of her lips. These photos would be posted on message boards throughout the school and copies mailed home to her understandaably proud parents and family ....<br />After individaul white girls master the proper servicing of a black cock, she would be introduced to the next logical training area - the servicing of multiple black cocks and then the proper conduct involved in multiple white women servicing multiple black cocks in gangbang style BBC worship sessions... In succeedeing years the white girls would learn the proper ways of serving BBC with their pussies and then would move on to post graduate work in how to properly take BBC in the ass and how to adequately service black bulls in all-holes-filled fuck sessions... All this should obviously be done at taxpayer expense and with complete approval by local school boards -- who would realize the value of a good, well-rounded public education and how society would be advanced by promoting the happiness of black cock owners and the while females who keep those black cocks happy and well drained of their thick black sperm ---<br />Desire for BLACK COCK and my fate.<br />It's a Wednesday evening and I'm sitting down in the rec room watching a movie and sipping a rum and coke. It's a little after 9pm and the doorbell rings. I answer it to find John, a Black Man I have been chatting with online for the past few weeks.<br />A little about me, I am 54 6'5 and 230lbs. When I was 37 I realized that I couldn't deny the fact I liked men and have been Bisexual ever since. My present wife who I've been with for ten years now knows my secret, but doesn't really like the idea of me with men. I invite John down into my rec-room and get him a drink. I have wanted to submit to a Black man at my home for a long time and it's finally happening.<br />He's still standing when I bring him his drink He wastes no time and tells me to strip. I am soon naked, very hard excited, but that’s not why he's here.<br />He orders me to kneel, puts down the drink and slowly strips off all his clothes. His naked body looks even better than his pics he sent me. And his cock was better than I'd dreamed. It was bigger, wider and blacker than the picture. He stepped close and I opened my mouth for him.<br />His dark cock head filled my mouth and my hands wrapped around it. I stroked his cock. He slowly fucked my mouth while his cock grew and hardened. His cock head was pushing into my throat. I still had both hands on his shaft. His cock was hard as steel, hot to touch and thicker than any cock I'd ever seen. With him holding my head onto his shaft, he fucked my throat and fired the first of many loads of cum he promised for the night.<br />He pulled his cock from my mouth and ordered me to turn and bend over the couch.<br />He grabbed the bottle of lube from a table beside the dildo. I'd been using it earlier preparing for his arrival. <br />He wasted no time. He poured the lube over my ass and onto his hard cock. He worked that big head into my ass. As the pain turned to pleasure, he slowly fucked me. I could only take part of his huge cock, but it was plenty. He fucked me like that for twenty minutes. He shot the second load into my ass as I bucked to remove his cock.. He pulled out and went into the shower. I was spent, and lie there a lump of ravaged pussy.<br />When he came back he asked “Where is your wife ?”.<br />“Getting ready.” I said, I led him upstairs to our bedroom. My lovely red head wife was waiting in our bed. She'd set out candles and was wearing the sexy lingerie I'd given her for Christmas. I stood at the door as she smiled and John went to her. She was soon in a passionate embrace with her what was to be very first black lover.The sight of her pale skin against his black glistening body was so exciting to watch. I stood at the door. Their tongues were in each other They teased and grew more excited. She went down and sucked him into her mouth. He ripped the expensive panties from her sweet ass. She sucked as he ate her wet pussy. a He pulled his wet cock from her mouth and threw her onto her back.<br />The look on her face told me that he was going to get anything he wanted from her.<br />She spread her legs. He knelt between them. His huge cock head found her wet, red pubic hair pussy.<br /> I watched the look of sheer pleasure on her as he sank his cock.<br />Deeper than any man ever had.<br />He fucked her slowly at first. She got used to that huge hot monster violating her soft pink pussy. She begged him to fuck her harder. Animal sounds she was all she could make.<br />She was lost in the hard pounding she was getting.<br />She had her first orgasm from love making with a black man. She gasped for air.<br />She looked into my eyes. I left and closed the door. <br />They had instructed me to do this in the e-mail they'd traded this last week.<br />I had to get to work for the night shift in less than an hour. It had been set up this way. She knew I wanted to see her with a black man even though she'd refused it for so long, She knew I wanted a black man and didn't like that.<br />So in getting her to try this she had set the rules.<br />From now on, she would take any man, black or white and I could only watch her for the first few minutes. I then had to leave to them for the night. If she allowed I could only be a sub or sissy for men she chose for me. I could tell from my brief view of her that she'd never be happy fucking me again.<br />Just as I was about to leave the doorbell rang.It was another Black Man. He smiled and introduced himself, Benjamin.<br />My wife had arranged this and I just stood there dumbfounded. He asked where my wife was. I pointed towards the upstairs. He walked to the sounds of passion in the upstairs bedroom.I got a brief glance at the big piece of meat hanging between his legs as he stripped off his sweats in our hall.I had to leave.<br />I stole a quick look to see her sucking this new stud's cock as it grew in her lips.Her pussy was dripping cum. Her swollen cunt lips sucked in the first hard black cock.<br />She moaned with pleasure.<br />I drove off to work with the sounds of my wife’s passion echoing in my mind.<br />In the morning she had gone to work and I stripped the soaked sheets from her bed and washed them.<br />As I entered my new bedroom, she's banished me from her bed to the guest room, I saw a pic of her. She was on her hands and knees with a black man fucking her from each end, and on my new pillow was a pair of panties, and a bra. They had signed the picture. “Wear these, for you are going to be our bitch too".<br />end<br />--------------------------------------------------------<br />A Husband's Proposalby KarenKay<br />Diana opened the new prescription and took one of the tiny pills and placed it on her tongue while reaching over to pick up the small glass of water and swallowed the little pill down her throat.<br />Diana opened the kitchen cabinet placing the little packet of pills on the cabinet shelve before heading back into the bedroom. The prescription of birth control pills would be the last thing Diana thought she would ever need to take considering her husband Joe’s low sperm count.<br />Diana and Joe had been married for nine years straight out of college and both were successful working at the same marketing corporation for several years before venturing off on their own and forming there own company.<br />Diana would be turning twenty-nine this June and her and Joe had wanted to adopt a child for the last two years but the demand on venturing out on their own had left them with less time right now for children and Joe wanted to wait another two years before giving it another thought.<br />Diana had a great looking figure and worked very hard at it by working out in her own gym Joe had set up in the basement. With blonde hair and five foot two inch frame and one hundred and five-pound Diana was proud of her 34-22-34 figure which made her the envy of all of her friends<br />Joe had to fly out to Atlanta this morning on business and would be back home in the late morning tomorrow. Diana looked at the clock knowing she had to go online in about thirty minutes to talk to Tony.<br />Tony was a man Diana had became friends with as a pen pal a few short months ago. Tony had served nine months over in Iraq as a Sargent in the marines and just returned home a few days ago.<br />Diana got involved as a pen pal for lonely soldiers with a group she had herd about and they had become friends over a period of time. Diana got so comfortable talking with Tony that she finally told him about this crazy idea her husband Joe had about swinging.<br />Diana went on to reveal to Tony that her husband had a fetish to watch her make love to another man and that he had this fascination to be a cuckold. Diana told Tony she didn’t want any part of that kind of lifestyle and worried about her husband’s behavior.<br />Over the coming weeks Tony and Diana discussed different idea’s how she might convince her husband to reconsider his wild proposal. One night Tony suggested to Diana to give in to her husbands desires and go along with the idea as if she loved the idea.<br />Tony mentioned that perhaps if she were to pretend she wanted to try swinging and perhaps even meet another man that her husband would get cold feet and back out on his own.<br /><br />Diana was a little reluctant at first but thought that Joe just might change his mind once he saw that she was going to go through with the idea.<br />A couple days later Diana told Joe she would give the swinging idea a try under her conditions in which he would let her find the man. Diana even went to her doctor to obtain a prescription of birth control pills to help convince Joe she was really going through with it.<br />Joe would be home tomorrow morning and Diana knew one of the first things Joe was going to ask, "Honey, have you had any luck finding a lover yet?" Tonight she was going to ask Tony’s opinion about avoiding that question.<br />Later that night Diana was online chatting with her friend Tony and asked that question. Tony said that perhaps if she went out shopping and bought a revealing dress and model the dress for her husband when he arrives home that it might make him jealous. Tony said to make sure she told him it was for her first date.<br />Diana thought Tony’s suggestion might work on her husband Joe and she told him she had to sign off and go shopping before the stores close. Diana thanked Tony for giving her the idea and would leave an email tomorrow on how well it turned out.<br />Diana went shopping that night and found the perfect dress and when she got home she slipped into the dress with heels and paraded around in front of the mirror admiring the item she had bought. The dress was green with a low plunging neck line that revealed plenty of cleavage and was short enough that when she sat down the dress would hike up to her ass.<br />Diana picked up Joe at the airport the next day and it wasn’t an hour after they returned home that Joe asked the question Diana knew he would ask. Joe said, "Were you able to find a stud to fuck you?" Diana told Joe to wait in the family room and she would show him what she had bought while he was gone.<br />Diana came out of the bedroom a few minutes later wearing the revealing dress and turned around in front of Joe and waited for his opinion. Joe was smiling and Diana thought she would ad a few words to try and shock him.<br />"All I have to do is lift this up and my lover can fuck me while I’m wearing it." Diana was pulling up the dress to reveal that she was not wearing any panties under the dress. "I’ll shave my pussy nice and smooth for him and maybe spray some perfume down here and drive him wild."<br />Joe got down on his knees and crawled toward me and started to kiss my legs down to my ankles. Joe was licking around my ankles now as he looked up and said. "You look so beautiful in this dress and I can’t wait to see you getting fucked by your stud."<br />Joe kissed his way back up my legs gently placing his hands up to hold onto my hips and smelled my pussy through the thin material of my dress.<br />Joe got back up off the floor and told me, "You don’t know how much I love you." Joe smiled as he left the room leaving me standing in the room wearing this revealing dress. I’d have to talk to Tony tonight and seek some advice.<br />That night when Joe was in bed, I got online and told Tony all about what had happened today and let him know it only seemed to encourage my husband more. After several minutes’ Tony made the suggestion that maybe, I should find a man that would go along with the idea.<br />I was stunned by Tony’s remarks and told Tony I couldn’t go through with meeting a strange man for sex. Tony said that I should find someone that would just play along with the idea and not really go through with the sex part of it.<br />Tony said that my husband would surely be jealous once he saw me getting fondled by another man. I answered Tony back and said I didn’t know anyone that would do such a thing.<br />Tony answered back saying that he knew someone that was willing to help me out and I asked him who it was that he knew. Tony said he would be glad to help me out and to just let him know when I wanted to do it.<br />I was sitting there looking at the computer at the words that Tony just typed trying to decide what I should write him back. I typed back say, "You would be willing to help me?" Tony typed his phone number up on the screen next and told me to call him.<br />My hands were shaking as I typed out, "I’ll sign off now and give you a call in a few minutes." I copied the number down that Tony had wrote and signed off the computer. I sat in the chair trying to decide if I should call Tony. After talking to this man all of these months, I would actually be hearing his voice for the first time.<br />I knew Tony was stationed about one hundred miles from where we lived so maybe he could help me. Once the night was over and maybe my husband would put all these crazy ideas out of his head than I wouldn’t have to see this man ever again.<br />My hands were trembling as I dialed his number on my cell phone and walked toward the kitchen so my husband wouldn’t hear me. I listened as the phone rang a second ring and a man answered saying, "I knew you would call me." His voice was really deep and husky and I said, "Hello, this is Diana calling."<br />Tony responded, "It’s really nice to speak to you after all these months and I’m looking forward to meeting you and helping you out with your husband."<br />We talked for over an hour that evening until we decided on a place and time to meet. We decided on the following weekend at a hotel that was located half way between us. I had sent Tony a picture of myself at my ten-year high school reunion from last year so he knew what I looked like.<br />I’d never asked Tony what he had looked like until now and he replied, "I’m six feet five inches tall and I have short curly dark hair and I weigh two hundred and seventy-five pounds." He reminded me that he worked out every day with weights and it was all muscle.<br />I was surprised when Tony told me how huge he was and I felt a little afraid to meet him but he reassured me that he was considered a gentle giant at the base. We ended our conversation after planning the events for that evening. We pretty much had planned the whole evening and Tony told me not to be afraid that everything would go well.<br />I didn’t get much sleep that night thinking about meeting Tony next weekend. The next morning I told Joe that I had a date for next weekend. Joe said, "How is he and what’s his name?" I told Joe, "He’s a soldier I corresponded with while he was in Iraq and his name is Tony."<br />Joe than asked, "What does this man look like and did you tell him about me?" I answered, "Yes Joe, I told him all about your desire to watch me make love with another man." Than I answered the second part knowing, I would have to tell a little fib. "He’s tall and very muscular and very handsome and I can’t wait to fuck him."<br />Joe put his hands on my shoulders and kissed me and said, "Please darling, don’t forget to take your birth control pills." I said, "Don’t worry honey; I didn’t go to the doctor to end up getting pregnant."<br />I hope that Tony had made the right decision about my husband backing out at the last minute. What if he gets there and expects me to go through with this whole thing. I better get sick in a hurry.<br />Friday cane around pretty fast and Joe looked nervous as he watched me putting on my new dress without any panty’s or bra. I had shaved my pussy smooth and applied perfume around my belly and just a little above my pussy mound. I had my nails done the day before along with my toe’s and all matched in a bright red.<br />I dried my hair and applied my makeup while Joe hung around the bedroom watching every move I made. I looked in the mirror and hoped the neighbors wouldn’t see me walk to the car tonight. The dress was tight and I could see my nipples through the dress.<br />I bent down to grab my heels and looked in the mirror while bending down and noticed how much of my titties were showing. The dress barely came up above my nipples and I thought Tony was really going to get an eye full of me tonight.<br />Joe was going to be disappointed tonight if I have to pretend I’m getting sick. Joe was packing his video camera and was already dressed and ready.<br />We got on the expressway and were on our way and I could feel the butterflies in my stomach as we got closer to our destination. We got off the expressway ramp and I could see the hotel straight ahead and my legs started to shack.<br />Joe spotted the hotel but pulled into the parking lot next to the office. I glanced around and didn’t see the car Tony said he would be driving. Joe said, "I’m going into the office and check in." I pulled down the visor and checked my makeup, reapplying my lip stick while I waited for Joe to return.<br />Joe came back and said, "The room number is 108 and it’s the first one across the parking lot."<br />Joe moved the car around and started to back in the parking space when I saw Tony’s car pull up and along the side of our car and park in the next space.<br />My heart was beating fast as I tried to look over in his car and get a look at the man I had been chatting with online all these months. It was already dark and all I could make out was a dark figure in the driver’s seat. Joe opened his window and motioned for Tony to roll his window down.<br />Tony’s window rolled down as my husband introduced himself and Tony answered him back in that deep husky voice I herd on the phone last week. Joe said, "I already checked in and the room is right here."<br />I was shacking and my heart was racing as my husband opened the door and walked around to open mine. I got out of the car as my husband took my hand and we walked around to meet Tony.Tony was just getting out of his car and looked tall as he started to walk toward us.<br />I was holding onto my husband’s hand as tight as I could as we walked toward Tony and he started to come into view. My heart almost stopped as I looked up at this huge black man standing less than five feet in front of me.<br />Tony reached his hand out to shack my husbands first as they introduced each another and Joe turned to me and said to Tony, "This is my beautiful wife Diana." Tony reached for my hand and said, "I’m very pleased to meet you."<br />Tony was looking at me straight in the eye’s and I could see him glance down toward my tits than down toward my legs and said in his deep voice, "Look very beautiful tonight Diana."<br />We all walked toward the room and once inside my husband said he wanted to bring his things inside and walked back out leaving me with Tony. There were a small table and chairs and Tony and I sat down across from each other as my husband walked back into the room carrying his camera case and wine.<br />My husband put everything where he wanted it and poured all of us a drink. Tony was the first to speak saying, "You’re much more beautiful than I would have ever imagined."<br />My husband started a conversation with Tony and they started talking about the war and Tony told him every place he had been. I sat and listened to them because I was too nervous to speak and crossed my legs.<br />I noticed that Tony was looking at my legs now because the dress was hiked up so far part of my ass was now showing. Tony was a handsome man and had a nice smile besides having a sexy voice. As Tony and my husband got acquainted, Tony would glance toward me and give me a smile every so often.<br />Joe kept pouring more wine into my glass as I drank to settle my nerves. Tony than told my husband, "You have a beautiful wife here; I bet you’re really proud of her." Joe answered, "Yes, I’m very proud of my wife and how she keeps herself in shape." Joe continued and said, "My wife bought this dress she is wearing tonight just for you."<br />Tony leaned over and looked around the table and said, "Your wife looks very stunning in that dress and I love the heels." I took another drink of my wine as I saw Tony looking at my ankles.<br />I started to panic as he leaned forward lifting himself off his seat and grabbing my leg at the ankle and gently rubbed his finger above the strap on the heel and said, "I’ve always thought high heels made a woman’s legs look very sexy and appealing."<br />I was relieved when I felt Tony’s hand let go of my ankle and sat back down in his chair. Tony said he had brought another bottle of wine out in his car and walked out to retrieve it. There was a love seat next to me and thought it might be more comfortable and moved and sat down while my husband went to the bathroom.<br />Tony walked back in and put the bottle of wine on the table and said he had it chilling in a cooler and opened it and poured another glass and handed it to me. Tony than poured a glass for himself and walked toward the love seat and sat down next to me starring at my legs.<br />Tony leaned over toward me and whispered, "I know you’re nervous, just relax and let me handle everything when your husband comes back out." I was feeling the effects of the wine as I looked over at Tony and told him, "I’ll be fine, I was very nervous when we first got here but I’m feeling better now."<br />Tony was sitting just inches away from me as he answered, "You’ll be just fine tonight Diana, we’ll give your husband a little show here in a few minutes."<br />Although the wine was making me feel more relaxed, Tony scared me the way he said we would put on a show for my husband. Joe stepped out of the bathroom and starred at us as he walked back to his chair and sat down.<br />Tony was the first to speak, "Diana and I thought we would get a little better acquainted here." Tony moved his had around my shoulder and gently gave my arm a squeeze as he smiled over at Joe.<br />Joe was looking as if he were waiting for Tony’s next move as Tony looked my way and said, "You picked out a lovely scent to wear this evening." I could feel his hand starting to stroke my bare arm as he slightly tilted his head over to smell my perfume.<br />Tony looked over at my husband and said, "Joe, have you ever seen a black man fuck a white woman before?" Joe just starred at Tony for a few seconds before giving him an answer and said, "I’ve only seen a couple adult videos but never seen it in person."<br />Tony was laughing and said, "Its going to be a real treat for you tonight." Tony leaned over and placed his wine glass on the table and took mine and placed it along the side his glass and sat back and pulled me close to his body.<br />Tony looked back at Joe and said, "You better get your camera setup if you want to catch all the action here tonight." Joe got up and took his camera out of the case and started to place it on the tripod. I was getting more scared as Tony held me close to him.<br />Tony asked Joe, "Would you mind if I gave your wife a kiss." Joe answered, "I don’t mind, go ahead and kiss her." Tony looked over at me and moved his head toward mine and placed his lips on mine. He felt warm as he gently parted my lips and I could feel his tongue pushing forward trying to enter my mouth.<br />I parted my lips a little and he pushed more of his tongue inside my mouth as it touched the tip of my tongue. I could feel Tony’s hand on my leg now as he slowly began to stroke my thigh as we kissed. Tony pulled his tongue back and whispered, "Give me your tongue." He than started to kiss me again as I slowly pushed my tongue out and he sucked it into his mouth.<br />Tony’s hand moved from my leg and under the hem of my dress and was now feeling around toward my pussy. For some reason my legs gently parted for Tony as he felt his way up and to my pussy mound and he moaned into my mouth as his fingers felt the soft skin around my shaven pussy.<br />Tony broke the kiss and whispered, "I love a shaved white pussy." Tony continued to kiss me as I felt his fingers gently trying to part my pussy open. Finally Tony’s finger had found its target and he gently started to insert it inside me and rubbed my clitoris. My pussy was getting wet by this time but Tony withdrew his finger and pulled his hand out from under my dress.<br />I didn’t feel as afraid as I was but wondered to myself how far Tony was going to take this little show for my husband. Tony looked over at Joe and said, "Your wife has a nice tight little pussy here and she’s getting wet thinking about having my black cock inside her."<br />Tony’s words caught me by surprise but I knew he was trying to shock my husband into changing his mind. So far I haven’t seen any changes in the way my husband was reacting to Tony’s advances on me.<br />Tony’s hand moved up and cupped my tits through my thin dress and started to move his hand from one to the other as he looked over at Joe and said, "You’re a special kind of husband to be letting another man take your wife and do as he pleases."<br />Tony looked at me again and said, "You have nice titties Diana, I bet you like showing them off to other men don’t you?" Tony than moved the thin material of my dress away to expose my left breast and moved his hand onto my nipple and started to rub his thumb around in little circles and said, "Diana’s nipples are getting hard for me Joe."<br />Tony bent his head down and placed his lips directly over the nipple and started to nibble and circle his tongue around. I was scared but aroused at the same time as Tony worked his tongue around my breast.<br />I couldn’t help getting aroused as Tony gently started to lick and kiss his way up to my neck and under my chin until his lips were on mine again and his tongue back inside my mouth. I slowly sucked on his tongue as he slowly worked his hand around pulling the straps of my dress down over my shoulders.<br />Now both of my tits were exposed to Tony’s view as he continued to kiss me while moving his hands up to massage my tits, squeezing them in his big hands. I placed my hand over his hand on my tits and gave it a little squeeze. Tony took hold of my hand in his and held it as we kissed.<br />Tony’s hand was large and when he finally broke the kiss, he raised my hand and starred down at my hand in his and starred at my diamond engagement ring and placed his thumb over it and looked over at my husband and said, "Are you feeling all right with this Joe, I can stop anytime." I waited for Joe to respond and say something but he just shook his head in agreement.<br />Tony than leaned over and whispered and said, "I want you to unbutton my shirt and than the pants." My hands were trembling now as I started at the top of his shirt and worked my way down. Tony’s hands were not still as he went back too gently rubbing my boobs causing much stimulation keeping my nipples very erect.<br />I managed to get the last button as Tony tiled away from the love seat and pulled off his shirt. His shoulders were broad and his arms were massively huge from lifting weights. Tony flexed his arm and told me to grab a hold and feel it. I placed both of my hands around his arm and his muscles felt so big.<br />Tony stood up in front of me and waited for me to unbuckle his pants. I reached out and grabbed the belt and got it undone and worked on the snap and zipper and Tony’s pants feel to the floor.<br />Tony stood in front of me with just a red pair of boxers on with a bulge as his cock tried to point straight out from under the red material. Tony took my hands in his and lifted me up and pulled me next to him as he placed his hands on my back. Tony was so much taller than me and my boobs pressed into his stomach as he held me tight.<br />I had planned all along to feel sick if things started to get out of hand but I was so afraid of Tony’s size as he held me tight against his body I just couldn’t find the words.<br />Tony looked down at me and lowered his head to kiss me again. He was being very gentle and when we broke the kiss and looked into my eye’s and asked, "Are you all right with this?" I don’t know what came over me but instead of saying I wasn’t feeling well, I answered Tony back with a simple, "Yes."<br />My full attention was on Tony now as he held me in his arms and told me to pull his shorts down. I had no idea what my husband was doing at this point as I grabbed a hold of Tony’s boxers and slid them down his legs. I had to kneel down and pull them all the way because his kegs were so muscular and as I started to get up, Tony’s cock was sticking straight out at my face as I stood up.<br />Tony stepped out of his shoes as I stood there starring at his cock which had to be as thick as my wrist. Tony took hold of my left hand and gently placed it around his cock. I couldn’t even get my small fingers completely around it.<br />I slowly worked my hand around as much of it as I could as Tony reached around me to cup my ass in his big hands. Tony’s cock had a huge head and had to be at least eight inches in length. Tony kissed me again as I kept a hold of his cock and felt his tongue entering my mouth again.<br />Tony broke the kiss and told me to raise my arms above my head as he grabbed the bottom hem of my dress and lifted it up over my head. My arms were trembling now as Tony slipped my dress off and through it down on the chair. I stood naked in front of this large man as he slipped his hands around my waist and said, "I want you to leave the heels on and lay on the bed."<br />I walked around and sat on the bed and noticed my husband looking through the camera lens with the look of anticipation on his face. The bed was king size with tree pillows so I got up and laid in the middle and waited to see what Tony was going to do next.<br />Tony got on the bed next to me and leaned over and gently started to kiss my boobs which gave me goose bumps as I felt his lips touch my skin. Tony was nibbling on my tits now gently biting around my nipples as he moved one of his hands down and spread my legs apart.<br />Tony kissed his way down over my belly and placed his tongue in my navel giving me chills. Tony had licked his way to my pussy mound while moving his body around to a better angle to lick it. Tony worked his tongue along the sides of my pussy and touching my leg with his tongue making me shiver.<br />I spread my legs more as Tony lay at the foot of the bed now kissing my thighs and leaving trails of saliva as he moved his tongue over my body. I lay wondering how far Tony was going to take all this as I felt him moving closer to my pussy.<br />Tony was slowly licking my pussy mound as he reached up and squeezed my boobs. His hot tongue felt good as I arched my hips up off the bed giving Tony better access to my pussy.<br />Tony was licking around my pussy but kept away from actually putting his mouth near the opening. I couldn’t help but wonder if Tony was holding back waiting for my husband to tell him to stop or was he just teasing me. I got my answer within seconds as Tony inserted his tongue into the slit gently nibbling and pulling on my labia.<br />Tony was working his tongue in perfect motions along my labia causing my pussy to get wet. He kept this up while I started to rotate my hips enjoying the touch of his tongue. I jumped when Tony touched my clitoris with his tongue. He was very skilled as he flickered it gently moving in little circular motions with just enough pressure that made me squirm even more.<br />I lifted my legs back giving Tony better access with his tongue holding them up with my hands on the back of my thighs.<br />Tony let up for a second, just enough to look up at me and said, "Do you want me to stop?"Tony’s question should have been a slam dunk answer but I was so aroused at this point I just wanted to enjoy his tongue. After all it didn’t have to go any further than oral sex so I answered Tony by saying, "Keep going I love your tongue."<br />I held my legs apart as Tony put more pressure on all the right areas with his tongue. I started to move my hips up to try and bring as much of his tongue inside me as I could. Tony finally put his hands on my legs holding them up while I reached down and put my hands in his hair.<br />Tony kept up the gentle licking until my body started to quiver and I knew I was about to cum. Tony was an expert as he put just enough pressure on my clitoris to give me the right stimulation until I finally knew I was there.<br />I let out a scream as I hit my peak, "Oh yes Tony, I’m going to cum. Keep licking me, oh yes, oh yes ah yes!" My orgasm lasted a few seconds but felt so good as my whole body relaxed. Tony was now kissing my inner thighs while his hands rested on my belly.<br />Tony lifted himself up and crawled up along the side of me and put his arm around my head and the other hand now stroked my pussy mound. He looked over at me and said, "I can make you feel a whole lot better if you want to go further." Looking down toward Tony’s cock I could see he was as hard as a rock.<br />I looked out of the corner of my eye and could see my husband playing with his video camera. I slowly reached down and put my fingers on Tony’s cock and started to rub the head with my thumb. I than started to move my hand along its length feeling the thick veins along the shaft and trying to take in its thickness.<br />I tried to image what it would feel like having this mans large cock inside me. I was so use to Joe at six inches and only about half this thickness. I wondered if it might hurt or maybe cause me damage but I’ve only seen a gentle side of Tony tonight and knew if would be gentle.<br />I continued to move my hand very slowly on Tony’s cock than suddenly got the urge to set up and suck on this huge cock I had in my hand. Tony was on his back now as I sat up still stroking his cock. I hesitated for a few seconds and lowered my head down to his shaft and kissed the head.<br />I opened my mouth and licked the head in little circles before bent further down and took the head in my mouth. I ran my tongue across the head wanting to return the pleasure that Tony had given me. I was afraid to look over at my husband as I started to lick the shaft around the side and giving it soft kisses before returning back to the head and taking it into my mouth.<br />I worked on Tony’s cock for several minutes until I climbed down between his legs where I could lick and tease his testicles. I gently took each one into my mouth and sucked as Tony moaned with pleasure.<br />I moved from his testicles to the shaft giving much attention to both as I tilted my head up to see the expression on Tony’s face. Tony reached for my hand and held it as I continued to suck and lick him. Tony’s testicles were huge and every time I would touch them with my tongue, Tony’s body would jump from the sensitivity in that area.<br />I laid my head on Tony’s leg and tilted his cock enough to be able to take him in my mouth. Tony placed his hand on my head and started to stroke my hair as I sucked on him. I was aware of my husband moving around the room but couldn’t see where Joe was at.<br />I felt my leg being lifted up and apart and the sudden warmth of my husband's warm breath on my pussy as his tongue parted my labia and started to lick me. I still had my head resting on Tony’s leg and one hand on his testicles and reached back and placed my hand on my husband’s head and pulled him tight against me.<br />I tried to image how my husband felt right now, he was experiencing the ultimate fantasy in his mind of giving me, his wife to another man. This other man that gave me so much pleasure a few minutes ago and now I was returning that pleasure to him. Now, in another way I was sharing pleasure with my husband.<br />I was now on the verge of deciding if I should give myself completely to another man. I know I would be fulfilling my husband’s fantasy and giving pleasure and satisfaction to both men. Tony was being a complete gentleman allowing me to make my own choices. This was going to be my decision now as I lay between these two men, one I loved and knowing the other could give me sexual pleasure.<br />Joe licked my pussy getting me highly stimulated until I felt him stop and the next thing I felt was a gentle kiss on my arm than another on my breast and finally on my cheek. I could feel Joe’s hand as he rubbed my ass as he whispered into my ear, "You look beautiful tonight and I love you." I turned my head away from Tony’s cock and reached out and took his head in my hand and pulled him close and kissed him.<br />I had let go of my husband and gave Tony’s cock one more kiss and started to get up off the bed to ask my husband if he had seen enough and noticed him disappear into the bathroom and shut the door.<br />Next thing I felt was Tony reaching around my waist to rest on my belly while he kissed the back of my neck sending chills down my spine as I stood next to bed with Tony. One of Tony’s big hands slipped down over my pussy mound as he continued to kiss his way around my neck.<br />Tony whispered into my ear, "Why not lay down on the bed and we’ll wait until your husband gets out of the bathroom." Tony took me by the hand and held me as I climbed on the bed and laid down while Tony seated himself down toward the end of the bed facing me. Tony leaned over and started to kiss my feet, working his way up my leg until he was right up next to my pussy mound.<br />Tony leaned over until his lips were gently kissing my pussy and massaging my belly with one of his hands. I could feel him shifting around on the bed until he had spread my legs so he could lean down and kiss my boobs. Tony gently sucked my titties into his mouth while inserting a finger into my wet pussy.<br />Tony was slowly moving his finger around gently touching my clitoris while kissing his way up from my tits, than my neck and was now pecking around my lips until his lips meet mine and we were locked in a passionate kiss.<br />I sucked on Tony’s tongue as it entered my mouth; I was so aroused with his finger in my pussy that I arched my legs up placing my feet on the back of his legs. I felt one of Tony’s hands reach around and lift my leg off his as I thought maybe the heels I was still wearing maybe hurting his leg.<br />Tony continued to kiss me as I felt him lean toward one side still holding my leg up when I felt his finger at the entrance of my pussy again. Tony was kissing me with much intensity now as I felt him push at least two fingers in my soaked pussy. I was stroking his big arm with my hand as his fingers seemed to be spreading my labia apart.<br />Tony was sucking my tongue into his mouth as I felt what I thought was his thumb at the entrance of my pussy slowly moving along the slit. I felt a slight pressure and I knew it wasn’t his thumb poised at the entrance, it was Tony’s cock.<br />I could still hear the blower in the bathroom where my husband had gone as Tony gave a little shove and I winced as the head of his cock entered my pussy. Tony broke the kiss long enough to say, "Lift your legs up a little higher for me." I felt his weight shift giving me plenty of room to move and without any thought moved my legs up higher to give him more access to my pussy. Tony continued to kiss me as I felt him push forward lodging the head of his cock another inch inside me.<br />Tony was sucking my tongue as I wrapped my legs resting my heels on his ass as he pushed himself inside me even more. Tony broke the kiss and said, "Your pussy is so wet and tight." I felt him back out and than he pushed himself forward driving himself further inside me.<br />I moaned as I felt him push into me and whispered, "Oh, it feels so big inside me." Tony responded, "You’re such a beautiful woman, it feels so good being inside you." I looked at the passion in Tony’s eyes as he continued pushing himself deeper inside me.<br />I whispered again, "I shouldn’t be doing this without my husband here." Tony continued to kiss me passionately as he whispered, "Relax, your husband wanted you to do this and now I’m here for you."<br />My pussy felt stretched as Tony began to slowly fuck me as we continued our kiss. I was stroking the back of his head with one hand and squeezed his arm with my other hand feeling his cock sliding inside me. I moaned with pleasure, "Fuck me Tony, fuck my pussy."<br />Tony probed his tongue back into my mouth with great passion as he lifted himself up enabling to push inside me deeper. My body was trembling as I felt Tony’s large cock fucking my pussy. The sensation going through my body as I glanced down between my boobs and saw this thick cock disappearing inside me.<br />I could see Tony’s cock each time he thrust himself inside me making my body shack as his body touched mine. Tony’s cock was glistening now from my pussy. Tony’s cock felt so good inside of me as I said, "I love your cock Tony, keep fucking me harder."<br />The contrast of his massive black body above my white little body drove me insane with desire I can’t explain as I bucked my hips up to meet Tony’s downward thrusts into me. Tony bent down and kissed me again and said, "I can feel your little white pussy grabbing my cock baby." Tony spoke again, "You like my black cock inside your white pussy don’t you?" I looked up into his eyes and said, "Yes Tony, I love your black cock fucking my pussy." I moaned as he began to fuck me faster as I said, "Oh yes Tony, fuck me harder. Give it to me hard."<br />I could feel my body start to shack even more and I knew I was about to have an orgasm and than it hit me as I said, "Oh yes I’m going to cum, give me all your cock, oh yes, ah yes give it to me." My legs shot straight out as I arched my back up off the mattress and had an orgasm like any before.<br />Tony had slowed down waiting for me to calm back down before he again started to fuck me with faster rhythm. My legs were being held out high by Tony’s large arms as he continued to pound his thick cock deep inside me.<br />I placed my hands down onto my buttocks and slid my fingers along until I could feel Tony’s thick cock as it continued to slice its way in and out of my pussy. I had never done this before and the sensation was unbelievable.<br />I could now see my husband standing at the corner of the bed with his camera now and he looked like he had pointed the camera at Tony’s cock as it disappeared inside me.<br />Tony was driving himself into me with a faster pace and looked down at me and said, "I’m going to shoot my black seed deep inside your belly." Tony’s words excited me and seemed so taboo but I think he was saying those things for the benefit of my husband.<br />Tony kept fucking me hard as he said, "Open your mouth wide for me and close your eyes." I did as Tony asked and could sense his head lowering toward my face as he said, "keep it wide open for me." I than felt a large amount of Tony’s spit fall into my mouth as he said, "Swallow it." I swallowed his spit as he started to fuck me intensely. My whole body shook as he banged into my buttocks each time he thrust inside me.<br />Tony let out a loud groan, "Oh shit, here comes my seed." Tony locked his hips forward as I felt the first spurt of his cum hit inside me. It felt so hot as the second spurt hit inside me. Tony said, "Oh yeah, do you feel it inside your belly?" I answered, "It feels so hot shooting in me."<br />Tony added making sure my husband would hear, "Gonna put a little black baby inside your belly tonight." I was caught up in the moment and said, "Oh yes Tony, give me your baby, your black baby."<br />I could barely see my husband but noticed he was playing with his cock through his pants now. The words we had just said about a black baby excited him beyond belief. I guess his words exciting me too but I was thankful I had got the prescription of birth control pills.<br />Tony kept my legs up and had to admit how erotic it must have been seeing this large black man above me who had just pumped my belly full of sperm with my high heels pointing straight up in the air.<br />Tony finally backed his cock out of me and there was a loud plop as the head came out of my pussy. I could feel his cum dripping down the crack of my ass as Tony said to my husband, "Are you getting a closeup of my seed in your wife’s white pussy?" My husband answered, "I’m getting everything on video."<br />Tony lifted himself around letting my leg’s drop and said, "Here, make sure you get a shot of the black cock that just impregnated your wife." Tony reached over and patted my belly and said, "This little white belly here is going to stretch once my baby starts growing inside." Tony bent forward and kissed my lips making sure my husband could see his tongue enter my mouth.<br />Tony looked back at my husband saying, "Your wife isn’t going to be satisfied any longer with just any cock inside her. After tonight she’s only gonna want this inside her from now on." Tony held his cock so my husband could see and say, "I hope this is what you wanted cause Diana’s pussy is gonna be stretched out to accommodate this after tonight."<br />I knew the things Tony said to my husband were meant to enhance my husband’s fantasy but I think Tony was getting into humiliating my husband now. Tony looked back toward my husband again as he spread my legs and said, "Do you want to lick this cum out of your wife’s pussy?" I looked at my husband as he sat his camera back down on the tripod and said, "I’d love to eat Diana’s pussy clean."<br />Before I had a chance to object, my husband was laying on the bed between my legs as I felt his mouth touch my pussy. I could feel his tongue into my slit and could hear the sounds he was making as he sucked out Tony’s seed.<br />Tony walked around the bed and bent over and kissed me making sure he made loud slurping sounds that my husband could hear as he kissed me. Tony looked down at my husband and said, "Make sure you get all that black baby seed out of your wife tonight."<br />My husband continued to lick my pussy until he was sure he had cleaned the seed from inside me. By this time, Tony had got dressed and was writing a note. Tony gave my husband the little paper and said, "This is my phone number, call me when your wife needs some real cock."<br />Tony bent over the bed again and kissed me and said, "I’ll see you soon." He walked out the hotel room leaving my husband wiping his face.<br />END<br /><br />Parlour White/Bedroom Black!ILLUSTRATED FETISH STORIES FOR ADULTS ONLY! TJ Ryder<a href="http://www.midnightx.com/">http://www.midnightx.com/</a><br /> How I met my wife. Where to begin? Well it sort of began whenI was doing work for a firm of attorneys in Atlanta ten years ago.Anyone know Atlanta? Well, its kind of a crazy town. About 75% blackand the suburbs are 90% white, lots of new southerner types, new money, black power, redistricting along racial lines, and a big vein of conservativevalues. <br /> I was 24 and trying to get my life going after a rough start. Foster homesand then a sting at Railings Reformatory. I was working as a low level clerk trying to fit night school in, and a a fellow Railings grad gave me a tip to try this hotshot legal firm, Hawthorne Associates.Hawthorne had a big office on Peachtree and I thought it was out of myleague. Plus I was a little worried about a background search and my friendLeon from Railings was up front about that, said it was no problem. He saidthey liked Railings grads, which made me really wonder so I had to go justto see how that worked.<br /> So I dressed pretty careful for the interview and when I informed the lusciousredhead in the tight dress that I was here for it at the receptionist desk, I caughta look of smug amusement as she looked me over and blushed a little, wonderingif I spilled something on my tie. I wasn't too hunky. I was only 5'5 and 135 pounds, no beardline and slim build.<br /> "Um, hi, I'm Tom Westerby. About an interview!"<br /> Smiling, she showed dimples around her full red lips. She was really gorgeous.Big breasts, showing a little cleavage, probably taller than I was even if shewasn't wearing 4 inch pumps.<br /> "Please take a seat, sir!" She smirked, knowing I was trying not to check her out. Arrogant, luscious, the kind of eye candy receptionist a fancy office likethis would have. I figured I had as much of a chance as a homicidal leper would. <br /> Finally, after thirty minutes, trying not to listen to her talk on the phone. Shehad at least two personal calls, judging by her voice they were studs trying to lineher up for a date. Some legal messengers came by a couple of times, droppingand picking up folders. Finally I was called into Mr Hawthorne's office.<br /> It was huge, ornate, and a million dollar view of Atlanta from the big windowsaround his desk. I was kind of surprised to be given an interview from the bigboss, who wasn't as old as I expected, mid forties, close shaved head, graying a little.A little guy though, small and thin, like me. I was thinking maybe that was why hewas taking a look at me.<br /> "Sit down Westerby!"<br /> "Thank you sir!" I settled into the softest leather chair I had ever sat on.<br /> He looked me over with a hidden smile, and picked up a resume.<br /> "Law clerk, going for a degree, Westerby?"<br /> "Yes sir, nights, a long haul, " I smiled weakly, and he nodded.<br /> "Well, Westerby, you know this firm mainly handles divorce cases. Primarilywe represent women, and you know how nasty that can get?"<br /> "Ah, yes sir, um, I can imagine!"<br /> "Can you? Well, during the divorce process, we provide a lot of service toavoid, complications for our clients. For example, just a hypothetical. Let's saya husband sues for divorce because he thinks his wife is fooling around. Let's alsosay his wife is said to have a black lover in the background, and it would be veryawkward if that can be proven, so our rivals might hire private attorneys and otherspies to build up their case. Naturally, we wouldn't want that to happen."<br /> "No sir!"<br /> "Sometimes these cases get drawn out, for months, and people are people afterall. Some of our clients need some help. Imagine a mostly white jury looking at pictures of one of our clients checking into a motel with a big black buck! I meanthe couple is legally separated at this point, but the prejudice, well, you get the picture!"<br /> "Yes sir, certainly!"<br /> "So we provide kind of a screening service for some of our clients. A presentableyoung man for social acceptability for those times when a client needs one, and someonewho can look out for their interest. Check for cameras, bugs, lookouts, avoid compromisingsituations, like that! The pay is pretty good for someone like you, Westerby!"<br /> I swallowed, nodding.<br /> "But its very important we find the right people for this job. We do thorough backgroundchecks of course. And that comes back to you!"<br /> "Ah, yes sir!"<br /> "So you did time at Railings!" That was juvenile record and supposedly sealed butof course this is a law firm and I expected that even if Leon didn't clue me in a little.<br /> "Yes sir!" <br /> "And you made it through in one piece, obviously," he smiled.<br /> I blushed, nodding, trying to smile. Railings was a mostly black reform school in Atlantaand I had stolen a car when I was 14. I had a feeling he knew a lot about Railings and whata slim smallish white boy would have to do to get through it.<br /> "Don't be embarassed about it, Westerby. In fact Railings is why your'e here! Provesyou can adapt and survive. If we accept you, you'll be a kind of front man for a client.On occasions you'll be seen in public with a white woman who might have been in thepapers over some scandal. You might have to play the part of her date. You mightget into a limo with her and discover she arranged her black lover to be waiting in theback seat." I gasped but said nothing.<br /> "Maybe," he paused, looking at me, "sign into a motel room with a gorgeous blondefox hanging all over you, and wait inside while she makes love to a black stud! Maybewait all night, and be seen checking out with her next morning! Of course," he smiled,"you won't be her date when the door closes. How do you feel about being a servantto a white woman and black man, maybe waiting on them?"<br /> I swallowed, getting red. "Well, sir, if its part of the role!"<br /> "Yes, thats a good attitude. Youv'e heard the expression 'Parlour White andBedroom Black'?" I nodded, it was an old fashioned saying from the 50's orsomething. Today someone would say of a white girl that she had 'gone black'or was Blackowned!<br /> "Well, our firm specializes in white women who are definitely like that! And sometimes, not always, their husbands can't handle it. And sometimes, it turnsout that an ex client liked having a parlour whiteboy so much they end up marryingthem. Very convenient arrangement for all concerned actually." <br /> "Really!" I was stunned.<br /> "Not surprising but inconvenient for us when we lose a good employee. Anyway,youve probably heard all kinds of legal tricks out there. Using some misdirection tothe press so a client can get some privacy, disguises and so forth. Sometimes wematch up a screen date with a client so he might be able to pass for her in a limo,wearing a wig and so forth. Ever wear women's clothes, Westerby?"<br /> Gasping, I shook my head. He looked critically at me. "I think you couldpass up close with some work and we have an expert working for us. Anyway, thejob from our side is pretty straight forward. But you, like I said, have to adapt.When your'e out in public, you work for the firm, that's where our interest is.But," he paused, looking hard at me, "you have to be very diplomatic with ourvery wealthy, beautiful and spiled rotten clients. When the door closes, well, you work forthe client, and her lover! Thats what they demand and we try to provide. But youknow what that's like, being from Railings. How you had to adapt when you wereback in the cell?" I groaned then, but nodded. This is why Leon gave him my name.<br /> He smiled. "I never had a Railings grad yet who didn't have the right attitude.I wish there was a training school for the rest of the staff. Because of the sensitivekind of work we do, we have to make sure everyone who works here believes inParlor white and Bedroom Black, believe me!"<br /> "(Gasp) E-everyone, sir?"<br /> "As far as I know," he agreed, and I was guessing the meeting was over. "So, giveyour file here to Rhonda, that receptionist you met already. I'll bet you checked herout already, huh boy?"<br /> I smiled, "she is pretty spectacular sir! But I suppose you have a rule about interofficedating!" He seemed very amused.<br /> "Not at all, boy, take your best shot. She gets it all the time, but you'll be disappointed because she is definitely Black only!" I swallowed, thinking of that.<br /> Watching her shapely bottom as she turned her face, hiding her smirk, Rhondawas deliberately teasing me as she put the file away. I had to hold my coat overmy erection as I left.<br />****************<br /> Two months later when I came into work with some expense reports to go over, I was thinking of making another pitch at Rhonda. I had been on several intense dates with my latest client, a luscious rich wife in the society pages, a TraciEllershaw and it had been a ballbusting tease. In fact I was still reeling a little fromthe last 'date'. But now she was going to be out of the country for a week andI was going to have a break, and wasn't sure how I felt about it.<br /> Traci had put me in my place as hired help from our first meeting, and last nightwe had danced publicly at the Squire, hot danced, with lots of teasing and rubbing as herbig firm breasts rubbed all over me, deliberately getting me real hot, hard and dripping,and giggling as she led me to her waiting limo, where she squealed with delight as shejumped into Tyrone's lap. As soon as the windows rolled up and we were in private,Traci became the bitch again. <br /> "Littleboy got so stiff with me tonight, honey!"<br /> "Groan, I-I'm sorry ma'am, " tried to apologize.<br /> "Haw, you feelin up mah woman, sissyboy?"<br /> "Um, n-no sir, it's part of, well, the job!"<br /> "He was very fresh, darling. I think he needs another lesson whenwe get to the motel!" I was gaping at her big breasts as Tyrone slipped hertop down with his huge muscular hands. We both had hardons now.<br /> "Make him take his pants down, darling," Traci said, sticking her tongueat me and then into Tyrone's big lips, moaning as her small white hand squeezed his huge black boner through his pants.<br /> "Ma'am, I have to check into the motel!"<br /> "Yo best do it, boy! Jus to yo ankles, yo can slip dem on to check in."<br /> "(Sigh) yes sir!" Traci giggled at my erect dripping white penis as Isat red faced, watching them make out during the 30 minute ride. I knew Iwas going to be towelboy again tonight after the door closed and wondered howbadly I was going to get it! At first just watching them make out, making lovewith her worshipping his huge black cock, then taking it everywhere, and thencleaning them up afterwards, but soon, Traci liked to play her little games, andTyrone, well, he did too. Anyway, let's move forward a month.<br />**********************<br /> It was Friday afternoon and Rhonda was the only one in the office when I came in, and I kept standing up partly to watch her full cleavage, and also becauseI had supplied a lot of the entertainment again last night at the DaysEnd Motel,having lain across both pairs of knees for the strap and paddle, and that wasn't the worst, even though it was intensely gratifying. I hadn't been even allowed tocum yet, my balls still full and Mrs Ellershaw was now talking about a chastity belt.I had been dwelling on last night when the luscious Rhonda looked over with a pouting expression.<br /> "No pitch today, Tommy?" Rhonda teased. "Don't tell me your'e giving up?"<br /> I smiled cuz I had made a subtle pitch at her every time I came in, nothing heavy,mostly just to get some conversation going because I didn't expect her to ever go outwith me even if she wasn't black only!<br /> "Would it do any good?"<br /> "Quitter," she teased, sitting in her chair, crossing her shapely legs and givingme a look at her thighs, even to her panties. Was she actually encouraging me?"Actually," she continued with a smile, "its true when you started I wouldn't ever consider it,because some of our parlour boys do quit. But it looks like you are working out, Tom!"<br /> "U-m, thank you!" This is kind of a slap also, telling me I'm such a wimp I canput up with the clients, but coming from her made it okay, even a little titillating.<br /> "But," she added, "it's a slow afternoon, nobody is coming back from lunch for an hour if you don't mind waiting!"<br /> "Oh, okay!" If she didn't mind me around maybe I could at least talk to her.<br /> "Did you have fun last night, with Mrs Ellershaw and her black stud? What's his namein the folder, Tyrone? Mmm, tell me, Tommy, does he have a huge cock?"<br /> I rolled my eyes and blushed a little, and that made her giggle. <br /> "Are you embarassed," she asked, pleased by her expression. "Traci Ellershaw is a real challenge for the firm, she had the last boy fired. But I think its very sweet, a white boy who knows his place, especially around black men! That'swhy I like working here!"<br /> "Ah, um, thank you!"<br /> "I mean she gets away with so much, and she's rich too. I envy her so much.So you think Mrs Ellershaw is pretty?"<br /> "Well, I, ah, guess, but, " I said truthfully, "she doesn't hold a candle to you, Rhonda!"<br /> She smiled. "Oooh, now your'e starting again! Compliments are always nice, butif you really want to get a girl who's gone black you have to say the right things, don't you know that?"<br /> I pulled a blank, and she laughed softly at my ignorance. "I wish I knew whatthat was!"<br /> "Oh, men are so stupid, really! They always hit on me, but nobody ever knowswhat to say. You know Iv'e gone black, so you must like that!" I said nothing, andshe smiled. "And you know, a girl like me," she said smugly, arching out her bigbreasts a little, as I gaped, getting hard, "can get anyone she wants, so naturally, Ilike big black cock! I just adore black men, but I also think white sissyboys areso cute!"<br /> I swallowed, not knowing what to say. She continued, as she took out hercompact and lipstick. "Just because I'm not a rich wife doesn't mean I don't think itwould be so nice to have a towelboy, my own parlour boy for dates. It's just that itsso important he knows his place!"<br /> "Well, um, " I ventured, "I think for you, um, I'd well..."<br /> "My ideal whiteboy would accept that Iv'e gone black of course. He'd bevery supportive. And if he was good and accepted that black males were his superiorI'd let him have some fun. Iv'e told my boyfriend Marcus about parlour and towelboysand he has said many times how much he'd love having our own. Of course he saidmy towelboy must accept total Black superiority!" I swallowed, sighing, myerection rigid.<br /> "Well, um, I could, um...!"<br /> She raised her little finger, "he must be our slave if we want it, accept discipline,help me serve the superior Black man in every way. In return I might allow him toserve me if he does well.(Pause while I covered my erection by turning slightly).Does Mrs Ellershaw let you have some fun, Tom?" I swallowed. "Come on,I know she makes you clean Tyrone's cumload from her!" I gasped at her frankness."Oh come on, Tommy, tell me the details. I bet you liked doing that, didn't you?"<br /> "Gosh, Rhonda, your'e making me crazy here. What do you want me to say?"Was she just ballbusting me here or was there something, and while normallyI'd just have left with this abuse, she was making me stiff.<br /> "But," she said in a teasing way, "what would you do if I said I enjoy thesame things Mrs. Ellershaw did. Would you do the same things for me, Tommy?"<br /> My throat thick, I nodded hopefully even before I realized what she said.I'd heard she played some games with one of the other parlour whiteboys but I didn't really believe it. But she was just so confident of my reaction it was sexy and also humiliating.<br /> "Come on Tommy, You know why I came in late today, Tom? I was with Marcusthis morning, and you know I just love coming to work with a big blackcum load in me, mmm!" She leaned back moving her thighs apart, as I gaped at her soakedwhite panties covering her puffy cuntlips.<br /> "But, when things are slow at Hawthorne's," she put her hands in back of her headand stretched luxuriously, "sometimes I allow a parlour boy to help me clean up,but they always have to agree to everything I said about Black men being superiorand, one other little thing!"<br /> "Y-yes? " I stammered, my throat tight.<br /> "I tell every whiteboy the same thing. I must have a little token of respect,to show theyr'e sincere in knowing their place. I tell them they must get on theirknees and lick and kiss my shoes first!" She added pompously."I know it's kind of smug, but after all, going out with me is a priviledge fora white boy, so if he won't lick my shoes why should I even bother?"<br /> "Y-yes," I croaked, "why should you?"<br /> "I suppose you think I'm stuck up?"<br /> "N-no, not at all. In fact, w-well, I-I'm thinking of doing it!"<br /> "Really," she smiled, "then why don't you? Marcus loves whiteboy spitshines too!"<br /> Several minutes after I tongue swabbed her shiny leather pumps, she pushed my headback to slip down her soaked panties as I knelt between her lush thighs, and I couldsee white drooling clumps of sperm already collecting by her blonde cunthairs. Sheleaned back in her chair, giggling softly as I covered her swollen puffy pussylips.I knew she was going to cum<br /> "Mmmm, That's a good sissy. Imagine when you tell Marcus how priviledged you were!"<br />How the power exchange from white to Black occurs.<br />Anyone who has been part of or witnessed a Black owned white relationship notices that all the power is transferred to the Black owner. This occurs no matter if the white is female, male, couple or family to the Black owner male or female. But why and how does it occur and to what degree it occurs is not discussed or even recognized. Its time an analysis is done so that Black owners understand how best to extract all the power they can from their white property and use the power to further their desires.<br />The power exchange is triggered by events initiated by the black owner. The level of power exchange is determined by the methods used by the Black owner. So we will see that the white has no ability to control, give or hold back power it wholly extracted from the white by the Black owner.<br />There is a great deal of variety in the power inside a white but lets say for purposes of this discussion that a white male has typically ½ the power of a Black male. A white female has ¼ the power of a Black Male and Half the power of a White female. Again this power varies from one Black to another as it does from one white to another but Blacks almost always have significantly more power than whites. It should also be noted that even in situations where a white has the same internal power or even in rare cases a slightly greater internal power, the Black still has the ability to extract that whites power and thus increase their own internal power by that amount.<br />When a Black asks a white to do something and that white does it power has exchanged though in a very small amount. Lets call it 1 on a power scale of 1 to 100. But each time the white is asked to do something and does it the power transfer adds another 1. So ask a white ten times the white does it ten times a 10 in power is transferred. BUT, the power can leak out if this is not done constantly over a short period of time so its unrealistic to expect total power transfer from the white to the Black by asking a white to do something 100 times. It is however a great way to start the flow of power from a white to a Black. It sets the flow and makes greater power transfers much easier.<br />If a Black tells a white to do something and the white does it this equals a 3 on the scale. Now we are talking about very simple, plain things like open a door, pick up a book, etc.<br />When a Black instructs a white to do a task providing exact details and the white performs this task then a 5 in power change will occur. This would be something like sending them to the dry cleaner to pick up you suite and hang it from the right rear door, bring it to your office and hang it third hanger from the end in the closet. The detail is important because this affects a power exchange because the white has to pay attention to detail and do it the way you want it done.<br />Telling a Black to do something they do not want to do effects a 10 on the power scale. This would be something like asking the white what colors they disliked the most and lets say it was yellow. You would then tell the white to wear a yellow shirt tomorrow because you want to see how they look in yellow and they do it. This provides a 12 on the power scale.<br />Real power exchange is above 25 and this type of power exchange requires that the white perform in front of others. An example would be for the white to cook and serve a meal to you and your guests and act as your servant while doing so. When the white performs this task you will receive a 25% power increase in your power while the white experiences a 25% decrease in his or her power.<br />The greatest and complete exchange of power can only occur though penetrative sex. This can be oral, anal or vaginal but penetration of the white must occur and when it does up to 100% will occur. The reason it is rated up to 100 percent is a determination of the power is made by what else occurs. With a white female she must achieve climax and if so she provides a total and complete power exchange. With a male he must receive a seminal exchange to draw 100% of his power and add it to yours. Now keep in mind that when you receive a 100% power exchange from a white male your power is increased by a rating of 50 not 50 %. So if you are rated as a Black Male at 100 and you get 100% from a white male you now have a power rating of 150. If you extract the power from another white male your power is now 200 if you add a white female you are now at 225. Your power will continue to increase with each power ratting you take from a white. But you must maintain it to keep it or it will leak and decrease.<br />This why experienced Black owners demand other things from the whites they own. They may require a white female to keep her pubic area shaved and be tattooed with their name and never wear panties. With white males they typically demand they do not have sex with their own wife, be feminized and displayed to guests as a feminized sissy maid cuckold. <br />Sexual domination of both the female and the male is the only way to achieve and maintain a totally power exchange. Your power as a Black owner will increase and rise to a level where you experience more power than you ever have. This power transforms into confidence, ability, intelligence, leadership and admiration by others. Learn to extract as much power from as many whites as you can. Don’t forget that the whites you own have additional sources for power that can be tapped. They have sisters, daughters, mothers and others who you may easily tap for their power as well.<br />Brought to you by the society for power transfer from white to Black.<br />How to be a good white servant<br />As strange as it may sound, most whites have no idea on how to be come a good white servant. They fantasize or guess what a Black Superior must want and usually incorrectly. So let’s go through a short course on how to be a successful and happy white servant serving your Black Superiors.<br />As you can imagine every Black Superior has their own preferences and desires, demands and methods so it would impossible for us to train you to be the perfect servant for any one Superior but rather what we will do is to provide you with guidelines so that you may enter into a training relationship with a specific Black Master or Mistress.<br />The first part of this pertains to you, the white and what you need to look for. In order to be a proficient, skilled servant you need to be happy and compatible with your owner. So when looking for an owner look for a Black that you admire, respect and feel safe with. He after all will eventually own you and when that happens you are obligated to obey and please him. If you can not see yourself obeying, and pleasing this person before you get involved you need to step back. Not all Blacks make good Masters or Mistresses so choose wisely and be sure before you commit. In the right relationship you will be happy beyond your dreams and find great satisfaction in serving your new owner but in a bad situation you will be miserable and cause the relationship to fail. <br />Many whites speak of them selves as slaves but in reality whites are not slaves but rather servants. You are making a choice to serve and be owned you are not being forced. Being a servant comes with a responsibility which is to SERVE. You are not there to be served or catered too, your fantasies and desires are not what is important. You need to dispose of all of your selfish desires and needs and place your Black owner first on the list. The beauty of this is that once you learn how to serve you will find serving DOES fill all your needs and uplifts you. To get to this point you must devote yourself to your Black owner. Please, obey, serve, listen, learn and work at being the best possible servant you can become. Remember that for every well mannered articulate white servant owned by a Black 10 more whites will be turned into servants but for every deficient incompetent white servant in service to Blacks 5 whites will have been lost to service.<br />You are a representation of the white race as servants to Blacks. You screw it up and you ruin the chances for other whites to become true Black servants. Why would a Black wish to waste his or her valuable time with an incompetent worthless white? The answer is simple…THEY WON’T! <br />When you apply for a position as a white servant you must articulate what you have to offer. If you are a wonderful cook, say so, if you burn water then say so as well. Be 100% honest and accurate in your application. Make it easy to read, in order and detailed. The more information you provide a potential Black owner the better he is able to make a decision concerning you. You may not be what he is looking for but he will respect you if your information is honest so that he does not waste his time and he may have a friend who is looking for a white servant with your qualifications.<br />One of the things that nobody likes is a phony. So when you make out your application provide a phone number where you can be reached. I know your afraid but your new owner will require discretion as well so don’t be afraid. Being a Black Master is not being a mean person or one who is not considerate. In fact any Black Master of quality will greatly respect your privacy and be discrete as you are expected to be. Many white servants are never detected outside the home because they and their Masters practice discretion. It does not work to have a white servant working for a Black master in his business go around bowing or calling him Master or licking his shoes when he enters the room. The business would collapse. Discretion MUST be used on both sides and limits placed so that privacy or unwanted public disclosure does not occur. You need to assure you new owner that you will be discrete. You still show respect in public but instead of Master you can address him as Sir or Mr. This applies to any white addressing any Black in public, owned or not.<br />Think of becoming a servant to Blacks as any employment position. You need to sell your skills and talents. If you ever write you are worthless tear it up and find something else to do because your not fit to serve a Superior Black if you are truly worthless. A Black wants to improve his holding and he can’t do that with something that is worthless. So dig deep and tell what you can do.<br />Black owners usually also want to know why you want to serve if you’re a couple or a single and if you have any experience. It does not really matter usually if you have or don’t have experience but why you want to serve does matter so be honest, explain why you do, what made you realize you needed to serve Blacks or what encouraged you to find out about serving Blacks. This helps your new potential owner decide if you are real and if you are the kind of white they want to put their time into training. If you have fears or questions do not hesitate to ask. Blacks are just as interested if not more in making sure you will work out.<br />Don’t worry about the little things. If you have a fear of having to serve in front of a group don’t worry about it. You may wish to mention you have that fear but your new Black Master is going to mold you into the servant they want you to be wand what ever your fears are or were they will remove them with their training. This is part of what a Good owner does, is to teach you to overcome your fears or hang-ups and learn to enjoy and be proud of what you thought you could not do. I recall one white couple where the wife wanted to be Black owned so bad she could not hardly stand it but her husband had strong reservations. HE did not want to be used for sex by Blacks, he did not want to be feminized, he did not want to serve in front of anyone but his wives Master and on it went. Within a year he was serving parties in a French Maids uniform and being used as a sissy bitch by the Masters guests. But what’s more is he was loving it and very proud of his new found talents. This is a perfect example of a white not knowing what they want, what they like or what they are capable of and a Black owner expanding that whites horizons and make him into a better, happier person. So don’t concern yourself about what you do or don’t like, concern yourself about finding ways to please and impress your new owner with skills and talents and obedience.<br />Being Black owned is a privilege and a very respectable position. Only the best white servants will find Black owners so be the best you can be and make all of us proud with your service to the Black Superior.<br />Brought to you by: <a href="http://groups.yahoo.com/group/whites4trublackservitude">http://groups.yahoo.com/group/whites4trublackservitude</a><br />Interracial Bill Of Rights (Complete)<br /><br />Section A.<br /><br />Interracial Bill Of Rights (As they apply to the SUPERIOR Black man.)<br /><br />1. You are superior to white women and especially to white men. Knowing this should not be a license to disrespect the basic human rights of white people and you should not hold your superiority against them. They should be treated with basic human respect and dignity just as you expect to be treated, even though you are CLEARLY superior in most ways in general.<br /><br />2. You have a GOD GIVEN ABSOLUTE RIGHT to fuck white people. White women were made primarily for the purpose of being the sexual plaything of the black man, and it is also your right to use white men sexually as you see fit. As human beings they have the right to say no and you should never force yourself sexually on anyone. Even though it is your right to have any kind of sex you desire with any white person so long as it is consensual you should nonetheless be grateful for their service to you and reward them with the sexual satisfaction that ONLY black men can provide them.<br /><br />3. No white person has ANY right to request that you use a condom. As a black man you should ONLY use a condom if YOU choose to and ideally should never do so. If sexually transmitted disease is an issue a physician should be consulted instead of condom use. White people are your natural cum dumps and you should always be free to ejaculate freely inside any white person’s orifice.<br /><br />4. You have the ABSOLUTE GOD GIVEN RIGHT to fuck ANY white man’s wife and to do so before him. Consent should be given by the woman, but if the husband takes issue with you having sex with his wife, then it is well within your rights to fuck her behind his back. Be cautious though that any man can become jealous and enraged and be dangerous so handle your clandestine affairs with married white women with extreme caution.<br /><br />5. Your penis is the ultimate object of worship for the white woman. If you choose to, it should be equally worshipped by the white man. You should always give any attractive white woman the pleasure of your penis if it is possible and practical and if you desire her. Keep in mind, that ALL white women desire black penis even though some do not admit it even to themselves. You truly ARE GOD’S GIFT TO THE WHITE WOMAN! Use this power wisely.<br /><br />6. Sex with white people is primarily for YOUR satisfaction. You should ALWAYS get your nut and their pleasure is completely irrelevant, BUT you ought to make every effort to please them if possible because they are deserving of a reward for pleasing you sexually.<br /><br />7. It is your RIGHT to fuck white women up the ass at will, however you must have consent to do so, but her denial is no reason not to press the issue. Ideally she should respect your rightful ownership of all her orifices and submit them to you at your discretion. A white woman who refuses to take your penis up her ass is not the ideal woman, and while it is still desirable to fuck her, every effort should be made to convince her of the rightness of her submitting to anal sex with Black men. You must of course have the consent of any white man you choose to fuck, but it is your right to require him to perform any sexual act you desire as well.<br /><br />8. Any and ALL white people should suck your dick at your request, although again consent is an issue. Be patient with them though and be prepared to instruct them on how to properly suck your dick to your satisfaction. Not all white people will be prepared to properly suck a Black man’s penis correctly, especially if it is excessively large. It is their duty to learn to deep throat your penis and they should be able to do it to some extent, but be tolerant and patient with them if they cannot. It is an ABSOLUTE REQUIREMENT that they swallow your cum and or allow you to cum on them in any fashion YOU choose.<br /><br />9. Remember, your sexual satisfaction is the priority. Treat whites with the respect you wish to be treated with whenever possible, but remember they exist to please you sexually. You pleasure and desires are always top priority. Superiority does not give you the right to disrespect the rights of other human beings. There is a place for us all.<br /><br />These are some basic precepts for the black man. I write these with all due respect and admiration for blacks and hope you will enjoy them.<br /><br />Section B.<br /><br />Interracial Bill Of Rights (As they apply to the white woman)<br /><br />1. Black men have the ABSOLUTE and inalienable right to have sex with you. You have the right as a human being to decline, but it is your natural duty to sexually satisfy the black man in any way possible. It is your duty to perfect the art of fellatio, and practice vaginal muscle control to please a black man's penis. It should be your PRIMARY purpose in life to sexually serve the superior Black man.<br /><br />2. White men are always, ALWAYS, ALWAYS second to black men. If you happen to be in love with a white man it is still your duty to always put the sexual needs of black men first. If you marry a white man it is especially important that you make yourself sexually available to black men. You may have sex with white men, but should do so only after the black man has gone first. If it is possible, you should avoid sex with white men altogether, instead opting to give them hand jobs and at most an occasional blowjob. If a superior Black man should wish to have his dick sucked by your white husband or boyfriend or even to fuck your husband or boyfriend in the ass, you should support this and encourage the white man in question to submit completely to the desires of the Black man.<br /><br />3. It is a Black man's god given right to fuck you bareback. Black men should NEVER wear a condom during sex with a white woman (or man if that be the case). When protection from STDs is an issue it is always preferable to consult a physician to using condoms. Black men should always ejaculate inside of you, and if they do not their semen is not to be wasted but should be consumed orally.<br /><br />4. It is your god given DUTY to orally copulate ANY Black male who requests it at any time and any place if it is at all possible. It is also an ABSOLUTE MUST that you make every effort to swallow the ejaculate, unless he specifies that he would like to ejaculate on your body, in which case you should still lick up as much of his precious cum as you can. Oral sex is very low risk for STDs and should be practiced on black men as often as is possible.<br /><br />5. If it is at all possible, no form of contraception should ever be used for sex with black men. It is a white woman’s natural duty to conceive and bear black children as often as is possible. Your children should be raised to understand the superiority of the black man.<br /><br />6. When bearing and raising white children you should raise them to understand their place beneath the Black man and to understand their god given duty to sexually serve the black men. Both white daughters and sons must be properly instructed in the art of fellating Black men, when such a time is deemed to be appropriate. You daughters should be thoroughly discouraged from sexual activity with white men at all costs. White sons should be taught to accommodate a black mans penis anally if it is possible. Your children must ultimately make their own choices and should be allowed to, but the importance of sexual service to the black male can not be over emphasized.<br /><br />7. You SHOULD learn to submit to anal sex with a large black penis. If done properly this is a VERY enjoyable activity for both the Black man and the white woman. Ideally a Black penis should be allowed entry to any orifice of your body at any time the Black man desires. Again I must stress that condom use is ABSOLUTELY UNACCEPTABLE! It is a white woman's greatest gift to a black man to submit to an anal fucking and a great compliment to the white woman when a Black man ejaculates inside her anus.<br /><br />8. As a human being you deserve respect. You should never suffer abuse at the hands of any man or woman, even a superior Black man. You, as a white woman, were born with the primary purpose in life to be the sexual plaything of the black man, and should submit to his sexual desires at all times, but this does not include any activity that is abusive or hurtful to you.<br /><br />9. As a white woman, the ONLY path to TOTAL and COMPLETE sexual satisfaction is to serve the needs of the superior Black male. Black Females must be respected as well and are also above you in the grand scheme of things and this should never be forgotten.<br /><br />10. When dressing or selecting clothing the Black man's arousal is of PARAMOUNT importance! Not all women have the figure for it, but if it is at all possible you MUST wear the sexiest clothing that is possible for the situation. You ideally should keep your legs and pussy completely and cleanly shaven and should always smell good for the benefit of the Black man. ALWAYS wear high heeled shoes and bared or stocking clad legs when you can, and skirts are always preferable. Braless and or nipples prominently displayed is advisable. Body language should ALWAYS indicate your sexual availability to Black men. Panties should be avoided whenever possible and it is advisable for you to flash your tits and pussy to black men whenever you can.<br /><br />11. Pornography, if you should choose to view it should ONLY depict Black males and white females having sex. White males having sex with white females on film is disgusting and should be avoided at all costs.<br /><br />12. The Black man's penis is a thing to be WORSHIPPED by the white woman (and white men if the black man should desire). Treat it with the utmost care and respect, and it will treat you very well.<br /><br />These are the ways in which you can be the ideal white woman. Knowing you place is key, and keeping these basic rules memorized or available to you at all times is advisable.<br /><br />Section C.<br /><br />The Interracial Bill Of Rights. (As they apply to the white man)<br />This is the TRUTH about your place in this world as a white man. Regardless about all the BULLSHIT they teach you about all men being created equally, you must learn and obey these rules if you want to be an ideal white man who knows and respects his proper place in life.<br />1. Black men have an absolute and inalienable right to fuck white women. This means your wife, daughter, secret lust.....ANY and ALL white women. The white woman is a human being and has the right of choice but should be taught early that it is her god given duty to satisfy black men sexually above all other things. You should teach your wife, and or daughters and even sons that they are first and foremost the sexual playthings of the black man, and have a duty to perform any and all sexual acts a black man request of them whenever it is possible.<br />2. The black man has the absolute and inalienable right to fuck YOU the white man, any time and way that he chooses. Of course not all black men will desire this and you should never risk offending him by offering. You as a white man must perfect the art of sucking cock, deepthroating, and pleasuring a black man's penis with your ass. "No" is not a word you should EVER use regarding a black man's request for sex, and you must perform any act he requires of you regardless of how you feel about it personally.<br />3. A black mans seed is NEVER to be wasted. If a black man cums it should be inside of white people’s orifices. In a white vagina, anus or mouth, and the semen should remain there or be swallowed as is the case. If any spills it should be licked up and if the black man decides to cum on any part of a white person’s anatomy the semen should ultimately be eaten by the white person.<br />4. As a white man, when you marry a white woman it is your god given duty to work to make her available to black men for sex. Black men ALWAYS have priority sexually and are ALWAYS the alpha male. You should discourage your wife from sex with white men, including yourself. If you have sex at all with your wife it should be limited to hand jobs, unless SHE insists otherwise, and then sex should be ONLY with the full permission of her black lover(s), and ONLY after they have had her first. As you are still a man with male desires it is understandable that it may be difficult to comply with this rule if there is any way around it, but a diligent effort must be made. If it is possible the white man should ideally learn to derive his sexual satisfaction solely from watching black men indulge their wives, girlfriends or daughters, and or, by sucking black men’s dicks and being fucked in their asses by black men.<br />5. ALL human beings deserve respect and while white men must accept that they are inferior to black men they should not be expected to allow themselves to be actually abused by anyone.<br />6. Pornography depicting acts of sex and love between black men and white women and black men and white men are the proper fare for masturbation for the white man. Pornography depicting white men fucking white women is ugly, perverse, profane and should NEVER be possessed or viewed by white men or women. Such material should be destroyed.<br />7. The black penis is to be worshipped above all things. It is the most revered object of humankind and should be treated as such. It is the very image of perfection. Dildos and likenesses of penises should always be black, and represent the black male’s superior genitalia.<br />8. Most important to the white man is that you have NO sexual rights whatsoever except when granted by a black male and secondarily by a white female. You should always keep your filthy little white pee pee hidden from view unless requested to do otherwise by a black man or white woman. In an ideal world your only real purposes in life are to support the Black lovers and your white women and daughters, serve as a "bitchboy" to suck and be fucked by black men when it amuses them to do so, and produce white daughters for the black man's pleasure.<br />There are many more things that could be said on the subject, but these are some basic simple rules for the white man to live by. Keep a copy of these in your wallet or on your person at all times and obey them to the fullest of your ability.<br />end<br />Marriage gone Black.<br /> My life in a small Nebraska town was dull. My father a Baptist minister controlled my life. No dating with out his approval we had to be perfect family of a minister. After high school he sent me to a local junior college to learn accounting. Then I was expected to go to work locally. When I graduated from college the neighbor boy had just graduated from college with a bachelor degree in accounting and had got a job in Los Angeles California. This was my chance to get out of this small town and away from my father. So I started flirting with Ben the guy next door. He responded and asked me to marry him. Of course I said, “Yes.” My father married us and we left for California. Life changed once we got to Los Angeles. No more long skirts and dresses now I could wear mini skirts and dresses, halter tops and shorts. Ben liked my new choice of clothes. Ben went to work at the big accounting firm and I got a job at a small distribution company. My job was to keep the books and do the billing. My boss was a tall good looking black man, the secretary was a Hispanic lady and the guys in the warehouse and the truck drivers were all black men and very muscular. I settled in and was well received as any cute five foot four inch blond would be. My married life was so-so, Ben was not the great lover and my sex life was dull and Ben had a small cock that left me wanting something more. He seemed to get excited watching me dress and undress but being nude didn’t seem to turn him on. One Saturday after noon Ben had gone golfing with a friend from work so I decided to wash his car for him. When I opened the trunk to vacuum it I found a suitcase which I opened to see what was inside. There was women’s underwear and nightie along with magazines about transvestites. I looked through the magazines at the pictures of men dressed in lingerie and having sex with other men. I read some of the stories about submissive she-males and how they were turned on by the feel of lingerie and being controlled by their wives. I was both shocked and fascinated so I looked through them all, several times, then I wrote down the names of these magazines. The ones that turned me on the most were the ones showing white wives with Black studs and making their white husbands wait on or serve them in some capacity. All of the information pointed to and explained how important it was for a woman wishing to control her husband to feminize him. If she did that the story said, she could have anything her heart desired. Now I understood why Ben liked it when I was in my lingerie but not naked. I felt betrayed but I had discovered a way to be in charge of this sissy I had married. I didn’t let on that I had discovered his secret; this gave me time to take charge of his kinky ways. Why should I not be the one with the benefits of a sissy husband? At work my desk faced the restroom in the office. Every once in a while one of the guys would run in a take a quick piss, one day the door didn’t close all the way and I could see Baron my boss taking a leek. I couldn’t believe how big his cock was; it seemed about three times the size of my sissy husband’s. When Baron turned to leave the restroom he realized that the door had not closed. He grinned and said, “Opps sorry I didn’t close the door all the way.” I replied, “I’m not.” I could feel my face turning red and it was not from embarrassment but from the heat of lust at the thought of what that big cock would feel like inside of me. Baron replied, “Care to step into my office and tell me what you meant by that remark?” I replied, “Oh yes I would very much like to.” Baron’s office had only one window and it looked down into the ware house and the secretary had gone to lunch and had locked the front door. So it was private as to what went on there. There we were in his office looking at each other. He asked, “What did you want to say?” I felt my heart beating faster and my breathing faster as I asked, “Do all black men have big cocks like yours?” “Some of us have even bigger cocks, why do you ask?” “Because my husband has such a little cock that I get no enjoyment from sex with him.” Baron smiled and asked. “So you would like to see what a real man’s cock would feel like. I took a deep breath and replied, “Oh yes I would very much like to feel what a big hard cock would feel like.” As I stepped forward and run my hand over the long hard lump in his pants. He leaned over and kissed me his tongue sliding into my mouth his hands sliding over my ass cheeks, and then sliding under my mini-skirt. I undid his belt, un-buttoned and run his zipper down then pushed his pants and shorts down. His hard cock sprang up and I took it in both hands. I felt my panties sliding down and I let them fall to my ankles, and then stepped out of them. My juices were flowing and his cock was getting slick with pre-cum. Baron laid me back on his desk, I spread my legs and he slid that big hard cock into my hot pussy. I moaned with delight as he filled my lustful desire. I felt filled like never before as he slowly moved his big hard cock in and out. Leaning over me he kissed me and said, “Your one hot tight bitch Alice let me see your tits.” I unbuttoned my blouse and pulled my bra straps down so he could see my breasts. He smiled and leaned over and licked my nipples making them hard I never knew it could feel so good. I felt his finger stroke my clitoris sending excitement through me like I never felt before. I was breathing hard and moaning, “Oh Baron fuck me, fuck me hard.” He fucked me fast them slow making me want more of his hard cock. Sex with Ben had never been this great and would never be as far as I was concerned. Then he responded to my call for a hard fuck driving his hard cock into me. I felt my first orgasm shaking me with excitement.<br /><br />Then he pulled out and shot his load of cum my breasts stomach and up to my face. I lay there on his desk letting my breathing return to normal as Baron smiled down at me. He reached up and pinched my nipples sending ripples of excitement through my body. I lay there smiling at him and enjoyed the feeling. “Kit will be coming back from lunch any time now; we will continue this at a later time.” He said this with a smile and I smiled back and asked for a Kleenex, he replied let it dry on your chest and just wipe your face off I want you to smell my cum for the rest of the day.” So that is what I did and the smell of his cum drove me wild with the need to have his big black hard cock filling me. Every time Holt, one of the crew came in from the ware house to drop off papers he would sniff the air and smiled at me. My body heat drying Barons cum was like a strong perfume. When Joe and Buck the truck drivers dropped off their paper work at the end of the day they too sniffed and smiled. Kit the secretary didn’t seem to notice. Then I remembered that she seemed to smell the same way after she came back from lunch. I found out later her and Holt were having sex during their lunch hour. As we were closing the office Ben called and said that he was working overtime and would be about three hours late getting home. Baron heard me telling Ben it would be ok that I would get a bit to eat on the way home. So Baron asked if I would like to join Joe, Buck and him for a drink in the brake room before leaving. I said, “Why of course I would.” The brake room was up stairs over the office. It had a bath room with a shower a kitchen area, a large sofa-bed, large sturdy table and chairs. Baron got some beers out of the refrigerator and passed them around to Joe, Buck and I. As we sat there Joe and Buck passed some money to Baron who was smiling at them. “Is that for the beer?” I asked. “No, that is for winning the bet on which one of us would get to screw you first.” Baron Replied. His answer made me feel excited and I could feel my pussy starting to get wet at the thought of his big hard cock, so I replied, “It’s nice to know that I’m that desirable to you guys.” Joe asked, “Was this the first time with a black man for you?” Blushing at his boldness I replied, “Yes it was and it was the first time that I enjoyed having sex.” Buck smiled at me and said, “What made it so enjoyable?” The beer must have loosened my tongue so I replied, “The size of Barons cock was the first thing and how he made it last was second but his all persona is so much manlier than my husbands. Its like being with a real man for the first time. My husband has a small cock and comes to quick.” After I said it I realized the look of lust in the eyes as they looked at me. It was then I noticed that there were long lumps in their pants. Then I asked, “Do all black men have big cocks?”Baron replied, “We will show you why women who try black never go back to small white cock.” They all stood up and dropped their pants. I sat there looking at three of the biggest, longest cocks I had ever seen. My panties was sopping wet and my breathing was getting heavier as the thought of getting fucked by all there of those long hard black cocks. I stood up and walked over and felt each of them as they undressed me. Buck laid me back on the table and slid his hard cock into my pussy filling it. Baron and Joe took turns kissing me and playing with my nipples until I had an orgasm. Then Joe slid big hard cock into me and fucked me hard until he pulled out and shot his load of cum over my tits and face. Buck slid back into me and fucked me hard until he was ready to come and he shot his load of cum on my tits and face also. Baron slid his cock in to my sopping pussy and proceeded to fuck my long and hard until he shot his load into my well fuck pussy. I lay there with a big smile on my cum covered face and said, “God that was fantastic I never knew sex could be so exciting. I know I will never go back to small white cock again.” They helped me up and took me into the shower where they washed and played with my body, feeling my tits, kissing me and telling me how great I was to fuck. We finally got dressed and I started home stopping for some fast food first. When I arrived home I was too tired to wait up for Ben so I went to bed knowing that there was great sex available and I knew I could get it.The next morning at breakfast Ben said that Halloween was coming up and the office was not having a party but may be we could find one to go to. It was then I thought about how I could make the best of this sissies desire to dress as a girl. When I got to work the guys were very nice to me and kept saying see you to night. I knew what they ment by seeing, it would be my naked body on the lunch room table and it made me smile at the thought of all those big black hard cocks fucking my pussy. Also there would be Baron’s hard cock filling me at lunch time. I asked, “Would there be a Halloween party at work?” Baron said, “If you want one, we will arrange it.” “I’m forming an interesting one that will take care of a situation that will make my life much more interesting.”“What situation will that be?”“Well my husband seems to have this kinky desire to dress in women’s underwear and reads magazines that show men dressed like a slut while their wife’s are having sex with other men, mostly Black men. He doesn’t know that I have found out his kinky desires.” “Oh I know about them sissy’s that like to be fucked like they were a slut. There are lots of them here in Los Angeles. What is this got to do with us?”“I want to Black-mail him into submission so I can enjoy sex the way I want to that is the reason.” “As in some pictures of him dressed as a she-male and getting fucked my real man?” “That should do it quite nicely, and then I can have more enjoyable sex with a real man. Plus make him serve me.” “Just how are you going to get him to submit to being used for a black mans sexual pleasure?” “I have already started him on his way to becoming as you call it a she-male. I got a second prescription for female hormones and have been telling him that it was a vitamin tablet.” “Oh that is sneaky.” “Next I’m going to get him to admit to his kinky cross-dressing and make him come to the Halloween party as a French maid. Where we can make him serve you as a bi-sexual slut he wants to be.” “What make you think he is bi-sexual?” “Those magazines he has shows men dressed as sluts sucking cocks and getting their ass fucked. So I’m very sure that is his kinky desires.” “It is going to be one interesting party.” “By the way Kit has gone to lunch so let’s go to your office for ours.” “I bet you want a big tube steak for lunch?” We went into his office and closed the door. I took my panties and mini-skirt off and Baron removed his pants shorts and shoes. I opened my blouse and let my tits show as I stopped wearing a bra and started wearing nylons in stead of pantyhose. I like the feeling of being seen by these Black men it was not the leering looser look I had gotten from white males and it was a very sexy feeling to be wanted by these handsome superior Black men. Baron took me into his arms and kissed me, pushing his tongue deep into my mouth his hands playing with my nipples and pussy making me hot to fuck that long hard cock of his. Pushing me back on the couch he rubbed his cock over my lips and asked, “Want to suck my big black cock bitch?” “I’m not ready for that yet just slid that big cock in to me.” He knelt in front of me and filled my pussy with his big hard cock. Smiling down at me he said, “Have you ever been fucked in the ass bitch?” I replied, “Never even thought of it.” “Once you try it you will want more.” “I will think about it.” “Your sissy husband will be begging for it once we fuck him I just know it. White males are not really men and once they are treated like bitches they submit to their true place as a sissy bitch” Baron was pinching my nipples and clit driving me wild with lust I was lost in the feeling and excitement of his big hard cock fucking me. He put my legs up on his shoulders so he could deeper into my pussy which I enjoyed. Then he pulled out and placed his hard cock against my ass hole and shoved before I could react his hard cock was forcing its way into my ass. I screamed as my ass stretched to take his big black cock as he said, “Relax bitch and enjoy it your ass is now black mans property,” I moaned and the pain of his big cock turn into a new pleasure I had never felt before. I knew he was right I was addicted to big black cocks and would never go back to small white cocks. I moaned, “Oh fuck me, fuck me hard.” “Your learning bitch that black men rule when it comes to fucking white bitches like you and your husband will soon learn the same thing once we turn him into one of our white sissy bitchs” All I could say in reply was, “Oh God fuck me harder, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” His hard cock felt twice as large as it used my ass for it’s sexual pleasure, when he shot his load of cum I could feel it shooting several times. His thumb rubbing my clit sent me into one big orgasm. It took awhile for my breathing to return to normal. It took him awhile to pull out as I had hooked my legs behind his butt and wouldn’t let him slide that big black cock out until I was ready to let him. Baron smiled down at me and said, “Hay bitch you like being fucked by big black cock.” Then he leaned over and kissed me long and hard letting his tongue fill my mouth as I sucked on it. After work we gathered in the break room I was walking bow legged as my ass was very sore from being fucked by Baron. The guys started to pass Baron money. So I asked, “Ok guys what kind of bet was is it this time?” Buck replied, “It was to see who would be first to shove his hard cock in to your sexy ass hole.” I replied, “It sounds like I was hired to be the office slut for your big black cocks to enjoy.” By that time they had got out of their clothes and started to undress me for their gang bang pleasure. It got to be a routine at work that Baron would fuck me for lunch and the guys would gang bang me after work. At home I had started in on Ben; first I dressed in sexy lingerie and walked around the house that way. It got his attention so I told him that it was to improve our sex life as I had read that men enjoy sexy lingerie. He took the bate; so told him that it would turn me on to see him enjoying the feel of sexy lingerie also and that he should buy some to wear. The next day he showed me what he had purchased. It looked like what he had in the suitcase that was in car. So I played along and had him shave his body before trying on his lingerie. Once he was dressed in his lingerie I suggested some light make up and redid his hair into a page-boy style. I kept telling him how turned on I was by it and that I hoped he would understand and go along with my kinky desires as I found him irresistible dressed and made up like this. The result was fantastic he looked better as a woman that a man. This was working out better than I had planed. I had him lay on his back while I straddled him. I took control of his small cock which was hard and moved slow then fast as I rode him making sexual encounter last as long as possible. Ben thought it was the best sex he ever had. I knew what was better and had to bite my tongue from telling him what a waste he was for sex. The only thing that made it bearable was thinking about my Black lovers and taking him to the party dressed as a sissy French maid. As Halloween got closer I had him buy a French maids uniform. He got this short pink satin uniform. He tried it on for me and he did look quite sexy in it. My how my sissy boy was shaping up for his coming party as the sissy slut that I knew he was going to become. Baron had told me that black men enjoyed fucking white sissy guys, well I had one for them to enjoy and I was looking forward to watching it happen. I figured once I got Ben hooked and black mailed I could enjoy having more freedom to fuck real men and have my own maid. I talked to baron about it several times to keep reassuring myself and he explained that to a real man like him a white sissy husband was not a man anyway so why let him pretend. His only real value in life was serving black men as their sissy bitch. He assured me he wanted the same thing I did and was looking forward to making my sissy husband wait on us, clean his home and my well fucked pussy of his hot cum. When he said that I climaxed on the spot. The idea of my sissy husband standing by while Baron fucked me and then being told by Baron to suck and lick me clean was very, very hot. I started to call Ben, Brenda my maid and told him to serve me and he did as he was told. Brenda enjoyed doing the house work for me. This was working out better that I expected. Halloween arrived and I had gone straight home that evening to make sure Brenda was ready for the party. Ben was nervous at going out in public in a pink maid’s uniform so I suggested he could use my long rain coat as we were about the same size. I had planned for some resistance so I suggested a leather collar to cover his Adams apple. He stood with his back to me as I put it on, what he didn’t know it had a leather strap hanging down the back with two wrist cuffs attached. I told him to hold his arms behind him; before he realized it I had cuffed each wrist. Brenda was now my sissy slut slave. I put the rain coat over his shoulders and took him out to the car and belted him into the passenger seat. “Why the collar and wrist cuffs? He kept asking. “You’re my sexy slave maid now Brenda and will be from now on.” Was my reply. He gasped and asked what I meant. So I told him I wanted him to remain Brenda all the time and he would serve me as my maid from now on that he could forget about pretending to be a man anymore. He was scared and that made me feel powerful and hot.We arrived at the office and I let us in then took Brenda back to the break room. As we walked in I took the rain coat off and said, “Here is my husband who is now called Brenda and will be my sissy slut maid from now on.”The guys all started to drool over Brenda and started to make comments. They were lifting his skirt and petticoat and squeezing his padded breast. Brenda was nervous.Baron said, “Sissy pink for the she-male sluts coming out party.”Joe lifted Brenda’s skirt and said, “Virgin white panties and nylons for the sissy boys Buck said, “Dam good looking for a sissy slut guy she makes my cock hard just looking at this sissy slut.”Ben replied, “What is going on here Alice?”I replied, “Why Brenda I discovered your collection of she-male magazines showing sissy guys dressed in sexy lingerie while their wiveswere having sex with real men. So I decided that you should enjoy the real thing and learn what real cocks are like.”Ben asked, “Why this? I never had sex with a man before I just fantasized about it.”I replied, “Your Brenda now and you’re going to learn to enjoy what it is like to serve a real man size cock. You’re nothing but a small dick sissy that can not please me sexually and that likes to dress in women’s lingerie so you might as well be a sexy she-male slut to real men.”Brenda replied. “You don’t really mean this do you?”The guys were now undressed and was standing in front of us with their big hard black cocks dripping pre-cum. Brenda had no choice with his wrists bound behind Joe and Buck forced him to his knees. They started to rub their hard cocks over his face leaving strings of pre-cum. Brenda asked, “What’s come over you why are you doing this?” I took off my mini skirt, panties and blouse leaving on my garter belt and nylons. I replied, “I’ll show you what’s come over me, watch how a real man can fuck a woman and make her enjoy it.” I then pulled Baron to me and kissed him as he guided my back to the table and pushed me back on to it. He lifted both of my legs up and slid his big hard long black cock into my hot pussy. I then said, “Oh Baron fuck my hot pussy fill it with that big hard cock. Fuck me like a real man can.” I looked over at Brenda and smiled. The look on Brenda’s face was at first shock but turned to lust as he watched Barons big cock fuck my pussy and the feminine clothes worked their magic on the sissy maid.” Buck took Brenda’s head in his hands and rubbed his hard cock over her lips saying, “Suck it sissy boy suck it good. You know you been wanting to suck a real mans cock.” Brenda slowly opened his mouth and let Buck’s big hard black cock slide past her lips. Brenda’s submission had begun. I smiled and said, “Looks like you guys will have a hot sucking mouth to enjoy from now on.” Buck replied, “Suck it good sissy use your tongue on the under side. We will teach to be good cock sucker. You will learn that your mouth and ass is for your black master’s pleasure, you sissy cock sucker you.” The degrading talk was having the desired effect on Brenda. The she-male slut gave in and realized that he was becoming slut slave to a black master. Buck pulled out and shot a load of cum over Brenda’s face, he then shoved his cock back in to Brenda’s mouth saying, “Suck it clean slut boy like a good sissy cock sucker.” Brenda sucked swallowed the last of Buck’s cum and licked the last cum off Buck’s cock, but just like my first Black fucking they made Brenda leave the rest on her face and clothes so she could inhale the scent of her Black Masters. Joe helped Brenda up and leaned him face down on the table next to me. His face registered shock as his panties was pulled down and Joe pushed his long hard black cock against Brenda’s ass hole. Joe forced his hard cock into Brenda making him scream just like I had when Baron forced his hard cock in my ass hole. Brenda’s crying subsided as Joe slowly fucks him in the ass. Joe had taken pictures of Brenda’s first blow job and now Buck was filming the taking of Brenda’s virgin ass hole. Joe said “Dam what a tight hot ass you got sissy boy. You got what it takes to make your black masters pleasure a good fuck.” Brenda’s reply showed his complete submission to his new black masters, “Oh god it feels so good to be fucked. Fuck me harder please master fuck me hard.” It was going better that I thought it would the little dick was a queer cock sucker. I’m so glad I don’t have to have his small dick in me again. Baron had make our fucking last but he had pulled out and shoot the load of cum over my pussy and then shoved his cock back in to shoot the rest inside. He said he wanted to make a baby in me and I told him I also wanted him too. Brenda’s face showed complete defeat at this. So I smiled at her and told her not to worry we would let her be the nanny to my Black baby. Brenda started to buck and beg for a faster fucking at this. It was too much for the little pansy and he came. Joe shot his load of cum deep in Brenda’s ass then pulled out. Baron said, “Hay, Sissy boy get over here and clean up my cum covered cock and your wife’s pussy.” Brenda stood up and then went submissively to his knees and started to lick Baron’s cock clean. “Good sissy slut you’re learning your place when you’re with your black masters.” When Brenda finished cleaning Baron’s cock he started licking Baron’s cum off my pussy then licked cum out of my pussy. I was getting to like this part I didn’t know he was such a good pussy licker. But what was most impressive is how I and my Black lovers had taken full control over the sissy. He was a total wimp and it was then that I knew how much more manly Black men were than whites. I think once a white female sees this she knows she can only enjoy Black man and will do what ever to please him and she knows white guys are not men at all, however they do make good slut bitches and maids. When Brenda finished cleaning my pussy I was hot for more big black cock. I was glowing with sexual lust. Baron helped me up off the table and was kissing me while Joe played with my tits. I felt something around my neck but I was lost in sexual lust and let them play with my body. Next I felt my arms being pulled up behind me and then I realized that I too was wearing a collar and my wrists were bound behind just like Brenda’s. Baron pulled on my shoulders forcing me to my knees. I started to protest but as I opened my mouth Baron slid his now hard again cock into it. I tried to tell him that don’t suck cocks but he was holding my head. Brenda was next to me sucking Buck’s cock and he looked like he was enjoying being a cock sucker to a black master. Joe was pinching my nipples and playing with my clit getting me more sexually excited. I gave into my black master and sucked the big black cock I had in my mouth.I too was enslaved by my black master as I sucked my first cock. My first time the taste of pre-cum. Then the first load of cum shot deep into my throat. I tried to pull back but had to accept my first taste of black cum. Baron pulled out and finished shooting the rest of his load over my face and lips. I was now baptized as a cock sucker to the pleasure of my black master. Buck had done the same to Brenda with his load of cum. Now we knelt side by side our faces wet with loads of our black master cum. Baron commanded, “Now you cock sucking sluts lick your black master cum off each other face.” Brenda and I turned and started licking our black master cum off. I never felt so submissive and degraded before. My submission to my black master’s was now complete I would never go back. Brenda and I were placed face down on the table and our ass holes were filled with hard black cock. Our black masters took their time fucking us, using us for their sexual pleasure. All we could do was to beg for more black cock, it just felt so good, our submission was complete. To complete our submission to our black masters Baron moved into our house and he had Brenda move to another bed room. I was Baron’s personal slut for his pleasure and those he told could fuck me. Brenda belongs to Joe and Buck and they use her for their personal sex slut. Brenda is also the maid and cleans all our homes and Barons office. I am in heaven with the pleasure and honor I get from serving my Black Master and completely impressed with the power a Black Man poses in his cock. It only took one experience with a Black cock for my self and my sissy husband to be completely converted to being Black owned.\end<br />(this virtual signatrure above, legally constitutes real-time voluntary enslavement, committment, and ownership)<br />Date: _________<br />--To be used for the voluntary (or forced) enslavement of the inferior white male by a Member of the Master Race of Superior Black Men<br />To my OWNER and MASTER:<br />SIR:<br />i hereby surrender myself completely to You MASTER, for i am YOUR slave, YOUR property.<br />my very thoughts will be only to honor and serve YOU MASTER, and to make YOU proud of me, for i am YOUR slave.<br />i will always respect YOU MASTER, for i am YOUR slave, YOUR white "boy".<br />i will always serve and obey my MASTER'S commands fully, for i am YOUR slave, YOUR cunt.<br />i will always serve and obey my MASTER'S commands immediately, for i am YOUR slave, YOUR faggot.<br />i will address YOU as, "MR.", "MASTER", "SIR", or by whatever title YOU choose to specify, for i am YOUR slave, YOUR inferior.<br />i will never question the reasons behind my MASTER'S commands, for they are none of my concern, for i am YOUR slave, YOUR slut.<br />Any question i may have regarding YOUR commands or the specifications of my assigned duties are to be in private and never in front of other people, for i am YOUR slave, YOUR servant.<br />i will always be naked in the presence of my MASTER unless told otherwise, for i am YOUR slave,YOUR "boy".<br />i will always wear my MASTER'S collar, if YOU so choose, unless i am told otherwise, for i am YOUR slave, YOUR bitch.<br />i will always keep my body in healthy condition, clean, and ready for my MASTER'S use and pleasure, for i am YOUR slave, YOUR CUM receptacle.<br />i will gladly and eagerly sexually service other BLACK MEN if MASTER orders, and ONLY those BLACK MEN that my MASTER ALLOWS me to service, for i am YOUR slave, YOUR whore.<br />i will gladly accept my MASTER'S CUM anywhere in or on my body, including my face, my mouth, and my ass, for i am YOUR slave, YOUR cum-slut.<br />My MASTER'S Cum is His Essence to me and must be treated as such. If or when my MASTER allows me the honor of receiving His Essence i will ensure that not a drop is wasted. Orally or anally, it will remain inside my body where it belongs. My own cum is to be recycled by me at all times unless expressly ordered to do otherwise by my MASTER. i will always keep my body clean and ready, in a proper, healthy condition, for my MASTER'S use and pleasure.<br />i will gladly submit to being urinated on, or urinated into (mouth or ass), and will swallow YOUR yellow nectar, for i am YOUR slave, YOUR piss-pig.<br />my bodily functions are to be completely controlled by YOU MASTER; even the times when I may be allowed to go to the bathroom are to be specified by YOU, for i am YOUR slave, YOUR white trash.<br />i will always be available for my MASTER'S use and pleasure, or the use and pleasure of whoever YOU shall command me to service, for i am YOUR slave, YOURS to pimp.<br />i will never get into my MASTER'S bed unless i have asked permission and that permission has been granted, for i am YOUR slave, YOUR fuck-toy.<br />i will happily accept punishment as my MASTER may decree without complaint or protest, for i am YOUR slave, YOUR property, and as an inferior white "boy", it is very likey that i will require punishment at times.<br />If any of these rules are not followed to the letter, i will gladly submit to immediate, appropriate punishment.<br />i will always thank my MASTER for the honor, and for the pleasure of being punished by YOU, for i am YOUR slave, YOUR property, and look forward to the attention YOU give me by honoring me with punishment.<br />i will never harbor feelings of anger or resentment towards YOU MASTER, and if such feelings should involuntarily cross my consciousness i shall immediately confess these feelings to YOU, and submit to whatever punishment YOU deem appropriate, for i am YOUR slave, YOUR pussy-boy.<br />i will submit totally, and willingly to whatever additional rules my MASTER may wish to impose, either now or at a later date, for i am YOUR slave, YOURS to use as YOU see fit.<br />Because my body is now my MASTER'S property, it is no longer my right to protest any use YOU choose to make of it. Rather, it is an honor if YOU decide to touch me at all, for i am YOUR slave, owned by YOU MASTER. i am YOUR property.<br />i hereby turn over totally and completely, full and unconditional control and ownership of my mind and body to my OWNER and MASTER<br />_____________________Slave's name or number (assigned by Owner)<br />SIGNATUREBy its signature below, the slave acknowledges that it has read, understands, and agrees to abide by the rules of this Contract.<br />Signature____________________________ Date_______________<br />---OR---<br /><br />Not Like You,<br />Your Black Master towers over you. Master is forty-two years old. He iscompletely naked. His clothes lie in a pile on the floor. His dark,golden-brown body is lean, taut, and muscular, without an ounce offat. He stands six feet, three inches tall, with a 34 inch waist andan eight-pack stomach.<br />Master doesn't look like a weight-lifter or a body-builder, buthis body is hard and defined. Not like your lily white body with your flabby midsection. Master's black ass is tight and firm: not like yours, which is soft and flabby.<br />You are in your early thirties. Your body is in fairly good shape fora white guy, but it is nothing compared to Master who is older.Master looks younger than you. Your body is milky white and hairy.You have no hair on your chest, stomach, back, and shoulders. Frecklesand blemishes dot your skin. Master is smooth and hard: a burnishedgolden brown without blemish.<br />Master's dick is hard. It sticks out horizontally. Your whitepenis is soft, and folded back between your nylon covered legs hiding.You are soft and hidden because you are intimidated by Black men likeMaster. It's like your little white cock knows it isn't needed, soit stays soft and small. Master's dick is nine inches hard andthick. It looks like an iron pipe and looks like it belongs to a real man.<br />Master strokes his pipe while you kneel. He wants you to watch himstroking the huge meat that is going to take control of your body. Heis going to jam that dick down your throat until you choke and fuckyou in the ass until he busts a nutt. All you can do is stay on yourknees and watch and imagine and submit.<br />Master taunts you: "This is gonna be the dick that takes control of you, baby! Yah, look at the dick. Stare at it, baby. You gonna get all this! I wanna fuck you. I wanna jam my this big dick down your throat. Yah, this is yours,whiteboy! You gonna suck daddy's dick like a good little sissy faggot,arn’t you!"<br />You have your hot, wet mouth on Master's dick. Your mouth is openas far as it can. Your jaw aches. You want his dick in your mouth, you didn’t think you would at frist but now you understand that the Black dick is your Master too and you have this desire to please and serve it like all inferior white sissy bois.The dick is huge, but you want to take it all in your mouth. You lovehow it feels, how it tastes and smells. You like having a real man'sdick in your mouth.<br />This is because you are a white servant cocksucker. You were born to suck Blackmen's dicks. You're white. Your inferior, You know your not really a man and this Black dick in your face proves it. You crave Black dick in your mouth.Admit it. You aren't happy unless you have a big Black dick jammeddown your throat. You love Black dick, cocksucker! Suck it, suckit!!!<br />Yah, you love it when a Black Man uses for a hole. All you want inlife is to be used an object for a Black Man's satisfaction. Black Menneed head on a regular basis. That's what crackers like you arefor. You white cocksuckers are here to take care of us. You know it and we know it.<br />Think about it. What else is a white guy good for? No one wants yourlittle white cocks. About all you white boys are good for is suckingdick, and being fucked by Hard Black dick. But you crackers love that don't you. White boys love sucking dick! Every brother knows that. I was fourteen when I first heard that all white boys want to suck Black dick. I had to find out for sure so I found a white boi walking home with his girl friend and I showed them my Black dick. His girl friend was mesmerized by it and had to touch it right away. They she grabbed it and came on the spot. She fell to her knees and begin to worship it and when her white boy friend tried to pull her back she pulled him down and he was face to face with my Black dick. He watched he lick and suck on it then she pulled his head closer and his lips parted and he too began to lick and suck. Before it was over they both had sucked my Black dick off and I had fucked his girl friend in front of him. What did he do? He stood and watched then knelt and sucked me off again after I was done with her. Yes that’s what white bois are good for and that’s what they do when a real man with Black dick is in their presence. Its natural, they submit to the superior Man, the Black Man!<br />Hell, I grew up knowing crackers are into Black dick. Y'all love it,yo wives and girlfriends love it. There's no denying the power of aBlack Man's sexuality. Most of us got size to prove the point, butits also about attitude. Seems like whitey is ashamed about sex,but any Black man knows there ain't nothing wrong when it comesto a thick Black dick squeezing into a tight, warm, wet hole.<br />We gonna fuck, and if you crackers want some dick in your ass, well,we gonna fuck that white ass! Open up them cheeks and take this dick,bitch! You don't know what fucking is until a Black man fucks you.<br />Not like you, whiteboy. Your weak sex drive seems to come and go.You jerk off to your freaky obsessions, fantasizing about Black dickstaking over, taking control, penetrating and pumping. Drilling thatwhite ass. Yah, you white fags love that. You love Black dick inyour ass. It's what you need, ain't it?<br />Not like you. A real Man takes control, using your body, thendiscarding you. All you are is a hole and you know that!<br />You are a hole. Your throat and rectum exist for Black dick. Youlike that arrangement. You know it's right. <br />Master holds your head with both hands and jams his thick Black cockdown your throat, whiteboy. You choke and gag because it is more dickthan you have swallowed before, but you love it, you need it, you wantto be forced. You want to be used!<br />Master knows this is what you need, whiteboy. Suck that dick! Bethe servant you were meant to be! Master knows that whiteboys likeyou need to be fucked and humiliated and tortured. We like fucking,humiliating, and torturing white bitches. You faggots love it.<br />Master wants to hear you beg for his dick while he pumps it downyour throat. Beg, white boy. Beg for this big dick.<br />Black men like Master love it when a cracker begs.<br />"Suck my dick, bitch!"<br />When you hear Master say that, you got no choice. Open up your mouthand swallow that thick hard Black dick. Suck it! You know you want to suckthat dick. Suck it good. Worship that Black dick, bitch!<br />You ARE a bitch. Master is not like you. Master is a Man. You.. . . are a sissy bitch cocksucker. You probably need to be punished, butMaster just wants you to suck His dick. He wants your white mouthon His dick. Suck until Master busts in your mouth.<br />Master is a Man. He is nothing like you. You are a white sissy fag. Youare nothing like him. Suck it, suck it, bitch!<br />You suck Master's dick because you have no choice. You are atypical size white male but coming onto Black dick you find yourselftotally conquered, don't you! You realize that being a Black Man and white boi is a world apart. You understand the power a Black man posses. You need Black dick now, ain't that right! Little white cocks don't please you no more, do they? OnlyBlack dick can fill you. Only Black dick can jam that white throatand make you go crazy. Yahhh, suck it, suck it bitch!<br />You suck Master's big Black dick. He owns your white ass now! Not likeyou, pussy boy. You are simply happy to be of use to a real man foronce in your sorry life. All you care about is getting a Black dickin your mouth. Master is not like you.<br />Master is a MAN. You are a pussy. Master wants his dick suckedevery morning and every night. Master never runs out of cum. Yourjob is to suck his dick.<br />Master is a real MAN. Not like you. You suck his dick morning andnight. You swallow his sperm. You are his servant. You iron hisclothes and prepare his breakfast. You are Master's servant. That's whata white servant does. You are here to serve. The more Black dick you get in your mouth and ass the more you will want to wear pretty dresses and higher heels and make up so Master will want to give you more black dick. The prettier you look and walk the more Black dick Master will give you and that will make you wiggle your ass more, polish his shoes, take his spankings just so you can fall to your knees to suck more Black dick and swallow more Black cum and bend over for a harder Black fucking because you are a white sissy servant and you live to obey and please your Black master!<br />end<br />Classroom for Cuckolds! chapter 1: 'White Slaves in Black Africa' TJ Ryder <a href="http://www.midnightx.com/">http://www.midnightx.com/</a> ILLUSTRATED FETISH STORIES<br />International Airport: Obeah, Central Africa 2011<br /> As immigrants to Obeah, the newly created republic in Central Africa,we all had the same mandatory selection criteria, but everyonestill gets the required introduction after the shuttle from the airport.<br /> A lot of it is because it is a republic, meaning everyone, blacks andwhites will be allowed to vote once theyr'e citizens. As a history teacherback in the US I can tell you that was no easy feat. Founded by USblack militants, funded by liberal money in the form of increased taxesfor slavery reparations, the sticking point from the beginning was the form of government. However, it came down to money as always.Obeah wouldn't get money if it wasn't a real democracy, with electionjudges and Jimmy Carter and everything else. So, when that reality set in,the leaders decided to stack the deck legally, so the blacks were alwaysthe majority and also that the white immigrants would already like itthat way. And with advances in medicine and DNA and everything, genetics were being used elsewhere in the world, so it began to be usedin the population makeup at Obeah. For starters, the populationwould be controlled to always have at least a 3-2 ratio of blacksto whites, so even with the votes, they would be in control. <br /> A lot of what was being done in Obeah was secret, and being a socialscientist it was a dream come true to get there. Of course getting therestarted 5 years ago. When I said we, I meant me, my wife, and her niece.So, to keep this journal accurate I should describe all of us.<br /> I am 5'6" 145 lbs, thin, and 34 years old. My wife Pam is blonde, built,and an ex typist at the University where I taught. She already had a reputation when we started going out for sleeping around with the blackathletes. She's 29, 5'7, and 128 lbs, and a voluptuous babe. Her niecewho I was reluctant to bring along because she's only a teenager, Tiffanny,looks a lot like her, and I think in a lot of ways, acts like her.<br /> Pam had already gone black when I met her, and under her tutelageI became her sub cuckold hubby. And under her influence, when hersister and her niece didn't get along, and the girl moved in with us a yearago, she had Tiffanny dating black boys in no time at all. So becausewe were all members of the Blackrule party we were invited to attendan introductory meeting last year for immigration, plus Pam had seen to it that I contributed heavily to the cause.<br /> Also, as we left the shuttle as a group of a dozen men and women, mostly couples, and noticed our reflection in the mirrors, besides statues of heroic dominant nude black males, that it appeared we were all females. And I must admit, very attractive white females. Roughlyhalf were male tv's, like myself. I doubt very much if any were transgendered, because Obeah hadn't sanctioned that yet. In many waysObeah was a blend of very conservative southern and African valuesmixed with black militancy of the 90's. Everyone, black and white,was rigorously tested for diseases, and all the immigrants had to bescreened. The goal from the beginning after they settled reluctantly ona democracy was to have only two races and two sexes, and they wereto be white females and black males. And that's what caused Blackruleto collapse as a party back in the states once Obeah was founded, theirlosing the black female vote. It was fascinating to watch it evolve.But while it lost its base in the US, it was gaining power all over the world, especially in Africa. How did they do this? Well with DNAadvances they didn't need either black females or white males to provide the population. They had enough harvested eggs and spermfor thousands of years. So why were white males here dressed as women,mostly with cosmetic enhancements? I'm a 36c for example andcan wear a size 8. Two reasons. White men are needed to serve as the domestics and lackeys of a modern society and Obeah wanted to be technological,and besides, nobody would continue to invest if the economy started to slide like the rest of Africa. The other reason was simple. Sex. Despite the propaganda, lots of blacks have a strong desire to dominate white malesSome 85 % are solidly for the totaly subjugation and emascualtion of white males. And that brings us to the black males. They werescreened and idealized too. Most look like 19th century Zulus. Theyare tall, muscular, very negroe looking, and jet black. Even if they didn'tall take Maca root and Yojimbe natural sex drugs from birth, theircenturies of sexual eugenics would answer for their enlarged organs andappetites.<br /> "Are you nervous, dear," Pam asked Tiffanny, who was clutching her carryon.<br /> "Gee, are we going to be tested? What are they going to do with us?"<br /> "Relax, Tiff," I said, feeling a little nervous myself as we waited for our speaker to come in. In truth it felt a lot like the USA, and didn'thave the soldiers running around with machine guns like most parts ofAfrica, but it was still, well, foreign. I mean we were in their power now.The US embassy was ten long miles away now with a big wall around it.And inside the gates were black marines. The US had a strong presenceand huge investment here, but still the only real sanctuary was insidethose embassy gates. I was interrupted when a white tv came out ina coat to greet us.<br /> "Welcome, welcome; my colleague, Mr Josobongo and I are hereto welcome and assist in your settlement in Obeah." Mr Josobongowas a big black male with a bald head, common fashion among blackshere for some reason. Mr Josobongo who I knew was in reality TitusJackson, a campaign organizer for the Blackrule back in the midwest,was smiling broadly as he looked us over, picking out the tv's like mewith a little effort, I flattered myself. It's a conceit for me like all tv'sto feel we can pass as fem. And I certainly can unless standing right besides gorgeous white girls like Pam and Tiffanny.<br /> We listened to some speeches that reassured Tiff, and were servedrefreshments. We were handed maps and directions to employmentcenters, where I was expected at housekeeping department at the branchof an American company. Finally, we were separated into family groups and met with Mr. Josobongo in a more private office.<br /> "Greetings again to the Palmer family unit. And you, sir, Tim,remember me from Cleveland?"<br /> I smiled, nodding. I certainly did. I remember the mouthful of hotsperm he sprayed my tonsils with as I knelt before him in his officein Shaker Heights. And he did too, as he arranged his growing pythondown one leg, which none of us missed noticing, Pam and Tiffanny's eyes widening and their pink tongues moistening their full lips.<br /> "Okay," he grunted, smiling wider now in the memory. "So sinceyou people have, um, the, ah right attitude, I'd like to talk about themore confidential aspects of Obeah." I smiled at that, because Iknew he was going to tell us about the infamous 'clit chip'.<br /> He opened a small stainless steel box, and showed us whatlooked like a miniature clitoris. The media had talked about thisa year ago, but this was the first time I had seen it. There were clinicsin Mexico and Europe where it could be attached.<br /> "Yes," he smiled, seeing our faces, "I know youv'e heard of thesein the press. It does cost about 5 thousand or more to put in. It works and actually is a real clitoris, DNA built to match your ownbody so it won't ever be rejected. Most women have it on theirtongues, some inside their anus, and it's got a molecular transmitterto send pleasure messages. A female could put it on her finger orbreast and achieve orgasm the same way she could with her real orI should say, original, clitoris. Obeah recommends this brand only,but they can't be put anyplace but tongue and anus, they must bediscreet also. They work great on a tongue, I can vouch for that,"he grinned, the girls giggling, "feels like a tongue stud. MyselfI prefer it on the end of the tongue, but it's up to the individual.it shows up as a little bump on the tongue. Nobody has anyproblems speaking with it, any more than a tongue stud."<br /> The women smiled at that, and I knew that although Tiffanny wasa little nervous about it, Pam had been dying to get one.<br /> "A couple caveats," he continued, "they are very sensitive, and your orgams will take longer duration but you probably read all that. In any case the Immigrants Program, which Iwork for, will pay for the whole thing, with a couple of minorstipulations." He smiled, and I was very curious now.<br /> "Here in Obeah, our scientists have taken this basic clitoral chip,and programmed it. In the interests of health and harmony, ourchips don't function unless its receptor senses the presence of liveNegroe sperm. Any precum, preorgasmic fluids as long as theyare from a member of the negroe race will allow it to function.Any other stimuli will render it inert. We highly recommend it,and it will probably become mandatory after the next election."<br /> The women were smiling, and looked at each other, and then begangiggling.<br /> Josobongo smiled at their reaction, and while I blushed a littleat their eagerness, he continued.<br /> "If you have it done, your'e allowed to wear the Obeah citizen'smedal outwardly, which by the way is very useful in getting housingand good jobs and such" He paused then, and kind of shuffled somepapers around.<br /> "Now, since you are receptive, I'm going to move directly to themore, say, politically sensitive aspect of this. And I must tell you thatthis next part is confidential until the next election and the stories gopublic, when we get funding and all. Violation of this will lead to deportation or jail time." He sounded serious and we all were now.<br /> "Okay? Well, not too many people in the outside world know thatthere are a couple other still rather trivial aspects of the clit chips.First is during the operation they also attach the receptor to the female'soriginal clitoris on her pudenda. So it won't send pleasure vibes unlessnegroe fluids are present, okay? Does anyone have a problem with that?"<br /> I blushed again when neither of my female companions had no problem with it. Pam even giggled as she said no. From that momenton I realized I could not make her cum even if I ate her, but actually sinceI was only allowed to eat her after her pussy was full of negroe manspunkanyway, I felt a little better, knowing I could still make her cum. ThenTitus dropped the other shoe.<br /> "And we recommend the operation for white males as well. It's notmandatory, yet, but it's a good idea to adjust to Obeah." I was floored,and sat with my mouth open as the girls laughed with glee.<br /> "Um, ah, " I said, trying to gather my thoughts, "um, but, that's a female organ."<br /> "Not if its DNA built for you!" He smiled, "works the same,transmits to your gonads based on the presence of negroe fluids. I'mnot a scientist, just a salesman here, so bear with me. Wev'e hadhundreds of citizens doing this for months now, and absolutely nobody,and I'll show you the files, have requested a change." I was beginningto see what's happening now.<br /> "But, um, do by chance black males have, " I didn't want to say controllers, "devices, like this?"<br /> "Nope, that was all voted down. In fact it's a white priviledge, your'ethe only folks who can use this technology in Obeah."<br /> I didn't have to ask whether my orgasm could take place without the presence of negro fluids, because I knew it wouldn't. I could get stimulated, mentally or physically, but the message to get off wasprevented from getting there. What this meant was the completesexual dependence of whites on blacks. Not even masturbation wouldget you off unless one of your orifices had negroe sperm in it. Obeahwas achieving the sexual enslavement of whites after all, and I couldn'tstop the growing boner down my leg any more than Pam and Tiffannycould stop their pussies flowing at the thought. Titus smiled as heappraised our reaction. I was imagining what high school would havebeen like growing up in Obeah. Mostly big black bucks, beautifulwhite girls, and a few smallish white males, knowing our only sex releasewas from black males penetrating our bodies or from tongue cleaningwhite females who just had sex with negroes.. My wife sighed, realizingwhat it mean't, and then Tiffanny sighed, giggling. I blatantly adjustedmy erection, and the girls absently cupped their breasts, fondling theirhard nipples. I'm sure we all were impatient to receive the implants.<br />Josobongo High School, New Republic of Obeah, Africa, 2011<br />Continued as 'Classroom for Cuckolds'<a href="http://www.midnightx.com/">http://www.midnightx.com/</a><br /><br /> White Submission in OBEAH! TJ Ryder <a href="http://www.midnightx.com/">http://www.midnightx.com/</a><br /> Heather had just begun her first day of orientation at the capital cityof Obeah, Mimbazi, which was two weeks before the start of the semester.The lush 38 year old white woman in the obligatory tight and low cut dressthat Obean men prefer stepped gingerly across the downtown street in her heels.<br /> "Tsk tsk," she thought, grimacing because the traffic in this African countrywas so chaotic she wondered once again if this was the right thing to do.Ever since she had gotten this overseas job she wondered if her husband Walterwas right in his reservations. But now it was too late. Downsized back in the states, foreclosed in a bad housing market with bad credit, this was thebest job available to her and her family. She should have realized by thespecialized and frankly intrusive testing she and her whole family was giventhe nature of the subtle Black superiority power structure, but the fact is,she sighed, that was kind of erotic to her, and she suspected to her teenageddaughter Hillary and even perhaps, to Walter, and that she knew was partly herown fault.<br /> A few years back at Walter's insisting to take more chances sexually, shejoined him at a couple of swing parties, and that had led to her first black man,not the last. As she saw the giant grinning black men leering at her and absently grabbing their bulging crotches, she felt her own pussy getting wet.But she stopped seeing Tyrone a year ago because she felt guilty and alsoworried about her lovely blonde daughter growing old enough to know what wasgoing on, her being out late, her father not ever discussing it, her own mother coming in obviously after making love to a man other than her father!<br /> And now, what she thought was a salvation job offer was beginning to giveher second thoughts! She knew her whole family was selected for possible immigration to the country whose population was 9/10ths jet black and hada strong erotic fascination with light skinned whites, she wondered if they should have stayed and struggled longer in America! Looking at hertiny watch, she was supposed to be at the high school in 5 minutes, and delayed by traffic was now stopped by a street full of drivers ignoringthe stop signs!<br /> Swearing that she would NOT be late for her first day at her new job,she decided to cross at the middle of the street when she saw a break intraffic. Immediately she heard a police whistle, and turned and saw anangry black face in the light blue uniform at the corner. She waved andsmiled, continuing across. Then she heard a second blast and heard a shout.She gave an apologetic wave, looked at her watch, and as she stepped on the curbbegan to walk rapidly away!<br /> Only a few minutes away, she could see the big inner city high school'spillared columns as she heard running hobnailed boot footprints behind her.<br /> Not believing it, wishing it wasn't about her, she increased her pace, ignoringanother angry shout! Just as she entered the quadrangle of the school she sawblack students look at her, no, behind her, and get out of the way, and thenshe felt her elbow grabbed hard enough to hurt and spun around, looking intothe chest and then up at a very angry sweating black face!<br /> ""Whhatchoo doo, white missy? You not hear me?"<br /> Gasping, trying to release her elbow which raised and throwing heroff balance, "Oh, um, I'm sorry, I didn't understand you?"<br /> He scowled, "you hear me awright! And you just walk away! Show disrespect!"<br /> "Oh, I - I didn't mean to, officer, really! Can I just get a ticket or pay a fine for jaywalking? I mean I have a very important appointment at the school here!"<br /> "You think what?" His mean smile made her shiver. "Yo goin nowhere now,missy!"<br /> 'W-wait," she protested as he turned her around, making her hurt, "Ooooww!your'e hurting me!"<br /> "Haw, you Americans think you still in America, put dose hands back now!"<br /> "B-but," as she felt her wrists enclosed by steel handcuffs, and nowshe was helpless, her big breasts forced outward by her shoulders beingpulled back.<br /> "Now you come with me, missy, see the sergeant!"<br />*****************************************************<br /> Two hours later across town in their small apartment her husband Walterfrowned at the front window, as his luscious teenage blonde daughter madeher way from the store with a grocery bag, and several big black bucks madeobscene pitches, making him so angry, but the odd thing was, Hillary didn'tseem to mind at all. He grimaced as he wondered if she was like her motherregarding black males. And he hated making Hillary go to the grocery storeherself because he was afraid to. Afraid of being shouldered aside on thesidewalk with offhand remarks because he was smallish and small boned comparedto the ebony giants strutting around the city.<br /> "Knock!"<br /> "Daddy, answer the door please!" Why didn't she just use her key, she only had one bag? AS he got up to answer it,he expected to see Hillary but instead saw a frowning big black face in a police uniform! Hillary was standing in the hallway, her bag on thefloor, her own big breasts arching out as her wrists were locked behindher back.<br /> "Come with us, sir!"<br /> "W-what, excuse m-me, b-but...!" he stammered.<br /> "Your wife committed a bad offense today, sir! Disrespect topolice officer!"<br /> "W-well, I'm sure we can, can explain...!" he paused as he sawthe second pair of handcuffs held out to him. Then he saw a big grinningpoliceman with the dreaded black elephant whip they used instead of police batons in Africa. It had a 6 foot reach and he watched and heardpeople writhe when hit with it!<br /> Still he didn't want to show fear but also didn't want to be cuffed!<br /> "Daddy, do what they want!"<br /> "Put these cuffs on, sir!" the policeman repeated.<br /> "B-but, I-I d-don't understand!" He tried to smile to pacify thembut then saw the giant black in back of his daughter roughly cup her bigbreasts, making her writhe!<br /> "W-what are you d-doing?" <br /> The policeman in charge nodded to two officers. "Give him five!"<br /> One of them picked up his whip and pointed to a chair!<br /> 'No back talk, sir. Take your pants down now!" To his daughterhe smiled, "your daddy don't learn too good!"<br /> 'Haw," the giant cop cupping her breasts pressed his enormous hardonbetween her cheeks, "I rather be whippin this one's pretty blonde behind, datfo sho! It feel good!"<br /> "You just wait for dat, hurry up, sir, or it will double!"<br /> Blushing, trying not to cry, Walter dropped his pants, and at thenod of the policeman, his underwear, in front of 3 men and his daughter.<br /> "He scream right away!"<br /> "Naw, he last till 4!"<br /> "Sissy Americans like him don't never last till 4!"<br /> Resting his hands on the chair seat, his naked white buttocksarched up as one cop put a hand across them, fondling him as he arrangedhis growing boner with the other hand, he shivered. Then the other coptied his hands to the chair leg so he was helpless now! Told to spreadhis legs, he felt the big black hand cup his balls, and then squeeze hiscock, and the dominant rough brutality of it, the humiliation of the scenemade him start to get hard, and make the black cop squeeze his inflatingcock and laugh.<br /> "Dat's enough! Do him and we got to get back!"<br /> Frowning, the cop grunted, and stood back. Hillary watched in fascination,her father, who she always suspected of being weak, was still her father, andnow he was kneeling naked over a chair as one black man fondled her helplessly,while another was going to whip him like a child!<br /> WHACK! ASIIEIEIEI! The cop looked at the other one and grinned,<br /> "Ah told you so!"<br /> wHACK! AEIIIIIE! By the fourth stroke he was sobbing between screams, burning red welts across his white butt, and still he was half hard, and the last one made him start to beg! Hillary was gasping as thecop in back pushed his inflated bulge up her butt crack, and squeezed eachnipple hard enough to make her writhe at the spectacle.<br /> "That's enough, let him pull his pants up and let's go!"<br /> "Sheee-it," the cop said, arranging his bulge and putting the whipdown, "we should make sure they got the right attitude, chief!"<br /> "Later, they got a hearing in half an hour, all three of them!"<br />(Continued)<br />(2830) PRIM AND PROPERHere is a story I wrote a long time ago about how a very prim and proper married white female learned that things were not as she had thought. I hope you all enjoy it.Prim And ProperI have been married for seven years to a very successful sales representative. We live quite nicely in an exclusive part of town and money has never been a problem. What is a problem is the lack of attention I am getting from my husband, Jim. When we first got married we had sex three times a day every day. It was great, but it soon turned to once a day, then once a week and now it’s once a month. I want children but for some reason we have not been able to have any and now that sex is so infrequent, I doubt that I even stand a chance of getting pregnant. When we first got married I worked full time and kept busy but have now fallen into the stay-at-home-and-go-to-the-country-club-or-shopping kind of wife. I was bored and that is that.One day I had lunch with my friend, Sherry. She is a little wild and, although she would never tell just anybody, she often tells me of her escapades. Sherry was telling me how she disguised herself with sun glasses and a wig and went to a bar and got picked up. She had done this sort of thing before and so it was no big deal until she told me she was picked up by a black guy. You should have seen her face light up as she started talking about him. She went on and on about how great he was and how big he was, if you know what I mean. Sherry said it was so exciting that she almost turned back, but got her nerve up and went in the door to the all black bar. She said it did make her feel more comfortable when she got in there and saw three other white women inside being friendly with the guys.I asked her if they were hookers and she just laughed at me and said, “No way; these were married women and they were all still wearing their rings: I checked, ’cause I had mine off, but when I saw that they were all married and obviously not to the hunks they were cuddling, I decided to put mine back on. I found out that black guys actually prefer to pick up married white women over singles.”“Why’s that?” I asked.Sherry said, “Well I guess it’s ’cause they are only interested in sex and not a relationship. Black men really like sex better than white men and, let me tell you, they are much better at it, too.”Sherry went on to tell me how strange and scary it had been, but at the same time how it had been the most fantastic sex she had ever had. I told her she had just been lucky.Sherry smiled back and shook her head and said, “Lucky, huh? I have tried it with eight different black guys now and I must be the luckiest girl in the world, ’cause all eight fucked my brains out and all eight were better than any white guys I have ever had.”“Eight guys?” I asked her. “Are you nuts? What are you going to do when Ted finds out? You know he will: he always finds out sooner or later that you are running around and you have just been lucky that each time he found out it was already over and you were able to convince him that it was just a fling. What do you suppose he will say if he finds out you are sleeping with black guys?”Sherry said, “Do you know what? I really don’t care. If I had to make a choice between Ted and giving up black boyfriends, I hope I don’t hurt Ted to bad when I run over him on the way to my favourite black bar!”Over the next few weeks I thought about my nutty wild girlfriend, Sherry, and shook my head each time I did. I just could not imagine a white woman who had it as good as she did even thinking about lowering herself to be seen with black guys let alone go to bed with them. As the weeks went on, I noticed black men more and more often. It seemed that every TV show had a black man in it. I noticed that my husband was watching black men play sports and that they greatly outnumbered the white men. I asked him about it and he said that everybody knew black men were more physical than white men. He said that white men had the brains and black men had the brawn. Then I asked him if he ever heard the story about black men being, well, better endowed than white men. Oh yes, he said that was true, but that was because black men had been selected for breeding in the slave days and so it just carried on that they were better equipped to breed than white people. “But,” he said, “everybody knows it’s not the size that counts; it’s how you use it.”It made sense, what he was saying, but still the subject was on my mind. I started doing some research and found out that black males did indeed possess the ability to produce offspring better than whites. Black males had sperm counts that averaged twice that of white males. I also found out that black females had twice as many children, on average, as white females. I also found out that black females rarely had a problem conceiving; that it was a much lower rate than whites.Then I began to notice in magazines ads that showed a black male with whites. The black male always had a bigger bulge than the whites did. Sherry did say that size did count for a lot and not to believe the old tale about it’s how you use it. She said she had believed it for a long time herself but that, when she tried black, she found out it was baloney. Still I could never go to bed with a black man - I mean it just would not be right. I could not be the tramp that Sherry was and sex was just not that important.Then one day I had to go way over to the other side of town. I passed an adult book store and as I went by my curiosity got the better of me. I turned around and went back. I put on my sunglasses and my scarf over my head and went in. The place was empty of people except for the clerk, who was, to my surprise, a woman. She was friendly and greeted me as I came in. I began to relax a bit and started to look around. I looked over to see if she was watching me and noticed she had gone about her business. I was surprised at how neat and clean and well organized the place was. There were all kinds of items in the store from clothing to books, toys and videos. They even had a video room where a person could watch movies in private.I looked around for a while and came across some magazines that featured men. They were not shy at all and right on the cover was this handsome black man with the biggest cock I had ever seen. I mean it was unreal. It was at least three times bigger than my husband’s and the veins stuck out like ridges on it. From the looks of it, I would say it was made of iron, it looked so stiff and hard. As I picked up the magazine my heart began to race and I thought I might faint. I thought about putting it back but decided to keep it. Then I moved over to the toy section and I almost laughed. There were over two dozen dildos of different shapes and sizes. They also did different things. Some were plain while others vibrated or moved: they even had a few that could have the balls filled and squeezed at the proper moment. I found one that vibrated that was on the small side as far as what they carried but was a little bigger than my husband. It was flesh coloured and I took it to the counter. Again my heart began to race and I almost did not go through with it. The clerk came up and rang the stuff up just like it was no big deal and I paid her the money. She smiled at me and said thanks and hopped I would be back soon. I told her these were for a friend. And she smiled back and told me that my friend would really enjoy them and that maybe some time I should try some of the things out. She said she did and found that it helped relieve a lot of tension when her husband ignored her. I thanked her and left, still scared, but calmed down a bit now. As I went out the door and around the corner to the car park there were two black men coming right at me. I just knew they were going to rob me ’cause that’s what you hear all the time so I got real scared as they got close. They split and walked on each side of me and I knew I was going to be killed, but as they passed they just said hello and kept going. I got to my car and got in. I could not wait any longer and had to look at the magazine. It was in a sealed bag so I opened it and looked inside. My goodness were there some huge black cocks. The one on the cover was not the biggest one in the magazine. I was captivated. I leafed through the pages and stared at the pictures. I was fascinated and said to myself that Sherry sure was right about one thing: black cocks were bigger and sure did look stronger, too.There were also some letters in the magazine and several were from white women. I read them and each was similar in that each of the women had tried black cocks and found them better than white ones. All of the women felt they had been neglected by their husbands and they all said that size really did make a difference. I was fascinated but still, how could they, I mean go to bed with black guys? I mean these are the kind of people that should be locked up in a cage or kept on a leash: all they did was rob and kill and sell drugs. I just would never think of doing such a thing for real but fantasizing about it was fun.Just then I looked up and the two black men I had passed were coming towards me. I tried to start my car and the battery just went click, click, click. Oh my God, I surely would be killed or raped now. My heart was pounding so fast I nearly fainted again. Then one of them - the really black one - bent down by my window and tapped on it and asked if I was having trouble. I was so frightened I started to cry and nodded my head yes. He asked if I had a dead battery. I could not talk now and just nodded my head yes. He told me not to worry, that they had jump leads and if I would just pop the bonnet they could get me started. I knew it was just a trick but I had no choice. I thought if I cooperated they might just only rob and rape me, but I would still be alive, so I popped the hood.The other black guy moved his car a bit and soon they were hooking up the cables. After a few minutes they told me to try it. I did and the car started. They closed the bonnet and the really black guy came over to my window and said, “You’ll be okay now, ma’am. Just don’t turn the car off until you get home and have your husband check out your battery.”I could not believe it. They were going to let me live. I drove home and by the time I got home I realized I had been afraid for no reason. I actually started to feel ashamed of the thoughts I had about blacks. I got in the house and the excitement from the day had me wound up. I went into the bedroom and got undressed. I washed the dildo and lubricated it well. I turned it on and started to work it against my clit. Soon it was going in me and it felt pretty good. I pushed it in as far as it would go and then squeezed my legs together and felt it vibrate. I got the magazine and began to look at the pictures and read the stories. Soon I was rolling over and closing my eyes. My fingers began to rub and squeeze my nipples; something I had never done before. As I lay there I soon realized that my thoughts had turned to the two black men in the car park. I found myself terribly aroused and ready to cum. I reached down and grabbed the vibrating dildo and began to frig myself with it. In seconds I was having an earth shattering orgasm; one better than ever before. I also realized I was talking as I was doing this. What I was saying shocked me.I was saying, “Fuck me, you black bastard, fuck me, fuck me hard, you black bastard, fuck me.”My God, what had come over me? I was shocked and ashamed that I had done and said what I had. I quickly cleaned off the dildo and hid it and the magazine. Then I prepared dinner.I ignored the incident for the next two days, but by the third day I found my sexual appetite beginning to grow again. I retrieved my book and toy from hiding and had a repeat of the session a few days before. It was very satisfying and when I was done I convinced myself that it was harmless and just a way to relive my sexual tensions.Over the next week I began to increase the frequency of my play times. I had also read the entire magazine several times now and was getting a little bored with it. I decided to make another trip to the adult book store on the other side of town. I drove over and went in. This time there were several men in the store. This scared me, but the clerk remembered me and I felt okay. She asked if my friend had enjoyed the gifts and I told her she did very much. She said she was glad and told me to ask for help if I needed it. I looked around for a while and picked out several more magazines. This time there was one that had black men and white women in it. Just that one picture made me so hot I thought I would climax right then and there. I was walking around in a daze and was staring at the dildos. Karen, the clerk, came over and picked up a big black one that was motorized and had balls that could be filled. The price was $89.00. She told me that this was the best one for relieving tension. She said she had one just like it and it was great. She said it really made her husband jealous.I asked her, “You mean your husband knows you use one of these?”“Sure,” she said, “every time he ignores me I use it and, let me tell you honey, it stays hard until I’m done, not until he’s done. Don’t let any man tell you size does not count, ’cause I’m here to tell you it does. Look, I’ll make you a special deal on this one: I’ll take $20.00 off.”I took her up on the deal but since money was no problem for me I slapped an extra $20.00 down and told her it was a tip for good advice. On my way back to the car guess who I ran into? The two black guys who helped me the week before. They recognized me and asked how I was doing. I chatted with them for a few minutes and thanked them saying I wish I could repay them somehow. They said there was no need but if I wanted to I could buy them a cup of coffee some day. They said they stopped by here every Friday at 3:00 on their way home for work. I thanked them again and went on.I raced home and tried out my new toy. God, it was huge. It took a little work but I really was quite surprised at how easily it went in. The motor caused it to move in and out as well as vibrate. I had filled the balls with warm water. As I looked in the magazine with the black men and white women I was captivated. The contrast of the dark skin against the lily white females was amazing. One picture showed a huge black cock lying on a girl’s white breasts and I mean it was huge. She had a big smile on her face and I knew what she was smiling about. Another showed a black cock that they said was 11 inches long. In the next photo it was going down a pretty white girl’s throat. She managed to swallow it until it got to his balls. This magazine showed a lot of what had to be called white sluts craving black cocks. I was hot and was soon helping the motor by wiggling my hips and squeezing my nipples. I again heard my self begging, “Fuck me, you black bastard, fuck me.”As I was about to climax I reached down and squeezed the black balls. When I felt the spurt of hot water hit my cervix I climaxed in gushes. I just kept coming. In fact, I came so much that it started to scare me into thinking I would never stop!When I did, I just lay feeling my breasts and rubbing my clit. Soon I drifted off to sleep with the huge black cock moving in and out of my body. I had intense dreams about being with black men and if the maid had not made a loud noise my husband would have walked in on me and caught me in the act. As it was I barely had time to gather the stuff and get into the master bathroom before Jim came in. He wanted to know why I wasn’t ready and I was so engrossed in what I had been doing that I had no idea at first about what he was talking. He then reminded me we were having diner with the Smiths and Nelsons at Branigan’s, one of the most exclusive restaurants in town.I quickly got dressed in my new $900.00 dress while Jim put on his hand made suit that cost him over $2,200.00. Maria, my maid, helped me with my jewels and we were soon on the way to Branigan’s. The valet parked the car and we went in. The Nelsons and Smiths were already seated and having drinks. We did this sort of thing once a month. It was more of a show off dinner but we usually had a good time. The dinner usually cost about $90.00 per person but the new clothing and jewellery we all bought cost well over $1500.00 per person. Shortly after we arrived, an interracial couple was seated a few tables away. Ed Nelson made the remark that this place was now going to the dogs and several of the others chimed in and said their two cents worth. I was staring at the couple, noticing how happy the white woman seemed and how much a perfect gentleman the black man was. He had held his wife’s chair for her and was paying attention. Suddenly I realized that everyone at my table was trying to include me. I just brushed it off.I kept stealing looks as we waited for dinner. Then I noticed the woman get up sort of funny and head for the restrooms. It was then that I could see she was pregnant. I excused myself and went to the ladies’ room. The other two women at the table asked me if I wanted their company and I told them no, I would only be a minute. When I went in she was fixing her make-up and I asked, “When’s your baby due?”She said, “In two weeks,” and was very excited about it.I asked, “Is this your first?” and she said it was. Then she asked me if I had any kids. I told her no but that I wished I did.She said, “If you were married to my husband you would have kids. He wants 10 and as frisky as he is I don’t think I will get a chance to stop before then.”I asked her if ten was not a bit much. She told me that it was the right thing to do for her husband. She said that she had dated a lot of men before dating him and after the first night she knew he was the one she wanted. “A lot of people think I’m terrible because I married a black man, but let me tell you, I dated a lot of white guys before I met my husband and not one of them could hold a candle to him in bed and I’m not ashamed to admit it. He can’t keep his hands off me: I get lots of attention.”I wished her luck with her baby and went back to the table. Everybody noticed I was distracted at the table and I just said I had a headache.On the way home I asked Jim about us having kids. He told me to forget about it. I told him I wanted to us to go to bed together and make love when we got home and he told me, “After the football game.” He fell asleep as soon as he got into bed. I was mad. Here I was with what looked like everything from the outside. We lived in a $300,000 home, had two new Lincolns to drive, I had a maid and wore thousand dollar dresses. But what I did not have mattered most and that was a love life. I began going to the adult book store three times a week. I saw the two black guys again on Friday as I came out. I started to leave and decided, “To hell with it.” I waited for them to come up and told them it was time I bought them coffee. I followed them to a little coffee shop near by and introduced myself. They told me their names were Don and George. I found out they both worked in the factory where my husband was a sales rep. Their shift ended at half past two each day and they drove only a few blocks away from where I lived. They were both friendly and nice men. Finally Don said, “Rebecca, when you are ready, you just let us know, just take your time.”I pretended I didn’t know what he was talking about. He came back with, “Listen, Rebecca, you’re a pretty, rich, white woman on the wrong side of town making regular trips to the adult book store. We know you have been buying magazines with black guys and white women in them and we know you have been buying black sex toys. We also figured out you were scared to death of us when you first saw us and probably thought we would rob and rape you. But you kept coming back like something inside of you said that even that would be better than how it was now. Am I right?”He knew more about my feelings and problems than I did. I felt found out but relieved at the same time. I started to cry and told them that, “My husband ignores me and doesn’t care about me.”They tried to comfort me and finally we went outside. I got in the back of their car and Don sat beside me. George drove the car away. Don held me and rubbed my back. I found my self becoming sexually aroused and in a short time Don said, “Look out the window, Rebecca.”I did and noticed we were in the black section of town.Don said, “Just think about how many black cocks there are right here that you could go out and enjoy and nobody but you would ever know.” It was scary as hell but very exciting as well. Don picked up my hand and placed it on his crotch. I instantly felt his hard cock through the fabric. I grabbed it a few times because I just could not believe it was so big and so hard. He smiled at me and told me to take it out. I gave him an unsure look and he said, “We can stop any time you want, but I know what you want and what you need.”I unbuttoned his pants and pulled down his zipper. I reached in and felt a hot silky black-skinned cock throbbing in my hand. I got it all out and my mouth dropped open. It was so huge and so black. Don’s cock was much blacker than he was but the head of it was somewhat lighter.My mouth was still open and Don said, “Baby, that black dick is long but it can’t reach all the way up to your mouth. You got your mouth open like you think it can! Why don’t you suck it for me?”I was shocked; I told him I had never done anything like that. He said that it was time that that changed. He told me to kiss his cock and to do it now. He didn’t say it meanly but he did say it with authority. I slowly lowered my lips to his cock and kissed it. His cock gave off a musky aroma that was not unpleasant, but it was captivating. He put his hand on my head and told me to give his cock wet kisses; lots of them. I did as he said and noticed my heart beginning to race. I was also aware that his other hand had moved down my back to my bum and he was squeezing it as I kissed his beautiful hard black cock. After a few moments of kissing his cock he told me to lick it. I did not hesitate very long this time and began to lick his black shaft. It tasted good and his black skin felt silky to my tongue. I worked my may up towards his cock head while he kept telling me I was doing a good job. As my tongue circled his cock head he told me to take it in my mouth now. I did as he told me without pause and began to suck on his black cock with vigour. I was now very sexually excited. He instructed me on how to suck and pump his cock. As I did, he said, “Yes, Rebecca, I am going to turn you into a champion black cock sucker. I will take you around to the black bars and bet your mouth against the other white bitches present. If you win I will fuck your brains out. If you lose you will have to watch me fuck one of my other white girl’s brains out. You must remember, Rebecca, that only good little white sluts are rewarded with black cock.” (He would talk like this whenever we had sex from then on}.I did not realize it at the time, but he was training me to obey him and as a reward he would allow me the pleasure of a black cock. I noticed he was rubbing me faster and harder and that his hand was firmer on my head. Then he told me he was going to fill my mouth with his black seed and that I was not to waste a drop of it; that I must swallow all of it. I didn’t care what he said any more. I was having a mind blowing experience. Soon I felt his hot cum hit the back of my mouth. I sucked and swallowed as fast as I could. It tasted good and not at all like I thought it would. I sucked until he stopped me. I told him it was good, but I wished he had not cum. He asked me why and I told him I was hoping to feel his black cock between a different set of lips.He said, “Baby, you gots lots to learn abouts black cocks.” He told me to suck him again and I was amazed that he was instantly hard again. He started to take my clothes off and I helped. Don took his massive black cock and rubbed my clit with it until I was begging him to fuck me. His black cock was very large but I knew from the black dildo that it would fit. It felt at least a hundred times better than the dildo. It was fantastic. Here I was riding around in the all black part of town, stark naked with two strange black men and one was balling me. Don was kissing me and rubbing my breasts. My legs were up over his shoulder where any passerby could easily see what was occurring in the back seat of this car. Don had full control of how I moved and how deep he penetrated me. He was good. He moved slowly, allowing me to adjust to his massive black prick. He teased me by going slow and probing with the head of his cock. He kept changing his moves and speed so I could not get in sync and take advantage of him. He knew just how to make a woman submit and I felt right away that this man knew how to fuck a women.He kept talking to me as he worked his magic. As I got close to orgasm he started to ask me questions. He would slow or stop until I answered him the way he wanted. I soon gave in and told him what he wanted to hear. He asked me if I craved black cocks and I told him I did. He then told me not like I would after this day was over. He asked me if I wanted to be a black cock slut and fuck on demand. I told him I did. He asked me if I would ever run, hide or deny a black man sex from now on. I told him no; never. He told me he did not believe me and stopped. I was so close. It wasn’t fair. I had no choice: I begged him and he asked me if I would prove it. I told him I would. He let me have the black cock I needed so badly and I came like never before. I was screaming with pleasure as he fucked my brains out. Just after I came I felt his hot fertile black seed splashing against my cervix and that made me cum more and harder. When I had finished he kept his black love tool in me and began moving it slowly and causing me to get highly excited really fast. I heard him tell George to go to the warehouse. I did not know what it meant and I did not care where it was.Don kept me primed but not on the verge of cumming as George drove. We got to the location Don had requested and there were a lot of black guys hanging around. He rolled down the window over my head and when the black guys came up he said, “Hey, bros, we gots this real prim and proper married white woman here who has finally admitted her need for black meat. She wants to get all she cans gets todays. Sos Is looking fors some help.”I could not believe what I had just heard him say, but then there was nothing I could do about it. I was so hot and lying there stark naked with that big black cock working me to a frenzy.Don said, “You said you would prove it: now’s your chance, white girl.”They all took turns. I never did get a count but Don told me I had six black men take a turn. Some of them had several turns. They opened the door by my head and there were always two at a time on me; one with his long black dick in my mouth and the other with his big black cock in my dripping pussy. All I know is that I did not mind any of it. I had more sex, better sex and was more satisfied than anytime in my life. Several times two would stand over my face and I would lick their cocks and stroke them one in each hand until they shot hot black cum on my face, tits, and in my hair and open mouth. My eyes were filled with their sticky black jism and I loved it. I had truly become a black cock slut and was actually proud of it. After a while, one of them said my cunt was so stretched that they needed a new hole. I was turned over and my virgin anus became the newest orifice on my body to be filled with black cum.They were gentle. None of them raped me: they were nice and were only interested in filling me with their black jism. When they finally finished with me I don’t think there was an inch on my white body that did not have black sperm on it or oozing out of it. I even had it in my nose and ears. They had wiped their sloppy cocks on my bum and legs as well as my belly. Cum covered my tits, face and hair. I used to freak out when my husband leaked some on my thigh and would take a bath right away to clean it off. Now look at me: I was covered in it.Before they all left I was introduced to each one of them. Don gave them my full name and where I lived as well as my phone number and told them they could call me whenever they wanted. I then knelt in front of each one and licked their balls and cock clean, finishing with a suck to drain them as a thank-you.Don tossed me a towel when I had finished the last one and I wiped some of the cum from my face. We got back in the car and I leaned over and started to suck his fantastic black cock. I told him I was grateful for all he had done for me. He was like a hero sharing me with his black friends so I could get what I needed so badly. He told me he was not done yet. I told him that I did not think I could really take any more sex today. Don laughed and said, “No baby, not today; you have had enough for one day, but from now on there will be some changes. First of all, you’re going to take some of the money your husband makes and buy some new clothes. I want you in skirts; no more pants. I want those skirts no more than half way to your knees. No more panty hose. It’s nylons from now on. And heels, I want you in 4 inch spike heels.”I agreed to what ever he said, I was just so happy.When we got back to my car I was still not dressed and had to put my clothes back on. Cum was still seeping out of my cunt and arse. I didn’t care and just got dressed. I got home just before my husband and took a bath. I went to bed early and dreamed sweet dreams.The next morning Maria told me there was a call for me and that it sounded like a black man. I took the call and it was Leo, one of the gang bangers from the day before. He told, not asked, me, that he would be there in half an hour and to be ready for him to fuck me. I asked him how I would explain his presence. He said, “Tell them you’re interviewing for a handy man.”So I did and Leo showed up. We went into the study and Leo was soon poking me with his nine inch black rod. He pumped me for quite a while and I came several times then he shot his hot fertile load in me. A few hours later, John called and said he would be over to fuck me. John showed up and I sucked and fucked him until both of us had cum several times. Then, at quarter to three, Don showed up at the door and I was happy to see him. We quickly went to the den and Don fucked me well. He told me that the next night I was to meet him ’cause he was taking me to a black club where I would be passed around so I could show my worth as a white slut black cock sucking bitch. He told me to make sure I was dressed properly.I had two more visitors the next day and was really enjoying the attention and all of the sex. Then I met Don at eight o’clock as he had told me. He took me to “Wild Willy’s” place and we went in. There were two other white women in there. We sat at a table and soon a large black man came over to the table and said, “Dat’s a nice white bitch yous gots there.”Don smiled back and said, “Better than any you ever had.”“Hows you knows dat?” came the reply.Don smiled back and said, “I know, I know.” Then he told me to stand up. I did, feeling nervous. Next he told me to raise my skirt so the man could see the merchandise. I did until my panties showed. Don told me to take them off. I questioned him and he said, “Listen, bitch, I told you to show the man the merchandise and you better get those panties off or you’ll be wearing them in your mouth the rest of the night.”I started to shake. I reached under and took my panties off and lifted my dress again. Most of the others in the bar were now watching. Don told me to show the other side. I turned and lifted, revealing my lily white bum to this stranger and most of the others in the bar. Then Don told me to show my tits to him. I opened my dress and took off my bra. Both my nipples were rock hard from the embarrassment and excitement of the situation.The stranger asked how much and Don told him the first time was a beer for him and after that it was $5.00. I was totally shocked and my mouth flew open. Don saw it and laughed. He said, “I was not sure you would pay more than $5.00 for him to fuck you as you might run out of money before the night is over.” I was shocked again. I mean, I am a well to do, attractive white woman and I was not about to pay any black man to fuck me. I told Don so. He grabbed me by the hair pulled me over his lap and spanked my bare bottom right there while everybody watched and laughed. After he had spanked me for a while he told the stranger to stick his black dick in my mouth. The stranger did just that and I soon forgot about the pain on my arse and got into what I was being trained to do. I got $5.00 out of my purse and handed it to the man and said, “I want it twice.”Everybody clapped their hands and he smiled at Don and took me out to his car. About half an hour later I was back with a cum filled pussy and pleasant taste in my mouth. I was offered to eight other black men that night and it cost me $45.00 total. We then went back to my car where I sucked him on the way and fucked him after we got there. I thanked him for the great time.The next day I had two more black visitors and this repeated itself for the next week. On Friday my husband came home and told me that things were getting out of hand. I asked him what he meant. He said that a bunch of the black guys were talking about a white woman who would pay black men $5.00 to fuck her. I got scared. He said, “Can you imagine a woman so desperate that she would stoop so low as to fuck black men and worse yet pay them? She must be a real dog.”I asked if he knew who she was and he said no, but they were passing around pictures of her at a gang bang at some warehouse. “You couldn’t have recognized her even if you did know her with all the black cocks in and on her and her face was completely covered in cum. Can you imagine such a thing?”“Yes, I mean, no I can’t.” I said. God, I did not know there were pictures taken that day! Maybe it wasn’t me.The next day when I met Don I asked him about the pictures. He said yes, there had been a lot taken and the guys really enjoyed it when they showed them to my husband and he was unaware that he was looking at his own wife. I asked what he said when he saw them. Don said that Jim just said, “That’s great, guys. You get that pussy.”“So basically he told you it was okay to fuck his wife?” I asked.“Yes but he did not know it was his wife, or you, I mean,” said Don.“Let’s fuck,” I said.Don fucked me well while I thought about the entire thing. It really turned me on knowing my husband had seen photos of me being fucked by black men.After we got done I told Don I had a plan and asked if he would help me. I told him the plan and he loved it. I gave Don a key to Jim’s car. I had the guys tie me up in the warehouse. I was wearing a long blonde wig to cover my brown hair. I wore a new dress. While I was waiting, the guys took turns at me to pass the time. Don arranged for two black guys to hide in Jim’s car. When Jim got in they showed him a gun and told him to drive to the warehouse. They brought him in and told him they needed some sex and they could fuck the girl or him.He said, “Fuck her.”Then the leader told him that she was in her most fertile time and they had no protection and if they fucked her she would almost certainly get pregnant and carry a black baby. They told Jim that she was married to a white guy and that might be a problem, but if they were to use him she could go free. He again told them they should fuck her. They asked what if he was her husband? Would he still say that?He said, “Yes.”They questioned him and called him a liar and a chicken. They finely gave him a paper and pen and told him to write out that it was okay for them to fuck this white woman and it would still be okay if it were his mother, sister, wife or daughter. Jim wrote it out and signed it. They then said they could rob him or he could volunteer to let him pay them to fuck her. He asked how much and they said $5.00 a fuck. Jim said he would gladly do that if they would then let him go.The black men then untied me and moved me into position. They offered him the chance to renege one more time and he did not. They started to gang bang me, filling my arse, cunt and mouth with cocks. After a while my wig fell off but Jim still did recognize me. Then all of a sudden he did. By now more than five men had cum in my pussy, my bum and my mouth. Jim was horrified and started to scream. The leader went over with two helpers and sat him down and told him how it was. “We have your signed statement and the fact you are paying men to fuck your wife. If we go to the police and tell them you will go to jail, you will make the headlines, your wife will divorce you and you will lose everything. So, here’s how it is going to be. You will continue to pay black men to fuck your pretty little white wife. She likes black cock and needs to have it. We’re impregnating her right now as you watch with very fertile black sperm. We will continue to impregnate her once a year. She will carry and bare the black children until we are satisfied she has had enough. You will do what you are told and see that she gets all the black cock she wants. Is that clear?” Jim nodded his head and the black guy said , “On your knees, whitey: suck my dick as proof you will obey.”Jim took his trembling hands and opened the black man’s zipper and took out the massive black cock and started to suck on it. More pictures were taken as Jim sucked the leader’s black cock and I was fucked into pleasure once again. When they were finished, They filled his pockets with pictures as a reminder. Jim was really quiet that night and cried several times.Things have changed a lot around our home. I have two, sometimes three, black lovers a day. I still go out to bars with Don but now Jim comes along and pays the black studs $10.00 to fuck me. Sherry comes over and we share black lovers and laugh about how prim and proper our friends think we are. We are proud to be black cock craving white sluts and since we are both pregnant with black babies in our wombs we are soon going to prove it. I have a nice big picture of Don over my bed and one over the fire place. My home has lots of pictures of my lovers in the halls, library, den, living room and parlour. There are no pictures of white males on the walls and those that were there have been replaced by famous black men. Sherry and I are initiating more and more bored married white wives to the benefits that only a black cock can provide.<br />All his friends and relatives know I am pregnant but they have no idea that it was one of a hundred or more black cocks that impregnated me. I am saving that for when they visit at the hospital or when I first come home. I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces when they see that Jim’s pretty white wife has given birth to a black child. I just know I am going to have a blast explaining about it and I hope to convert some of my pretty prim and proper white friends. What’s next for us? More black babies for sure. Sherry and I want to have as many black babies as we can. We feel it’s only right to show our love for black cocks. Teaching our husbands how to be black cock craving white sluts so they can suck and fuck right along with us! Jim won’t admit it yet but I see the way he now sucks the hard black cocks that are waiting to fuck my white pussy. He does it with care; not like he did at first, just to get through it. And I also have noticed that he is now beginning to hump the superior black dicks that are filling his arse and unloading their black seed in it. I am increasing his black cocks from one a week to four a week this week and it will go to 7 a week next week then 14 a week the week after. Then I am going to shut him off until he breaks down and begs for them. I will make him suffer for a few days then Don can take him to the warehouse where the guys can gang bang him. That will do the trick, I am sure. I am also increasing his feminine role as this goes on. I plan to have him very well feminized by then so that the black studs will want to fuck him and make him suck their cocks. I think it will be great when he is approached by a black hunk and curtsies to him as he addresses the black man as master and then sinks to his knees in preparation for worshiping the supreme black cock. I love seeing my husband humiliated and dehumanized by these wonderful black lovers of mine. It’s just so sexy and makes the black man doing it a real sex object to me. I love to be fucked and especially impregnated by black cocks but the biggest turn on for me is being fucked by Don with his fantastic rock hard black cock and feeling his black balls banging against me while looking over at my sissy wimp husband dressed as a female with his red lipstick covered lips wrapped around a thick hard black cock and a second black cock pumping his arse full of fertile black seed: it’s just the best. Whichever woman that said diamonds are a girl’s best friend must have said it before she tried black cock!Jim is forced to watch as my lovers work me over at home. Most of the time when we are out at a black bar he is forced to sit at the table with Don and listen to the humiliating remarks said about his manhood or lack thereof. Jim no longer sits at the head of the table. That place is saved for Don. Jim is at the table however, as a servant. He must stand and wait on Don throughout the meal. If Don drops or throws some food on he floor Jim is expected to get down on his hands and knees and lick it up. Don loves to see Jim humbled in such a manner as he knows it makes me extra hot. Don keeps adding to Jim’s subjugation and humiliation. Recently he gave Jim a photo of Don and me naked and engaged tightly together to carry in his wallet. Then he gave him a new emergency card already filled out. In an emergency the caller is to call Don and under relation it says “Master and wife’s black lover.” I have added my two cents worth as well by making Jim wear feminine clothing and make-up when at home. I think it will make him more attractive to the blacks who visit and hopefully they will begin to treat him as a girl. I make him wear a black butt plug in his bottom all the time now to get well stretched for his new role as a black cock craving white slut.<br />end<br />What is expected?<br />Blacks have the right and expectation to be assured that white females will present themselves in a respectable manner and then meet certain criteria. Each Black owner will then train each white female servant to meet their particular requirements. So what we will discuss here is general presentation of the white female to a Black owner for further enhancement.<br />The white female must first realize that her Black owner, male or female is going to expect she dress nicely. In a manner that accents her features. She may not dress sloppily or without regard to style. This means no sweats, no pants (unless very short and very tight hot pants). It also means that what she wears underneath must be pretty and sexy as well. Panty hose is a huge NO, No. and in fact the white female should not wear panties at all. Her bra should be a uplift style and open if possible or no bra at all. Tops should be low cut and thin and skirts must be short and flattering.<br />The white female must understand that her husband or white boyfriend did NOT want her to look good. He was always in fear of others taking her away or her finding out how good real men (Black Men) are. So his idea of how she was to dress was to make her look dumpy or frumpy or just plain. He wanted her to dress for him not her and of course this did not help her to look her best.<br />The Black Master does not have this concnerns. He is not afraid of other males, especially white males. He wants her to look her best so she can feel her beauty and see how others react to her beauty. The white female is like art and should be displayed and viewed and enjoyed, not hidden as if she were an embarrassment. The Black owner is proud of what he owns and wants his property to be displayed for others to enjoy as well. This must always be kept in mind when the white female is presenting herself to her new Black owner.<br />The black owner is a busy and important person and does not have time to fiddle or wait. That is why she should never wear panties or bra. If he wants to feel her or look at her or display her to his friends there should be no delay or anything to hamper this action.<br />The female must always be clean and presentable. It’s best for her to shave her pubics or at least trim them very tight. Her head hair must be clean and brushed and her make up in such a manner as to accent her looks not diminish them.<br />Attitude is also important. She must be attentive making sure she pays all her attention to her owner, that she does for him. She must be completely loyal and obedient and never doodle when given a command or expected to do something. She must remember she is HIS property and her goals must match HIS. When he expects something from her she must deliver without hesitation or complaint. She must understand that her Black Master knows what is best for her and by her doing what she is told or what is expected of her she will become a much happier and more content person. She will be well satisfied and taken care of.<br /><br />Her attitude must also be proper. It must be respectful and submissive. She must be the perfect wife to her new Black owner, love, honor and obey. Her attitude must be one of pleasing. If she works hard at pleasing her Black Master he will reward her kindly and she will be happy. She must never contradict or argue with him, she must remember he is her superior in every way and she can only learn and follow not lead. She must respect his guests and friends and other wife’s both Black and white. She must also work to control any white males that are servants as well. Her status is above the lowly white male but below the superior Black male at all times.<br />Above all she must take her training very seriously. It is NOT up to her how she will look, act or respond that is up to the Superior Black who owns her. She must work diligently at pleasing her black owner by improving herself to her owner’s expectations.<br />The perspective white female servant can achieve great things in her service to Black owners. All she has to do is be loyal, dedicated and obedient and she has it made. The Black owner seeking a perspective white female servant needs these characteristics in order to spend their valuable time in training and indoctrinating the white female into a perfect white servant to Blacks.<br />Presented by Blacks for improved white servants<br />White females with husbands or boyfriends must understand that her new Black owner expects her to be loyal to him and not them. They are to be completely shut off sexually and her sexual loyalty devoted entirely to her Black owner and his or her whims. Black owners often share their white servants with others and if told to give her self to another Black she must do so without hesitation and treat him or her like the King or Queen they are but this never applies to another white, no matter even if that white is her husband. All her sexual rights belong to the Black owner and none to any white and especially to any white husband. She may find this somewhat difficult in the beginning because of habit but once she feels the power of her Black owner and experiences the satisfaction and joy that only a Black owner can provide she will overcome these feelings easily but until then she must obey her owner to the letter or suffer the consequences.<br />What is expected?<br />Blacks have the right and expectation to be assured that white males will present themselves in a respectable manner and then meet certain criteria. Each Black owner will then train each white male servant to meet their particular requirements. So what we will discuss is the general presentation of the white male to a Black owner for this enhancement.<br /><br />The Black Master must have concnerns about how his white male servant will act and respond. By dressing him in the above manner he has no more concnerns. The white male is like art and should be displayed and viewed and enjoyed, not hidden as if he were an embarrassment but he should be displayed in a manner that lets all know who owns him and that he is owned and not a free thinking person. The Black owner is proud of what he owns and wants his property to be displayed for others to enjoy as well. This must always be kept in mind when the white male is presenting himself to his new Black owner.<br />The black owner is a busy and important person and does not have time to fiddle or wait. When the male servant is given an order the order must be acted upon immediately without hesitation or resistance. It is not up to the white male to judge or question, he must understand that his Black owner is at least ten times as smart as he and that his only purpose in life is to serve his Black superiors. He must also serve with joy, a complaining or soulful expression will not due for a white male servant and if this should occur the Black owner has only one recourse, swift and strict discipline.<br />The male must always be clean and presentable. It’s best for him to shave his pubics’ or at least trim them very tight. His head hair should be allowed to grow into a feminine style and it must be clean and brushed and his make up in such a manner as to accent his looks not diminish them.<br />Attitude is also important. He must be attentive making sure he pays all his attention to his owner, that he does for him. He must be completely loyal and obedient and never doodle when given a command or expected to do something. He must remember he is HIS property and his goals must match HIS. When he expects something from his servant the servant must deliver without hesitation or complaint. He must understand that his Black Master knows what is best for his and by his doing what he is told or what is expected of his he will become a much happier and more content person. He will be well satisfied and taken care of.<br />White males with wives or girlfriends must understand that his new Black owner expects him to be loyal to him and not them. They are to be completely shut off sexually and his sexual loyalty devoted entirely to his Black owner and his or his whims. Black owners often share their white servants with others and if told to give him self to another Black he must do so without hesitation and treat him or her like the King or Queen they are but this never applies to another white, no matter even if that white is his wife. All his sexual rights belong to the Black owner and none to any white and especially to any white female. He may find this somewhat difficult in the beginning because of habit but once he feels the power of his Black owner and experiences the satisfaction and joy that only a Black owner can provide he will overcome these feelings easily but until then he must obey his owner to the letter or suffer the consequences.<br />His attitude must also be proper. It must be respectful and submissive. He must be the perfect wife to his new Black owner, love, honor and obey. His attitude must be one of pleasing. If he works hard at pleasing his Black Master he will reward his kindly and he will be happy. He must never contradict or argue with him, he must remember he is his superior in every way and he can only learn and follow not lead. He must respect his guests and friends and wives’ both Black and white. His status is below the white female, Black female and below the superior Black male at all times.<br />Above all he must take his training very seriously. It is NOT up to his how he will look, act or respond that is up to the Superior Black who owns his. He must work diligently at pleasing his black owner by improving himself to his owner’s expectations.<br />The perspective white male servant can achieve great things in his service to Black owners. All he has to do is be loyal, dedicated and obedient and he has it made. The Black owner seeking a perspective white male servant needs these characteristics in order to spend their valuable time in training and indoctrinating the white male into a perfect white servant to Blacks.<br />Presented by Blacks for improved white servants<br />The white male must first realize that his Black owner, male or female is going to expect he dress appropriately. In a manner that diminishes his manhood and accents his submission. He is not dressing to impress other males or females but rather to display his recognition that he is a servant and inferior to his owners. This typically means unisex or feminine clothing to one degree or another. It also typically means tucking or chastity of his male genitals. Many Black owners prefer to see the male turned into a feminine maid. This accomplishes several tasks at once. First it places a mind set on the white male so that he understands he is the maid and has no male or manly purpose. Second it tells others that this white male servant accepts his status and place in the home and third it tells all the white females that he is not really a man and should not be considered one or treated as one. This all accomplishes the specific goal of indoctrinating the whites as to their place in their Black owner’s home. A white male dressed in a maid’s uniform, heels and makeup has no questions about who is boss or what his status is neither does his wife.<br />end<br />To read more cuckold stories, check out our cuckold profiles with email address, personal ad or photos, go to <a href="http://www.haway.org/">www.haway.org</a><br />Hello everyone. My name is Lexi and I love black cock. To tell you a little about me. I am 29 years old, 5'9, 125 lbs, blonde hair, blue eyes, clean shaven, 38D cup and married to a man with a tiny dick. A little about me. I met my husband in the 10th grade and it was love at first site. We were married right after high school and we went to the same college. After graduation, we both found jobs, then a nice little three-bedroom home. We have a good life together and we are best friends. We do everything together, go everywhere together and he was the only man for me. How did I get started loving black cock? It all started one day about 4 years ago when my husband came to me and asked me how I would feel about having another man join us in bed. At first, I was horrified. How could the man I loved want to share me with another? I didn't talk to him for three days I was so upset. About a month later he approached me, he asked me again about having another man join us in the bedroom. I thought for a minute and asked him who he had in mind. He told me about a co-worker that he had become very good friends with and told me I would have fun, having two men give me all the attention and doing their best to please me. I thought about the idea. I mean, I have had fantasies about being a slut for several men at one time, but they we only fantasies. I told my husband that we could meet him for drinks and just see how it went. The date was set for Friday night and I was scared as hell. The thought of meeting another man for great sex excited me and scared me. My husband has been the only man I have been with in 10 years. That night I put on my make up, a skintight dress, cum fuck me pumps and decided not to wear a bra. As I looked in the mirror, I was thinking how hot I looked and how every man in the lounge would want me that night. We arrived at the lounge and around 9pm and Jim, his co-worker, was already they're waiting on us. I must admit, Jim was roughly handsome. He kind of reminded me of the Marlboro man. We shook hands at the introduction and then we sat down in a booth. I found myself between my husband and Jim with my dress getting shorter. I could tell that Jim liked what he saw. We ordered drinks and after two Manhattans, I was really starting to get into Jim. A slow song came on and my husband suggested that we dance. Once on the dance floor, I just melted into Jim's arms. At the end of the song, Jim leaned forward and kissed me and I got so wet. Knowing what I was here for, I suggested to Jim that perhaps we should find a place more private. He suggested his place. We went back to the table to inform my husband that we were all going to Jim's place and I would be riding with Jim and he could follow us, but first, I had to go to the restroom and told my husband to pay the tab. Once in the restroom, I removed my panties. When I got back to the table, the men were standing and waiting on me. I immediately stood close to Jim and he put his arm around me with his hand resting on my ass. Jim escorted me to his car and before opening the door, we kissed again with Jim's hand all over my breast. After a kiss to die for, he opened the door for me and I got in. Jim started the car and we headed for his place. It wasn't long before Jim was finger fucking me on the way over there. All I could do was to lay back and enjoy his attention with my legs spread as wide as his car would allow. It was a short drive to Jim's place and my husband was right behind us. I was still a little nervous about the whole thing and asked Jim if I might have something strong to drink. Jim made the three of us rum and coke. I sat down in the middle of the couch with my husband on one side and Jim on the other. When I was about half way through with my drink, Jim pulled me to him and kissed me passionately while groping my breast. All I could do was enjoy the moment. Jim took my hand and put it on his crotch. I undid his belt, pulled down his zipper, reached into his underwear and pulled out a rock hard eight-inch cock. I was totally and completely caught off guard. I broke from our kiss and sat straight up to see what I was holding. My husband at best might be four and half inches and I know Jim must have seen the smile on my face and in my eyes. All of a sudden, I was like a kid in a candy store. I quickly got in front of Jim and on my knees and made a feeble attempt at trying to get as much of his cock into my mouth as possible. My god it was huge! While my husband was going down on me, I started talking to him. Asking if he had ever seen a cock as large as Scott's? Was he able to learn anything on how to satisfy a woman by watching Jim and Scott fuck the shit out of me? Did he enjoy watching other men please his wife? It didn't take long for me to have that last orgasm. After my orgasm, my husband got on top of me and penetrated me. His cock went right in without any problem or resistance. To tell you the truth, after having eight and ten inches inside of you, four and half just didn't quite make it. When my husband started fucking me, I couldn't help myself and I asked him, "are you in?" "Yes" my husband replied and then he came. "What was that, ten or twelve strokes honey?" I could tell my husband was hurt by my comments, but I was hurt that he was so small, now that I tasted the forbidden fruit.My husband sat back please with his accomplishment and Jim laid me on the couch. He then stood up and removed his clothing while staring at my pussy. "You're going to love this" he told me. Jim then got on the couch between my legs. I reached down and took his cock in my hand to guide him. I was so wet that Jim was able to get inside of me easily. Once he was all the way inside of me, I just held my breath. I was so huge and Jim touched me in places my husband never could. Then Jim proceeded to pound his massive cock into me and within the next thirty minutes, Jim was able to give me more orgasms than my husband had for the entire previous month. And, on top of that, my pussy was so sore. As they say, for the first time in my life, I was screwed, tattooed and put away wet. The next morning I woke up with my husband lightly kissing my neck. I was laying on my side with my back to him and I could feel his erection pressing against my ass. After last night of complete and total satisfaction, I didn't know if I was really up for sex, but I loved my husband. When I laid on my back, my husband started to shower me with kisses telling me how much he loved me, how great last night was and how horny he was from remembering the experience. I rolled over on too my back and my husband went for my breast like a starving man. After a few nibbles at my breast, he was on top of me and forced himself into my dry pussy. It didn't take him long to cum and for the first time in our relationship, I was disappointed. I was disappointed in his size and in his lack of attention for my needs. I spent the rest of the day in an emotional turmoil. At times I was wet from thinking about Jim and his huge cock and then I became angry from this mornings events. That night, I decided, if things were going to change, it would be up to me to make the changes. I realized I had to change our sex life from mediocre sex to great sex. I also realized I had a challenge in front of me because of the size of my husband's cock. Deep down I knew what I like and I was going to convey my wishes to my husband When my husband came to bed that night, I told him that I wanted three orgasms before he came. Then I proceeded to direct my husband on how to kiss my neck, kiss the inside of the thighs, how to fondle my breast and how to go down on me while wiggling his fingers inside of me. I was on top of my husband grinding my pussy into his cock, working on my second orgasm when he came. I was so disappointed in him but not finished. I got on my back, spread my legs and told my husband he owed me one more orgasm and I expected him to go down on me and give the last orgasm with his tongue. If you could have seen the look of shock on his face. My husband told me that it is gross to go down on my pussy while it was filled with his cum. I shook my head in disgust, rolled over and went to sleep. I didn't talk to me husband for three days. I ignored his advances, his conversation and his touch. I was so mad at him that I sleep on the couch for those three days, just to let him know how mad I was at him. During dinner Wednesday night, my husband pleaded with me to tell him what he could do to make it up to me. Finally I spoke. I told my husband that if he wanted to make it up to me that this Saturday night I wanted Jim to come over and bring a friend. The two of them would have sex with me while he watched and learned how men made love to a woman. My husband was hurt and refused. No problem I told him, no more pussy for him and he had to sleep on the couch from now on. Conversation between my husband and I was minimal for the rest of the week and I wouldn't let him touch me. On Friday night, I left my bedroom door opened slightly and masturbated making sure my husband could hear my moans of orgasms coming from the bedroom. Saturday morning I sleep in late. When I woke up, the house was cleaned, coffee on and my husband was smiling at me. "Jim and a friend will be over around 8pm tonight, is that ok dear?" my husband asked me? "Perfect" I replied. My husband and I enjoyed the rest of the day working on honey-do's around the house and there was a lot of conversation between us, just like best friends. Plus there was a lot of touching and kissing going on between us, but nothing sexual. I wanted to save that for later. Around 7pm, I went into the bathroom to get ready for my guest who were coming over. I wanted to make sure that I looked and smelled my best. A long bath, lots of shaving, make-up just right. I was so horny that if they guys didn't show up soon, I would be fucking the doorknob! Then I had an idea. Why get dressed, why not just meet them in the bedroom. I called my husband to the bathroom and informed him when I guest arrived, to give me five minutes and then escort them into the bedroom for me. I wanted to make sure everything was just right. From the lighting to how I would greet them. When the doorbell rang, I ran to the bedroom, pulled back all the covers, turn down the light and got under the top sheet. In about five minutes, in walked Jim, with my husband and a black man. At first I was shocked never considering have sex with someone outside of my race, but I was so horny and didn't want to debate the issue. Jim introduced his friend as Scott. "Don't leave a girl hanging boys" I said and both of them were quickly out of their cloths and lying besides me. Scott pulled me into his arms and gave me a deep kiss while Jim was kissing and feeling the rest of me from behind me. I let my hand run down Scott chest to his stomach to his cock. As I felt his cock, I soon realized it was bigger than Jim's cock. I kept one hand on Scott's cock and reach behind me until I found Jim's cock. As my hands roamed up both cocks, I then knew Scott's cock was bigger than Jim's was. I would have to guess that Scott's cock was at least ten inches if Jim's cock was eight. I had to have Scott's cock in my mouth just to see how much of it I could swallow. I was only able to get half of Scott's cock into my mouth. While I was sucking Scott's cock, Jim penetrated me from behind. I was in heaven. Somewhere while all of this was going on, I did manage to look over to the corner of the bedroom and noticed my husband was nude in a chair slowly stoking his puny pencil dick. I was wondering since Jim's cock stuffed me, what would Scott's cock do to me? I rolled Scott onto his back, left Jim's cock hanging and got on top of Scott and slowly lowered my pussy over Scott's cock until I had him completely inside of me. I just rested there for a minute enjoying the moment. When Jim stuck his cock to my mouth, I was brought back to reality and at one time, sucking Jim while fucking Scott. I had an orgasm that just about blew the top of my head off! After the first orgasm, all I could do was lay on my back with my legs spread and let each man enjoy my body, or was I enjoying their bodies? After both men had fucked me silly and came themselves, they left for the night. After my husband returned from seeing the men to the door, I was still in the middle of the bed with my legs spread. I just couldn't move from being so exhausted from all the orgasms. Cum ran out of my pussy and down the crack of my ass. "Honey, have you cum yet?" I asked my husband. He crawled into bed and laid down next to me and told me he hasn't. "Would you like to fuck your sore wife?" I asked. My husband just smiles broadly and started to get between my legs when I stopped him. "First, I want an orgasm with your tongue." "I can't do that, there is cum down there." he replied. "So?" I asked. "I can't, please don't make me." he cried. "Well, good night then." Then I gave him a quick kiss and rolled over to go to sleep. I knew it wouldn't take long as I was totally exhausted. My husband started pleading with me to let me fuck him, but his whining just went ignored. Finally, my husband agreed to give me one more oral orgasm and I rolled onto my back and spread my legs for him. While I was sucking on his cock, my husband pulled my dress up over my ass and was playing with my clit. It didn't take me long to cum. After I recovered from my first orgasm, the men stood me up, pull my dress off of me and laid me in the middle of the couch. Jim went down on me and started eating my pussy and my husband shoved his cock into my mouth. Wow, what an experience. Giving and getting head at the same time! When I approached my second orgasm, my husband came in my mouth. One thing about it, I was able to take my husbands entire cock into my mouth.<br />end<br />Q: What does a Keebler elf and a white person have in common?A: They both make crackers! Q: Whats long and thick on a white boy?A: Nothing<br />Q: What's black and blue and floats?A: A white boy who told too many black jokes <br />Q: Why are white boys Like a Door Handle? A: Because they only good for one time around. <br />Q: Why do white women have vaginas?A: So black men will talk to them.<br />Q: What do white boys use for birth control?A: Their personalities.<br />Q: Why don't women blink during sex with white boys?A: They don't have time.<br />Q: What's a white boy's idea of foreplay?A: A half hour of begging.<br />Q: How many white boys does it take to screw in a light?A: None white boys can't screw right.<br />Q: What 5 sizes does a penis come in?A: Small, medium, large, Oh my God , & does it come in white?<br />What's white and ten inches long?Absolutely nothing!<br />What's the difference between a white man and a snake?One is a evil, cold-blooded, slimy creature, and the other is asnake.<br />What do white girls and the Bermuda triangle have in common?They both swallow a lot of semen.<br /> white slave family<br /> The family consisted of me,( the grandfather), my wife, (also my owner), my daughter, her two children a boy 14 and a girl 15, and two sisters in law. My wife and i lived together in one home. My daughter and her children lived in 1/2 a duplex, the other half occupied by the sisters in law. Since a large insurance settlement, no one worked outside the home and the children went to a private school. the ages of the adults were, my daughter-38; my sister in law Meg, 55, my other sister in law pam, 66; my wife (pams twin) 66 and me, 71. we were all healthy and had been pretty vanilla most of our lives. With the advent of the insurance settlement came the predators. And two predators in particular became the total owners of this family. <br /> Master Leroy and Mistress Arethra were two extremely powerful BLACK PERSONS. The dominated our family with sheer power of will and awe. My daughter was the first to succumb, being seduced by Master Leroy within hours of their first meeting. He was a BIG man. 6'6 and 220 rock hard pounds. His cock was 9" flacid and 12" hard. His staying power was prodigous. My daughter Sarah, had been divorced and celibate for 10 years. When Master Leroy bedded Her She became his property!! He not only took Her body, he took her soul. And through Her, he and Mistress came into our lives. We still owned a rental property a block from our living quarters and we gave that to Them.full title. We then, one by one became enslaved to this powerful Black couple. it would be too long a story to detail each successive conquest, but it is fair to say that this white, christian family became slaves within a week of meeting Master and Mistress. One week. <br /> Now, i as the patriarch of the family had long ago been enslaved to my wife. She owned me just like she owned all our property. And She revelled in humiliating me and torturing me. When the settlement came in She bought the big house on the water and spent over a hundred thousand dollars building the ultimate dungeon. She became friends with a dozen Dommes in the area and they all had a wonderfull time at her house. So it was quite surprising to me to see this Dominatrix Owner of me, succumb to the Black Couple. While the women in my family continued to own me, they in turn were owned by Master leroy and Mistress Arethra!<br /> My sister in law would drive my grandkids to school every day. a long drive. as soon as She left, my daughter would go to Masters house. There She would strip naked, put on a steel collar that said "slave sarah". add ankle and wrist cuffs connected with heavy link chain, and finally insert in her rectum the remote controlled electric butt plug. Then She would begin her daily chores. washing dishes, vacuming, doing laundry and all the housework. Mistress Arethra would be sleeping. When she woke she would usually press the remote and a shock would heat up sarahs rectum. sarah would then become Arethra's personal maid, bathing her, painting her toenails, brushing her hair, massaging her big big buttocks, for Arethra was a BBW. Sometimes Arethra would have sarah lick her pussy, sometimes rim her asshole, and sometimes she would whip sarah's ass until she couldn't sit down. not that she was allowed to sit. She was a workhorse. At 3 every day she would return to her house to prepare dinner for the kids.<br /> When Master Leroy returned from his job in the city, he would often call on june, (my wife) and tell her to come give him a hummer. This pleased june because she too was mesmorized by the size of Master cock. Master enjoyed cumming on junes face and making her wear it to bed. sometimes it was pam, or meg. <br /> each month Mistress Arethra hosted a luncheon of the Black Womens Caucus. A Dominatrix club devoted to enslaving white men and women. on those occasions, the whole family, sans the kids, would attend as servants. each naked. each collared, each chained, each butt plugged. we would serve the sandwiches, and pie and drinks and whatever. we would keep everyones coffe cup filled. we would glide in and out in total silence, for we were forbidden to ever speak while in the presence of our Black Superiors. Usually, after lunch and the political meeting, we would furnish the entertainment. A favorite of the Caucus Ladies, was to have my daughter beat me up. Her fists, flying at my face and gut and Her knees slaming my balls up into my body. Only when i was unconcious would the pummeling stop. Then my daughter would sit on my face and shit in my mouth. The Black Ladies thought that hilarious. And to tell the truth, so did my daughter! She had been one of my owners for 5 years and had so totally broken me that a mere look from Her and i would tremble and rush to obey. Less fun for sarah was when the ladies had Her make tender and passionate love to her Mother! licking mothers pussy, kissing her and sucking on her breasts while her mother responded like a virgin on her wedding night. And so went our daily lives.<br /> On my grandsons 14th birthday, he was brought to the Masters house. His Mother told him that our family were slaves and that at 14 he too was their slave. To prove it, She ripped off his clothes and forced him to the floor where She sat on his face and masturbated him. Then She rolled his sobbing body over and with a strap on dildo, raped his ass. She told him that for the next month that wouldl happen every day, but not always with her. She said his sister would be fucking him too and Master Leroy would be fucking his mouth and Mistress Arethra would be draining his cock until is spewed blood. <br />end<br />The ad caused Becky Smith’s juices to stir; she read it three times and then read it three more times. Could it be true? Did it really say, “Prominent Professional Black Couple seeks white servants to fill domestic position in their home” Call 555 1212. She nearly tripped as she ran up the stairs to her husbands training center and blurted out what the ad said. His response was only an excited moan.<br />Just as Becky was about to get angry at her husband she realized the only response he could give as a moan as long as that large Black penis gag was locked in his mouth. Becky had continued her husband training even though her Black lover had been sent oversees to serve his country. Darrel had taught Becky about wimp white husbands and how to train them, but better yet he had taught her about hard Black cock and how it satisfied white females like nothing else on earth.<br />She looked at her husband with a look telling him that she wanted him to respond to her. But trussed up as he was in a very tight corset, penis gag, large vibrating Black butt plug, hands tied behind his back and ankles bound together with feet pressed into his training heels, heels that bent and shaped his arch so he had to wear high heels or he could not walk, it was unlikely that he could do anything but think about his position in life.<br /> <br />Then Beck’s eyes glanced over at the collection of photos placed for her husband to stare at for the hour long training session he endured twice a day. She loved the photos of her with Darrell. Kissing him, sucking his large manly cock, taking him in her tight ass and sucking him off. She also like the ones of her sissified husband doing the same things and longed for a Black lover once again to serve.<br />She ripped the penis gag from her husband’s mouth and told him the story and then told him she was going to call. She then flipped the vibrating butt plug to high and ran back out of the room leaving her husband in the beginnings of a feminized climax that was slowly sweeping his body. As she dialed the phone she could hear him moaning like a woman getting well fucked. Darrell had showed her this trick and explained to her that it proved that white males were no different than white females and were way far from ever being real men.<br />“Hello, Drs. Anderson’s residence Mrs. Anderson speaking”<br />“Ah Hello, I am calling about the ad in the newspaper fro white servants.”<br />“Oh, good my dear. Yes those positions are still open, are you and your husband white?”<br />“Yes, yes we are both white and we would love to serve a Black couple. We have some experience in serving Blacks, well a Black male, and well we really enjoyed it and found it very fulfilling.”<br />“Well that’s nice my dear. I find that most single Black men require, shall I say, different services than what we would require. Some will be the same I am sure but we expect a quite formal service. You will be serving at our dinners for example and we would expect total professionalism. Proper uniforms and such”<br />“Oh, what type of uniforms do you require, Madam?”<br />“Well for dinners we require a very proper full and short French maid’s uniform…on both of you. Heels would be 5 inch and you would be required to walk like you were born in them. That may not be a problem for you my dear but what of your husband?”<br /><br />“Yes dear, I am sure he did. You sound like you may be what we are looking for; we will need to interview you in person you understand. How bad do you want this position?”<br />“Oh we would do anything you asked to have the opportunity to serve you Ma’am”.<br />“Ok then, I will take your word for that and give you a chance to proof you are worth our time in looking you over. Tomorrow is Sunday, where do you live?”<br />“We live at 2414 Apartment 7B on 48th street, Ma’am”<br />“Write this down then, let’s see, I want you to walk to 59th and superior and take the buss to 222nd and Oak. From there you will walk to elm, take a left and go 9 blocks. On the left you will find our home at 7123 Elm. I want you here at 10:00 AM sharp which means you will have the Sunday Morning crowds to deal with. I want you both to arrive in your prettiest French maid’s uniforms and 5 inch heels. If you are asked about your attire or destination you are to inform the person asking that you are going to apply for a position as servants to a prominent Black couple’s home. Do not give out the address. I will have a plant or two along the way so do not disappoint me. Your interview starts now and you will be watched. I expect you to be proud of whom you will be working for and that means being seen in public. If you can not comply wit these instructions you need not apply, is that clear?”<br />“Yes Ma’am, Thank You Ma’am, we will be on time and properly dressed.”<br />“Good, Good by my dear”.<br />Becky quickly ran upstairs to find her sissified husband in a terrible state. She had left the vibrator on high and he was exhausted and limp. As she released him she explained the entire situation to him. He could only nod his head. She left him crumpled on the floor as she went to begin to prepare for the next morning.<br />Sunday AM Becky arose with a sparkle in her eye. She jumped out of bed and nearly landed on her husband lying in his dog bed. He had been regulated to the dog bed on the floor beside Becky’s bed when Darrell had moved in and cut him off from sex with Becky. She snickered as she looked at her sissified husband’s startled look. There he lay in a nightgown and training corset, a large Black penis gag in his mouth and a color locked on his neck. His arch trainers locked on his feet to shape his feet properly for the 5 inch heels that Darrell insisted he learn to wear. She thought how pitiful white males really were. What use were they other than as maids’ ands sex toys. Darrell had been perfectly correct when he taught her what white males we most useful for. She indicated for pansy boy to get on his hands and knees and she unlocked the large Black butt plug he wore during the night so he could use the bathroom. Later she would remove his penis gag and marvel at the way his mouth had formed to the perfect shape for cock sucking, Black cock sucking that is. <br />Becky quickly readied herself and scolded pansy to move faster and that if he screwed anything up he would be living in the park in what he was going to be wearing to the interview. He reacted as she had hoped and expected, with fear and respect.<br />Pansy was relieved to be able to go out without the penis gag and butt plug that we was forced to wear most of the time. As he walked down the hall to the elevator Becky instructed him to sway his hips more, that he was a sissy now and was supposed to be trying to attract real men.<br />In the elevator they saw their neighbor Mrs. McDonald who asked them about what they were doing. Becky quickly recalled what Mrs. Anderson had told her and she explained that they were applying for a job as white servants to a prominent Black couple. Mrs. McDonald raised her eyebrows and turned away.<br />They reached the street and began walking toward the bus stop. Several people stared and a few giggled at them. Pansy was quite embarrassed as he had never been in public like this in full daylight. He grabbed Becky’s hand and she told him it was alright that the others were just jealous.<br /><br />When they got on the bus several of the people really gave them the eye and few turned their heads. Becky told pansy to stand and fluff his petticoats so they did not get mangled from sitting on them. The woman across the isle asked Becky what the occasion was and so Becky once again explained their situation. She smiled and said, “is he your husband?’ Becky replied that it was. The lady smiled and said, “Good for you, I had a Black lover when I was younger and after that I never let my husband touch me again, it was such a waste and so frustrating to let him try and please me.”<br />The rest of the ride was quiet and when they got off the bus they found they had entered a predominantly Black neighborhood though one that was very up scale. As they proceeded to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Anderson they got many inquisitive stares and several people questioned if they were In the right neighbor hood. Becky assured each one that she was in the right place and what her business was. All of these people were Blacks and they seemed to approve of her and pansies situation. A few even asked Becky if pansy was a girl or a boy and she told them he was a sissy, a white male so he was better off in a dress than pretending he was a man. All of the Blacks agreed that was a perfectly understandable situation. Becky was gaining confidence with each conversation but pansy was a real wreck. He was totally overwrought with fear and hoped nobody would figure out he was a sissified male. He though he could pass for a girl but found that others could still tell she was a he.<br />Finally the two white maids arrived at 7123 Elm. It was a magnificent home and both white servants were in awe as they looked at each other in amazement. This excited Becky even more and seemed to calm pansy’s fears a bit. Nervously Becky knocked at the door and soon it opened to a beautiful and majestic looking Black Lady of about 40 years old. She was dressed in expensive clothes and had a very regal look about her. So much so that both white maids instantly lowered their eyes and gave deep respectful curtseys.<br />“I assume you are Becky and Pansy, your right on time, do come in”<br />Becky and pansy scurried into the fabulous home and followed Mrs. Anderson down the hall into the parlor where they first laid eyes on Mr. Anderson. Pansy began to tremble as soon as he saw Mr. Anderson. He was a man of men at 6 foot 4 and 280 pounds. Very handsome and muscular. Becky nearly swooned when she saw him and here eyes instantly locked on to his crotch where she could see he was well qualified as a white female tamer.<br />“You may kneel in the middle of the floor for this interview”<br />The two whites recognizing they were in the presence of true majesty instantly went to their knees and bowed their heads in submission to the two superior Blacks. The Andersons glanced at each other and gave knowing smiles and nods. They were quite experienced with inferior whites and enjoyed training them into more productive citizens. The last white couple they had employed as servants had recently been sold to a Black couple in South Africa where they would not enjoy quite the same freedoms that they had in the US, but no matter, they were inferior whites and their only useful purpose was to serve and please Blacks like them. So they reasoned why not train them into useful beings, provide other Blacks with good white servants and make a profit on it as well.<br />Mr. Anderson walked over to his sitting chair and sat down. He looked at the two of them for a few seconds and then he told Pansy to stand and twirl. Pansy did as told and then Mr. Anderson instructed pansy to twirl several more times. He then asked “Pansy, do you know what this is for?” as he took out his massive 9 inch thick Black cock. Pansy said, “Yes master I do.”<br />Mr. Anderson then told Pansy to prove it. Pansy walked to Mr. Anderson and knelt before him and begin to run his long red nails gently up and down the Black cock. Soon he was laying gentle kisses on the shaft and around the head. After carefully caressing the marvelous cock he opened his mouth to suck it in. Mr. Anderson was surprised at the ease at which Pansy could suck his large cock in and asked Becky to tell him about it. Becky explained about Darrell and how he had put Pansy on a training regime and what it consisted off. Mr. Anderson was quite impressed and told her, “Becky, it is common for you lowly whites to desire to suck Black cock. It fills a deep need harbored in you and is self satisfying to any white who performs this task but seldom do I see a white so well trained to take such a large cock, I commend you.” Becky turned red with fluster at such praise coming form so superior a man as Mr. Anderson. By now Pansy was really working Mr. Andersons cock into a lather and soon caused Mr. Anderson to grab Pansies head and hold it as he mouth fucked the white wimp. Soon Mr. Anderson was spewing his hot cum into Pansies mouth and pansy did his sissy best to suck it all down. Mrs. Anderson was quite impressed at how fast Pansy was able to bring Mr. Anderson to a climax and how much effort the little white servant put into slurping all of his cum down.<br />This pleased them both. It had been their experience that many whites would say they were trained or experienced because it had become such a status symbol among whites to be Black owned and Black trained, but many only wished they were and were actually not. But when a white male arrived after walking in a short French Maids uniform and pleasured a Black Mans cock like this one had done it was quite obvious that he was well trained and very experienced.<br />After Pansy cleaned up Mr. Anderson’s cock and licked his balls and thanked him for the privilege Mrs. Anderson took her turn. She directed Pansy to follow her which he did. She went to the bathroom where a special toilet waited. She asked Becky if pansy was toilet trained to which Becky replied that he was. Mrs. Anderson remarked that she would find out how true that was. This toilet was prepared so that a white sissy male could place his head under the seat from the rear. Here he would lie and accept the bottom of the superior Black woman that sat down to pee. Pansy opened his mouth wide so that his lips would cover her vagina lips and provide a good leak proof seal. Mrs. Anderson was pleased with the precision Pansy completed his task with. She also liked the feel of his soft lips against her bottom. Suddenly she let out a gush of hot pee and Pansy struggled to swallow all of it without any spillage but he managed to do so. When she had completed her purpose Pansy began to gently lick her bottom to remove any traces of pee and to pleasure this superior Black woman in hopes she enjoyed using him as her personal toilet.<br /><br />Mrs. Anderson caught her self letting out a small sigh which told all she was enjoying pansies expertise. This made the little white wimp more confident and anxious to show how well trained he was so he began to penetrate and lap at her with his hot wet tongue. Soon Mrs. Anderson was enjoying the white wimp’s talents very much and not long after that she was climaxing from the tongue massage. Her husband smiled at her knowing she had found a new white servant to give he pleasure in ways he chooses not to.<br />Next it was Becky’s turn to prove her value. Mr. Anderson took Becky by her hair and tossed her over a sofa ripping her panties down as he did. He took her hair once again and shoved his cook deep into her throat and ordered her to suck him off. Becky was thrilled by his handling of her and started to climax on her own as soon as his large cock penetrated her mouth. After Becky sucked him off he went behind her and fucked her good. He wore no condom as there was no reason too, she was his white property and if he wanted to impregnate her he would and he intended too. He asked her if she was fertile now and she told him she was. He looked over at Pansy and said, “Good my little white slut, maybe I will impregnate you today in front of your pansy husband. Do you want me to do that or should I stop fucking you now?” At that Mr. Anderson slowed down his fucking and Becky quickly begged him as well as began to hump him as she asked him to fuck her harder and harder and to impregnate her.<br />The Andersons were quite satisfied that this white couple would serve their purposes of a well trained and obedient white couple very well.<br />Mrs. Anderson then took charge once again and told the two white inferiors to kneel before her. She told them that they now belonged to the Andersons and had no say so in anything they did or thought. That she and Mr. Anderson would tell them what they liked and did not like what they wanted and did not want and that they would think that. She made sure that they faced they fact they were only whites and not truly capable of real thinking or making their own decisions to which they quickly acknowledged that they were sure she was correct.<br /><br />Becky was told that she would be working with Mr. Anderson during the say as a customer service representative which meant that she would be servicing any of his Black clients in what ever way she was told. Pansy was told that he would be the house maid and cook and would serve Mrs. Anderson as her personal maid tending to her body, makeup, nails, hair, clothes and of course providing her with toilet service. Mrs. Anderson explained that she was very environmentally conscious and it was a waste of paper and water when whites were available.<br />Mrs. Anderson went on to explain that their diets were to consist of cum, pee and dog food. That they were never to use a table as humans did, but were to eat from their respective dog food bowls on the floor. If they were not at home when it came time to eat and no dog food bowl was present then they would eat from the floor. They must never use their hands to eat with as humans do as that would be a sign of disrespect to those superior to them.<br /><br /> Pansy would be taken to the piercing parlor and have his penis pierced and fastened with the head pulled back between his legs just in front of his pussy ass so he would not think of himself as a male or try to stand when he peed. Mrs. Anderson went on to explain that infractions would be met with a day in the closet in restraints followed by a severe whipping and No Black cock for a week. At this remark Becky’s face showed extreme fear as she could not think of going without t the pleasures of Black cock for a week.<br /><br />Mrs. Anderson then asked the two humble white servants if they found these terms acceptable and they both assured her they did. They were then sent back home to bring all of their servant clothes and training items with instructions to travel back and forth as they had for the interview.<br /><br />The next day they were put to work as two white servants should be, serving their Black masters needs. Mrs. Anderson had a dinner planned for 12 people that evening but she was confident in how these two whites would perform from what she had already seen. She knew that years ago when whites were uppity and sarcastic and did not know there place this would have been a disaster but now that whites had been educated enough to understand how fortunate they were to serve superior Blacks, it was not near the problem.<br />Since it was a big dinner and time was short both Becky and pansy were kept home to help with the dinner. The guests were all prominent and important Black professionals, some from out of town and perception and performance was paramount.<br />Mrs. Anderson fitted them both with very tight corsets to nip their wastes even more and ultra short extra full French Maids uniforms so that even the slightest bend reveled the servants panties. Mrs. Anderson liked exposing white servants in this manner; she felt it showed her power and the obedience of the servants as well as respect to all of the Black superiors present.<br />As the guests arrived Pansy greeted them.<br /><br />Mrs. Anderson always loved to show her Black friends the effect and control she had over a white male. It was such a status symbol to have a white male encased in feminine finery serving his Mistress and master while the men used his pretty white wife for their pleasure. There could be no question of the white’s submission or lack of backbone when this occurred. After all what real man would allow such a thing to happen to him or his wife which was Mrs. Andersons point, white males were not real men or even men at all and were quickly transformed into the cock sucking panty waists that they were. She knew how this impressed her guests so she pushed it by having Pansy greet and serve the guests as they arrived.<br /><br />Dinner was served perfectly and during dinner much conversation took place about training and owning whites. No matter was paid to the two white servants present because all knew they already understood their status in life and were obviously happy with it. Several of the guest’s said they had been interested in owning white servants but had not taken the steps necessary because they were afraid it may be more work than they wanted. Mr. Anderson then called Pansy to him and asked him if he liked the idea of Mr. Anderson getting his pretty white wife pregnant. He confirmed he did. Mr. Anderson then asked for a volunteer and John Brown spoke up. He laid pansy over the corner of the table and had John stand in front of pansy. He then raised pansies skirt and lowered his panties. While he inserted his large Black cock into Pansies pussy ass he told Pansy to suck Mr., Browns cock off. Pansy did as told.<br /><br />While this was going on Mrs. Anderson explained the whys and how’s and what well trained white servants could provide. After they were done Mrs. Anderson took Pansy to the bathroom and fitted him into the toilet so the ladies could relive themselves. All the guests left with white ownership in mind. Mrs. Anderson knew that offers to purchase the two white servants would be coming in soon…did she want to sell them or should she keep these two and train some more for sale?<br /><br /><br /><br />“Actually you might not believe this but my husband is in his trained right now and part of that trainer is a foot shaper that stretches his arch so he is not comfortable unless he is wearing a five inch heel. He also has seven maids’ uniforms though they are not all French Maids uniforms you understand, some of the mare plain for dirty work. I personally only have one and it was not worn much so it’s in pretty good shape, my Master did not let me keep it on very long, he liked…”My Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-9561189101541832842007-10-01T12:37:00.000-07:002007-10-01T12:47:23.096-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjztz3HpgeFKWExzTurOVhPMAxVhLFX-HyNxOK-11WxFS-hVy9_EQ0lIX_VEcsSJyoIX5Php78u-OSxtGqlXVV8CZ3v8oSVksjHXBT9E9A3ZsLF6xMFNK76UJG1rg-EN5uNHmaE9y3UrUSp/s1600-h/wp3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116457213122091378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjztz3HpgeFKWExzTurOVhPMAxVhLFX-HyNxOK-11WxFS-hVy9_EQ0lIX_VEcsSJyoIX5Php78u-OSxtGqlXVV8CZ3v8oSVksjHXBT9E9A3ZsLF6xMFNK76UJG1rg-EN5uNHmaE9y3UrUSp/s320/wp3.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXg37qLcLJgSfvESjWoAtpmo5nCmtNrOmE7reF9aJvXE2yrcl_CBGHSs1VzodxiZSpBUrBPbjCMpoYE5Ykt59mVYzemWMXx7ySfyt5qjSoJvVaWqhyxQYTpXVKei3AKTqBUqLZNdYS27M2/s1600-h/wp5.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116457221712025986" style="DISPLAY: block; 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MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDoYhksGkbW0Os5_f0b5KuPUxok4Ld2snY52mh7npy8xavx9uDtIZ79pKfilhJDnpJJO3aK9tsCv89-kbiiWB2i9Nh9s1UcKIBFyDVVLXQGEJzWfRvKZo57ct53dv4PTWFTT3UMzMaiJVT/s320/Copy+(3)+of+DOFAbad12.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL7bw2di1f8-u_XFrzWUSsLnq4jnDq2p96rRIyp1zzETB4jgXXGsnqs1EJdvGaNNAdgogifAmcqKckyu2J6d8Vi2Ojw4pbaQPG5FaDqPHg8IUpRAEgNSSrIt_4QGWPnM0TfBWJvji_7HiE/s1600-h/Copy+of+BDSMbanana04.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116454838005176290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL7bw2di1f8-u_XFrzWUSsLnq4jnDq2p96rRIyp1zzETB4jgXXGsnqs1EJdvGaNNAdgogifAmcqKckyu2J6d8Vi2Ojw4pbaQPG5FaDqPHg8IUpRAEgNSSrIt_4QGWPnM0TfBWJvji_7HiE/s320/Copy+of+BDSMbanana04.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdvA1UGG61-ASJdGkvFrb0hV6K7damwlNixat3KMiYAsWfsZvWlaKSk-rLFpgTiffr3iav6dxQsKrf7vwDgMlkbX1-oBJvZfhm5_rtigEJhuraRrhhRuLKW5EF0zqPhNhKBTaVEnnojpm7/s1600-h/Copy+of+BDSMbanana05.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116454838005176306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdvA1UGG61-ASJdGkvFrb0hV6K7damwlNixat3KMiYAsWfsZvWlaKSk-rLFpgTiffr3iav6dxQsKrf7vwDgMlkbX1-oBJvZfhm5_rtigEJhuraRrhhRuLKW5EF0zqPhNhKBTaVEnnojpm7/s320/Copy+of+BDSMbanana05.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>My Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-74190599008590181132007-10-01T12:33:00.000-07:002007-10-01T12:36:55.723-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRmyeKNCd6y7Cv-JhzawHDx2GsWnlJ-fxN7x-5HlYJWhqzMRfIyyjM01qGvTZdJjeZ3-T18OtgSbYHCDCGQLqFHro4myt0iOJnPOBC1zgXEmVSeHNvexc3RPNyf5L3g_3iko_70qgTSLT7/s1600-h/g-bds-sla-cannibal1-014.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116454528767530850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRmyeKNCd6y7Cv-JhzawHDx2GsWnlJ-fxN7x-5HlYJWhqzMRfIyyjM01qGvTZdJjeZ3-T18OtgSbYHCDCGQLqFHro4myt0iOJnPOBC1zgXEmVSeHNvexc3RPNyf5L3g_3iko_70qgTSLT7/s320/g-bds-sla-cannibal1-014.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBxa8qvEMxbihIc54i5eVmtwo40HPnuQaVf8MTmhYeZpHwYau46f-82AR6QuXNxDtydpfvbb71GHE71bGXCiERu6TQenjqiNeYMEJvKTWDHPRcUKZ82yeIvKJLG7sXCZ0ir2yJCN2uOeSE/s1600-h/g-bds-sla-cannibal1-021.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116454533062498162" style="DISPLAY: block; 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MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIhP6hQXXhaAokCbPrbIL20h5h_kzZHDlGiP1tAneBslPSCf4AzcPvsh9XDIlY59yxxD2dKUZJyy6ZBuPKcxllS7kPb8bejsi4fF05Aj0QgJ4OhxCraAzS007XaXsJSiBB8M2lICJsLNHv/s320/g-bds-ino-zanzibar4-081.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmjyR4KxMF7TPUeb-uIOYXiJkVfqYpqLC3E7nZSo6VD6aw3LBs9vIxpuL3jILWx4JbN-7x9KJ0RzyRenJ6wacMuUD6N6fkZ3J7xaIrrdsQc70t1nH13iTz4ubmZkSZHJ7e4TJj-kgYciGv/s1600-h/g-bds-ino-zanzibar4-107.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116453871637534370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmjyR4KxMF7TPUeb-uIOYXiJkVfqYpqLC3E7nZSo6VD6aw3LBs9vIxpuL3jILWx4JbN-7x9KJ0RzyRenJ6wacMuUD6N6fkZ3J7xaIrrdsQc70t1nH13iTz4ubmZkSZHJ7e4TJj-kgYciGv/s320/g-bds-ino-zanzibar4-107.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS2lqFPv773IFuEoQLanndL-8XEWHoDgI9gjXLo2dFR7ub7R4e3Fr_hKx-O2HDtthKvyjQG-Cz71KgrIgsddOoRKrfnWNl7MbDeAhLSM2Ky9IkgG2XuK3hj4ZWZMSthGM17wRgxbi6sCz7/s1600-h/g-bds-ino-zanzibar4-109.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116453871637534386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS2lqFPv773IFuEoQLanndL-8XEWHoDgI9gjXLo2dFR7ub7R4e3Fr_hKx-O2HDtthKvyjQG-Cz71KgrIgsddOoRKrfnWNl7MbDeAhLSM2Ky9IkgG2XuK3hj4ZWZMSthGM17wRgxbi6sCz7/s320/g-bds-ino-zanzibar4-109.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div>My Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-18849289269683509832007-10-01T12:10:00.000-07:002007-10-01T12:31:59.967-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHK86LbuY0KIF5NwJOj02Uu84P7YBUga4xftmupRpR35KMKdiPd76BjEI_-IjxM4iwBwiCzqL6CTuiuvHF9snhEEEFgOvzxsgi1rV_knDlSOsjcPEOOSrRNsAHo-X5OW0JFF0rNq7RamNY/s1600-h/P8160112.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116453197327668818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHK86LbuY0KIF5NwJOj02Uu84P7YBUga4xftmupRpR35KMKdiPd76BjEI_-IjxM4iwBwiCzqL6CTuiuvHF9snhEEEFgOvzxsgi1rV_knDlSOsjcPEOOSrRNsAHo-X5OW0JFF0rNq7RamNY/s320/P8160112.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuwvhMRU4cxHQJZuASV6SHK2fGMdXjJc1yzYWSJoEij8VJ2KH8UNZhxnFN8V4V2qYl3-7-1PcZRYBm0nDnq6ftT4TWw3morZrDxJCqfDyTdhPU9rkPjESyT9WidPGbYpS5SnSjNTTz52T7/s1600-h/P9170740.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116453201622636130" style="DISPLAY: block; 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MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrI7vFfYvmF7kT1qcZ7CcHJAEYqTwxl9KHmniBouMx-i-0fZOJsTHVwUm1YjzDGaeBc8GbmeeuPrlHKc9TwLg1nNH00RwmM_4NhWN0vFV0Pzr8THfkf1jOxAcyIvLPyplRd-Mw2M6ag2-Q/s320/f0e1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>My Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-55787707141358248292007-09-30T18:27:00.000-07:002007-09-30T18:30:58.720-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi63ErCw0v2UVBoIZeyJF2NOsdGaPrV2TBB6DoGEHTnb_6PHPhmuVcyP-MsorPDvbQkjnMv1pR7sCowK6IuoCPp7wTtfdPfjd5cak_Y-Ya8M325UkBhFy0zyYjy0JLwRmhTf_-_YY8ULJ7/s1600-h/episode7_29.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116174063108132722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi63ErCw0v2UVBoIZeyJF2NOsdGaPrV2TBB6DoGEHTnb_6PHPhmuVcyP-MsorPDvbQkjnMv1pR7sCowK6IuoCPp7wTtfdPfjd5cak_Y-Ya8M325UkBhFy0zyYjy0JLwRmhTf_-_YY8ULJ7/s320/episode7_29.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy1Zm4cObFx77YgQZ9ps8VltP1BFbhxzPWKZAEFoNxXoB0bH78hg8eMsjcxUbDT3Nox_ytmMob0Fae5XoebYUc2PrxoSse7Oz8PN6BP4Uf0023g4EltxUnURCE8RhXvsrqVcIiQb2jBVDd/s1600-h/erica30.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQDj9tut7KESoh1-UkcphFfG4JhoOgAkaZZfTBOHwOpOLmqsYP1KzenlByPAK8AiPFcD1HNCXsQFJAB1Zg4yfS_pvt-BJzUMmfTBHeBRSKdKeGyeLpTdUxH7KIs7-kTwsx83vRO-B2pkpG/s1600-h/erica64.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116174071698067346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQDj9tut7KESoh1-UkcphFfG4JhoOgAkaZZfTBOHwOpOLmqsYP1KzenlByPAK8AiPFcD1HNCXsQFJAB1Zg4yfS_pvt-BJzUMmfTBHeBRSKdKeGyeLpTdUxH7KIs7-kTwsx83vRO-B2pkpG/s320/erica64.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJED3a89Qu7ZL94eKurQpCfR_2VCRPU5KA86mYPDayM_Tytq9Qji46gedh0FjIi3ffQTgAc39E8SiVzFPlrQ6z_T1Bea58cqON8xpm97Kenzl0dtCXcNsfU5FHEY4v2Z1zvUlU7PFttsFZ/s1600-h/erica_01852_140.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116174075993034658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJED3a89Qu7ZL94eKurQpCfR_2VCRPU5KA86mYPDayM_Tytq9Qji46gedh0FjIi3ffQTgAc39E8SiVzFPlrQ6z_T1Bea58cqON8xpm97Kenzl0dtCXcNsfU5FHEY4v2Z1zvUlU7PFttsFZ/s320/erica_01852_140.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIrwXM5wV2NqgGoLiDDXu2PCpIJMRAUf6imlb057MiH_kx2V9N-UmtM2LnUHjZD2KFd48IXykUxGLxloQEGZ69GWOkGj0_3zh7FRPeHM57M9GBX2no4OCh2_25nOSgplzSUZIgULc8Milw/s1600-h/ERin_Cumming_Again.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116174080288001970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIrwXM5wV2NqgGoLiDDXu2PCpIJMRAUf6imlb057MiH_kx2V9N-UmtM2LnUHjZD2KFd48IXykUxGLxloQEGZ69GWOkGj0_3zh7FRPeHM57M9GBX2no4OCh2_25nOSgplzSUZIgULc8Milw/s320/ERin_Cumming_Again.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>My Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-15779413967736521352007-09-30T17:51:00.000-07:002007-09-30T18:27:10.016-07:00Black Is Beautiful<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qqc8WPkbRZR3utQtkueEZ_gorrf9aChFWIzWGag-KUd7HFSL91DiIdSQJ2BSr1Rds2CPF9EEdUJ2W0kcir3qw9JxLhLwGRNOB2aS3iHTMCcULVbA_GAdS_JiODSVMB5-1AZjn4vpB_c4/s1600-h/episode7_21.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116173526237220690" style="DISPLAY: block; 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MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQwwIhNbJCIJpYcqV6KXQaLGg12AAcPxLX4U0lxh72nFRzWFHTMwPchYygWJhOBVbPx67EwhArFK2qypiCO_F_SgBYuwUgoru83X58OjpFm5jEe96VJ_f-K3UM7n4C1vU8ezdkeZI80EG4/s320/6629x100.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNIzcynHSMPuhwFhSbUybUIIBb511uwwBOBtegCfYqe0mvDMX51UFtao1LSVonD70IpvvdCyd1GUe2O1PsfoyUYArFg8PmkZ59waOBUdXxnOFJUMJ2qkO9IiH1s6j97YWrAevd2nuvs9An/s1600-h/6629x129.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116167521872940306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNIzcynHSMPuhwFhSbUybUIIBb511uwwBOBtegCfYqe0mvDMX51UFtao1LSVonD70IpvvdCyd1GUe2O1PsfoyUYArFg8PmkZ59waOBUdXxnOFJUMJ2qkO9IiH1s6j97YWrAevd2nuvs9An/s320/6629x129.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7VbTrZ4CqR1vFNhgwt4k-WVeGIE9BHgh4QPh2yqk3IFBZ0neS5Zr-kL9jlKzSP9DSW41w2HIofE_nR1q5Ic91Aj5dMj0byVLgfhxM03YbV40DS-9OcwHWT513GakgthzuLztNoG0w4uoI/s1600-h/6696.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116167521872940322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7VbTrZ4CqR1vFNhgwt4k-WVeGIE9BHgh4QPh2yqk3IFBZ0neS5Zr-kL9jlKzSP9DSW41w2HIofE_nR1q5Ic91Aj5dMj0byVLgfhxM03YbV40DS-9OcwHWT513GakgthzuLztNoG0w4uoI/s320/6696.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>My Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-47481151127256159612007-09-30T16:08:00.000-07:002007-09-30T16:33:36.303-07:00A little More Helen<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRpG88R1umYwCrPi3f9T_Qfef47XFyS1D0akf4bCpbKLCfkj_J-JuOCoXvk4uS9TgmJY3zouPNGTKfAzpJrKmbLy-O-w-fykNXPwCueaSCBm5xUELQ-yFBLFdAnAEoB8o630znybBekv8V/s1600-h/beauty4.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116143817948433602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; 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MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7s4oq7O4pYLmUpFN2R1tcWfzkKbjMlkFb5nvtgdQRWPcjiYFhr0qWCaoXLMKwg-Bve0GaVqs_nrYZVmfQCFMsS-toWYJ4aWTtQP1AApgN5iObEy4MuXjlBnHGF24anZLNVGdEZ9Y1zg28/s320/Dscn6154.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxeEJGJ8y2bWamCvLIZtzeJiKLuS0HqM2UpqgMUBi5no1-Z6ptZXnOGEpa2ZqWT-vjhrg6LQb1JcV2fkM3t6oz2YKRbWz9uCaguEavUCBfR74POIIxut59rUxqUt8usdwkFZpF6umCamq4/s1600-h/DSC07499.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116138213016111586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxeEJGJ8y2bWamCvLIZtzeJiKLuS0HqM2UpqgMUBi5no1-Z6ptZXnOGEpa2ZqWT-vjhrg6LQb1JcV2fkM3t6oz2YKRbWz9uCaguEavUCBfR74POIIxut59rUxqUt8usdwkFZpF6umCamq4/s320/DSC07499.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgePPjaCiUa0UlmLnvW-aor3uzVxaLcwrIvk7TZ4QhEdV3wnoy51w__AoIXp84lEaO0j68hyr4dKtcSEhYkHEgQ0G8tdi2JM9HcTLvp5NvkmtAXYTjoLd0EXIwrMFPpQHZyoqlC7o79DlUn/s1600-h/DSC07517.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116138217311078898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgePPjaCiUa0UlmLnvW-aor3uzVxaLcwrIvk7TZ4QhEdV3wnoy51w__AoIXp84lEaO0j68hyr4dKtcSEhYkHEgQ0G8tdi2JM9HcTLvp5NvkmtAXYTjoLd0EXIwrMFPpQHZyoqlC7o79DlUn/s320/DSC07517.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOt8SmA3bs7uNTEJXNb9pYr5Q__-MLstxc2nN_zeIdcQ71NK8Q97vMoZKF0TpVHoUmJ0LkeMvauEtmfmW_GvWzY7J6S3cgoqbexp9sEm26kMeqxlHHyakn9EsRbHpF3RnLfLwr76HrHLsF/s1600-h/DSC07523.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116138221606046210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOt8SmA3bs7uNTEJXNb9pYr5Q__-MLstxc2nN_zeIdcQ71NK8Q97vMoZKF0TpVHoUmJ0LkeMvauEtmfmW_GvWzY7J6S3cgoqbexp9sEm26kMeqxlHHyakn9EsRbHpF3RnLfLwr76HrHLsF/s320/DSC07523.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpKTf315DS5sIXpDNLIISX5LttQbdoYbLutnVAqG9Wx3C7whDxPxiwfQ-Z9v_3PUhLBEXx4Thbh-Um7MpNg-pRrHS8t1rF6tRQ6oHoO-aqf8o-rYKEGQ7bmevBeLbuSvJW4lQduXnSpPU3/s1600-h/DSC08156.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116138221606046226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpKTf315DS5sIXpDNLIISX5LttQbdoYbLutnVAqG9Wx3C7whDxPxiwfQ-Z9v_3PUhLBEXx4Thbh-Um7MpNg-pRrHS8t1rF6tRQ6oHoO-aqf8o-rYKEGQ7bmevBeLbuSvJW4lQduXnSpPU3/s320/DSC08156.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ3mnnymHv3VCT9C5IqR32-vF382LsgGpm2D_mRi8ftwY4vOUvG4LSyUK-DocPUlygxHJzxo7QC0k95pW5LJilW-y0T-Em6UHlguzkUs7OGfNvCHv-2OsfJlSJedgmAOWfxDhSWKnvUUVZ/s1600-h/Dsc08157.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116138221606046242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ3mnnymHv3VCT9C5IqR32-vF382LsgGpm2D_mRi8ftwY4vOUvG4LSyUK-DocPUlygxHJzxo7QC0k95pW5LJilW-y0T-Em6UHlguzkUs7OGfNvCHv-2OsfJlSJedgmAOWfxDhSWKnvUUVZ/s320/Dsc08157.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>My Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-25034971758333060682007-09-30T15:38:00.000-07:002007-09-30T15:40:18.214-07:00BLACK MASTERS<br />by<br />Mark Andrews<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />WARNING! All Olympia books are the subject of international copyright and should not be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form - including electronically - without the publisher’s prior written consent. ANY and ALL violations of Olympia copyright will be pursued vigorously through the appropriate courts.<br />Chapter 1<br />On our Earth during the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries, the black peoples of Africa were ruthlessly enslaved (often by their own people) and shipped in appalling conditions to plantations in the Americas and the Caribbean. It took decades of efforts by liberal-minded campaigners to correct this dreadful blot on mankind’s history.What is not widely known, however, is that there are many Earths, all existing together in other dimensions of time and space and on these other Earths, while much is often the same, there are sometimes glaring differences. Communication between these dimensions has not, at least until very recently, been possible. Indeed, it is only in the last few years that scientists even suspected the existence of these other worlds, let alone figured out how to get to them.I was fortunate enough to be the scientist who worked out the physics and I was also lucky to be black for the world I landed on was dominated by the African Empire, ruled by a man as imposing as any Roman emperor ever was.<br />My name is Adam Blair. I am twenty-eight years old and have been a physicist since graduating from the University of Chicago some seven years ago. Ever since watching the TV show “Sliders” I have been intrigued with the possibility of other dimensions in our universe. I was lucky enough to be born to a very, very wealthy father who had long ago set up a trust for me and this enabled me to dabble along in my own laboratory and it was here I discovered the Math involved in moving between one dimension and another.It was not “sliding” as in the TV show or by means of a “gate” as in the other one, “Stargate SG1”. I am not going to detail exactly how it is achieved for indiscriminate travel could be downright dangerous to our Earth. Suffice to say I developed the machine and tried it out myself.I landed on this other Earth, to find myself not in Chicago, USA, but in Zimbabwe, Africa. The reason for this is that I directed my machine to land me at the largest centre of population on the planet and on this world, Zimbabwe was just that. It was a city. A huge city and one that was well ordered and very clean. I would say it was a city that had developed to a level well past that of my own world. They had everything we had in a technological sense – and then some.It was populated by black citizens although there were whites and Asians there too. These, however, were not citizens or even tourists. They were slaves. Real life slaves! I didn’t realise this for some time, of course. It was clear they were not of the same class as us blacks for they were all employed as streets cleaners or other menials, or as personal servants following along behind smartly dressed black ladies whose parcels they carried.The street cleaners were dressed in ultra-brief skirts that came only to the upper thighs and supported very low down on the hips. The personal servants wore smart uniforms whose livery, I discovered, indicated his mistress’s rank. The menials were all working under the whips of their black overseers. There seemed to be as many females as males in this category and they were as subject to the whips as their male counterparts. They worked very hard for when they slacked, down came the whip and they jumped and screamed – and then got right back at it.I prowled around a little, looking into shops and cafés and quietly investigating whether I could survive a few days here. Gold (and of course diamonds) were a medium of exchange and so I thought I might be able to come back with enough resources to last a while. Language could be a problem, however. On my world, English gets you by just about anywhere, at least in the major cities of the world. Not here, though. As I was to discover, England was a backwater, as was Europe itself. Here, Zulu was the language of the people. Again it was fortuitous for me that during my youth, when I had been all fired up about my own origins, I had assiduously studied the languages of Southern Africa and I thought if I brushed up on it, I could probably get by. As it happens, I have a bit of a flair for language and I was able to polish my pretty rusty Bantu well enough.Accordingly, I returned home to prepare myself for a rather longer trip. I acquired diamonds, ordered clothes that would blend in with what I had seen there and then fished out my old Bantu textbooks and, while the bank was arranging the diamonds, I studied it diligently. In a few days I was ready and now armed with clothing and my jewels, went back to that intriguing city.<br />I booked into a quality hotel, passing myself off as a tourist from up north and then set about discovering what made this place tick. The first thing I discovered was that the blacks were supreme in everything and the Asian and white races were totally subordinate to them. Indeed, there were no free whites or Asians here at all. Discreet conversation with people (all blacks, of course) in bars and cafés made me understand that the business of slavery was big business indeed, with some of the larger entrepreneurs owning fleets of slave ships that plied the shores of Asia and Europe, including what I called the British Isles, undertaking raids on villages or dealing with local warlords who made it their business to enslave people of neighbouring tribes.From all this I gathered that Europe and Asia had not developed with Africa. Indeed, those continents were still just emerging from what we call the middle ages while Africa (the whole continent being one country under the rule of a semi-despotic emperor and run rather like the Roman Empire with regional viceroys and local governors representing the emperor and his government) now led the world in the Industrial Revolution that in my world had been led by Britain, closely followed by Germany, the US and the rest of Europe. I am ashamed to say I felt exultant that on this world, my people, the Negroes of Africa were the dominant people on the planet and that one of my race was the world leader.Having looked around the city of Zimbabwe for a few days, I was ready to explore the rest of the continent and here I was also lucky. One of my new friends, a man I met in the bar of the hotel, informed me he was a large-scale farmer with hundreds of white slaves as his workers. I was intrigued with this – the very idea of a black man owning white slaves was so contrary to everything I was used to and I asked him hundreds of questions about how the institution of slavery worked here.“Why don’t you come home with me and see it first hand, Adam?” he said.I grinned back at him. “I was hoping you might ask me, Dingane,” I replied.And so, a few days later, we boarded the train, travelling first class of course, up to his farm in the northern part of the province. We were met at the station by his wife, Zuella, a lady of beauty and charm and as well-educated as her university-trained husband. Waiting at the car was their chauffeur, a slave named James who was of English origin. Whereas we were all dressed formally in suit and collar and tie, he was dressed as befitted his rank as a slave – in a neat facsimile of the tiny skirts worn by the menials in the city – and nothing else. No shirt or shoes even. He was a very handsome young man and his body was pleasingly athletic. I looked at him but I didn’t comment as he expertly drove us in a vehicle that was ultra-modern by my standards.The roads were wide and in wonderful condition but I was intrigued to see everything on them from our magnificent limousine down to gigs that were small but beautifully crafted. These were not drawn by horses – at least not of the equine variety. No indeed. I was to learn they were being drawn by what were euphemistically described as ‘ponies’. Human ponies – and they were naked. Stark naked. And all three sexes were used to draw them.Three sexes? Indeed! There were male and female slaves harnessed to these vehicles – but there were also geldings. Males who had been castrated – and by that I mean everything! Not only had they lost their testicles – their penile members were absent, too. I stared, of course, but I had to be circumspect. I couldn’t let on I was a slider (the term I used for my movement to this so-different planet) and although my cover as being from ‘up north’ excused some of my ignorance, I still had to be careful.“Some of them are magnificent specimens, Dingane,” I said, nodding to a team of four Asian male slaves drawing a light four-wheel carriage in which sat a beautifully attired black lady and gentleman while a white boy in livery sat on the driver’s box, reins and whip in hand. Both of which he wielded expertly, the whip lashing down on the naked back of the beautifully muscled human ponies.“That’s N’dona, a neighbour of mine. His Asian slaves are second to none, at least in this province.” He paused a moment, his eyes twinkling at me. “Which d’you prefer, white or Asian, Adam?”I was caught but responded valiantly. “I like both, Dingane, as long as they are good-looking and athletic, I don’t much mind … although I think I prefer Asian.”“Many of us do. I too like my slaves to be handsome and athletic although I don’t really have any preference. Ours are all like that, aren’t they my love…?”Zuella smiled at him and then at me. “Oh yes. You will find our slaves are fed well but not too much, Adam, and we make sure they are exercised to the peak of their fitness. We don’t want any overweight slaves on our property …”“What do you actually farm?” I asked then.“Oh, just about everything. We graze cattle and sheep but we also farm wheat and other grains and we also market garden in a fairly big way …”Fairly big way was an understatement and a half. Their property was enormous. Thousands of acres and all of it in tip-top condition. The homestead was a real mansion surrounded by acres of beautiful gardens and beyond them, the farm outbuildings which included the slave quarters. I ached to go down and see them first off but of course I had to be circumspect and appear nonchalant in the face of this mass of really handsome/beautiful humanity who weren’t of course, really considered as human at all. Once a slave, you were less than a person. Not an animal. Not quite, but not far off.One thing I did notice, as we sped up the lane that led from the road to the homestead, was that the slave workers on the property were universally dressed in no more than a tiny cloth that covered, sort of, their sex – and that was all. Female as well as male workers had a thong of leather around their hips. To the front of this was attached a small square of cotton. It was only ten centimetres wide and fifteen deep. It covered their sexual organs, just, but nothing else. The females’ breasts were bare as were the buttocks of both sexes. I think it really accentuated their nakedness rather than covered anything but I didn’t comment, of course. Hell, I was too busy admiring the physiques of the slaves. As Zuella had said, they were all as fit as they could be, their muscles sleek and well-defined without being overly developed. These were the muscles of workers, not body-builders. There was not an ounce of fat on any of them, the females’ breasts being firm and without any evidence of sagging, the males with muscles that were as clean-cut as you could desire.All were working under the supervision of black overseers but I saw no whips. I was to discover all slaves on the property had implants in their bodies and the overseers were expert at fingering the buttons on the controllers attached to the belts of their shorts to single out a particular slave and give him or her a nasty jolt. They were not at all loath to use them either. The slightest sign of laziness or rebellion of any kind and down went the fingers – and then the slave screamed and doubled over in a burst of real agony directed to the most sensitive part of his or her body but of course spreading out all over …But this was later. Right then, as the magnificent limousine sped up the long and very elegant lane to the house, all I could see were the dozens of slaves working in the fields on either side of the roadway.The house was utterly beautiful. It was huge and double storeyed, being built of local sandstone and tiled with bright red terra-cotta tiles. We were met by the butler, one of only two black servants. He and his wife, the housekeeper, ran the household with a rod of iron and every one of the many domestic slaves was careful to perform his or her allotted tasks to the best of their ability.It really was a beautiful house, luxurious in a quiet way but exquisitely tasteful, the polished stone floors carpeted with oriental rugs, the stone walls either panelled or covered with silk tapestries or bookcases; the lighting of the finest chandeliers … I’m sure you get the picture.The slaves were there but were unobtrusive and these didn’t have the tiny cotton square over their genitals. They had on an even briefer covering: a metal pouch, shaped to cover the girls’ pudenda or contain the boys’ cock and balls. It was made of brass and was polished to a lustrous sheen. I was intrigued at what kept them in place for there was no hip-band to hold it there. I later discovered the males’ units had a clip that went over the root of their cocks and kept it close to their groins while the girls’ models had a dildo shaped like a baby’s dummy that went into their vaginas. They were trained to use the internal muscles of their bodies to keep them in place.They were beautiful items. Roughly triangular in shape with the outer surface bearing the heraldic arms of Dingane’s family and thus marking the slave as his property, they were real works of art and I was to find their owners valued them highly, not only for their beauty, but because it marked them as domestic slaves – about as high as you could go if you were a slave.I was introduced to Jambe, the butler and he bowed and then asked if I would care to accompany him to my rooms. They were upstairs and now I found I had not a room – but a suite of them. There was my bedroom, dressing and bathroom and a sitting room, all beautifully decorated.There were also a dozen slaves, six male and six female, all young and handsome or beautiful as the case may be and all wearing only the tiny brass pouch at their loins, revealing bodies that had to be as athletic as the best track and field Olympic athletes on my world.“The master always provides his guests with a valet, sir … If you would care to choose …?”“My personal valet, Jambe?”“Yes, sir. For your exclusive use during your stay with us. He or she will be happy to provide you with every service, sir – and I mean every service …”I smiled. His meaning was clear enough. I strolled along the line of males, admiring their physiques.“They will expect you to test their muscles, sir … Perhaps you would like to see them in their full state …”He didn’t wait to explain what this meant, although I could easily guess, but nodded to the line of slaves, at which each quickly removed the pouch and placed it on the floor behind him or her. Now I really stared for each was one was quite naked. Not even a single hair at their groins to mar the beauty of their now naked genitals.“The master and mistress like their slaves totally naked, sir,” he explained then nodded to the slaves once more. They now began a routine that could only be described as incredible. It wasn’t a dance and it wasn’t a muscle display. Something in between, I would say. It was graceful, though, and showed off their now totally naked bodies to a tee.I went back to the first boy and reached out to feel his skin. Of the six males, three were Asian and three Caucasian. This one was Asian, Japanese I would guess and his body was quite exquisite, every muscle perfect and skin as smooth as velvet. I inspected all six males in like manner, even hefting their balls (at Jambe’s suggestion) but I really wanted to get to the females. I can admire a handsome male and I have even tried out gay lovemaking but I don’t think I’m really bisexual. I wanted to try it out and I found it pleasant enough but females are really my thing and the six that now presented themselves to me were quite divine.I suppose with hundreds of slaves at his disposal, Dingane had only the best in his household and what he was offering me were the best of these. Again there were three Asian and three white girls, all of whom were magnificent creatures. The three whites were fair (Scandinavian), dark (Italian) or redhead (French) and all were possessed of highly athletic bodies that were nevertheless exquisitely beautiful. I didn’t want either of them, though. I have a thing for Asian beauty and the three girls presented to me now were about the most beautiful I had ever seen (and I had downloaded hundreds of pictures of Asian beauties from the Net back home on my own world ). These three outclassed them in every respect.The first in the line was a Japanese girl named Suko and I nearly swooned (well, I felt decidedly weak-kneed) at the sight of her loveliness) as I stood in front of her as she swayed her lovely body this way and that, fluttered her hands up above her head and pulsed her naked vagina at me. I reached out and cupped her full but not too big breast in my hand while the other stroked down her flat belly, admiring the play of the muscles there and then down further over her muscular thigh then back up to cover her mound … Oh God! It was so warm and inviting and her black eyes stared at me in what looked like adoration.I was startled. Why on earth would she be staring at me like this? I later discovered that Jambe was watching them all like hawks and if any one of them had shown anything other than desire to be my personal slave for the duration, his hand would have strayed down to the controller on his belt.I later asked him about the implants. “They are inserted surgically, sir. Down here in their groins,” and he pointed down to a point right near the junction of the slave’s thigh and hip. “They are the shape and size of a coin and contain an atomic battery that is kept charged by the heat of their own bodies. It feeds a tiny unit that responds to these controllers and to programming from the central computer. They can receive one of two signals. The first is a tingle that warns them they are straying out of the envelope in which they are permitted to be, or are perhaps verging on a punishment dose. That is the other signal. You see, wires lead from the units down inside their bodies. In the males, they lead to a testicle whereas on the females they are attached to their clitorises. It takes only a minute current to give them exquisite agony. “Believe me, sir, no whips or other goads are necessary when these units are available. Here is your unit, sir. All you need to do is code in the slave’s number which you will see tattooed here on his or her neck, then either the pink or red button. You will soon learn to operate the unit without even looking at it, I know …”But this conversation was after I had inspected the remaining female slaves. The second Asian was Malayan and she was as good as Suko but the last one was Thai and she just about had me drooling. Her name was Chulakorn and if I had thought Suko was the ant’s pants, now I wanted this girl more than anything in the world. She was everything that the Japanese girl was – and more. Her copper-coloured skin was as smooth as velvet and her muscular definition even better that Suko’s. She was also exquisitely feminine. There was nothing about her lithe athleticism that took away from that. I walked around her, admiring her muscular thighs and buttocks. Therein lay the source of much pleasure, I thought for Jambe’s words had told me my choice of slave was mine to use for my pleasure.I glanced back at the males, wondering what they would think if I chose one of them and then ordered him to my bed. I quickly realised he would obey and would give me as good a time as he could for not to would mean painful correction of the worst kind. Prolonged shocks to his testicles could even emasculate him, I guessed.I pointed to Chulakorn. “She will do,” I said.Jambe smiled. “A good choice, sir. She is well trained in the art of looking after a man…” Again his words had a hidden meaning. A meaning I was now anxious to test. He indulged me. He gestured for the other eleven slaves, who had now reached down to retrieve his or her pouch and replace it, to leave my rooms and then suggested I might need some time to ‘freshen up’ and to allow Chula, as he suggested I call her, to show me where everything was in my rooms. He then bowed and left me with the still naked Chula.But first he gave me a demonstration. He thumbed her number into his controller and then pressed the red button. Her scream of agony was heart-rending and she doubled over, clutching at her groin until the burst of current ceased. “Now you try it, sir,” he said softly. I glanced at him. I knew he was testing my resolve and so I did as he suggested, entering the number and then pressed the red button, watching as she repeated her terrible scream and the contortions of her body.“But we also keep whips and canes in each guest room, sir. Here, beside each door is a small cupboard recessed into the wall. Inside, as you can see is a small array of the instruments of correction …”He took down a thin, leather-coated crop and ordered Chula to present her breasts. I watched in wide-eyed astonishment as, although clearly terrified, she squared her shoulders and thrust her beautiful breasts out at him. He raised the whip and lashed it down across both orbs while she gritted her teeth and stayed silent.“You see, sir, we know they cannot bear the pain of the implant without screaming but the cane is another matter. If she had screamed now, I would have given her another stroke …” He turned to the girl and gestured to her. She bent over, spreading her feet wide and grasped the back of her thighs with her hands. He then lashed her again, very, very hard, across her buttocks, the crop leaving a nasty weal across both cheeks.“Any time this slave is lazy or impertinent, sir, the master will appreciate it if you would correct her …”“I understand,” I said and he nodded, saluted me briefly and left the room.I moved up to her as soon as the door closed behind him and now inspected her even more intimately. Oh God, what a body. If I had been allowed to design my own perfect female I couldn’t have done as good a job as this. Her skin was so soft and yet under it I could feel the warm muscle; muscle that didn’t take away from her loveliness one jot. I cupped both her breasts in my big hands – did I say I am pretty tall and pretty muscular myself and my hands easily covered her lovely orbs.She squared her shoulders, thrusting them more firmly into my hands and despite the awful pain she must have been feeling, smiled up at me. “May I undress you, master?”“You may,” I said, grinning down at her.She performed this task with panache and soon I was as naked as she was. I pulled her into my body and she squealed in delight. “Ooh, master, you have a beautiful body …”Whether she was being kind or not, her words pleased me for although I am a scientist, I had always worked out in the gym at my home for at least a couple of hours every single day. Just as I like others to be athletic rather than muscular, so I had worked on my own body and I think we matched each other pretty well although she had the edge on me, I know.My cock was rigid of course and it seemed to find its way into her without any effort on my part. Everywhere her body touched mine – and that was plenty of places, I felt these wonderful electric thrills. We swayed together for a few minutes, my cock ramming in and out of her extraordinarily adept opening, but then she pulled away from me and led me into the bedroom where, amazingly, the bed was now turned down. It hadn’t been before but someone had anticipated my needs very well.She led me over to it and guided me into lying down on it on my back, whereupon she mounted me … What followed was a hour or more of ecstasy that I couldn’t believe. I am no virgin and had been with a number of girls in my time. (As I said, I tried boys too but they weren’t really my thing). I thought some of them were great but what Chula was doing to me now so far surpassed the best of them as to make those acts disappear into the realms of the totally forgettable.She perched herself on top of me, impaling her lovely body over my now throbbing weapon and then began a series of manoeuvres that had me screaming in lust in what seemed like only seconds. She sort of danced on top of me, twisting her slender body this way and that, creating weird patterns in her breasts and belly, while her hands performed those graceful movements such as may be seen in Balinese dances on my world.And inside her vagina, her muscles were doing incredible things to my cock. My libido was at an all-time high and yet she seemed to know when I was about to climax and she always retreated in time, allowing my ardour time to cool before beginning all over again.I don’t know how much of her skill and apparent eagerness to please was as a result of Jambe’s discipline. I do know she gave me a better time – a far, far better time than I had ever had from sex before – and that’s saying something.Our sex was always wonderful. Always different – but incredibly ecstatic – and I mean that literally. She usually led and I was happy to let her for she knew, at her young age of nineteen, far more than I ever would about sex and the art of pleasuring. Sometimes she laid her body down and I attacked in the more usual position. Other times we knelt facing one another.She showed me the incredible pleasure of anal sex (yes, and she even fucked me with a dildo strapped around her waist on one occasion and it was an intensely pleasurable event) and her mouth was miraculously adept at rousing me to rapturous heights of pleasure. She could use her tongue – just the tip of it, on various parts of my body and not just my cock, either, to bring me to screaming point. Her lips, pursed around my cock, were even more incendiary when it came to setting me on fire.But she was also legitimately my valet and she tended to my rooms, my clothes and my body (in ways other than sexual) with a panache that had me incredulous. How could one so young have learned all this? It seemed she had been captured as a young girl and had then been trained by the slavers who had bought her to be the best there was. That I could certainly attest to.When I finally went downstairs for dinner, a formal affair in tails and white tie, I found we behaved much as an English duke might for dinner at his country seat. There were drinks before dinner and here we were waited on by a male and female pouch-clad slave, carefully supervised by Jambe who hovered in the distance, watching his charges critically. The girl waited on us men while the handsome boy tended the ladies, all of whom were black, of course. Whites and Asians didn’t figure in civilised society on that world. Nor was it strange they didn’t. I was to discover they, the Asians and whites, were not highly developed.Oh they had their own skills of course – the Chinese could weave the most beautiful silks but they were not an advanced civilisation as they had been for thousands of years on my world. The black African Empire led the world and it looked as if they would for the foreseeable future.I was still very new to all this, of course, and I found my eyes constantly straying to the almost totally naked slaves moving through us – and that after more than two hours of magnificent sex with Chula. The boy was ultra-handsome with dark wavy hair, blue eyes and a model’s dream body; the girl, also white, was tall and lithe. I thought of the model Elle on my world as I stared at the perfection of her naked breasts and slender waist and pert buttocks.The dinner was formal but it was also a gourmet’s delight. Small serves of a dozen different courses, each with a small glass of a different wine to accompany it and each of us had our own servant, yes, each in the same golden-coloured pouch. We males were waited on by a female slave; the ladies by a male.They were ignored by my companions and I tried to follow suit but it is very hard when you are not used to a beautiful naked breast hanging over your shoulder as its owner serves you another course. The conversation was bright and ranged over many subjects and during it I discovered one of my neighbours across the table was a slave dealer.But he was no mere itinerant trader, bringing a coffle of slaves to the various farms around and about. Oh no … This man, Jomo, had a fleet of slave ships that plied between the various slave trading centres in Europe and Asia, either picking up new slaves from his own factories on the coasts of those continents, or dealing with local slave traders who went inland, seeking out beautiful young women and handsome boys to capture, bring back to their own slave factories and then await a visit from Jomo or another of his or his competitors ships.“And you still go on these voyages yourself, Jomo?” I asked. “They must be wonderful experiences …?”“Yes. I like to keep my hand in when I have the time. Actually, I will be going on another one in a couple of weeks …” He eyed me speculatively. “Perhaps you might like to join me? The voyage will take about six weeks …?”I grinned. “It won’t matter how long it takes. I would be honoured to accept your invitation …”Dingane smiled down the table at me. “He’ll make you work, Adam. No-one gets a free ride on his slave ships.”“I will be pleased to do whatever I can. But I want to see more of how your farm works, Dingane. You must have many slaves to work such a huge property?”“At last count, we had two hundred and forty-three, but a couple of the wenches were due before we left, we may have a couple more suckers now …”I stared down the table at him. “So you breed your slaves as well as buying them?” I asked.“Of course. All properties as big as this one do. We select the blood lines very carefully, breed the male to the wench and then carefully nurture the sucker in her belly. When it is born, we tend it as carefully as we do our own children for in these little suckers lies our prosperity in the future.”I absorbed all this without turning a hair. Slavery had been extinct on my world (except for a few, largely hidden pockets in Africa and the Middle East) for over a hundred years and I was having some difficulty in coming to grips with its acceptance in such a nonchalant way as these people did. Not that I wasn’t excited by it.As it happened, slavery had been a secret (a very secret) fetish of mine for years, ever since puberty, I think. I had imagined myself as a slave, naked and in chains and had derived a lot of secret sexual pleasure from the idea. Then I had moved on to being an owner myself and the thoughts of ‘fingering’ a naked wench with a view to purchasing her had had me in raptures. Sometimes I put my girl of the moment in the place of a slave but I never ever told her – or anyone else for that matter. I was ashamed of these thoughts – but here, on this other world, I could indulge them to my heart’s content.And I would …<br />Chapter 2<br />Dingane lost no time in showing me over his little empire. It resembled one, actually. It was almost entirely self-contained, except for the necessary machinery, anyway, producing all its own food and building materials. It even had its own tiny sawmill and a quarry from which the beautiful stone for the house and outbuildings had been dug and skilfully shaped into building blocks.Many of the slaves had been trained as artisans although all were of course under the control of black supervisors. No slave wore more than the leather thong around his or her hips to which was sewn the tiny bit of cotton cloth. Their bodies were thus on open display and as they moved the flap of cotton fluttered about, revealing what it was supposed to hide. I think its presence accentuated rather than hid their sexual organs, especially with the males for it will be realised ten by fifteen centimetres isn’t much to cover any reasonably sized set of male genitals. With the girls, they acted a bit better in this regard but as the light cotton moved about in the breeze, their so naked mound was often visible.I liked the fact that their buttocks were on permanent display. Small, pert and boyish buttock cheeks really turn me on and with the hard work these slaves were put to, their backsides were almost universally of that ilk. Sharply indented at the sides, muscular in tone and small in size, I derived a distinct thrill as I watched them flexing as the slave walked or ran or worked at his or her trade.Dingane took me for the grand tour in one of the little gigs and, by now knowing of my penchant for Asian slaves, ordered two of the bigger and more muscular Asian females to be our ponies for the day. I drooled (at least figuratively) as I watched their muscular butts and thighs trotting us up and down the paths and lanes that led from one part of the farm to another. It really was a huge place and it included hilly country as well as flat and to watch as these two muscle-girls strained to pull us up the hills was marvellous.He drove the gig skilfully, applying the reins to steer the left hand girl and lashing at both their backs when he thought they were malingering. I watched it all in awe and an incredible excitement and longed to try driving one of the gigs myself.It was here that Dingane told me he knew I wasn’t really of his people. “I don’t know where you come from, Adam, but no African could be as unaware of slavery as you are,” he said softly. He wasn’t being accusatory, simply curious and because I liked him – and trusted him, I told him the truth. “You mean there are hundreds, perhaps thousands of other worlds, all like Earth but not the same, and all existing in another dimension – one our scientists don’t even know exists?”“That’s pretty much it, Dingane. But don’t ask me how it’s done. I’m just the subject …” I lied here, of course but it was a white lie. I didn’t want him to present me to a panel of their scientists for a grilling.From then on, though, he was even more helpful in explaining how everything ran there. He was a great host and a very nice man. We went everywhere and the two girl slaves trotted on, seemingly effortlessly, from field to field and factory to factory. We inspected the grazing paddocks, the wheat fields, the vegetable gardens and the various mills and factories that processed some of the raw materials and turned them into spun wool and cotton, tanned leather, meat and a host of other goods such as tallow candles and even frozen vegetables. Dingane was a superb businessman and he would try anything that would help the farm prosper. In every field, slaves were working under the direction of an overseer, always a black. Slaves were never put in charge of a group, and the overseers were enjoined to be fair – but strict. There was no room for leniency when it came to slaves, Dingane told me and at some locations where slaves were working, we watched as an overseer spoke to a slave and then, as the slave’s face turned to horror, the guard’s fingers went down to the controller and the boy screamed and clutched at his testicles. I don’t know which was worse, a shock to a girl’s clitoris or to a male’s testicle. Both would be absolutely dreadful, I imagined.One part of the farm that really intrigued me though was the Slave Nursery. Here, selected female slavegirls were fertilised by a prime male. Nine months later she would birth her sucker in the delivery room and then be transferred to the small dairy herd while the tiny infant would be nurtured and raised in the various parts of the nursery.“I’m going to have two more wenches put to stud today, Adam,” my host said as we pulled up outside. “Would you like to see them fertilised?”“Would I ever,” I said.“Right then, here we are. Let me first show you our records section and how we select the males to cover the wenches …”He led the way into the nursery and into the breeding office where were housed the computers that maintained the records of every single slave on the property – and many other champion breeding slaves from all over the world, as well. It was really a gigantic family tree programme but one that focussed on creating the finest blood lines in the world. I gulped. No wonder the slaves on this property were all so handsome or beautiful and that their bodies were marvels of perfection in the human species for no matter what Dingane and his people thought, I was well aware the slaves were as human as I was.The records were meticulous and could be accessed very easily once you knew how to use the programme. Dingane called up the record for my valet, the beautiful Chula and there it was. Her dam and sire and their parents, too, going back any number of generations. Her training and skills and even her genomic history were all there. It was all laid out, every one of her genes and chromosomes.“You see how easy it is to match a male to her so that the product will be even better, at least in theory. We sometimes get throwbacks but ninety-nine percent of the time, we get really excellent results,” he explained.He took me into the nurseries then and starting from the infants, we saw half a dozen sets of gurgling, happy little slaves all being watched carefully, their futures mapped out for them in terms of their abilities, and then trained from a very early age to perform them extraordinarily well.I notice some lacked any genitals at all and commented on it.“In certain cases, Adam, where the genome indicates it, we castrate a male shortly after birth. He will then never develop into a real male but will always be an exquisitely dainty eunuch. Many women like such a slave as their personal maid, and …” and now he grinned wryly at me, “some men do too… They train very well as personal maids, actually.”He paused again aware that I was new to the very concept of modern slavery but then went on: “We also castrate older slaves at various stages in their development. You will understand that the way a male develops into adulthood depends on the hormonal changes that take place at and after puberty?”I nodded. “Of course.”“Well if we interrupt that process at any stage by removing the testicles, we can actually arrest the process and therefore keep a boy at a certain level … It’s not precise but we have become pretty good at it.”“You mean if you like a certain boy at say age sixteen, you can then castrate him and hold him at that level of development?”“Yes, pretty well anyway.”I was stunned at this and took particular note of the males after that. I saw some of these half boys/half men a little later and noted how good-looking some of them were. It was easy enough to see them since nursery slaves went naked – totally so and it was therefore very easy to pick the eunuchs … The totally sexless males whose groins were utterly bare of any sexual organs at all.Then we moved into the Insemination Room. Here, with some ceremony, a slavegirl who has been selected for breeding is secured in a frame and the male chosen to be the sire of her progeny will be introduced to her.She is required to get down on her knees and spread them wide, then lower her torso and head down so her neck and wrists may be secured in a sort of pillory. The position of her knees ensures her buttocks are up high and her vagina well exposed. As I watched the first girl brought in, her loincloth removed and then pushed into this position, I felt an enormous boner forming in my pants. It was demeaning for her – or perhaps it wasn’t, for it was customary there, but be that as it may, I felt an incredible surge in my libido as I saw her beautiful and so athletic body now exposed in this manner.Then the male was brought in. His cloth was also removed and his groom (or whatever he was) now fondled the boy’s cock and balls while we sat and watched. The boy didn’t seem to mind. His eyes were on the apparition of beauty secured ready for his attentions and he strained to get to her. It was rather animalistic and I am ashamed to say I felt a thrill at the fact that these two white slaves were behaving as base sexual animals while we sophisticated black men sat in our comfortable chairs and watched.It took but seconds before the white boy’s cock was rigid and then his attendants let him go. He bounded forward and rammed his quivering weapon into the girl’s quim and then began to rut.There is no other way to describe it. He grunted and snorted as his loins drove his manhood in and out of her body, his nostrils were dilated and his eyes wide – almost wild with lust as his magnificent muscles rippled and corded in the throes of a libidinous frenzy.For her part the girl beneath him was just as inflamed. We rose from our seats and went over to watch her face as the male roused her to orgasm after orgasm. He had been trained to hold back his own climax for about fifteen minutes but when it came, he beat his broad muscular chest in triumph and then at last withdrew, rather sheepish now, to be led away.We were served a glass of champagne now as we waited. “It has been demonstrated that this position enhances the possibility of a proper fertilisation but we make sure by keeping her in this position for another fifteen minutes, Adam,” Dingane explained. “That way, with her sex up above her belly, gravity adds to the chances of his seed finding her egg …”I nodded, staring at the girl whose bottom was now waving idly from side to side, no doubt mourning the loss of the magnificent tool of the slave who had just impregnated her. But then she was released from the pillory and taken away and another girl brought in. This one was Asian and was as tall and as well built as the two girls who were our ponies for that day. I stared in undisguised lust as this beauty was secured in the same way as the white girl before her. And then they led in the magnificent stud who was going to service her. He was as anxious as the white boy had been and Dingane explained they treated the girls with artificial pheromones that acted to make the male slaves behave as dogs to a bitch on heat. No wonder my cock was so hard, I thought ruefully.He was very handsome, this Japanese boy: tall and beautifully built with sleek but extraordinarily well-defined muscles that rippled most provocatively with his every movement. His cock was quite enormous and it stood straight up his belly, quivering in obvious lust. Prior to them removing the thong, it had pushed the little square of cotton aside, showing just how useless it was as an item of modesty.He performed even better that the white boy had, his beautiful buttocks clenching wonderfully as he thrust hard into her vagina while she squealed in pleasure and wiggled her bottom at him. Eventually, though, he too ejaculated into her and then withdrew, he too looking sheepish after the magnificence of his climax and was then led away.We went down to the girl and I squatted down beside her, reaching out to fondle her firm breasts under her body and stroke the velvet-smooth skin elsewhere. “What an exquisite creature,” I said to Dingane. “Did you breed her here?”“My father did. I was just twenty when she was born and Father was still running the farm. He’s retired into the city now,” he added by way of explanation.“And the male?”“Oh no. He’s a real acquisition. His blood lines go back hundreds of years. He cost me a fortune. There aren’t too many of his ilk about …”I gulped. It was as if we were talking about breeding racehorses on my planet.We left the nursery and then moved to another bizarre (at least to me) part of the farm. You may recall I mentioned that breeding females were transferred to the dairy herd after dropping a sucker? Well that’s exactly what it was. Those female slaves who had just given birth and were therefore in milk had their produce milked from them twice a day, just as the milking cows on the farm did.They worked during the day with other slaves but in the morning and at night they were brought here and placed on the machines that extracted their milk. “Did you enjoy the milk on your cereal this morning, Adam,” Dingane asked me, grinning broadly at me as we entered the shed.“You mean …?” I stuttered.“Indeed. We use nothing else for our household needs …” He paused and then gestured to two girl-slaves, one Asian, the other white, both of whose udders were full to bursting. “I had these two held back this morning so we could demonstrate the machine to you.”He nodded to the overseer and while we watched, the first slave, the Japanese girl, was pushed up to two movable plastic cups attached to a vertical stainless steel frame. They were roughly at chest height but could be moved up or down to suit the stature of the girl to be milked. The man then strapped her to them so she couldn’t pull back and also cuffed her hands behind her back.“It’s a mite painful,” explained my host. “If we didn’t strap them in, they’d pull back and then we’d have to begin all over again.”The overseer switched on the machine and then I saw what Dingane had meant. The plastic cups were made of clear material and now as I watched I saw how the pressure and suction inside the cup was really mauling the girl’s breast, squeezing it in from the sides while the tiny inner cup that fitted right over her nipple sucked voraciously.“They have to learn to let their milk down, Adam,” Dingane went on. “The longer they hold it back, the longer they have to suffer on the machine.”I nodded. I could see this girl was anxious to have it over and done with for her milk was fairly squirting down the clear plastic tube and into the small clear bottle beside us. In fact, she even seemed to be pressing her body harder against the two cups and I looked inquiringly at my friend.He grinned. “Yes, this slave is a masochist. Watch …”He nodded to the overseer who now took a small whip and began to lash at her back and buttocks. I stared in awe as her face went into raptures and her milk flowed even more copiously.The other girl was definitely not masochistic and clearly hated her twice daily milkings. The man had to force her into the machine and then strapped her very tightly. When the machine was switched on, she screamed and struggled against the pain of the mauling of her breasts and the milk coming out was no more than a trickle.“You want a shock, slut?” said the overseer ominously, openly fingering the controller on his belt.“No, please …!” she said and I could see the indecision in her face – but then she obviously decided it was stupid to resist and relaxed her udders, allowing the milk to flow. I stood and stared at the incredible sight of a female human being milked just like a dairy cow on my world. Her milk would tomorrow grace our table and I have to admit, it certainly tasted sweet.As we left the milking shed, Dingane turned to me and grinned. “After that, I suspect you may have a need to return to your suite. Er, freshen up, somewhat, eh?”I smiled back at him. “Thanks, Dingane, yes. Things are rather urgent in that department.” We headed back to the house now while I continued to stare at the muscular back, buttocks and thighs of the two naked Asian beauties trotting us along the path.Once in my room, Chula was at my side in an instant, had me naked before I could even greet her – and down on my bed where she once again made love to me in yet another wondrous round of sex. I don’t know if it was fear that I might go to the cupboard and bring out a whip to lash her slender body with – or was it a genuine wish to please me – whatever the reason she delighted me every time I was in my room…This time, whether because she knew where I had just been or not, she took up a position on my bed in a close approximation of that adopted by the two girls I had just seen impregnated, spreading her knees wide and then lowering her upper body down so her face was down on the mattress and her bum up high. I attacked her joyfully, my cock again quivering in lust and my hands now down under her body mauling her beautiful breasts while she squealed in delight.She was a virago all right. Her body squirmed and twisted under me and it all added to the pleasure, especially at the moment of orgasm when she somehow worked her inner muscles around the ultra-sensitive head of my cock bringing the pleasure to a new crescendo of orgasmic lust.Afterwards, I collapsed, my body hot and sweaty and she lay beside me, (seemingly) idly caressing my skin until she had me screaming for more. Then she bathed me, soaking me in a hot tub and sitting behind me, massaging my body under the jets of the spa tub before leading me to a cold shower.Then she left me to have a nap until dinner.<br />Dingane was a gracious host. He never breathed a word of my true identity to anyone, even his wife and he made sure my visit was a most memorable one. We went on picnics down to the river bank; shopping trips to town (not back to the city of Zimbabwe but to the local provincial town); and visits to his neighbours. And on these trips, unless speed was of the essence, we used the beautiful gigs drawn by a pair of slaves. I had my own sometimes, always drawn by a pair of Asian beauties, and it was a real thrill to hold the reins and treat the pair of human females as ponies.One of the visits was to N’dona’s farm. It wasn’t quite as extensive as Dingane’s but not that far short. The biggest difference I noted was that all his slaves were stark naked, including the domestics. Not a stitch was allowed them to cover their nakedness and each was at least as well-built and athletic as those on my host’s property. This made it even more difficult to keep my equanimity through dinner but what came after was even more incredible.N’dona was an aficionado of fights. Slave fights, that is, and he had a special room in his house set up for and devoted to the sport. It had been bad (or good, depending on your point of view) enough seeing his domestic slaves, whites and Asians all, going about their business stark naked, their hairless bodies beautifully developed, exposing their sexual organs magnificently – and particularly at dinner with the lovely Thai girl bending over my shoulder to serve me my next course or fill my wine glass; but now, as we watched two pairs of slaves wrestling, it was even more disturbing – sexually disturbing, that is.There were two wrestling matches: one between a pair of muscular girl slaves, the other between males. And then the finale was a fight of another kind which I will describe in a moment. First though, the wrestling.The ring was merely a raised dais set against one wall. It stood about half a metre above us and gave us, seated in comfortable chairs around the three sides, a perfect view of the action. There were no ropes, the slaves being enjoined under pain of a prolonged punishing shock to their genitals, not to venture off the dais during a bout.The two protagonists were brought in and jumped up onto it and shaped up to one another. The girls were very muscular. They were stark naked and had no boots or boxing gloves even to assist in the fight. They were both very tall and I knew this was going to be one hell of a fight. There were a dozen of us ranged around the ring. N’dona and his wife, Dingane and Zuella, me, and seven other guests, all black of course. I was seated next to Zuella in pride of place and she smiled at me as we sipped our coffee waiting for the bout to begin.N’dona leaned over her and explained the rules. “It’s just one round, Adam,” he said. “Anything goes. It’s not pure wrestling or boxing or even kick-boxing, but a combination of all of them and everything else. Once the whistle blows, they can hit, punch, kick, gouge, bite…”“How do you choose the winner?” I asked curiously.He grinned. “Easy. Whoever is still standing at the end.”“So there is no time limit?”“No. It makes for an exciting fight.”I’ll bet it does, I thought, staring at the two magnificent females now facing up to one another. They really were magnificent. One was a statuesque blond, Scandinavian I suspected and her flowing, fine silver hair wafted every which way as she moved. The other was Japanese and she was just as big and perhaps even more muscular than the Swede. I felt a familiar stirring in my loins as I watched these two face up to each other, arms out, ready to grapple.They had been trained by N’dona’s coach and, apart from gruelling exercise pulling ploughs and the like, spent all their time learning new fighting techniques. N’dona had the resources to maintain a small stable of fighting slaves and Dingane later told me his friend’s fighters were among the best in the land.The Swede feinted with her body, pretending to lunge in towards her opponent, but then, as the Jap leaned her upper body backwards out of the way, the blonde leapt in with a massive kick that came up between the Asian girl’s thighs to land with a resounding thwack on her sex.She screamed, her face paling and her hands flying down to ease the terrible pain in her groin. The Swede then ran forward, fists flying, pummelling the other girl’s face and breasts.But they were strong, these girls. The Asian girl quickly recovered and now she attacked. First she retreated but then, as the Swede tried to decide what she was up to, she leapt forward and up, legs drawn up to her chest and then let fly with a massive double kick to the white girl’s belly.It knocked the stuffing right out of her. She collapsed on the deck of the ring, doubled up in a foetus position, her face white as she struggled to get a breath into her collapsed lungs. The Jap didn’t hesitate, though. A win meant many very nice privileges for the next week; a loss resulted in a ritual flogging tomorrow before the whole squad and it seemed this was carried out in as humiliating way as possible, the girl or boy hung up by his or her heels, their feet stretched impossibly wide open – and then the whip applied to buttocks, belly and down between their legs – five strokes to each location. They were then left to hang there in that demeaning pose for the rest of the day.No, losing was definitely not a preferred option.The Jap got down behind the doubled up Swede and grabbed her by the neck while her powerful thighs went around her waist. She now pulled back with her arms while her thighs squeezed – and squeezed – and squeezed, until the white girl was screaming in agony.Both girls’ muscles stood out in fine relief, rippling and cording wonderfully and my cock was rigid in my pants. What a display of pure animal splendour, I thought. It was too, especially if you were, like me, into female muscles. Not, I hasten to stress, that I liked female bodybuilders any more than the male variety. I think they tend to look gross. These girls were nothing like that. In fact I never once saw a slave who looked like a bodybuilder. Magnificent athletes, yes; bodybuilder – muscles for the sake of muscles, definitely no – in either sex.The Swede wriggled out of the two holds, somehow. Perhaps it was the sweat that now made their bodies look even better. They were both on their feet in an instant, circling the other like predatory animals – which they were. The winner had a wonderful prize awaiting her – free sex for a week with any other slave of her choice – male or female; the loser, the penalty I have already described. Not much of a choice, eh?Both girls were now breathing heavily, their magnificent breasts rising and falling rhythmically, their tits aroused, as were their so naked quims. Fighting must rouse the libido, I thought for these two girls were very definitely aroused, their nostrils flared, their eyes wild as they looked for an opening in the other’s defences.The next ploy came from Inge (the Swede) and it was a classic boxing attack: right hook, left cross and then an uppercut to the jaw. If the last blow had connected squarely, it might have knocked Mitsui right out. As it was, it glanced off and saved my favourite from disaster. Still, it was a telling blow and Mitsui staggered backwards a few steps, fighting to regain her wits. Inge wasn’t giving her any leeway though and leapt forward, bare fists at the ready. She got in another couple of blows, one to Mitsui’s breasts; the other to her face but the Japanese girl had now recovered her wits and feinted with her fists a couple of times before delivering a repeat of her earlier ploy with her feet.The double attack on Inge’s belly now floored her – permanently. She was clearly in a lot of trouble and Mitsui knew it. She didn’t attack this time but retreated to a corner of the ring while a trainer’s assistant (a slave) moved in and scooped up the fallen girl, slinging her over his muscular shoulder and taking her away while N’dona applauded the victor.He then leaned over to me. “You might care to stay over and witness Inge’s punishment, Adam?” He paused and grinned, “and also Mitsui’s choice of partner for her first night of pleasure …?”I smiled back, turned to Dingane and silently asked for his leave – which he gave very willingly. “Thanks, N’dona, I’d love to …”Then the two males scheduled for the next bout entered. They were huge men. Both nearly two metres tall – over six feet six in the Imperial scale – and they had bodies to match their incredible stature. They also had genital equipment to match: penises than hung down halfway to their knees and enormous balls. Their bodies were very muscular – again, not bodybuilder type muscles but those of a perfectly trained athlete. This time both were white, one Nordic: fair and blue-eyed; the other darker, from Eastern Europe, I guessed. Both were very handsome and even though I am not normally turned on by males, even handsome ones, these two certainly had my cock tingling.What followed was a near repeat of the girls’ fight. Not the same, of course. These slaves were male: bigger, stronger and more brutal. Their punches drew blood and their twisting holds had their opponent screaming in even more pain than the girls, but to describe the fight would really be no more than a recap of what I’ve already said.Not that I wasn’t interested. This was a pure fight, so far as I was concerned. Whereas with the girls, there was a sexual interest as well, this one, although I’ve said I found my cock tingling when I first beheld their magnificent bodies, that soon abated as they got into the fight.It went on and on and it was only terminated when the Czech boy seized the blond’s balls – and simply ripped them off. There was a lot of blood of course but the attendant was quickly on the scene, removing him and after applauding the victor, N’dona explained his wounds would quickly be repaired. “Of course he will have to lose his penis as well. I don’t like male slaves to be only partial castrates. They are either whole – or nothing. My veterinary will come tomorrow and remove his penis as well and then he will be an even better fighter.”I wondered at this. “But won’t his lack of testosterone remove his aggressiveness?” I asked.“Of course, but now we will be able to supply this artificially, by suppository into his rectum – and we will be able to control the dose ourselves and not leave it to his own body … A far better method.”I wondered what the slave would think but it was only a passing thought. In this society, no-one cared what slaves thought.The last fight was stupendous. There is simply no other word to describe my reactions to this masterpiece of erotic battle.It was between two females. Two more of the tall, muscular and highly athletic girls who graced N’dona’s stable of fighting slaves. Again, one was Asian, this time from Thailand, the other a magnificent redhead from Ireland. The Thai girl’s name was Timkit and the Irish girl, Megan.As with all slaves, they were quite hairless apart from the tops of their heads, their eyebrows and lashes and their vaginas were totally open and exposed to the spectators. It appeared that this nudity and even the tiny covering Dingane permitted his slaves was designed to keep them aware of their status as slaves compared to us fully clothed blacks. Even in the city where the slaves wore only the brief skirts, they were in stark contrast to the black citizens.They stood there on the stage while I feasted my eyes on their beauty and their sleek muscles. They were very apparent on both of them, their bellies ridged with their abdominal muscles, breasts firm and upstanding, shoulders boulder-like, standing up and out from their necks and arms, thighs corded with rippling muscle …But now two attendants, white slaveboys who were castrates but were nicely athletic and so I assumed they had been allowed to develop before losing their genitals, came onto the stage holding what looked like rapiers in their hands. They were – rapiers I mean, although they had no handles. Instead, there appeared to be a thing that looked for all the world like a dildo with a large ball near where it was joined to the slender blade of the rapier. There was also a small crosspiece just in front of the ball that had me puzzled until I saw the things fitted to the girls.Have you guessed? I didn’t. Not until I saw them actually inserted … The attendants worked the dildos into the girls’ vaginas! Yes, really. They slid them in while the girls stood there quite docilely, accepting the weapons until the large ball was pushed in and then the vertical bar prevented any further intrusion.Now, as I stared in awe at the sight, the girls began to work their internal muscles to erect the rapiers – as if they were cocks on a male so that they poked directly out in front of them. How they did this was a mystery until Zuella explained they were trained to first recognise and then to use and finally to master a set of muscles inside their bodies that enabled them to grip the dildos and manipulate them as I was now witnessing. She added that there was a side effect also. “It makes them very good sex partners, Adam,” she whispered into my ear.I found their frankness when it came to matters sexual a little disconcerting but I soon got used to it and if you think about it, it’s a great deal more honest than our sniggers and innuendos whenever the subject comes up.The girls now faced up to one another and began to feint, jerking their loins back and forth and driving the tips of the ultra-sharp rapier points closer and closer to the other’s body. It was incredible. I doubt if anything more erotic could possibly be devised. Certainly, as far as I was concerned, anyway, it was something I could never have dreamed up in a million years.Two girls facing one another, legs spread, a slender rapier blade protruding from their vaginas, leaning back, belly muscles rippling, hands extended to counter-balance their posture, the rapiers quivering slightly as each eyed the other, looking for an opening. They feinted a couple of times, the other using her body to swing her blade and deflect the other’s, then, Timkit lunged forward, her blade catching Megan on her upper left thigh. The redhead jumped back, staring down at the wound that now oozed blood. Both blades now quivered, their owners very much aroused, partly, no doubt, from the excitement the balls must be exerting on their clits; but also, I suspected, from the bloodlust that comes from a battle.Timkit didn’t rest on her laurels though. She leapt forward again, this time the tip of the blade catching Megan’s belly and drawing more blood. They looked magnificent, both of them. Their firm breasts juddered as they leapt back and forth, their firm, so beautifully defined muscles rippled and contorted as they twisted this way and that, their eyes were wide, watching each other carefully and quite oblivious of us or anything else around them.Then Megan drew her first blood. She had waited for the right moment then lunged forward, her rapier tip catching Timkit on her right buttock. She didn’t wait, though. She pulled it back and then rammed it forward again, this time catching the other girl on the outside of her right thigh. Both wounds told. They made the Thai girl less agile and although Megan had her own two wounds – on her left thigh and her belly, neither was as bad as those on Timkit.The Thai girl wasn’t finished yet, though. Not by a long shot. She set her face, ignored the pain in her backside and leg and watched Megan’s eyes. Then she moved. This time it was again to the Irish girl’s belly but this was a deep wound and it hurt her a lot. It was followed by another stab to the inner groin, where the thigh meets the torso and it was even more debilitating.It was Timkit’s night. She went in for the kill now, figuratively, anyway, lunging hard with her loins (and in the process showing off her beautiful body wonderfully) and achieving a number of nasty stabs to her opponent’s body. So much so, Megan finally dropped to her knees, her head down on her breasts. She was done.The attendants withdrew the rapiers and as they carried the Irish girl out, N’dona congratulated Timkit<br />Chapter 3<br />We saw Dingane and his wife and the other guests off soon after that and then N’dona took me along to a wing at the back of his house where the winners of his fights were permitted their pleasure. The first of these, Mitsui, was already at it and she had chosen a magnificent stud animal, a tall and muscular German for her partner this night. Tomorrow, and each successive night she could either choose him again, or a different male. And if she happened to like girls instead of males, she could choose one of her own sex to pleasure her. What the other girl thought about it didn’t matter.There were three pleasure rooms since N’dona always staged only three or less matches, usually weekly but sometimes less often. They contained a bed with a thin mattress and a fitted sheet on it; nothing more. There were also chairs ranged around the bed for N’dona and his guests to sit and watch his slaves as they rutted together.I gulped. I wondered, if the situation was reversed, if I would be able to perform but then as I thought about, I realised I would have to. A slave’s feelings were of no importance whatsoever. He or she was trained to sublimate them to the greater need to please his or her master – and that was that.The pair of them looked magnificent, of course. Both highly athletic and now using every muscle in their bodies to get the utmost pleasure from the sex. They were allowed two hours and they were going to make the most of them.We stayed and watched for around fifteen minutes then N’dona steered us out of this room and into the next. Here, Dubcek, the Czech boy, was making love to a beautiful redhead. Her skin was milk-white which contrasted beautifully with his pale olive colouring but both had beautiful bodies, their muscles, like all of N’dona’s slaves, clean and sharp and yet so fluid in the way they rippled with the slightest movement. Watching the boy’s buttocks clench as he drove his huge pecker into the redhead’s body was quite stunning, but her velvet smooth flesh was also extraordinarily tantalising for she gave as good as she got, her loins slamming up to meet his plunging middle, her legs twined around his thighs, her hands raking all over his muscly back…The last show involved Timkit and she had chosen another female. I didn’t mind this for I had never seen two females making love and the sight was enticing, if a bit strange. They squirmed together, their so naked quims rubbing against the other, breasts mashing together, mouths kissing while hands roved everywhere. We sat and watched them for quite a while and then N’dona led us out. As he explained, “they must perform for us of course, but I like to give them a little privacy, too.”His courtesy towards me wasn’t over yet. In my room there were four girls, all Asian, as Dingane had informed him of my preference, all superb specimens of female athleticism. I must say I found it hard to choose but eventually I decided on a Thai girl, an exquisite creature, not too tall but beautifully put together who gave me a couple of hours of wondrous pleasure before I simply dropped off to sleep.When I woke in the morning, it was to her bringing me in my early morning cup of tea and toast and while I sat up in bed, munching the crisp warm toast and sipping the tea, she danced for me.And what a dance. She was as graceful as anything I have ever seen in my life and she performed the movements with extraordinary skill and poise and I sat there bemused at her loveliness as well as the sight of her naked charms so beautifully displayed for my pleasure.After breakfast, we went outside to watch as two of the losers from last night were strung up for their punishment. They were the two females since the Nordic boy whose balls had been ripped off by the Czech was in no condition to take the whip. Inge and Megan were, however, and they were brought up to the gallows, erected behind the house for this purpose.The rest of the slaves were already assembled and stood watching silently as the first of the two girls was strung up by her heels. It was Inge and she had to lie on her belly on the grass under the gallows while the black overseer fastened the two leather manacles around her ankles. Then two slaves, detailed for the purpose, pulled on the ropes, dragging her up, pulling her ankles wide apart until she dangled with her hands just free of the grass, upside down, stark naked, her beautiful body looking quite forlorn – but also magnificent, in all its athletic glory.The whip used was a rather stiff looking affair. It was fairly solid at the handle but then tapered down to a point at the end. The whole thing was about two metres long and it looked quite vicious.The overseer handed it to a Nordic slave, a tall young man with blond hair and blue eyes – and muscles that were quite magnificent. His skin was a light gold – all over, of course since he was permanently naked and now, as he contemplated his victim, his cock was also hard. So, I noticed ruefully, were those of most of the male slaves standing around the gallows. My own definitely was and I kept my hand in my pocket to hide the fact. The blond didn’t seem to worry about his, though, and it swung proudly from side to side like an upside down pendulum every time he moved.He took up position behind Inge’s body. The buttocks were to be first and since they were meaty, he applied the five strokes hard. She hung there silently, absorbing what must have been terrible pain from each one, her cheeks now violently striped with five red weals.Then he moved around to her front. The strokes to her belly were delivered less severely but they still must have hurt and as I watched her face, dangling down near my knees, I could see how hard she was trying not to scream.I looked questioningly at her owner and he smiled. “If she holds on through all the first ten strokes, we forgive the last five. I like my slaves to show fortitude and it looks as if she is going to win …”She did, too. What a performance, I thought. Her only crime had been to lose her fight but I realised this would be a strong motive to go all out for a win – that and the pleasure you could enjoy for a week afterwards …The Irish girl wasn’t as strong. Not that I blamed her. The pain from that whip, applied with great skill by the giant Swedish boy, must have been appalling and at the eighth stroke, Megan screamed out her distress. Before that, her body had described wonderful contortions as she had twisted about in the aftermath of each terrible stroke and I am ashamed to say I came in my pants as I watched her lovely body punished.The five strokes to her crotch were the worst. I knew she must have been suffering the agonies of the damned as the tip of that stiff weapon found her vagina or her anus or even the perineum, the little fold of skin between each of the two orifices.Dingane had sent a gig around to return me to his farm and, after thanking my host most profusely for the evening and this morning, I mounted it, took up the reins and clicked them against the back of the left hand girl who was my lead pony this morning. They were two Asian girls, of course – Dingane was ever attentive to my hankering for these so exquisitely dainty people. These were a different pair from thoe I had seen previously but they were as perfect in their own way as all the others I had so far seen there and I sat back, the reins loose in my hands as they trotted me back along the roads and lanes to Dingane’s homestead.I stared at their pert buttocks, at the way their muscular thighs tensed and corded, at the rippling muscles of their backs and at the way their pony-tails – their gleaming black hair gathered at the back, flowed out behind them as they sped along the roads.Of course we occasionally met other citizens riding in similar gigs coming our way and then I stared just as openly at the pairs of slaves pulling them along.I don’t think I’ve mentioned the way the slaves were harnessed to the gigs. Each such vehicle had a central pole that came out from under the seat. This divided into two up at the front and then curved up and then forward again so it was at neck height at the end. Attached to the very end of the two poles was a leather collar which was buckled around the slave’s neck. Behind this and poking out either side of the pole was a crosspiece with a rubber handle on each end. The slave gripped these and used the handles to assist in pulling the gig.It also had the effect of displaying their bodies even better for with their hands up and out from their shoulders, their arm and shoulder muscles were nicely presented, as were their back muscles of course.Now, as I watched other slaves coming towards us, I stared at the display of their biceps and shoulder muscles, each straining hard to take the load off their necks. Whoever designed this method of harnessing had certainly hit on a winner – as far as I was concerned, anyway.The pony slaves were universally more muscular than most other classes of slave of course. They had to be strong to pull the gig and their passengers for hours at a time and when the ponies were female, this was even more the case. From what I had seen so far, about half and half were female and each of them was a superb athlete, her body honed to true perfection, stark naked as all ponies were no matter what dress was allowed their owner’s other slaves and in the case of males, many with mandatory boners that swung violently from side to side at each new step.We trotted up the driveway to arrive at the house just before luncheon. In my rooms, Chula was waiting for me, a hot tub already drawn and she had my clothes off in a trice, my body bathed and massaged and dressed again and down to the dining room without me even seeming to know what she was doing.There was no sex for us that time; there simply wasn’t time, no matter that I found her body wonderfully alluring as she danced attendance on me. I think it was then I realised I was becoming a sexual virago myself. On my Earth, I had taken it when it presented itself and had had no especial craving for it. Now though, perhaps because the slaves presented such an erotic spectacle to me all the time, I wanted it every waking minute, it seemed. I couldn’t have it of course and that is probably just as well. Nonetheless, I wanted it and as Chula so expertly soaped and massaged me in the hot tub, I wanted to draw her gleaming wet-slicked body to me and make ardent love to her. That I didn’t was only because I knew Dingane and his wife were waiting for me downstairs.But, perspicacious as ever, after lunch, he observed I would probably be pleased to ‘rest’ for a part of the afternoon for he had planned a special entertainment for me this evening.I grinned. “Thank you, Dingane. Yes, a ‘rest’ would be welcome.”Needless to say, there wasn’t much resting done that afternoon. Chula met me at the door to my suite and with a little grin, had me naked in less time than it takes to say Jack Robinson. We were on my bed in just as short a time and for a couple of hours, on and off, we made wonderful love together. Afterwards, she bathed me again and then let me have a legitimate rest for an hour or so.The entertainment Dingane and Zuella had planned for me involved a show. It was as different from N’dona’s fights as chalk and cheese but it was just as provocative.They had invited some other guests over for dinner and after it we assembled in the drawing room to watch as slaves who had trained for months (at night, after performing their normal duties) put on a ballet for our pleasure.I won’t say they were all skilled dancers. Some were, the naturals, I suppose, but what the others lacked in skill, they made up for in effort. The storyline was simple enough – a tragedy, of course, and it involved the love of a boy for a girl not of his class but whom he was determined to have.It was performed nude and the only way we could tell who was who, was by little tags attached to the left ear lobes. Gold meant upper class; blue was lower class.It was of course utterly prurient. All their entertainments that involved slaves were. I didn’t mind. No way! To watch a half dozen naked slaves dancing with grace and skill, telling the story of the girl and her boyfriend who faced opposition from both sets of parents, was incredible and I sat there, spellbound from start to finish.There was a lot of sex of course. Both parents made love as they ‘discussed’ their children’s perfidy in daring to contemplate marriage outside their class and of course the two lovers did it often throughout the performance, even being caught in the act by their four parents.The sex part of the dance was wonderful. The other parts were too, but whoever choreographed the dance showed a lot of skill in weaving the sex into the rest of the story. And that night, despite two hours of love-making with Chula in the afternoon, we were at it again when I went to bed.My days there were very pleasant. There was always something doing and in between these times, I could wander around the farm, usually on one of the gigs drawn by a variety of ponies, male as well as female, Caucasian as well as Asian, for variety is the spice of life, as they say. I never ceased to tire of looking at the bodies of the white and Asian slaveboys and girls. I think if I had been Dingane I might have followed N’dona’s suit and had my slaves naked always but on the other hand, as he said, “hide a little and the fancy is tickled even more.” He told me I could have any slave stripped right down any time I liked but I didn’t. In any case, it didn’t matter when they were acting as my ponies for they were all totally nude anyway.<br />The day approached when I was to join Jomo on his ship. I took my leave of Dingane and Zuella, thanking them effusively for their hospitality. Dingane insisted I return to them when the voyage was over and I accepted gratefully. He offered to lend Chula to me for the duration but Jomo had said I wouldn’t need her. “We have a great variety of slaves on the ship, Adam. I’m sure you’ll find someone to suit …”I was astonished at the ship. I don’t know what I had expected since such vessels on my world had all been sailing ships and had been dreadful things. Most people have seen plans of the way the black slaves were forced to lie side on to one another in almost no space, unable to move much for most of the day and night. Disease had been rampant and some voyages lost forty percent of their ‘cargo’.This ship, the Esmerelda, was a model of cleanliness and efficiency. She was big, around twenty-thousand tonnes and could carry a thousand slaves in ultra-clean, if spartan accommodations below decks. The slaves were housed in the slave decks on raised platforms which, while hard, were spotlessly clean. In any given slave cabin (and there were dozens of them on any given slave deck, there were four rows of such platforms, each two metres wide and running the length of the room. Each slave had a metre width for him or herself and at night, when they were locked in for the night, only their ankles were locked to the manacles fixed to the platform. This ensured there was no hanky-panky during the night although a slave could reach over and touch his neighbour if that was their desire. Actual sex was forbidden and made impossible by the ankle manacles, however.During the day, they were exercised in squads on the vast open deck between the stern castle and the forecastle of the ship. Those not being exercised were put to work cleaning and polishing, feeding or being cleaned. Their diet was wholesome if uninteresting and a team of slave veterinaries ensured all were medically fit.All this was explained to me by Jomo as he took me on a tour of the ship. We had flown up to Tangier in Jomo’s private jet. This was a little like a Lear Jet on my world but was even sleeker and much faster. We were going to start with the British Isles (as I called them – he just called it Britain) and then go up to the North Sea and Scandinavian ports then return to the Mediterranean where we would cover the French Riviera, the Balkan Peninsula and Turkey before ending in Alexandria where we would disembark and fly home while the ship continued on down through the Red Sea and Indian Ocean to its home port of Beira where the slaves would be offloaded and transported to Zimbabwe for training and later sale.But I was astounded at my own quarters on the ship. They were as luxurious in a nautical way as my suite on Dingane’s farm had been.The cabin was beautifully panelled in expensive timber, the carpets were thick and luxurious as were the soft furnishings. And then there was my slave. She was another beauty …Knowing my penchant for Asians, Jomo had allotted me a statuesque Japanese girl by the name of Kinto. She was very tall for a Japanese but her body was the very essence of athletic beauty – just how I liked a girl. Her breasts were firm and were perfect half orbs that were exquisitely soft to the touch and yet didn’t sag one iota. They were crowned with delicious little buds of eminently suckable nipples. Her waist was slender and her belly flat and nicely muscled. Her thighs were shapely but also well-muscled denoting years of exercise. Her buttocks were nicely rounded and quite boyish – unusual in a Japanese and I knew I was going to delight in spanking them during our sex… Her face was angelic – but also mischievous. I knew we were going to have some wonderful times together. She was no more than eighteen years old but her sexual skills portrayed a long period of training in the art and I knew she must have been born a slave.She was also branded.I hadn’t seen this on Dingane’s farm. Jomo told me later that many owners didn’t brand their slaves. He didn’t brand those he bought and sold but he certainly did for his personal stable. I was curious, for the brand was not simply a scar in her flesh but was coloured a bright metallic green. He promised to show me how it was done the very next time he took a slave for his own household.I looked at it carefully, having her stand in all her naked glory before me. It had been placed on her belly, exactly half way between her navel and the top of her vaginal slit and it was a perfect replica of Jomo’s personal crest – an eagle holding a whip in its mouth. I grinned at the implication – a bird of prey and the age-old symbol of mastery …The ship was very fast. Much more so than any comparable vessel on my world and Jomo told me they didn’t use propellers but a system that used a force I didn’t know existed to exert a sort of sucking at the bow – and the opposite force at the stern. It was eminently manoeuvrable and could come to a full stop from full speed almost in its own length. This meant we made London in almost no time flat.This London was a far cry from the enormous city I knew. It was no more than a collection of small houses. Of course there was no United Kingdom. Outside of Africa, there were no real national governments, local tribal chiefs being the only form of government. This suited the emperor for it meant there could be no opposition to his hegemony over his own continent. He had no wish to take over Europe, Asia or the Americas. They were far too primitive to bother with.Once having tied up at the company’s wharf we went into its offices to confer with Jomo’s local manager. These black men were the only sophisticates in the land. Jamal, the manager, had a staff of a hundred and in their compound (and in similar ones belonging to other slave traders) were the only decent houses to be seen.The compound was huge and made the mean dwellings of the native Britons around it look like wattle and daub huts. They weren’t, but they were not much better. There were already a hundred or more slaves in residence, ready for Jomo to look over and make a final selection. I accompanied him of course and watched as he so expertly examined each slave and made his decision. This was the master slave dealer at work and I noticed how everyone deferred to him. I knew it wasn’t just because of his position as the boss, either. He clearly knew more than anyone else around about slaves and what made good or bad ones.They were all lined up, naked of course and I could see they were all very ashamed at this. Not surprising, really, I suppose for outside, all the people wore the rough woollen tunics common to British peasants in the middle ages. They were all standing with their hands up behind their heads and overseers armed with whips and electronic gadgets like our cattle prodders ensured they kept them there.They were still in their natural state and were more or less hairy on their bodies. After seeing so many slaves back in Africa who were all totally glabrous and smooth, I now found this display of hairiness quite horrible.The males were on one side of the room and females the other. We went over the males first. “In a male we look for general physique, Adam, then individual muscle development and tone, good looks, and finally genital equipment. I don’t deal in anything but ‘fancies’ as we call them. The general run of labouring slaves does not interest me as I specialise in domestic and pleasure slaves as well as breeders. As you can see from this lot, they are all young and handsome and have fine bodies …” He had stopped at each boy in turn and had then ran his hands over his flesh, expertly gauging his muscle tone. He forced his fingers into each boy’s mouth, checking out his teeth and his tongue (a sure sign of good<br />health, he told me) then punched him in the belly and hefted his balls and skinned back his foreskin, working the member into an erection.He also made the boy turn around, spread his legs wide, bend over and then grasp his buttocks and spread them wide so he could investigate his anus and rectum. He did this by inserting a glass instrument that looked like a thick test-tube and as he pushed it into the boy’s virginal anus, he could clearly see the surrounding tissue. The thing was on a handle that contained a battery and lighting system so the interior of his rectum was well lit as the glass moved further and further inside.Behind the boy, an overseer stood ready. These were untrained slave recruits and could not be trusted not to rebel at the so indecent and obscene inspection of their bodies. Most were either the product of raids from one village to another, the results of a tribal war, or had come to the factory by way of sale of a family member to extinguish a debt. Fathers often sold their sons and daughters in this manner, it seemed.If the boy even looked like resisting Jomo’s inspection, all the overseer had to do was point his weapon at the slave’s buttocks and press the button on its handle. He didn’t need to actually touch it to his flesh. It worked from about two metres away and was a perfect form of control for pre-implant slaves.We inspected five boys in this manner and then came to one that looked as good as all the others to me. They had been mostly blonds for England on that world was Saxon and the light-haired variety was predominant. This boy was blond, too and I thought he was very handsome but Jomo pushed him back almost immediately.“See his cock, Adam. It’s a good size but it is misshapen. It is crooked and no owner would accept such a boy.”“What will happen to him then?” I asked.“Oh, Jamal will sell him on to another dealer who trades in labourers.”After completing the line of naked boys and rejecting only four of them, we moved across to the girls. Now I was really interested. The boys had all been handsome and nicely muscled youths but it was the girls that were really attractive. I didn’t like the hair under their arms and down at their groins of course and now understood why discerning slave owners had their slaves totally depilated. The ship had one of the units that effected this state and I was looking forward to seeing the slaves stripped of the ugly hair on their bodies in the next few days.Jomo went through exactly the same routine with these girls as he had with the males. Every girl was subjected to the same indecent inspection of her body. A few were rejected but most were not and Jamal sighed with relief. The girls were also mostly blondes and their skin was universally smooth and clear. Their bodies were as athletic and lissom in a feminine way as the boys had been. I swallowed guiltily as I looked them all over. Dozens of newly made slaves: girls who had only days before been free villagers some of whom might even be married.Now though they were nothing more than slaves. Animals almost. Animals of a higher intelligence than say horses or cows, but animals nonetheless. The transition was not yet complete, of course. They didn’t think of themselves in that light yet – but they would – and on this ship that process would be started and carried through to near completion. It would not be a pleasant process – for them anyway. I found it most delightful.Once Jomo had made his selections, the slaves were herded down the wire-covered raceway to the ship where they would be allocated their berths and, for the first time, locked by their ankles onto the sleeping benches. They would be kept there for twenty-four hours to accustom them to the hard benches and their continued nakedness for they would no longer be permitted any covering on their flesh – anywhere. In the factory, they had been allowed to keep their own clothes until Jomo’s inspection. Now, total and complete nudity would be the rule. It all helped in breaking down their view of their former status and made them realise they were now, in truth, nothing more than slaves, chattels – things that could be bought and sold…Having inspected the factory and given Jamal an A1 report, Jomo now took me out into the village of London, to meet the local chief and to discuss a slave gathering safari up north. I was excited at this. We would be riding horses for there were no proper roads that would allow us to use motorised vehicles and we would have our own guards to protect us from raids by bands of outlaws.The chief was all servility to my friend. On Jomo’s continued patronage and support depended his standing. Jomo’s factory was by far the biggest and most splendid of all those dotted along the Thames and the backing of the private army of soldiers who acted as guards to the factory, helped him to maintain his position as chief.I didn’t like the man much. Nor did I like the smell in his house. Hygiene was not yet known to these people – to any Europeans, actually and I don’t think they ever bathed. I grinned as I realised how the slaves were going to be subjected to it on a daily basis from now on. I was even more repelled by him when he offered his younger daughter to Jomo as a slave. How servile could a man get, I wondered. Jomo accepted her, though, winking at me as he gestured to one of his men to take the now screaming girl away to the ship.Having made his duty call, we hastened back to the Esmerelda to wash the stink of the man’s house off us and then have the girl brought before us. Kinto bathed me carefully and then I hastened down to Jomo’s day cabin. The girl, Sandra was her name, was brought in, still struggling and crying fitfully. Clearly she hadn’t known her father was about to make a gift of her to the slaver.“Stand up straight, slavegirl,” Jomo called but it made no difference. The pointing of one of the electronic guns at her loins did, though. She screamed blue murder, stared from the guard to Jomo and then slowly stopped her struggling and stood up although her hands were down at her middle, trying to ease the burning pain from the lightning-like burst of energy that had been directed there.“And now you will strip, slut,” my friend said softly. Of course his words had to be translated. He spoke in Zulu but one of the factors translated them to the girl.She stared at him in fascinated horror. Strip? In front of him? No way! The guard with the gun stepped forward then and pointed it at her groin again. She screamed. Her hands flew back down as if to protect her middle but then she subsided and began to remove the woollen garment. It was her only clothing of course. There were no underclothes for these people and she was now naked, her body dirty but clearly superlative in quality.Jomo beckoned her forward and although showing distaste at the grime on her flesh, expertly assessed her body. “Take her away and clean her,” he said. She may then be branded as my personal slave …”<br />Chapter 4<br />Jomo had other things to do but I went along to watch her initiation as a slave. As I’ve said, this world was far in advance of ours but not everything was modern. Certainly not the branding of slaves; but the cleaning and depilation of them was.With thousands of slaves on a fully laden ship, normal bathing would be impossible and so they had devised another method. Any country boy knows of races where sheep are sprayed with various chemicals designed to keep them healthy./ That’s exactly what they did here. Each slave deck had a room in which a dozen rows of slaves were forced into a like number of raceways. In some ways they were a bit like an automatic car washing shed at your local service station.There were sprays – high pressure ones that lathered the slave with hot soapy water. This was followed by revolving drums with strips of cloth attached to them. These acted as washers or flannels and lashed any dirt right off the hapless slave moving past them. They couldn’t rush past the flaying drums. Their speed was regulated by a series of bars on an endless chain that kept each slave two metres apart as they walked through the battering sprays and jets; past the slapping strips of cloth that rubbed their flesh clean as a whistle and then the cold rinsing sprays as they emerged wet and dripping and shivering at the other end. In this way, thousands of slaves could be cleaned very quickly.As they emerged, an overseer stood at the end, eyeing each slave critically. If any showed signs of a hairy regrowth, he or she was earmarked to another door than the one most slaves now went into to feed. Slaves were fed – they didn’t eat as we ‘humans’ did.I watched at Sandra was passed through the cleaning race. As I said, there were a dozen of these in each cleaning machine but at this time of day, she was alone in being cleaned so only one of the races was active.I stared in as I walked alongside her, along number two race which was of course silent and dry. The very hot water scalded her a little and she screamed and tried to shield her breasts and the area between her legs from the spray. She wasn’t successful for the jets came at her from every angle – in front, above, at the sides, from under her (down on the floor between her legs) and at the back. She could not hide from them all. Some were sprays, some jets. The one down between her legs was a powerful jet that battered at her vagina and her anus as she walked; most others were sprays of one kind or another but they all meant she was thoroughly soaked when she met the flying strips of cloth, themselves kept wet with more sprays as they attacked her body from both sides – there was even a small one between her legs which she had to straddle and this cleaned not only the insides of her legs but also her anus and vagina as she walked over it. It revolved in a horizontal position and its strips were not as long as the vertically aligned drums either side of her.She was of course still possessed of her natural body hair and this now had to be removed. We went through the door into the room that contained the equipment to achieve this. This process was normally a one-off event although sometimes a regrowth required a second dose. It did not therefore need to be as extensive as the cleaning races which were used twice a day on every single slave on the ship.Here, there was merely a series of dangling chains with cuffs on the end. The slaves to be depilated were placed under the chains, their wrists cuffed and the chains then clanked up and over the drum around which they were wound until the slave was dangling with his or her feet just off the floor.The technician in charge of the room then took up his depilating gun, a gadget that looked like a gas stove lighter except that the end was a round flat disk of what looked like clear plastic, rather than a pair of electrodes between which a spark arced. It was also attached to a power outlet and its cord snaked along the floor behind the technician.Sandra was placed under the first chain and her wrists snapped into the manacles. The overseer then operated the switch that caused the drum to rotate and the chain to clank up, drawing her hands and arms up until her body was dangling, naked and forlorn a few centimetres above the floor. The tech now nodded and walked up to her.“Don’t even think of kicking, slut, or the guard here will zap you with his prodder …” He nodded again to the guard, who gave her a short dose to her buttocks by way of example. She screamed and her face went pale. But she stayed perfectly still after that.I had to admire their methods. They had it all down pat. One might expect trouble in these places when you had to deal with a hundred new slaves at any one time but not when the guards had these gadgets to help them maintain discipline.The tech now raised his little machine and applied the trigger switch on the handle. A blue glow now emanated from the flat disk on the end and when he brought this up close to her hairy parts, the glow crackled and sparked a little. I don’t think it hurt all that much for Sandra didn’t do much more than wince now and then and give an occasional little scream as the zaps went deeper than usual – perhaps because of a deeper follicle.He passed it over and around her pubic hairs first and they simply fell out. He did her legs and then her armpits and then, while the guard opened her buttocks, zapped away at the few hairs in there.It took only a few minutes and she was totally naked. I was by now used to seeing slaves without their natural body hair and I must say the sight of the new slaves in the factory, all hairy, was not a pleasant sight. Cleaned and totally nude of such hair, they all looked vastly better. When he was finished, they let her down and her unkempt hair was trimmed and combed and then she was done …Sandra was now ready for her branding. As I said earlier, here they didn’t bother with new technology. The brand was inflicted with a red-hot iron which was first coated with the dye that would give her brand its distinctive colouring.Branding was always done in the presence of the Slave Master for the voyage, in this case, Jomo himself. She was returned to his day cabin and of course I followed along, now eager to see how this so barbarous act was inflicted on the soft flesh of a beautiful girl’s belly. I had often fingered Kinto’s brand, marvelling at its bright green colour and the perfection of the image: the eagle with the whip in its mouth. I think she was actually proud of it for it marked her as the personal slave of a very rich and powerful man. But I was sure she could not have enjoyed it being placed on her body. I didn’t ask of course. It wasn’t the sort of thing a master discussed with a slave.She was brought before him and now he came down from his chair and went over her body very carefully. Before, when she had been dirty and unkempt, his inspection had been more than a little cursory. Now, he looked over her body in fine detail and I could see he was pleased with her – as well he might be for now clean and smooth, she was a delectable little creature. That her father could have so easily given her away as a slave to Jomo still astounded me but then men have done like things throughout history, even on my world and so I suppose I shouldn’t have been so astonished.Behind her, one of Jomo’s men was now bringing in the branding bench. This was a long narrow item on which she would be strapped down, very tightly so she couldn’t move even a millimetre and so blur the brand. They also brought in the brazier. This was a smallish cast iron pot on its own legs and with holes around the sides to allow air in and inside it I could see the coals glowing brightly. They set it down and now Sandra was led back to the bench. As she turned around and saw the brazier, she screamed.“No! Please … no.”Jomo smiled. “All my slaves are branded, slave. You should be honoured that I have accepted you as a personal slave-slut …?”She subsided. I had to admire her bravery. She was facing a terrible pain – burns being amongst the worst sort of pain we humans have to endure – and the agony of a branding iron would be total, I thought.She allowed herself to be laid down on the narrow bench and her arms extended above her head. They, and her chest, her waist, upper and lower thighs and her legs were all strapped down as tightly as they could get the belts. The bench itself was heavy and wouldn’t move under her and her body was now immobile on top of it.The overseer who inflicted the brands (and Jomo told me these men were specialists, being trained long and carefully to inflict a perfect brand every time, for any mistakes were irreversible) had previously inserted his iron into the glowing coals. Now he brought over a jar and, using his fingers, proceeded to smear some of its contents over her belly in the location he was going to inflict the brand.As with Kinto, this was the area exactly half way between her navel and the top of her now totally naked slit. Jomo explained this was the other part of the two chemicals which, when mingled and under the influence of the hot iron, formed the bright green, metallic colour of the brand.The man now extracted the iron and examined its tip critically. The temperature had to be just right. It was, apparently, for he blew on the tip, then quickly dipped it into another jar alongside him as he stood at the bench – then positioned the still glowing emblem on the end of the iron – and dropped it down onto her flesh.I was watching both her belly and her face. The one sizzled and smoked while the other assumed an expression of utter horror, then screwed up in agony as the iron sank through her skin and into the muscle of her belly to inflict a permanent brand on her body. She screamed of course, the sound rising in pitch and intensity as the pain got worse and worse.He had exerted exactly the right amount of pressure for the precise length of time required and now he quickly retracted the iron, placing it in a holder to keep its still hot tip clear of anything that might burn then bent over to examine the glaring wound on her stomach.“A good brand, sir,” he said, smiling at his boss.Jomo moved closer and stared down at the now greenish/black mark. “It is,” he agreed. I thought it looked awful but he told me the blackness would quickly go away as the wound healed and then she would end up with a scar as beautiful as that worn by Kinto and all the other of his personal slaves on the ship.<br />It was now time to prepare for our safari up-country.These were not usual. Normally, Jomo and his other slave-masters relied on the managers of his various factories in the countries of Europe and Asia to acquire the slaves and then he merely collected them at pre-arranged times. This trip was, I think, for my benefit and I was very grateful for the opportunity. I told Jomo so.He grinned. “My pleasure, Adam. Actually, I will enjoy it too. It’s been a long time since I went on a hunt and this will be a pleasurable diversion.”“You actually hunt the slaves, then?”“Yes, although it’s more of a raid actually. We work in with a friendly chief and ally ourselves to him. He takes half the slaves we harvest and the other half are mine …”We were given horses by the London chief and then Jomo and myself, accompanied by fifty of his guard/soldiers rode off up north. We were escorted by a series of friendly chiefs through their territory and we stayed in our own tents overnight although we were offered accommodation in the chiefs’ houses. Jomo politely declined. As he said to me, the stink would be so bad we wouldn’t be able to sleep and the food – hell, it was horrible – all fat and gristle …Also, it didn’t pay to get too close to these chiefs. They might be friends at the moment; tomorrow they might be on the other side and so we kept our distance.We arrived at Cambridge on the third day but it too was nothing like the beautiful town I knew on my world. Again, just a collection of mean houses with the chief occupying a larger one. We were going to raid the village of Bedford and the chief’s men were obviously relishing the prospect of a raid with us for our weapons would make the result a foregone solution. They still used bows and arrows and spears while Jomo’s men were armed with stunner guns, a vastly more powerful variety of the same gadgets the guards used on the slaves. These had a range of up to a thousand metres and had laser accuracy.The raid was exciting. We rode long before first light and were ready to take the village as its inhabitants emerged from their houses. Our allies had merely to stand around while the soldiers aimed one of the weapons at each of the emerging enemy. They fell where they stood, paralysed by the stun-ray and were then easily rounded up and lined up for inspection.We made them strip of course and our allies chortled as they watched their enemy forced to denude their bodies so we might choose those we were going to enslave.Jomo courteously gave the chief first choice after they had both walked along the line of stark naked villagers, examining each one critically. The women were all crying and huddled over, trying to shield their breasts and vaginas from our view while the men were almost as shamed, their hands down covering their genitals – until, as the two leaders reached a potential slave, the guard behind growled at them to raise their hands up behind their heads, enforcing the order with a short, mild blast of the gun to their naked buttocks.By the time they had finished the inspection, all the villagers stood in a straight line, hands up behind the necks in as shameful a pose as it was possible for a person to be while the chief and Jomo selected those villagers they wanted as slaves.Jomo and the chief certainly selected the best among them and there was no shortage of weeping and wailing as loved ones were culled out of the line and chained into two groups for the return journey to the chief’s village and in our case, back to London.The chains were diabolical – or at least the way they were attached to the bodies of the slaves, were. As their former friends and relations watched, the still naked, newly-made slaves had to line up in two rows while two of the soldiers sat on a folding chair in front of each line.The first of these had an instrument in his hand. This was simply a battery pack with a single long slender probe poling out of the handle, like the tine of a carving fork at the end. When the thing was switched on, the slender tip quickly heated to a dull cherry-red. The new slaves had to stand in the line with their hands up behind their heads. If it was a male, the guard grabbed his foreskin, pulled it out and away from the glands of his penis and then simply passed the glowing metal through the end of the little flap of skin. The man screamed once but then had to move sideways to the next guard, sitting beside the first with a box of rings beside him. He picked up one from the box and pushed the hinged ring through the new hole. Now the slaves really screamed but a dose of the prodder directed at their buttocks from another guard standing behind them soon made them see which was worse. The rings were left open – for the moment.If it was a female, the guard grabbed her left vaginal lip between his thumb and forefinger, raising it to allow him to push the red-hot probe through the flesh. She too screamed of course but there was no blood, the hot metal cauterising the wound as it passed through. She too had to step aside and the next guard pushed the open ring through her new hole just as he had with the males.Once all were ringed, the slaves in each group were lined up, one behind the other and the chains were brought out. The first slave in each line had the end link of a chain passed into the ring on his foreskin and then the ring was snapped shut. The rings were ingenious. Once closed, they looked to be an endless circle without hinge or catch. You had to have a tiny key, delicately shaped, that had then to be inserted into a near invisible keyhole and turned a certain way for the ring to open.The chains were a metre long and the rest of the slaves were lined up behind the leader about that distance apart. The girl behind the leader had to stand with her legs wide to allow the guard to squat down and insert the other end of his chain into her open ring, and at the same time the lead link for the chain to the slave behind her. Her ring was then also locked shut. In this manner all of the dozen slaves in each of the two coffles were chained together.The pain each slave was feeling was very obvious. Their faces were screwed up in agony from the piercing with the hot iron and now the weight of the chains on those wounds, and, I suppose, also in shame that they had been so rudely stripped, fingered, selected and then ringed and chained in this so horrible manner, ready to move off on the first leg of what was going to be a most arduous journey.I sat on my horse beside the coffle, admiring their bodies (despite their hairiness, which, of course I now disliked intensely) and watched as they trudged along the path back to London. At night, as we camped beside a stream, they were secured by the simple expedient of forcing them to form a ring around a sturdy tree and then locking the lead boy to the last slave by another chain between their rings.They were kept naked of course. This was partly to begin their indoctrination as slaves but also, as Jomo said, “I like looking at their very pleasing young bodies …”They were all good lookers of course. He wouldn’t have selected them otherwise. There were no children among them but they were certainly youthful, none being over early twenties and all – every single one being nicely athletic and, if male, handsome to a tee; if female, quite beautiful.Jomo explained they didn’t raid the same village more than once in a decade or even longer. “Gives them time to replenish the stocks,” he chuckled.Once back at the ship, they were all treated. Cleaned in the race and then depilated as they hung in the frame. The first six had been strung up just as Sandra had and I stood there, watching avidly as they were prepared for the treatment. Being suspended in this manner shows off both male and female bodies beautifully and I stared in open lust as their young bodies were prepared.Then as the technician applied his wand to the hairy parts of their bodies, I marvelled how much better they looked totally nude of the ugly body hair. The males lost their beards as well of course and so from the eyebrows down, all were quite nude, their muscles now clean and smooth, unhindered by their former hairiness.<br />We left London that night, now making our way up into the North Sea where we were going to check out Jomo’s factories in Germany, Holland and Scandinavia. I won’t bore you with details of our acquisitions there. They were achieved in much the same way as those we had acquired in London although we didn’t go on any more raiding excursions.After adding a few hundred to the slave decks in this manner, the ship moved back south, passing through the Irish Sea and picking up a hundred or more dark beauties from Ireland on the way through. We then entered the Straits of Gibraltar and into the Mediterranean and now sought the darker Latin-type people from Spain, Southern France, Italy and then on to Eastern Europe and Turkey and the Middle East. At each location where Jomo had a factory – and there were dozens of these for he was perhaps the biggest and the best of all the numerous slave dealers in Africa, we acquired a hundred or so more slaves until the ship was almost literally bursting at the seams.I was astounded at this enormous mass of humanity. Every one of them naked – totally so and every one treated to remove their natural body hair. Every single one of the males thus had his genitals – cock and balls both, totally exposed from an utterly smooth groin; and likewise, the girls (for there was not a one of them over twenty-five) were just as nude down at her vagina.They were housed in spotlessly clean if spartan accommodations and each one of them was exercised for two hard hours every day. They were really expert at managing the slaves. Remember, none had an implant yet and so it was only by means of judicious use of the electronic stunner guns and the short range models that the guards could control the slaves. Of course there were other means.I’ve said before these people were way in advance of us on this Earth. Each slave deck had highly sophisticated surveillance equipment that monitored, both visually and audibly, everything that went on in the rooms on the various slave decks. Officers monitored the equipment but it was largely automatic, the computer programmes that ran it alert for any groups forming or for what might be construed as secret or subversive conversations. When either of these was suspected, an alarm went off and one of the officers honed in on the group or the couple. The microphones were ultra-sensitive and could be made either general or highly directional and a conversation could thus be easily overheard.The slightest hint of rebellion and the culprits were arrested and interrogated. Electrodes attached to the inner lips of a girl’s vagina or a boy’s testicles, soon had them confessing to any plans of rebellion although Jomo only went after the truth. He wasn’t interested in confessions simply to remove the agony of the torture and his men knew exactly how far to take a subject. I watched with interest as a girl was suspended in a tight spreadeagle and the electrodes clipped to the so sensitive inner lips of her nether opening.They then asked her a question. The scanning machine that was trained on her eyes determined if she was answering truthfully or not and if not, she was given a sharp dose of electricity to her vagina.Her body’s reactions to these were quite startling. Every muscle stood out in stark relief, quivering, shuddering and straining against the manacles that held her in a long St Andrew’s cross. Then the current was turned off and she collapsed, sweat forming in beads all over her body. They told her they knew she had been lying and asked the question again. In most cases, she now answered truthfully.If it turned out she was indeed a rebel, she was punished. This was carried out in front of as many of the slaves as could be accommodated on the exercise deck in the middle of the ship. She, and/or he, was suspended upside down with their legs drawn out as wide as they could get them – and then one of the guards, stripped to the waist for the purpose, took up one of the most horrible whips I have ever seen – and began to lash her (or him) between their legs.The whip was one of those things that, on our world, originated in Africa. It is made from rhinoceros hide and has a tough raspy texture. When woven into a whip and lashed over human skin, it is as if the skin was being whipped with sandpaper. The lashes were directed at the slave’s genitals and as I watched, now sickened by the brutality of the punishment, I knew neither the girl nor the boy who had confessed to trying to organise a mutiny, were going to survive – at least as whole humans.The punishment was brutal – and terribly painful. Right from the first lash, both miscreants screamed and screamed – until their voice boxes simply gave out but even then as they hung upside down and the guard continued to apply his lash between their legs, their bodily contortions told the whole story.I was right. The boy’s genitals were so mutilated by the lashes, he had to be castrated and I went along to watch as the surgeon expertly removed his genitals in their entirety.In the girl’s case her vagina was such a mess, the surgeon performed a hysterectomy and then removed her outer lips and closed off the opening entirely, leaving only a tiny aperture out of which she could urinate.Jomo took me aside afterwards. “You are appalled, Adam?” he asked.“It does seem a trifle over the top,” I said, somewhat apologetically. He was, after all, my host.“I agree with you,” he said, surprisingly, “but it is necessary. Every voyage we have one or two who think they can beat us. This is the best way to nip rebellion in the bud,” he said. I nodded my acceptance of his words. He was the expert, after all, but I still wondered if it had to be quite so brutal.I also went along to watch as the surgeon so expertly treated them – first the boy for his wounds were worst. They didn’t use scalpels on that world. Instead they had these electronic gadgets, laser scalpels, I think they called them that cut much more cleanly than the sharpest knife and cauterised as they cut. There was therefore no blood and no chance of infection. When they needed to cut but wanted the flesh kept open for later rejoining, they used a different instrument but it was still electronic.He quickly cut away the boy’s scrotum and what remained of his testicles then cut open the tissue around the penis. He pointed out to me how the organ was actually rooted deep inside the boy’s groin and how he would have to carefully excise the urethra from the penis itself, cut away the root and the external section and then make a small orifice for him to urinate from. All this he achieved in a very short time. He had obviously done it many times before and I marvelled at his deftness and the speed with which he worked.Then he turned to the girl. Both ‘patients’ had been put to sleep although he said this was not to save them pain but to obviate shock which could kill them. He now worked with the same efficiency on her body, removing her internal reproductive organs and then slicing off the pouting outer lips of her vagina and trimming the underlying flesh. He then carefully drew the two sides together, stitching them closed with yet another of his electronic instruments.“In the olden days, we actually sewed the lips shut but this instrument does the job so much better and it leaves no scar at all. When the flesh heals, which it will in only a few days, you would swear she had never ever had a vagina,” he explained.I sought her out a few days later and examined her nether regions carefully. He was right. The furrow down the centre of her belly went on right down to the new little bud out of which she would urinate (and this was identical to the one now worn by the male who had been castrated). I thought she looked stupendous – and for that matter, the male as well.Jomo grinned as I told him so. “You would be surprised how many of our people prize such a slave in their households. They have the appearance of living, breathing store dummies and yet their bodies can be kept in the absolute peak of condition …”“Are they exercised harder than the others?” I asked curiously.“No. It isn’t necessary. They seem to respond better than whole slaves, however. No-one is really clear why, not even the medical professors.From that time on, I watched that pair. They were now absolutely docile. Not a hint of trouble from them but it was more their bodies that astounded me. As Jomo had said, both would quickly become paragons of lithe muscularity and he was right. Every single one of the slaves on that ship had good bodies but this pair now seemed to leap ahead of the others and I can attest they weren’t singled out for any special diet or exercise regime. I asked Jomo why, if they were so popular and responded so well physically to the genital modifications, more slaves weren’t so treated.“It’s a very specialist market, Adam,” he explained. While they are indeed popular, more owners prefer to see the naked and exposed genitals of their slaves when they strip them. I suppose they are what you might call oddities …”<br />When the ship docked at Alexandria, the northern most extremity of the emperor’s domains, we alighted and boarded Jomo’s jet to fly back to Zimbabwe. The ship would move into the canal, then the Red Sea and Gulf of Aden, into the Indian Ocean and thence to Beira where the slaves would be disembarked and marched to his Headquarters factory.He invited me to stay with him for a couple of weeks, “to see over my whole operation, Adam,” as he put it. I agreed with alacrity after calling Dingane to tell him I was back and relay Jomo’s invitation. He was most gracious and told me to treat his farm as my home while I stayed on their world and that I should come up whenever I was ready.<br />Chapter 5<br />In the meantime, I stayed with Jomo.What an establishment! It was enormous. Understandable, I suppose, for a man whose slave empire encompassed a whole fleet of slaving ships and factories that spanned much of the world, outside of the Empire of Africa, anyway.It was situated on the outskirts of the vast city of Zimbabwe and covered more than two hundred hectares. This was necessary of course for he produced a great deal of his own food requirements there. Not all, for he had up to a thousand slaves at any one time and their requirements were vastly greater than a couple of hundred hectares could produce. Still, it was all as clean and efficient as Dingane’s farm although here, of course, the aim was to process vast numbers of European and Asian slaves and then market them to the hundreds of thousands of Africans who could afford the luxury of private slaves for domestic purposes.The emperor didn’t bother with Jomo or any of his colleagues for the requirements of the state. He had his own slave recruiters who harvested slaves and also bred them for use in the public sector but we aren’t concerned with them. Jomo’s slaves were the absolute tops in quality and his clientele numbered the cream of the African nobility and its other higher echelons of society.Jomo only took the best of what was on offer from Europe and Asia – and then he conditioned and trained the new slaves, turning them into the highest perfection of lithe, handsome or beautiful, highly trained personal slaves. He scorned to bother with labourers, menials or even highly trained artisan slaves. No, his stock comprised the fancies: the young males and females who were the best looking, lithe and supple-bodied domestics who were also skilled in sexual pleasure – the giving of it, that is.I walked around the enormous building in awe, admiring the huge dormitories where the slaves were allocated places for the night on long benches just as they had been on the ship, although here they weren’t chained down – it wasn’t necessary, as I will detail in a moment; the vast gymnasia where their bodies were honed to absolute perfection; and the training rooms where they learned the sophistication and skills required of domestic and pleasure slaves. Remember, each one of these slaves had been primitive, not even understanding the basics of hygiene let alone how to tend her master’s household and even more importantly, to give him long and exquisite pleasure.I was also shown the large medical complex. Here the slaves were treated for illnesses, although they were few for these young males and females were the best there was and were inherently fit and healthy. More importantly, here they received their implants: the tiny gadgets that were modelled on the heart pace-makers on my world but were vastly more advanced.I have already detailed how they responded to the controllers clipped to the belt of every supervisor. All he had to do was to tap in the code number for the slave followed by either the red or pink buttons and the slave felt either the tingling warning or a horribly violent, agonising pain to his testicles or her clitoris. But they were also programmable from a central computer: here, by the one in the slave training office; but also, once bought by a customer, by his or her own computer at home.Here at the factory, they were of course programmed to follow its directions and to respond to the set of controllers held by Jomo’s men. Once sold however, special codes were provided with each slave that allowed his or her new owner to transfer control of his implant to their own computer including the master number for his set of controllers.Once programmed, the computer could determine where each slave ought to be at any given period and this could be refined to within a few centimetres. This is why it was no longer necessary to chain them down on the sleeping benches. If they moved into the next slave’s space, they got a warning tingle. If they ignored it, a blinding bolt of pure agony was sent to their genitals organs. Once experiencing such pain, few tried it on again and as I walked down the rows of benches, looking at the sleeping naked slaves, I marvelled at their ingenuity.The pace-makers we use are very similar of course, sending a tiny jolt of electricity to the heart if it falters. The difference was in the amount of current emitted by them and the way these things responded to the extraordinarily accurate GPS (Global Positioning System) technology built into them.I watched with interest as they were inserted into the slaves’ bodies. It was almost like an assembly line. It took but a few minutes for the surgeon to make his tiny cuts into the tightly strapped down body of the slave (while on the next bed, the boy he had just done was released and removed from the table to be replaced by the next slave who was then prepped in readiness for his or her turn under the knife. The operation was so small, he was perfectly able to walk away).He made two incisions. One, in the boy’s right groin, to take the minute camera lens by which he could see what he was doing inside his body; the other on the right side by which he inserted the small, coin-shaped silvery object with the hair-like wires dangling from it. These were led down past the junction of his thighs and into his scrotum. I marvelled at the way the surgeon was able to manoeuvre the wires into the scrotal sac and then cauterise their ends to each testicle.He then withdrew his instruments from the tiny hole and sprayed the incision with a substance that not only disinfected it, but also caused it to heal before my very eyes. The flexible camera lens eye was then removed from the other side and this minute hole also sprayed.He then moved back to the other bed where a beautiful girl-slave was now strapped down awaiting his attentions. The boy had been handsome and his body quite beautiful, its muscles clean and sharp and his face as handsome as a young film star on my planet. But this girl was something else. She was blonde, her golden hair fine and straight and wafting about her head as she lay back on the operating table. Her blue eyes were large and ingenuous, in a face that had to belong to an angel. Her skin was soft and like the proverbial peaches and cream and it was the same all over her lithe, supple body.Her breasts were firm and upstanding from her chest as she lay supine, strapped down over her forehead, chest, belly and thighs and her waist was slim, showing off a wonderful array of nicely defined abdominal muscles. And her thighs were just as perfect. Not a hint of fat or dimpling, the muscles being firm and rippling as she strained in her position on the bed.The surgeon moved up to her and stared down at her beautiful vagina, a small hillock in the otherwise flat lower regions of her belly. Her abdominal muscles were really very apparent – just as I like them and I had to resist the temptation to run my fingers over them. Of course she, like all the slaves to be implanted, had been carefully prepped. They had all passed through the same cleaning races as on the ship but before entering the OR, they had also passed through another race, this one glass, that bathed them in an ionising field that killed not only germs but also viruses. They were thus totally free of any nasties that might have got onto their bodies. For me to touch her would thus have been somewhat irresponsible even though I had also passed through the glass race as I entered the OR before putting on the appropriate gown and gloves.Now he took up his electronic scalpel and, indifferent to her little scream, made the tiny incision to allow the camera lens to be inserted into her lower body. She struggled and I nearly creamed in my pants as I watched her fine muscles rippling under her restraining straps. Then, after his assistant had inserted the tiny lens on the end of its flexible metal tube into her body, he made another hole on the other side of her lower belly. It was fascinating to watch the TV monitor as he manoeuvred the tiny flat disc into her body and once it was in position, to thread the tiny wires down to a point on her vagina tract and thence through it to cauterise their ends to a point either side of her clitoris – perhaps the most sensitive part of her being.But I didn’t just watch the monitor. I found watching her un-anaesthetised body quite fascinating as he worked his instruments inside it. She was in pain but it was not unbearable – certainly not enough to send her into a possibly mortal shock. She couldn’t move her middle because of the straps but her muscular contortions within those bonds was absolutely incredible.The boy I had watched implanted before her had been a youthful Adonis and his muscles had been utterly incredible, rippling and cording as he struggled with the pain as the surgeon worked; but this was a slender young white female and I found her body much more attractive. I decided to stay here all day, watching as the expert doctor quickly inserted one after the other of the tiny devices into each of the new slave’s bodies.My eyes glazed a little as I stared at her writhing belly muscles, then up to her quivering breasts and finally at her face, screwed up in pain. She couldn’t move her head of course. It was held immobile by the strap over her forehead but her big blue eyes were moving around wildly, staring up at me, at the surgeon and trying to see down to what he was doing to her body. It was impossible, of course. Her head was tightly strapped down and no way could she get her eyes down low enough to see what was happening at her groin.What a beautiful organ it was on this girl. Just a slight mound with lips that weren’t too prominent. I find the large fleshy nether lips on some girls to be rather off-putting – at least I did when I had hundreds of them to choose from. If I had my rathers, I would prefer them like on this slave. Just a smallish mound and almost non-existent lips. You actually had to part the lips to see the inner delights and after threading the insulated part of the wire through her vaginal wall, the surgeon now spread them wide so he could cauterise the wires in place.I later wondered to Jomo why, since they could actually get at the wires, they didn’t tear them off. He grinned at me. “First, because it would be an extraordinarily painful operation. The wires are actually welded to their flesh … But also because we would know instantly there was no longer a proper circuit and the girl would face the punishment of having her hands removed. No, it isn’t likely, Adam.”He was done then and the straps were being undone even as he sprayed her two wounds with the wondrous stuff that healed them so quickly. She was up off the table and able to walk away, now without even a twinge of pain. Quite incredible.As I say, I stayed there all day, fascinated by the quick turn-around of the slaves and the expertise of the surgeon. They came in groups of females and then a few males. Seemingly without order but it was all very definitely by design. They knew exactly which one was next and once his implant was inserted and connected, the technicians to whom each implanted slave was delivered, quickly had their units connected to the system and tested for functionality.The surgeon suggested I follow the girl who had so taken my fancy to watch this procedure and I did, only returning to the OR after watching her unit programmed and tested.It wasn’t a pleasant time for the girl.Now that she was up off the table and walking, I saw my first estimation of her had been correct. She really was a beautiful young thing. No more than eighteen years old, her body was utterly lovely. Slender and lithe, she walked with a natural grace that nevertheless showed off her superbly athletic muscles as well. I walked behind her and (figuratively) drooled as I watched her tiny, but beautifully curved buttocks rising and falling with each step and her thighs and calves doing the same.Then, once in the little cubicle with the technician, he read off her number from the metal tag dangling from her slave collar and then began to punch in the data to his keyboard. Later, when she was sold, her new owner would give her a new number that would be tattooed onto her neck and this would then be programmed into his system. If she was subsequently sold to a second owner and that number was already occupied by one of the new owner’s slaves, a further digit could be added on (and her neck tattoo suitably amended by its addition) but this was apparently rarely necessary.The first thing was to have her implant recognise the controllers in Jomo’s system. This took but a few key strokes and then the technician tested first the pink and then the red buttons. He asked me to use mine to test her and I did, smiling at the alarm on her face at the pink button’s message – but even less happy when I activated her number followed by the red button. I am not a wanton sadist and giving this beautiful girl pain just to test the unit was not a pleasure for me.Still it had to be done although as she collapsed on the floor in a foetal ball, screaming out in agony as the little unit sent unbearable electric shocks to her clit, I felt distinctly guilty.Next, after consulting her programme for the next day from the clipboard beside him, he fed in the data as to her authorised geographical envelope for any given time. As long as she stayed inside this during the day and then didn’t stray out of her allotted sleeping space during the night, she would be safe. But err too much and she would get first a tingle and then, if she didn’t quickly correct her location, a real shock.I asked the technician how wide the envelope was. He smiled up at me. “During the day, Mr Blair, they have a quite wide space. They have time to get from one place to another to coincide with their timetable and it is fairly flexible. At night though, they have just the one metre width on the bench. If they move out of it or get too close to another unit, they will both respond.”What about their hands?” I asked. “I mean, it would be possible to lie in the right position but for a hand to stray over to the girl lying next to them, wouldn’t it?”He grinned. “No. Every human body emits a unique aura. It is very subtle but these units are able to pick them up, or at least to recognise one not belonging to their owner and if a foreign hand, say, strays too close to another slave, both units react. Believe me, sir, they soon learn not to try it on …”I grinned back at him. “The technology is certainly effective. I can see why you don’t need whips and the like to control the slaves once the implants are in place …”Jomo didn’t brand his slaves. That was left to the subsequent owner. Indeed many owners preferred their slaves in a pristine condition, without any mark at all to adorn their bodies. I think for my part, before seeing the beautiful brands on his personal stable, I would have preferred them to be left smooth and whole but after seeing Kinto and his other slaves with the quite lovely green mark on their bellies, I think I changed my mind.The next couple of weeks were quite incredible for me. Okay, the voyage and the ship had been great and definitely an eye-opener for me, especially the clockwork-like efficiency with which the thousands-odd slaves were handled and controlled. They were cleaned and fed and exercised by a well-oiled machine that almost never saw a slave stepping out of line, but here at the central factory it was even more smooth and efficient.The slaves were informed of their timetables – where they were expected to be at any given time: in the cleaning races, the feeding troughs, the gymnasium or out working in the fields. The overseers were there but they were largely unnecessary. Each and every slave knew very well that if he or she strayed out of his geographical envelope, a warning tingle, followed by an agonising bolt of pure pain would soon follow.They were quickly tamed by the implants, turned from raw savages into manageable slaves and then trained to perform any number of domestic tasks until they were skilled servants. They were also trained in the sexual arts. At any time I could wander around the vast complex and see hundreds of slaves doing their absolute best to learn the lessons being imparted to them or applying their muscles to their exercises or working in the rows of vegetables out in the fields.I loved to attend the gym and watch as hundred of girl-slaves worked their bodies under the trainer. They were all naked, of course. No slave in Jomo’s care ever wore even a stitch to cover their nakedness. As he told me on the ship, it helped to quickly make them realise they were no longer free people but slaves who did not merit any modesty.The trainer was a real expert and he had each group for a couple of hours. Two hours a day is a long time and he made the most of it. The girls and boys were already fine examples of lithe youthfulness when he acquired them; John, the trainer, took that naturally fine physique and built it into absolute perfection. By dint of a large number of repetitions of largely isotonic exercises, he smoothed and honed their muscles and their cardio-vascular systems until there was not an ounce of fat anywhere on their flesh, their muscles, while not huge, were cut as cleanly as butter with a knife and stood out beautifully from their flesh.And that meant every muscle. You could easily pick out each abdominal muscle, the trapezius muscles down the sides of their bodies, the individual muscles that made up their thighs … Even on the girls, who were not as cut as sharply as the males, you could still see their muscles under the fine skin.It didn’t even take him very long for Jomo had an enormous turnover in slaves. He didn’t have months to develop and train these boys and girls. More were coming in all the time and his emporium in the heart of the central business district of the city was constantly demanding more slaves to put on the pedestals in the main selling room. (More about the city shop later).As I said, I could wander around the gym for hours a day, watching as first a couple of hundred girls worked their bodies under the watchful eyes of the overseers who were not at all averse to fingering their controllers when a girl appeared to be slacking. It is hard to imagine, isn’t it. Two hundred naked girls, every one of them the essence of beauty, either fair with blue eyes or perhaps darker complexioned with brown or black hair and brown eyes, and all of them with a body to die for and now trained to reflect the epitome of Olympic quality athleticism.I could have any of these bodies I liked, Jomo told me but I didn’t. When we had left the ship, I had been invited to bring Kinto with me and I found in her everything I wanted in the sex department. She was so beautiful and her skin so smooth – like brushed velvet. As for her muscles, well they were as good as I imagined any girl could get. She certainly wasn’t a body-builder but every one of her external muscles was easily discerned and I delighted in running my finger between them, marking the division between one and another. On most people, at least on my Earth, this is blurred by at least a small layer of subcutaneous fat. On Jomo’s slaves and in particular on the lovely Kinto, there was no such layer of fat and every muscle was toned to perfection.I stress they weren’t big muscles. I think most people have seen the way the bodybuilder’s muscles eventually become striated … Not these slaves. Their muscles were fluid and as smooth as honey but at the same time as sharp as a knife! And in my view Kinto beat them all.At night, as she shared my bed, no matter how much I had been titivated by the sight of a thousand naked slaves at work or exercise all day, she was always able to bring me to a series of mighty orgasms, each of which seemed to go on for ever. As well, I liked her as a person and she seemed to return the favour. Whereas most white or Asian slaves seemed to be in fear of us blacks – as well they might for we certainly had them under minute and total control, she was different – or so it seemed to me.She always seemed glad to see me when I arrived in my rooms in Jomo’s house at the factory and she also seemed to be able to instantly catch my moods and respond to them. She was a slave; there’s no doubt about that and no black man on that world would even consider marrying a slave or even consider her as his de facto, but I knew I came to love that girl…But that was at night. During the day, after Jomo had given me the grand tour, he invited me to wander anywhere I liked or even to ask his head overseer for a gig and slaves to take me on a tour of the area. I didn’t do this at first for I was overwhelmed at the sleek efficiency of his headquarters factory and delighted in spending the days going from one area to another, simply watching as the slaves were conditioned and then trained to fulfil their future roles as domestics.It didn’t matter whether I chose to prowl around the gymnasium or to stand at the side of a classroom and watch as these barbarians were transformed into handsome and beautiful domestic servants; or even go outside to the fields and watch as rows of naked slaves weeded, planted or harvested their own food. Mostly they ate raw vegetables as being the healthiest diet for them but three times a week, meat was added and cooked into a stew. They were trained to eat it with a spoon out of a plate which was quite a new concept for them but they became quite civilised after a week or so.I found the sex lessons most startling. They were a combination of theory and practice, the teacher of the moment explaining a point and then using two of the slaves to demonstrate its practical use. These sessions were mixed of course which was unusual for most other slave activities were conducted for the girls and males separated. The only exception was when the girls were being trained in lesbian sex and the boys to give another male sexual pleasure for as Jomo explained to me, “We never know who is going to buy the slaves, Adam and they therefore have to be ready for anything …”I watched in a high state of arousal as the girls were trained to make love to each other, rubbing their breasts and their mounds against the other’s in apparent lust. One of the overseers whispered to me that most of them hated these lessons but of course they were conditioned to obey. Even a sign on their faces that they weren’t right into it and one of those horrible shocks might soon emblazon their clits with the worst agony imaginable. It certainly looked good from the point of view of a heterosexual male watching. I wondered if a hetero female might also enjoy watching two males making love. Jomo assured me most did but I didn’t find the sight all that pleasant, even if I could admire their bodies writhing and contorting as one fucked the other.I did find the sight of a male making love to a girl intriguing, though – perhaps because on my world, except for certain sleazy sex shows, it was a near impossibility to see. Not here though. As I’ve already described at Dingane’s farm, the semi-public breeding of slaves together was a quite normal occurrence and in the city, there were almost respectable theatres and cabarets where slaves were forced to make love together for the benefit of patrons around the bar or in the audience.The trainers here were all experts of course. On this world, Indians and Arabs were not the exponents of sexual delights that they were on mine. Here, certain mystics who lived in monasteries up in the dim mountains of central Africa had that honour. They trained men and women to become the teachers and they were at least as good and perhaps better than the Indian mystics on my Earth.They knew all about the erotic zones on the human body and how to use them to inflame a subject to heights of pleasure I could hardly credit. Kinto was one of the best students in this department which was why Jomo had transferred her to his personal stable and I considered myself very lucky she had been offered to me for my stay with him. She could touch me in a certain spot and send shivers of rapture all over my body.Not that this was all they did of course. She could also rub the tips of her lovely breasts against my body – and achieve just about the same result and this is what I saw as I watched the dozens of pairs of male and female slaves learning a particular point.But I did at times ask to borrow a gig, drawn by a pair of Asian female beauties and go for a spin around the district. Zimbabwe was a huge city and it had suburbs the same as any large city on my world. Jomo’s factory lay on the outskirts of these suburbs so I was able to take the girls for a spin along country lanes as well as semi-suburban streets.The girls were naked. I had wondered whether they would be for up in the country, while many slave owners kept their slaves totally naked or only partially covered at home, none that I saw actually used them totally nude out on the streets.Here, however, Jomo had no qualms about it at all. He was known as a slaver, a perfectly respectable profession on that world, and such people never clothed their slaves. The sight of a stark naked slave was therefore not unexpected in these parts. I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind at all. I watched in barely suppressed glee as the two beauties high-stepped it along the roads, bits pulled back hard into their mouths, pony tails swishing erotically from side to side from their buttocks where its base was anchored firmly into their rectums and their other pony tails (which matched those poking gout of their bottoms) flying out behind them as they trotted along the roads.They were harnessed differently from the girls I had used on Dingane’s farm. This was an even more diabolical method and one that placed a terrible strain on their bodies but as Jomo pointed out to me, “we’re in the business of taming, conditioning and training slaves, Adam. This gives them total shame and humiliation; a level of pain that is near intolerable and a public exposure that makes them understand, once and for all, that they really are slaves …”Whereas Dingane’s gigs were attached to collars around his slaves’ necks, these were part of the dildos that went up their anuses and filled their rectums – behind the coupling, the tails swished from side to side). Let me detail them: The gigs had a single pole, as usual and this was divided in two near the front end. At the very end, the dildo with its loosely attached tail waited to be forced up their rectums. This alone wouldn’t have kept them in place, of course. There was therefore another part. In the case of males, this was a metal collar that was tightened, like a single handcuff, around his scrotum and penile root; and with a female, it was another dildo that went into her quim. The base of this unit was moveable up and down the shaft between their legs and once it was inserted and the base slid up the shaft to a point near the base of the rectal dildo, the differing angle of the two dildos kept the pole firmly up under their crutches. The pony tail was attached to the base of the dildo at such an angle that it poked up from their bottoms and this jerked nicely from side to side with every step.Believe me, to sit in that gig holding the reins and looking at the two pert buttocks with the tail poking out and up behind them, and the shaft disappearing between their pounding legs was a sight you could hardly credit.Certainly the people we passed on the roads weren’t put out by the sight although I know the two slavegirls were not at all pleased by it. I suppose it had to be the most shaming thing I had yet seen done to slaves on that planet and I was sure it would certainly achieve its aim of shaming any rather proud girls or boys for those were the ones usually chosen to take Jomo or a guest such as myself for a spin.Pony riding was not a normal pastime at that place. It was only used for this purpose or to give a guest such as me a real treat. I took it as such and I made the most of it, steering the two naked and so beautiful girls all over the district. I was actually disappointed when I knew I had to return them or the two dildos in their nether orifices might do some damage…I stayed nearly a month with Jomo and during that time we visited his emporium in the city a few times. Shortly, I will detail the first of those visits and how magnificent his sales outlet was. First however I want to tell of the punishments he used for recalcitrant slaves.The implants were used for instant retribution for perceived wrongs but if a slave showed signs of inherent rebelliousness or erred often, he or she was earmarked for a ritual punishment. These were carried out in front of the whole body of slaves, assembled in one of the gymnasia for the purpose. The case was always decided by Jomo himself and of course he always attended the punishment.<br />Chapter 6<br />The first of these ritual punishments was imposed by Jomo on a girl who failed to show a proper enthusiasm for lesbian sex. She continually refused to get into the spirit of the event and in desperation he ordered her punished.On the appointed day, early in the morning, with the whole body of slave trainees assembled in neat rows and columns on the floor of the gym, the girl was brought in to stand before Jomo. She was a beautiful girl with silky blonde hair, baby blue eyes and a smooth, apricot tinged skin. Her body was as good as all the girls there: slender but athletic and her muscles nicely apparent – just as I liked them. Her owner addressed her sternly. “You have been utterly recalcitrant, slavegirl, and you will now suffer on this machine for the day …”He stepped back to reveal a quite diabolical instrument of pure torture. It was designed only for females and it was a marvel of ingenuity. It was built of gleaming stainless steel and comprised a base of the shiny metal from the sides of which stood up two lengths of five millimetre thick steel. These were ten centimetres wide and came up as high as the girl’s armpits. At the top, the edges had been formed into saw teeth.About ten centimetres below the top of these uprights a bracket formed of the same metal stood out about twenty centimetres towards the front. This was only five centimetres high at the point it joined the upright and narrowed towards its end. Just before the ends, a hole had been drilled and in these was slotted a rectangular frame made from rods formed of the same shiny metal.The rectangular piece had two lugs poking out at the sides and these fitted into the holes allowing the rectangle to be rotated back and forth in a horizontal plane. The rod closest to the rear had a series up upward-pointing, extremely sharp tacks welded to it and I shuddered as I thought of them penetrating my flesh.At the front corners of the rectangle, further curving rods poked upward about ten centimetres and curved in towards the rear and at their ends were small eyelets from which dangled rawhide thongs on the end of which were crocodile clips with large serrated jaws. Under the middle of the front side of the rectangle was another lug and to this was hooked a small stainless steel bucket.The girl was led forward and placed inside the two uprights. Guards secured her ankles to manacles at their base and then raised her arms up and over the serrated tops of the uprights, tying her thumbs to cords which were then drawn out so that her arms were held horizontal and her armpits were resting on the saw teeth at their upper edge. The only way she could now get any relief from the teeth was to stand up on her tiptoes and I could see she was going to be in a lot of pain just from this.But worse – far worse was to come.Her breasts were at the moment pressed up against the rod nearest her, the one that formed the back of the rectangle. The guard now rotated this downwards and placed her two breasts over the nasty little tacks that poked upwards from its upper surface. She screamed as already they began to dig into the soft underside of her beautiful and so smooth breasts.Next, the two guards took up the crocodile clips and snapped them viciously onto her tits. They dug in horribly and I knew they wouldn’t come free until they were properly released. They undid the loose knots by which they were attached to the vertical rods and shortened them so that they exerted a fair pressure on her nipples, dragging them out from her body a little.The weight of the bucket, even empty, exerted a downward pull on the rectangle and this had a twofold counter-effect. It made the long and ultra-sharp tacks dig in painfully into the soft flesh of her breasts; and it tugged at her nipples, pulling them further out from her body.But they now made it worse. Water was poured into the bucket, adding to its weight and thus to the horror of her situation. As the guard had lifted her breasts onto the bar and allowed the tacks to dig into her flesh, she had screamed and her scream had gone on and on, but when they added water, in lots of half a litre at a time, she had really let fly.She was in a dreadful position. Her arms were extended horizontally out from her body, held there by the cords around her thumbs and after a while, this was painful in itself, but added to that was the effect of the saw tooth upper edge of the uprights under her armpits. Now, she also had the points of the long tacks driving deeper and deeper into the underside of her lovely breasts and as more weight was added to the bucket and it dropped lower and lower, pulling down the front of the rectangle and thus forcing the rod at the back up, the tacks drove deeper and deeper into her. And as they did, the cords attached to her tits pulled outwards, dragging her breasts out into elongated cones and this must have hurt horribly.All in all, she was in a dreadful position and I wondered if it was really necessary to go to these lengths to teach her the clearly necessary lesson.Jomo explained it to me. “Yes, I could have her caned or whipped and she would scream during the punishment, but then the marks would fade and she would forget the lesson. This is so diabolical a message, she will never forget it as long as she lives. Mark my words, Adam, after this, she will be eager to make love to any girl I choose and from now on, she will be a paragon of the ideal slave.”I had to bow to his wisdom. I knew he wasn’t a wanton sadist and he was the best slaver in the business.After an hour, the other slaves were herded out to their normal lessons and other activities but I stayed, now with a chair pulled up close in front of her, a cup of tea on a little table by my side.Of course she moved. It is quite impossible for a human being to remain absolutely still for more than a few seconds and every time she moved she made it worse for herself. The tacks welded to the rod at the back of the rectangle were diabolically sharp and were very slender. They thus punctured the soft underside of her breasts very easily and as she moved her torso, so did the bucket move and that made the sharp points dig in even deeper.Then there were the serrated edges of the uprights between which she was secured. To avoid them tearing at her armpits, she had to stand up on tiptoes and this caused more movement of her torso. It might be thought that rising up on to her toes would ease the biting attack of the tacks? No, quite the contrary. As she raised her body a few centimetres,, all that happened was that the angle of the rectangle altered. The bucket dropped even more and so the angle of the points of the tacks changed, scratching against the flesh of her breasts.And then, when her calf muscles became tired and she was forced to drop down again, the serrated teeth pressed against her soft armpits and her breasts pressed even harder against the sharp tacks.She moaned constantly and screamed occasionally as the teeth and the sharp tacks dug in further and further. And the weight of the bucket caused the little thongs to drag her tits out even more, forming them into real cones rather than the soft orbs they were in their natural state.I knew as I sat there, or occasionally got up to walk around her, admiring her body in this so terrible a punishment, that she would never again refuse to obey Jomo or any of his men. It was a lesson hard learned but one she would never forget.<br />The second time I watched a girl punished it was a quite different style of chastisement. Once more the slaves were assembled, all thousand-odd of them in the gymnasium. For this punishment, two steel rods with a triangular-shaped crosspiece joining them at their top, had been set into slots in the floor of the gym. The crosspiece was also made of gleaming stainless steel and the sharp side of the triangle faced up. It was about a metre and a half up off the floor and was two metres long.Above it, an electric winch was fixed to the ceiling and from this, two stainless steel wires ran out along the ceiling to two pulleys set about three metres either side of the winch. The wires were threaded through these and dangled down below the pulleys. At their ends were tiny thumb cuffs, also made of the same gleaming metal.Directly below the crosspiece was another, smaller hand operated winch and two more wires were wound around its barrel. Each of these also had a small single cuff on the end of the cord. Beside the thing was a tall step ladder.The girl to suffer the treatment today had been impertinent – and not just once. It seemed she was a rebel who needed to be taught a quick lesson. She too was beautiful but was much darker, her hair almost jet black and her eyes brown. Her skin was a definite olive colour and was nicely tanned, all over. But I could see the fire in her eyes as she tossed her fine head of hair defiantly. I smiled to myself. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen here but I knew she wouldn’t be as defiant when the day was over.After being addressed by Jomo, the guards, having set the ladder next to the crosspiece, forced her up it and then made her swing her leg across the thing. They then each knelt down on either side of her and snapped a cuff from the wires below her around her big toes. She was now unable to move her thighs much and as she settled down onto the sharp upper edge of the triangle, she realised how bad this was going to be.But she hadn’t noticed the winch above her head and now reached behind her body with one hand and in front of it with the other, easing the pressure on her vagina and her anus, on which two organs most of her weight now rested.She grinned as she thought she had licked her lord and master. He merely smiled up at her as one of the guards positioned the ladder and went up it for the first of the two wires while his partner operated the winch, lowering them down. The man up the ladder grabbed the little cuff near him and pulled it down then jumped off the ladder and moved over to the girl. She stared at him in consternation as he grabbed her hand and deftly snapped the tiny cuff around her thumb.Meanwhile, the other guard had taken hold of the other wire and was now grasping her other hand to snap its thumb into the like cuff. The two of them retreated now, one to put the ladder away, the other to go back to the wall switch and press the “up” button. She now screamed as she felt her arms being pulled out sideways. When her hands were a few centimetres above the level of her shoulders but were stretched out fairly taut, he desisted and his partner now knelt down at the winch below her, turning the handle so that the drum rotated and the ratchet clacked a few notches over the pawl, ensuring her thighs and legs were pulled down tight and her nether orifices nestled down hard on the triangle of metal between her legs.She screamed again as she realised she couldn’t even use her arms to pull her up off the horrible thing down there. In their outstretched position, she had almost no leverage but even if she had the wires securing her toes to the drum beneath her would have ensured she couldn’t pull herself up off it, even a little.She was there for the duration all right …As with the other girl, the body of slave trainees were kept there for an hour to stand and stare at the girl’s plight. They were quite silent, standing in perfect rows and columns, hands all up behind their heads, girls on one side, males on the other, all staring straight at the girl hanging up on the dreadful triangle of metal.After an hour they were allowed to go about their business and the guards also filed out, leaving Jomo and me alone with the girl.“Impertinence in a slave cannot be tolerated, Adam,” he whispered to me and I nodded. I knew it. He was quite right and despite my misgivings about the degree of these punishments, as I stared at this now very forlorn little rebel, my cock got harder and harder. She looked stupendous, hanging up there, her beautiful breasts pulled up and flattened slightly against her chest, her belly muscles writhing as she tried to keep calm against the terrible pain between her legs and in her arms and shoulders for they must have been aching as much as the metal between her legs was driving into the soft flesh of her vagina and anus.What a beauty, I thought as Jomo saluted me briefly and took his leave. But then whenever I saw any of these girls I thought the same thing. Every one of them was near perfect in physical appearance, and made even better by Jomo’s severe training. Of course the males were too but they didn’t appeal to me as much and for this reason I am not going to detail any of their punishments although I did witness a couple in the time I was there.The girl was strong, there was no doubt about that. After that first scream as her body sank onto the sharp edge of the triangle, she set her face in a determined expression and I smiled as I wondered how long she would be able to last.A slave brought me my cup of tea and set my chair and side table in place then bowed and left me alone with the girl. I wandered up close to her and stared at her nether regions. They were about on a level with my eyes and I marvelled at the classic beauty of her vaginal lips without the hairs that normally grace this portal. Without them, the lips were quite beautiful although now of course the triangle had intruded heavily inside the lips.The metal was formed in the shape of an equilateral triangle whose side were about five centimetres long. This meant that the angle of the edge on which her body rested was sixty degrees – fairly sharp but not enough to actually damager her flesh. It would cause her exquisite pain though before this day was over. That Jomo would beat her, cow her into an obedient slavegirl, I had no doubt. If he had had any doubts, he would have decided on an even more dreadful torture with which to punish her.Her lips pouted at the front as the metal pushed up into them and I wondered if her clit was caught across it. I doubted it but still … I moved closer and while she stared down at me in concern, I pushed open the lips. She screamed as the movement caused her fresh pain but I had already established the answer. No, the slit was resting on my side of the blade.I moved around to investigate her anus and grinned as I saw how the metal neatly bisected the ring of muscle. I ran my hands up and down her back and then came around to do the same to her thighs, her belly and breasts. Oh wonderful! So smooth and yet the muscle tone underneath was superb. If Kinto wasn’t such an expert at arousing me, I thought this girl would be wonderful in bed – at least she would once she was tamed.You might think I would get bored as I stayed and watched both these girls throughout the day? Not a bit of it. I sat there and stared or I got up and moved up close to her. Jomo had asked me not to talk to her and not to respond to her if she spoke to me and I respected his wishes. He said it would shame her more if I was simply there, looking at her constantly, occasionally fondling her naked flesh but otherwise ignoring her as a human being. It certainly seemed to for after trying to call on me to help her at which I simply stared at her, my face quite immobile, almost as if I hadn’t heard her, she eventually desisted.She knew better than to call me names for if she had, I would have shocked her. And so after finding me quite unresponsive, she simply hung there, unable to see down to her nether regions for her breasts hid her vagina from her view but believing she was already cut in two from the feel of the triangle between her legs.The day wore on. They brought me lunch, salmon sandwiches and a half bottle of Chardonnay, which I ate and drank ostentatiously in front of her, knowing she was both hungry and thirsty. It was all part of her punishment.Gradually, the pain wore her down and when Jomo came back, mid afternoon, to see how she was doing, she responded well to his questions.“How are you feeling, slavegirl?” he said softly.“Sore, master.”“Good. But are you sore enough to remember the lesson you are being taught, or shall I order you set up there again tomorrow?”“Oh no, master. I have learned. I will be a good slave …”“Very well. We shall see. But one hint of your recalcitrance and you will be back here in a shot and this time, instead of the wires to your big toes, we may attach heavy weights to them – even see if we can cut you in two …?”She screamed. “No, master. I will be good, really …”He winked at me as he left and shortly after that the other slaves filed back in to watch her final hour.I grinned as, later, after they had let her down, she waddled very uncomfortably out of the gym.<br />As I said, they also punished males but I was not interested in watching them suffer. I will tell of one last punishment meted out to a girl. This one had been less than scrupulous in cleaning out her bowels before offering her body for sex. Hygiene was a lesson that was instilled in every slave from the very beginning. Many masters liked to rape a slave’s anus and so they were all, male and female alike, taught how to douche themselves with repeated enemas until their bottoms were as clean as a whistle.This girl, Helga, a tall and muscular blonde slave from Germany, had repeatedly failed to do so and was now being ritually punished for her crime. It was designed to fit her offence but I gulped as I watched it carried out. It really was horrible.She was brought into the gymnasium and forced up against the back wall to which were stapled four lockable brackets in a row. They were placed at a height of two metres above the floor and below them a small step had been placed. The girl was made to step up this and stand against the wall with her back to it. Then, first her left arm and then her right were raised to a horizontal position and locked behind the brackets, one over her wrists, the other over her upper arm.The guards then knelt down and affixed manacles around her ankles to which they attached the end of two short chains. It was a simple matter then for them to each hoist her legs up and outwards, slipping a link on the chains over a hook affixed to the outermost brackets – the ones that held her wrists to the wall.She was now exposed in possibly the most obscene position it was possible to place a human being. Her arms were stretched out beside her shoulders while her legs were drawn up and outwards, wide apart so that her smooth vagina and anus were openly exposed to all and sundry. She was attached to the wall high enough so that each of the thousand or so other slaves assembled to watch the first stages of her punishment could see her very plainly indeed.On the floor in front of where she was so indecently shackled to the wall, there was a recessed plumbing fitting; one of those automatic outlets that were both valve and coupling in one. One of the guards now walked over holding a coil of rubber hose with fittings on either end.The first of these was the floor fitting. It comprised a short upright pipe whose base fitted directly into the valve set into the floor. At the top of this was a pedal operated valve and just below this the outlet to which was attached the rubber hose. On the other end of the hose was a large dildo with a solid-looking ball near its base.The girl hanging on the wall looked fearfully at this equipment as the guard plugged the pipe into the floor fitting, then unwound the hose and approached her. He grinned at her as he placed the blunt, rounded end of the dildo against her puckering anal ring and simply pushed it in.She screamed as her anus was rudely stretched open to admit the invader but her screams were even more strident when he came to the ball. The dildo was about three centimetres in diameter but the ball was around six and it stretched her anus horribly as the guard kept pushing it right inside her.And then her anus closed around the very base of the dildo. There was a length of about five centimetres below the ball and this now poked right out of her anus.Jomo moved up to her now and again read the riot act to her, informing her that since she had not learned her hygiene lessons properly, they were enforcing them here and now.He lifted his right leg and pushed the pedal down. Later, he told me this sent a measured dose of exactly two hundred and fifty mils of icy water into her bowels. He patted her belly, which still showed no sign of the dose, of course, and smiled. “Mr Blair here, is going to add to your medicine every fifteen minutes until you have a full three litres swelling your bowels. It will therefore take three hours to fill you up. You will then remain in that position all day … I suspect you will find the punishment more than a little stimulating,” he said finally, turning away and smiling at me as he left the room.I hadn’t known I would be doing this but I now looked at the clock on the wall. It was exactly eight o’clock. By eleven, she would be filled and then have to face six hours of agony as the water churned away inside her body, I thought.I was right. At quarter past eight, I stepped on the pedal once more and her face screwed up as the water jetted into her rectum and forced its way up into her intestines. Then, at each quarter hour I did it again. Jomo’s veterinary was there with me and if he decided she couldn’t take any more he would intervene but he told me that while three litres would give her terrible pains; cramping agonies that would bite and snarl at her, it shouldn’t be any more than she could take.And so it proved. As each of the measured doses squirted into her bottom, her belly started to distend and eventually she looked as if she was carrying triplets, at least. It poked out obscenely between her up and outstretched legs and her vagina also gaped openly at me.By the time she had received each of the twelve doses, her face was a picture of misery. The dildo stayed inside her – it would act as a plug to keep the water from squirting out of her.But it didn’t stop there. Every now and then, the guard who remained with us produced a long, knobbly-shaped dildo and thrust it rudely into her quim, expertly working it so that it roused her libido and brought her to a series of climactic orgasms. These of course made her agony even worse for as her body went into the convulsions of sexual pleasure, they exacerbated the cramping pain in her belly and bowels.Every half hour or so he repeated these ministrations, stroking her fine breasts as he worked the dildo in and out of her vagina while she moaned and screamed in pain and frustration. The pain was there all the time; the frustration came from not being able to stop him exciting her and making it worse.All day she hung there until at four o’clock the slaves filed back in to watch silently as she suffered the final hour of her degradation and pain. She was now near the end of her tether. Her suspension alone, even without the enormous enema inside her body, must have been awful but then she had the exhausting orgasms to contend with as well. It is well known that while a male is capable of only three or four orgasms at the most before he is fully spent, females can experience near continuous climaxes. This isn’t to say however that they are not tiring. Far from it and Helga, strong and all as she no doubt was, was no exception.Her face was haggard and her body gleamed with sweat while her belly poked out obscenely between her widely stretched thighs. The guard, as well as the vet and I had constantly stroked her as we felt like it and this must have been horrible for her too. But of course she was only a slave and had to get used to us masters fondling her body as we felt like it.She was let down at five and, as they lowered her legs to the step, I was appalled at the enormity of her protruding belly. They kept the dildo inside her as they undid the brackets and then led her away for the water to be extruded. I followed along while the vet grinned at me. “It will not be pleasant, Adam,” he said, wrinkling up his nose and I laughed but then sobered up quickly as I watched Helga struggling to waddle along in front of me, holding her gigantic belly in both hands and still moaning and groaning in her agony.The vet set her astride a waste basin in his clinic and then whipped the dildo straight out of her. This had the effect of shocking her anal ring into an uncontrollable spasm that allowed the first of many stinking jets of brownish water to spurt from her body in short-fire bursts. It took quite a few minutes for her belly to shrink and her body to expel all of the three litres of water – that’s over five pints in the old measure or two and a half quarts – an enormous enema by any standards.She was still in a state of shock at the dreadful events of her day but I knew she would be scrupulously clean from now on about preparing her body – inside as well as out, for her master or mistress.In fact, the next morning, I went along to watch as she prepared herself for her sex training session and I grinned as I watched her douche herself repeatedly, examining her wastes carefully after each dose, just to make sure there wasn’t a hint of waste matter in the clear water she now expelled from her bottom.There were many, many other punishment machines available to Jomo. He kept them in an open-fronted part of his factory where the slaves could see them as they trotted out to do their work in the fields.I had inspected them at length during my first week there and had had to be guided as to the use of some of them. There were rods with ghastly looking dildos at the tops – dildos that would stretch and bruise a slave’s anus horribly. I was told the slave was impaled on this thing and his (or her) legs raised and outstretched so they were nearly parallel with his body while his thumbs were attached to cords dangling above his head. As he tried to relieve the awful stretching of his anus by pulling up on his arms, the nasty little blunted spikes on the surface of the dildo grazed the sensitive lining of his anus and caused him dreadful pain.Then there was the frame over which his arms were stretched behind him and his ankles pulled out to the bases. They then brought in a brazier in which glowed lighted coals. When they placed this between his (or her) legs the heat gently roasted his genitals. It didn’t actually cook them but they were sore for many days afterwards.Another, even simpler punishment was to make a girl kneel with her hands outstretched, palms upwards. They placed a heavy book in each one and a dildo in each of her nether orifices, then lashed at her back with a whip. If she faltered, the implant was activated, sending a horrible shock to her clit. Of course she then dropped the books but the punishment was started all over again …Oh yes, he had dozens of punishments, all designed to cow any slave who wasn’t instantly obedient and knuckled down to his or her new life …<br />Chapter 7<br />I mentioned earlier that Jomo’s principle selling place was in the heart of the central business district of the city. He took me to see it quite early in my stay with him. It was a quite incredible place: the essence of luxury but also of exquisite good taste. The carpets on the floors in the various showrooms were thick and of the best quality; the panelling on the walls of a lustrous wood with a really beautiful grain; the paintings that hung on the walls above the wood panelling were those of real masters; while the chandeliers that hung from the high ceilings above us were huge and comprised of thousands of pieces that glittered magnificently.There were four main showrooms. These were for Asian and European slaves, divided into male and female. He didn’t mix these four basic classes but there were also smaller rooms where mixed-race slaves and eunuchs were shown and there were also a series of small rooms where his special clients were treated to individual showings of slaves selected by the senior salesman who was looking after them, for their personal inspection.In the main rooms, the slaves were displayed on beautiful, highly polished marble columns, each a metre high and topped with a column of the Corinthian order. It wasn’t necessary of course, but for the sake of form, each slave’s left ankle was manacled to a short chain stapled to the top of the column.Each slave was performing a series of movements to background music that was just loud enough for them to hear but over which Jomo’s clients could still talk to one another without raising their voices. These motions were in the form of an adagio movement that involved the hands up in the air and describing circular motions, the body swaying this way and that and the legs moving in time with the rest of the body. They were designed to show it off to best advantage and every slave in the room was following exactly the same movement.I knew they were taught these movements at the factory just prior to being sent into the city but as I stood there that first time, staring around me at the thronging customers and up at the slaves who were all perched a metre above them, I knew just how skilled my host was at his craft.Nothing could have been better to show the slaves off to their best advantage. Not the luxury and good taste of the surroundings, nor the way the slaves were undulating their bodies slowly and gently, but with such grace and feeling, there wouldn’t have been a soft cock in the room, not even in the male rooms for I found my own to be inflamed by the sight of the males performing the same slow undulations as in the female rooms.Naturally, Jomo didn’t send a slave down here unless he or she was at the absolute peak of fitness; his skin quite perfect and his skills as sharp as the proverbial tack. Every single one of them was quite perfect and as Jomo left me to wander around the huge emporium, I stared up at the various slaves in awe. You are surprised? So was I. For the last few months, I had been surrounded by slaves who started out as youthful examples of prime human flesh and were then conditioned and trained, both physically and mentally until they were paragons of the ideal slave.This was all very true but now inside the splendour of the four main showrooms, they seemed to take on an even more magnificent appearance. Perhaps it was that they were all naked, their bodies smooth and fine, their muscles honed to absolute perfection, while most of the other people in the room, all black of course, were clothed in sober suits or, if female, very smart attire.These people were all from the upper echelons of society of course. If you didn’t have the entrée to his emporium, you simply didn’t get in. And to gain that entrée you had first to establish your credentials. Money, that is. The nouveaux riche had as much access as the nobility and lesser aristocracy but they behaved with as much decorum in the place as anyone else. There was no pushing and shoving in that place; people moved in ones or twos from one column to another, standing under it and staring up at the beautiful boy or girl, consulting the placard in the silver stand beside it from time to time but mostly just staring up at him or her, perhaps working out how he might fit in with his other slaves or whether the huge asking price was really within his means.I won’t mention the actual prices asked, for their currency was quite different from ours. Suffice to say each boy or girl marketed by Jomo would, in American terms at the beginning of the third millennium, be in the order of a quarter of a million dollars so you can see they weren’t cheap. Of course this was the absolute top price. These were the best slaves anywhere in the world. You could pick up a labourer for as little as fifty thousand dollars (equivalent) and a menial female domestic for not much more, but the slaves being offered here were not only the pick of the good-lookers from all over Asia and Europe, they were also trained to be the very best of domestic servants – perhaps like the proverbial English butler who ran a huge household with quiet efficiency and was there but not obtrusive…These slaves were obtrusive all right, if only for their startling beauty, but they had another attribute as well and this one was the principle reason for their incredibly high price. They were also masters at the art of pleasuring a man or a woman. Female and male slaves alike could provide sexual pleasure to their master or mistress or to anyone else he or she might give them to – as both Dingane and Jomo (and N’dona) had to me. And no matter what their own personal sexual leanings had been, they could now give exquisite pleasure to either male or female and their partner would not be able to even guess if they were actually enjoying the service – such was their training.As I say, I wandered around the first room – I had decided to begin with the European males, then the Asian males, then the European females and lastly the Asian females for in ascending order, these were my sexual preferences. Not that the European males were not incredible paragons of beauty and grace; they most certainly were. All young – from eighteen to early twenties; all very handsome with complexions that ranged from the northern blond, blue-eyed hunk to the darker Mediterranean type. But all were magnificent, no matter where they came from and each one was undulating his body to the slow music, each thrusting out his loins, his cock (all hard as they could be, of course) juddering slightly and his balls swinging below its root or tucked up under it, his belly muscles ripping, thighs cording, biceps muscles flexing – and all in exactly the same movement, as in a chorus line, while the hundreds of clients moved quietly around, staring up at the dozens of boys thus displayed.I did the same, taking my time for we would be here all day, staring up at the first boy for quite some minutes before moving on to the second, and so on. Then I moved into the Asian male room and here my interest was quickened even more for just as I prefer Asian females to their European counterparts, so did I like these boys better than the whites. I’m not sure why, perhaps it is their natural physiques that appeals more. They tend to be more slender and yet naturally athletic… Or was it their so fine skin? Whatever the reason, I moved from one boy to the next eyeing off the Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Thai and Malayan types with undisguised lust. Oh yes, I could fuck one of these handsome young studs, I knew that …Then I moved into the white females room and now I spent more time as I moved from column to column, staring up at their lithe slender bodies, their beautifully firm breasts and their so naked vaginas. The females danced a different movement. It was still slow and exquisitely sensuous but it didn’t include the thrusting of the male loins so as to show off their virility. The girls’ loins still moved of course but now it was with a motion that made their nether lips pout and open to show off their inner charms and figuratively to invite entry to the masses of people collected in front of them, all staring up at them quite openly.But I was glad to get to the Asian females showroom. Here were the girls who so intrigued me. Here were the girls from all those countries (well they weren’t countries on that world but you get the picture) I mentioned above and had much the same racial characteristics as they do on my own Earth.Here were the slender bodies, the smallish breasts, the lithe muscles and the sexual organs that so inflamed me. I stared up at each of them in turn and I thought of Kinto back home at the factory and how I was going to pleasure her this evening. I smiled ruefully as I thought that none of these girls, beautiful and all as they were, came within a bull’s roar of my wonderful slavegirl back there.And yet I gloried in these girls, all of whom were performing with exquisite grace to the music. I think Asians (as a group) are more graceful than any other race and of course these girls were trained on top of that. The result was a series of naked, hairless slavegirls who presented a picture of magnificent beauty and grace. To stand at the top of the room and look down it at the dozens of girls, all moving in the exactly the same way to the music (and ignore the hundreds of customer below them), was to witness a ballet as beautiful as anything our ballet companies can put on.<br />But you want to know what happened to me?Of course I returned to my own planet but once there I began to make preparations. I informed my family and friends that I was leaving America to work in Africa (which was largely true). I never released details of my invention, of course. I didn’t want people to come and find me but in any case, I wasn’t sure of the social and physical implications of ‘sliding’ on a large scale.I liquidated all my remaining assets, which were considerable, and converted them into diamonds and then I returned to Dingane’s farm until I was able to purchase my own property. Jomo made a present of Kinto to me – against my protests, for I wanted to buy her. But he said he enjoyed my company so much he wanted me to have her …I bought Chulakorn from Dingane and these two girls now look after me. They both sleep in my bed and there is no jealousy between them. Of course their implants were transferred to my central computer but I have never needed to use a controller on either of them.I am now considering my future. I don’t want to pursue my career as a physicist. Having discovered the secret of sliding between different dimensions of time and space, I don’t know what new sphere might interest me.Jomo has suggested I might like to set up as a specialist slave dealer and promised to help me if I so choose. Perhaps dealing in exquisite young female Asians might appeal, I don’t know. I don’t really have to do anything and at the moment, it is pleasant going from my own home to Dingane’s farm and back to Jomo’s factory for a few weeks at a time …I just don’t know …My Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-68471898904623206712007-09-30T14:48:00.000-07:002007-09-30T14:50:07.853-07:00SLAVES OF THE AFRICAN EMPIRESLAVES OF THE AFRICAN EMPIRE<br /><br />By<br />Gordon KerrCopyright resides with authorDownloaded from bdsmbooks.com<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 1<br />“Good morning Mrs. Jackson,” said the leering white man at the front door. “We’re just here to do the monthly inspection of the property ma’am. You know how it is.”<br />She did indeed. Cynthia Jackson lived in dread and loathing of the monthly “inspections of the property,” conducted by the landlord’s agent. Loathing because of the greasy middle age white man who always came. Dread of what her husband would do if he found out what the man was doing to his wife.<br />“I’ll just have a look inside ma’am,” he breathed. “Just to make sure all the fixtures and appliances are working. Yor' husband and boy? They ‘round?”<br />“Lyndon,” she called back into the house.<br />“Mom?” her son answered.<br />“I… I need some things in town… There’s a list on the refrigerator.”<br />“Now? But mom, I’m trying to finish my school work…”<br />“Right now, Lyndon,” said his mother firmly. “Take the walk into town.”<br />“All right, all right.” He eyed the white man suspiciously.<br />At sixteen Lyndon knew enough about the facts of life to wonder about why his mother always sent him into town when the inspector arrived. The problem was that he just couldn’t imagine his beautiful mother in any kind of liaison with a man other than his father. They were a close knit family and he knew his mother and father were totally devoted to one another. It was unthinkable that she’d betray him. Especially with such a revolting white man.<br />Lyndon took the list and left, starting down the road. But he was nagged with doubt about what was going on at the house. His mother seemed upset, as she always did when the property was inspected.<br />His father had worked at the plant down on the river since the disastrous collapse of the dry rice market. That had followed the Biowar, fifteen years ago. The family had never recovered financially and had been forced to sell the once profitable farm, which had been theirs for generations. But his father was a proud man. He had elected to stay on the land and work it for the new white owner. He also took a job at the pallet plant, working long hours for low, exploitative wages. Someday, he told Lyndon, they would buy their land back. His father always had faith. If they worked hard and saved… someday they would win.<br />The elder Jackson was never around during the day and Lyndon was in charge of doing the routine maintenance on farm equipment, so his father could work the fields after hours. That job and his schoolwork kept him busy- when he wasn’t being sent into town on some foolish errand.<br />Lyndon looked back up the road. He was becoming a man and he knew his duty was to protect his mother. He wondered if she was in trouble. The idea of leaving her alone with so unsavory a man made him uneasy, but in truth it was his curiosity that convinced him to go back.<br />He hesitated at the front door, knowing deep inside that he shouldn’t be there and that his mother had told him to go into town. But at that instant, he heard what sounded like a slap and a gasp. He went into the house as quietly as he could. The sound had come from his parent’s bedroom and was followed up with what sounded like frightened pleading. He almost went barging in, demanding an explanation, but the door to the room was ajar. He peered through the crack and nearly heaved with disgust and shock.<br />There was his lovely dark skinned mother kneeling on all fours on the bed while the ugly, pasty fleshed white man humped her obscenely from behind. He was slapping her rear cheeks with his open palm.<br />“Come on bitch, push that black pussy meat back to me… oh yeah baby.”<br />“Uuuggggghhh,” she groaned with pain from his blows and his violent lunges.<br />“Please… You’re hurting me!”<br />“Too big for ya baby?” he laughed. “Am I better than that nigga husband of yours?”<br />“No… You’re hitting me.”<br />He slapped hear again and the woman gasped from the sting. She pushed herself back to give him more contact and tried her best to grasp his cock with vaginal muscles.<br />“Please don’t mark me… If my husband finds out he’ll… he’ll.”<br />“He’ll do nothing,” said the white man. “Or I’ll tell the owner you’re abusing the property and he’ll have you thrown out. You wanna see your son and husband on a work gang? That’s where they put homeless niggers now!”<br />“Please… oh please. My husband is a hard worker and a good man, but… I’m afraid of what he’d do… you don’t know. You don’t know…”<br />Lyndon seethed with rage at the treatment of his mother. He started toward the kitchen. He was sure he could kill the white man with one of his mother’s butcher knives, but an instant later, something held him back.<br />He was afraid. Not for himself, he was no coward. But he loved and trusted his mother. She obviously knew what she was doing. If he broke in on them now he knew it would cause a hell of a row. The white man might hurt her, or worse, his father might find out. He wasn’t sure why he feared that possibility so much except that he knew somehow that it would be catastrophic to his family. And Lyndon wanted more than anything to spare his mother the awful shame. He decided to follow his mother’s judgement, but stay and make sure she was all right. The rough handling she was receiving from the man however made it hard to control his emotions.<br />The floor suddenly creaked beneath him and the white man turned nervously, looking toward the door.<br />“That boy of yours going into town like his mama said?” he panted.<br />“He went into town, don’t worry,” she breathed.<br />“And your husband?”<br />“He won’t be home from the plant for another three hours. Please, let’s just do this and get it over with!”<br />The white man chuckled, “not so fast Mrs. Jackson. We have to savor our time together, baby.”<br />Lyndon hear his mother grunt and was actually thankful for the anguish in her voice. It told him for sure that this act was not a betrayal of his father. It was coercion and his mother, right or wrong was doing what she thought she had to do to protect her family. She had absolutely no positive feeling for the disgusting man who was battering her from behind. <br />Another pop resounded in the room. “Ahhhhhh,” his mother cried, as the man yet again slapped her hard on the rear cheek.<br />“Get that brown ass moving now, baby,” said the white man. “Wave that hot little nigger butt for me.”<br />The hapless woman complied, her face a mask of shame as she looked back at him as he resumed his coital thrusts. He was pawing her, running his hands along her flanks between slaps. His breathing thickened and Lyndon knew he was fast approaching an orgasm. The boy nearly retched with the thought of the white man’s slime being injected into his young mother, but he managed to control himself, even watching now with morbid fascination.<br />The white man was pounding into the woman now, causing the bed to creak and his mother to gasp with unwanted sensation. Lyndon could see the small, putrid white penis disappear into his mother as the man’s paunchy belly bounced against her lower back like a bloated bag of jelly. The black boy was astonished, and could hardly suppress a laugh at the size of the man’s organ. He couldn’t be giving her much pleasure with his four inches, but he did reach down to fondle the woman’s clit gently, causing her to shut her eyes tightly and hump back to him. Lyndon could tell that his mother was feeling a kind of illicit pleasure, in spite of herself.<br />“Uggghhh,” she grunted, as he pulled back violently on her hair.<br />“Let me hear you say it, nigga bitch. Tell me how much you love it!”<br />“Ple… please…” she hissed. “Give it to me… hurry…”<br />The white man was pounding his meat into her to the hilt, laughing with triumph as he felt her shudder and gasp. His hairy buttocks flexed and jiggled with every thrust and he reached forward to pull at the lovely woman’s dark nipples. He grunted and pushed himself into her as far as he could, holding her captive with his weight. Then he was ejaculating, pumping his filth into her as he bellowed like a beast.<br />“Ahhh… Aaahhhhhggg… Haaaaaaaahhh… There it is bitch, your white man’s cum. Take it!”<br />The black woman groaned and pushed back against him, never breaking the fast rhythm until he was utterly spent. Then she quickly pulled away off his crank, obviously thankful the ordeal was over.<br />“Well, Mrs. Jackson,” said the man after they’d dressed and he was headed out. “The property’s in good shape. You’re OK for another month.” The white man laughed as if he’d made the cleverest joke he’d ever heard. Then, mercifully, he left. Lyndon had already sneaked out the back door.<br />Two hours later, Lyndon arrived home carrying the bag of small items from town that they had not so desperately needed. He was putting things away in the kitchen when he made his decision.<br />He took a deep breath. “Mama, I know what that white man does to you. And I know it ain’t your fault.”<br />His mother closed her eyes as one more shame washed over her. It was several seconds before she spoke.<br />“What you know boy, you keep. You understand. You tell nobody. Ever.”<br />“Mama, how can you let him keep doing that? We gotta do somethin about this.”<br />“This is Louisiana, boy,” said his mother, her lovely dark face contorted with fear. “You wanna see your father lynched? He’ll kill that white man if he finds out. Then the landlord’s men will come for him. Your great, great grandfather was hung by the Clan a hundred years ago. Times is like they were then.” <br />Lyndon turned away, tears for what his mother was going through streamed down his face.<br />“I hate the whites! I wanna kill them all,” he said, fists clinching in rage.<br />“It’s not all the whites, boy. Don’t hate an entire race ‘cause of the doin’s of a few.”<br />“But the way they treat us… what they did to dad… what they’re doing to you.”<br />Cynthia sighed. “You don’t remember much before the Biowar, Lyndon, but we had rights then. The whites didn’t feel threatened and we lived together, mostly without hate. People do things when they’re afraid, boy. Since the Biowar we outnumber the whites. But they have the property and the guns. They got the power, son.”<br />“What about…” he lowered his voice unconsciously. “What about the African occupied states. I’ve heard they may drive west again soon… Mama they may invade the rest of America, take it like they took Africa… I hear the stories of what our people have done there. Their leader is the greatest man alive… that’s what people say.”<br />“I don’t know son,” she sighed. “I don’t know if they’re our people just because they’re black…”<br />“But mom, we’ve got to do something.”<br />She shook her head. “Son, you keep your mouth shut. If you love your father and me you’ll say nothing, you understand? We’ll survive and times will change. You’ll see boy, times will change.”<br /><br />Lyndon did keep quiet. Every month the odious white man returned to abuse his mother. And every month he held his tongue, bottling up the fury inside whenever he saw the man’s smug grin.<br />Then it happened. His father came home from the plant early to find his mother and the white man fully engaged.<br />Lyndon had seen his father angry, but not like that. His countenance was calm, as if perfectly under control. He did not even raise his voice. But the boy caught his breath when he saw his father’s eyes. There was something there beyond hate or vengeance, something bordering on madness.<br />He seized the helpless, scrawny white man by the neck even before he had a chance to put his clothes on. He literally dragged him out like so much refuse- to the ash pile behind the barn. His mother ran behind them and Lyndon followed, powerless to interfere, even if he were so inclined.<br />Both his mother and the white man were pleading, begging Lyndon’s father to relent from the horrible revenge they were sure he was about to extract.<br />“Please…” sniveled the terrified man. “I won’t come back, I swear! Oh god… please. What are you going to do?”<br />Without uttering a word, Lyndon’s father took a heavy chain and padlocked it around the man’s neck. He secured the other end to a stump. When he emerged from the barn with a can of gasoline, Lyndon’s blood ran cold.<br />“NOOOO, oh god, Malcolm no!” cried Mrs. Jackson, pulling at his arms and pleading. “Do you know what they’ll do to us if you? If you…” <br />“The white man was crying, begging abjectly as the aggrieved black husband began dousing him with the flammable liquid.<br />“Please Mr.… I never did her no harm… I told you I’ll never come back…”<br />“You must drive the evil from among you,” intoned Malcolm, his eyes glazed. “This is the day of reckoning, white beast!”<br />“Mister this is crazy,” cried the man. “Please let me go… no… NOOOOOO!”<br />Lyndon’s father had struck his lighter and was holding it in front of the petrified man. He had backed away as far as the chain would allow and was whimpering with fear.<br />“Now burn all the way to hell, white man!” Malcolm said softly, and touched the flame to the man’s shirt.<br />Instantly the ugly man erupted into flames, screams of panic and agony leapt from his throat as Lyndon’s mother wailed hysterically. Lyndon ran to bring a water hose from the house but it was already too late. The man’s dying shrieks faded as he lost consciousness. Seconds later his entire body was being consumed.<br />“Filth is cleansed by fire,” said Malcolm, as his wife clung to him and sobbed. Lyndon could feel the heat of the fire and nearly retched from the stench of burning flesh. But the rest of his life he could never forget the sound of the man’s screams- as he descended from hell, into hell.<br /><br />The landlord’s response was swift and terrible. The next night a score of white men surrounded the Jackson home. The Jackson men stood their ground but in the end were overwhelmed. The whites beat Lyndon and his father senseless and dragged them from the house. The elder Jackson was dispatched with a shotgun blast to the head as his horrified family looked on. Then they proceeded to take turns raping Mrs. Jackson, while one of them struck Lyndon in the head with a gun butt every time he tried to get up.<br />The boy lay still, sobbing with rage and frustration. It took them over two hours, but they finally finished pouring their filth into every one of his mother’s orifices. The last man, a big, slow-witted brute was angry that the exhausted woman was not responding. He stabbed her in the abdomen.<br />“You stupid motherfucker,” yelled the white man who seemed to be in charge. “No one told you to kill her. We had plans for the bitch!”<br />“Sorry…”<br />“Sorry’s gonna get your ass kicked, boy. Now get on the truck before I let this nigga boy here butt fuck you like you did his mama.”<br />The dim witted young man hurried to the truck as the older white man turned to Lyndon who was still trying to get up.<br />“You be outta here by morning boy, you hear me? We see you around here you end up like your father.”<br />“I’m gonna kill all of you,” said Lyndon weakly. “You white bastards. One day I’ll watch you all die!”<br />The white man sneered and walked off. Shouts and laughter ensued and seconds later the beaten boy heard the engines of the pickup trucks as they sped away.<br />Lyndon crawled over to his mother to see if he could help. But there was blood everywhere and he could sense she was dying.<br />“I’m gonna kill them… I’m gonna kill them all, mama,” Lyndon cried.<br />“No Lyndon… promise me son,” she whispered feebly. “Promise me you won’t let hate guide your steps. I know what you seen son and I know it ain’t right. But hate will take your soul if you let it…”<br />“But mama, they… they…”<br />“I don’t care about them son, they’re nothin… I’m thinkin of you… Take your revenge, boy on the one’s who done it. Summon your courage, but don’t hate… It’ll kill you Lyndon… Hate’s what done all this…”<br />Lyndon held his mother’s head as he felt the life drain from her. After she died he stayed almost until morning, then left before first light without burying his parents.<br /><br />Four years later the Prophet’s African army launched its long anticipated main invasion of the American Mississippi valley states. From their bases in the mid-west which they already held, and their ships in the Gulf of Mexico their forces quickly secured a beachhead across the Mississippi River. New Orleans and the delta they took quickly, but the main problem was the City of Baton Rouge, a white stronghold. It was a lynchpin of defense for the whole Mississippi basin and was well defended.<br />The Africans were now the world’s super power. They had better equipment and their soldiers were superbly trained. If they could find a road through the swamps and backcountry, they could penetrate the enemy’s perimeter and achieve a quick victory. Otherwise assaults could take months and cost the lives of thousands of soldiers. Moreover, the African authorities had plans for the white populous and wanted to avoid indiscriminate bombing at all costs. Unfortunately all the roads into the city were well guarded.<br />Except for one; a small farm-to-market road that led into an older, slum-ridden section of town and did not appear on any maps. Lyndon knew it well. He had been living a hand to mouth existence, hiding out in the bayous after his parents had been killed. He was wanted on trumped up charges and knew if he was captured that he would end up on a work gang. He never ventured to town on any other route.<br />After the Africans had established themselves, Lyndon had defected. He volunteered his services to the African commander and led the Prophet’s army through the bayous and up the narrow road to complete victory.<br />Lyndon was a hero. Days after the battle he met the general of the African forces and they talked over lunch. He told the officer about the conditions for blacks in Louisiana and about his own story.<br />“…So that’s about it, general. They’ve been oppressing us since the Biowar, when most of them died. Now we can get our lands back and live with dignity.”<br />“We have come to help all black men realize their birthright as masters of the earth,” said the general. “Allah has raised up the prophet Hakeem and declared that the time of the white man’s dominance is over. It is a new age, young Lyndon. The Adamic Black man has come into his inheritance.”<br />Lyndon understood little of what the general had said, but he expressed his gratitude to him for the deliverance of the State’s black people.<br />“What are your plans, Lyndon?” asked the general.<br />“I… I guess I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I never thought I had a future till now.”<br />The general sat for several moments, deep in thought. Then he looked at the young man to whom his army owed a great debt. “I have the power to sponsor a small number of civilians to University in Africa. You would have to convert to Hakeem Islam and become an African citizen, but your future could be bright indeed.”<br />“My mother always wanted me to get an education,” said Lyndon.<br />“Then you must come. Your future is in Africa. I’ll have the documents drawn up today. Have you thought about what field you would like to study?” asked the general. “It is important to have a goal in life, especially at your age.”<br />“I… I don’t know. I never thought I’d get the chance to go to college…”<br />“Why don’t you study slave management? It is an exploding field with limitless possibilities and,” smiled the general. “It will give you a chance to take your revenge on these animals. We must grind the Cauc into the dust with the heels of our boots before we can transform him into useful livestock. We need our best and brightest young black men such as yourself to accomplish this quickly, within a generation. The Cauc must never be allowed to rise again.”<br />“But… there are so many of them,” said Lyndon. “Even after the biowar.”<br />“That is good,” bellowed the general, playfully. “Many slaves make a man rich. And you could become very rich, young Lyndon.”<br />Lyndon nodded and frowned, it was a bit disconcerting to have one’s fortunes change so quickly and so profoundly, even for the better. He had lived in fear of the whites all his life. Now he could have Caucasian slaves. It was indeed something to ponder.<br />“The women?” asked Lyndon. “I could have a white…?”<br />“Yes,” laughed the general. “All Caucs are owned slaves in Africa and all the Prophet’s overseas possessions. There are millions of them in Africa and millions more here on the frontiers, waiting to be captured. Allah has supplied a great source of wealth with which to build the global African economy.”<br />An aide approached and whispered to the general, who smiled and gestured. Lyndon’s eyes bulged when a soldier appeared, leading two young white girls.<br />They were naked and their fair skins flushed as they tried to hide their charms. It was a futile effort. Both girls had their wrists bound behind them; their breasts and sex were open for all to see. There were coarse chains attached to collars on their necks and their faces grimaced with shame.<br />“These two Cauc females are daughters of the city’s richest families,” said the general. “As you can see they are totally raw, no training or conditioning at all. I give to you until you leave for Africa, as small compensation for your bereavement. As their master you may do with them as you wish. But I suggest you keep them as body slaves. They are not unpleasant to look at. And it would be fitting.”<br />“Umm… yes, I agree,” said Lyndon. He did have a liking for the white girls, but had thought them unattainable- until now. Now he could actually own them as slaves! The thought of having these two, from the same class as those who murdered his parents, send chills of lust up his spine. Visions of the glorious punishments and humiliations he could devise for them flashed through his mind and made his cock throb.<br />“You must remember your family and what was done to them,” said the general. “Use these women hard. That’s what they’re for. Rape them for your father and think of him every time you sate yourself with their bodies. Show no mercy.”<br />Lyndon nodded.<br />The young women were made to stand directly in front of the two black men. One blond and blue eyed, the other brunette with deep brown eyes, they looked away as if trying to maintain some measure of dignity. Their chains rattled lightly as the trembled, yet it was obvious by their demeanor that they were yet to be totally subdued. They glared red-faced, mortified to be naked in front of men of color, but there was no mistaking the defiance and contempt in their eyes. Their fear and shame was matched only by their hatred.<br />When Lyndon reached out tentatively to fondle the breast of the dark haired girl, she flinched and pulled away. It was the blond who retorted.<br />“Leave us alone. How dare you treat us like this. We’re prisoners of war and we have rights…!”<br />The general motioned to the aide and the man delivered a vicious slap to the girl’s face, almost knocking her down.<br />“You will not speak to your master with that tone, Cauc,” said the general. “And you both should be on your knees.”<br />“We aren’t kneeling in front of niggers,” she shrilled. “Go back to the jungles in Africa.”<br />The aide pulled a baton from his belt and the general said evenly. “Go to your knees, both of you. Or I’ll have my man break your legs.”<br />Both captives stared at him wide eyed but made no moves.<br />The general sighed. “The fair haired one first.”<br />The aide made to swing the heavy club but the dark haired girl screamed; “alright… we’ll kneel… please don’t hurt us!”<br />The blond, the more assertive of the two was grave faced. Something in the general’s calm bearing terrified her more than more than if he had been shouting. The man had absolute power over them and it was clear he was not bluffing. She looked at her beautiful friend and at the man waving the shiny black lacquered baton.<br />Something in her spirit died at that moment as she sank to her knees, before the African men. She was followed quickly by the frightened brunette who closed her eyes tight as if to shut out the reality around her. But the blond girl gazed with seething rage through her impotent tears. She knew, as did their captors, that thier new existence as slaves had begun.<br />“You see, young Lyndon,” chuckled the general. “It is possible to train these creatures with the proper motivation. But you must always remember what they understand most is fear and pain. Deal them both out liberally and you’ll have no trouble with your Caucs.”<br />Lyndon watched, savoring the moment now. It was obvious that these women were used to living in ease and luxury. He could sense their underlying pride and arrogance they had acquired from their former stations. The young blond especially conjured within him sweet thoughts of revenge and savage lust. He would indeed mete out pain and fear to them, mixed with more degradation than they could ever have thought possible. They would pay for what their kind had done.<br />Lyndon once again fondled the dark haired girl’s soft, silky hair. Be brought his hand beneath her chin and tilted her blushing face upward. She whimpered, staring at him like a small animal caught in a net. He reached over to the blond, grasping her breast, rubbing her nipple roughly with his thumb. She tensed with loathing, but he could see the terror and helplessness in her eyes. <br />The soldier led the two hapless girls off as they sobbed softly. Lyndon had a raging hard-on and was surprised to find himself so exited by their plight. But they were very beautiful- and they belonged to him.<br />For the first time in his life, he left like a master.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 2<br /><br />“Where are they taking us?” wailed Jenny.<br />None of the other girls answered. They were huddled together in a large crowd, whimpering, quailing. Their eyes bore the dull, haunted look of hopeless captives, yet there was an electric edge of terror about them.<br />Strawberry blond Jenny Davis pressed into the group of Caucasian females, unconsciously trying to draw protection and calm from their collective mass. It was futile. They were all as distraught and fearful as she was. Their faces were masked with the identical shame.<br />Every woman among them was a beauty; young, nubile, many from patrician families. For the most part they had lived sheltered, privileged lives. Now they were standing naked on a dock with hundreds of other white women in a state of numbed shock, waiting to embark on one of the huge modified cargo ships berthed nearby. <br />Jenny was only one of thousands. Yet she was exceptional, even in this group of lovely captives. Her fair skin gleamed in the sunlight as reflections off the water played on her delicate facial features. Her perfect breasts and shapely body trembled with acute anxiety, even in the intense heat of a Louisiana summer afternoon. She was like a flower; elegant, graceful, pure- and totally exposed to the raking eyes of the colored male guards.<br />“Do… Doesn’t anyone know where they’re taking us?” repeated Jenny.<br />“I… I think… to Africa,” stuttered a crying girl close to her. “A soldier said we’d be so… sold there.”<br />Some of the group gasped in disbelief and Jenny’s eyes widened with terror. “Then, it’s true? We’re to be made… slaves?”<br />“I don’t know…” lamented the girl. “I don’t… don’t…” her voice trailed off in sobs and Jenny looked down in despair. She knew what was going to happen to them. Inside, they all knew. Perhaps it was best not to talk about it.<br />They had heard the rumors and stories of what happened to captives taken by the hated African Empire. She was not sure how many of them were accurate, but from what she’d seen after the Black forces had taken Kansas City and the surrounding areas, she feared the worst. The soldiers were merciless, killing any adult white male who made the slightest attempt to fight or flee.<br />The Africans had landed five years before and conquered Louisiana. Since then they had slowly worked their way up the Mississippi River, methodically bringing more and more of the American mid-west under their control. Their latest campaign had gained them Kansas City.<br />After the Africans had crushed all resistance they swept into residential neighborhoods in trucks, breaking down doors and seizing terrified families. Thousands of fleeing refugees choked the roads but were cut off from escape as the African military mopped up scattered areas of resistance.<br />Jenny’s fiancée had been drafted into the militia during the final days of the invasion, as local authorities sought desperately for anyone who could carry a weapon. She had heard that his unit had been overrun and forced to surrender. He was either dead or captured.<br />Not that he could have done much anyway. In the affluent neighborhood, where Jenny still lived with her parents, the blacks had moved in with forces intended to subdue and capture the population and their homes and goods intact. Men were separated from the women and children. A few citizens tried to resist and were shot dead. Adult males were packed at gunpoint into trucks and driven away. Then the blacks began categorizing and dividing the remaining captives.<br />Black men in strange uniforms, distinct from the regular African Army walked slowly through the throngs of frightened, disoriented prisoners, segregating them into smaller groups. It was obvious that the youngest and most attractive women were being herded into one cluster; those flawed but still desirable into another, and fat, ugly or older women into a third. The children, wailing for their mothers were loaded onto trucks last.<br />Jenny had been separated from her mother and brutally pushed onto a transport vehicle with the former group of choice females. It was a long ride in the hot summer sun as they were transported down the river to the Delta. Though they stopped at times and were given food and water there were no facilities in the trucks. Finally they reached the outskirts of New Orleans and the great shipping ports of the Gulf. These had been captured by the blacks years before.<br />The captives were taken to a large holding facility, stripped, examined, further categorized and tattooed on the neck with an identification number. It was all very humiliating and smoothly efficient. Jenny was now standing disoriented with throngs of other naked captives. In fact, the docks were lined with a throbbing mass of white bodies as far as they could see. <br />“Why are they doing this to us?” cried another girl. “We’ve done nothing to deserve this!”<br />The other women were finally too frightened and shaken to answer. Though they were mostly strangers they hugged each other even closer, gasping and sobbing quietly. The events of the last few weeks seemed almost surreal. Their capture and confinement at the hands of people they considered brutish and racially inferior had been shocking and humiliating enough. But now they were to be taken from their homeland and families, to meet a hostile and unknown fate.<br />They watched as massive open containers of clothing; household items and other valuables were loaded onto the ship, along with cars, machinery, and every conceivable form of wealth that could be moved. America was being looted. Finally, the most valuable spoils, the women themselves, were herded onto the ship.<br />There was absolutely no provision or dignity afforded the women. Jenny watched with wide eyed fear as black men with whips literally chased great crowds of squealing white females across the loading planks as if they were livestock being herded to market. They were corralled into groups of two or three hundred, assembled on the loading docks to facilitate fast, efficient loading. The whistles would blow and the Negro guards would rush forward, snapping their whips. The entire mass of women would surge away in terror, down the loading planks. A cacophony of panicked and pleading voices mixed with the frantic patter of bare feet on the metal ramps, as the ship was loaded. Then they were replaced on the staging dock with a new cluster of helpless wretches.<br />Soon Jenny’s turn came. She heard the loud cracks of the whips. Female voices nearest the line of guards screamed with agony and the panicked women pressed forward. Looking back Jenny saw the stony cruelty on the dark faces of their captors and she joined the mass of naked Caucasian humanity as it fled from the cause of pain, herded down the massive ramp toward the maw of the great vessel.<br />The glare from the sun off the water, the shrieks of mortal terror and pathetic crying, the incredible shame of being herded naked like animals; all of these things fused into Jenny’s mind and crystallized into a vision of abject enslavement. The heat and humidity were as brutal as the guards. As they were driven forward the hot steel of the deck burned her bare feet. She ran headlong onto the slave ship with the rest of her sweating, terrified comrades.<br />Finally she felt the coolness of shade as they descended into the darkness of the ship’s hold. It was like being devoured and the space smelled wet and oily and rusting in the salt air. Coming in from the bright sunlight Jenny could see nothing and was still blinded when the ramp was retracted and a loud clang sounded over their heads.<br />Some of the women cried and whimpered as they were shut in, and the darkness seemed total. But many were relived to be away from the ferocious black guards with their stinging whips. They did not yet realize that the dim and dank chamber of the hold would be their home, along with a hundred other women, for the next seven weeks.<br />Gradually their eyes adjusted to the gloom and they could see where they were.<br />Two low wattage bulbs shone fitfully overhead, illuminating the room. There were large, open buckets in each corner, four in all. And rubber mats on the floor. In the center of the hold was a large tube, suspended from the ceiling. Below it was a heavy trough made from half of a 55-gallon drum. Several water spigots surrounded the trough.<br />Jenny sat down by one of the walls. It felt strangely cool and solid, almost comforting after the heat and terror of the docks. Gradually the room quieted down. The shouts and pleadings of fear subsided and a low murmur of crying, the soft sighs and whines of unhappy females filtered through the room.<br />It had all happened so fast, and seemed so incomprehensible! Only a few years before, America had been the most powerful nation on earth. The white race dominated the planet as it for hundreds of years. But that had all ended with the Bio War, and the deaths of millions of Whites and Asians. The West and East had destroyed each other with weapons of man-made plague, aimed at the genetics of the enemy. Africa had been the one continent whose people remained untouched. They had stepped into the power vacuum and claimed global domination.<br />Now whites everywhere were face to face with the might of an empire, a system, bent on exploiting them in ways they had never imagined.<br />Even still, the women in that hold were American women. Such was the depth of their collective cultural hubris that individually, few of the captives realized the true scope of what was happening to them, or what their servitude meant to their future lives. They were to be made slaves, but what did that really mean? One could intellectually grasp the concept but remain ignorant to its true import. For the moment, Jenny and the others were thankful to be in a peaceful, quiet room. They wanted nothing more than to be in the safe, dark place in the cool belly of the ship, unharried for the first time in days.<br />They had been lying quietly on the deck for several hours when Jenny felt a low hum and slight pitch and roll. Fortunately at the moment, the sea was calm. There was little movement as she cast her lines and began to ply the waves out into the Gulf of Mexico. Jenny wondered what it might be like later if they ran into heavy weather. Two hundred seasick women in the dark, stinking confines of the hold would be pure hell. She chose to keep this observation to herself.<br />As it was, there was enough room to stand and move around and several of the other captives came over to introduce themselves. No one had any idea precisely where they were being taken or how long they would be confined, but as the time whiled by they did their best to console each other.<br />Jenny thought about her family and the man she loved. Her mother and father had been torn from her when they had all been taken into custody. She wondered where they were right now.<br />She had last seen Ken the week before, when he had kissed her for the final time and left to join his unit. She loved him so much and couldn’t imagine life without him. The longing for his strong, comforting embrace filled her and she began to cry again.<br />The loathsome Africans and their horrible invasion. Why did they have to come just as she and Ken were to begin their lives together? They were to be married in less than a month, after a two-year engagement. Both religious, they had pledged to keep their betrothal pure and indeed had remained chaste despite the desire they felt for each other. Jenny was still a virgin, and was deeply proud that she would be pure for Ken. Her love and charms were for him alone, to be presented by his loving bride on their wedding night. But would she ever see him again? <br />Hours after they had gotten underway, the temperature of the hold rose steeply from their combined body heat. Thirst drove them to use the water spigots, which they discovered did not yield flowing water. They had to press against a ball valve with their tongue. By sucking hard they could get mouthfuls of water, but their captors were obviously not going to waste fresh water on them. It was for drinking only.<br />Food in the form of a porridge-like gruel was pumped down the metal tube and into the trough. At first many of the women disdained the tasteless mass. There were no plates or utensils of any kind and the meal had to be scooped from the drums with bare hands. Most were too proud and sat by sullenly as a few of their fellow prisoners swallowed their dignity and ate their fill.<br />Jenny was among those who rejected the ugly, pasty gruel. She watched with mixed pity and disgust as women, as civilized as she, fed at the trough like animals. But there was no more food provided that day.<br />It was hard to judge time in the hold. Day and night, and the outside world were entirely shut out. But growling stomachs and hunger pangs kept their own cycle. The next time the mush was pumped into the trough, most of the women, including Jenny, lined up to grab their share with nimble fingers.<br />“What horrid stuff,” she declared, wrinkling her nose.<br />“There’s nothing else. We have to eat it,” said another woman, scooping up some of the gruel as daintily as possible.<br />Jenny followed suit. The mixture was practically tasteless, but it settled her hunger. They tried not to look at each other as they ate their fill and returned to their places on the matted deck.<br />Use of the rimmed buckets also became a necessity. Like most of the captives Jenny had avoided squatting over the open tub because of the indignity and the appalling lack of privacy. It only took a few meal periods to break down this inhibition.<br />They sailed on and the hours became days. The boredom quickly became mind numbing. After the first period of subdued silence following their imprisonment, the women began to talk among themselves. Soon the hold was filled with the chatter and banter of young females with nothing to do. They devised games and get-to-know-you sessions. This lasted for several meal periods, but eventually there was nothing left to be said.<br />Then the ship ran into weather. Without ventilation or windows every woman was soon groaning and puking in nauseous misery. The buckets filled quickly and soon excrement, urine and vomit were slopping over, pouring onto the deck. The stale, fetid air made them even more sick and after some time, few of the women could stagger to the waste tubs. Mercifully, the waves died down after a few hours, but there was no way to clean up the filth. <br />Subsequently the women sat sullen, talking little among themselves. The boredom became a torment of itself. <br />The crowded conditions and the sensory deprivation soon led to friction, then outright fights. They no longer lined up to feed when the mush began to flow, but scrambled hungrily to the trough like savage animals, shoving and pushing.<br />Angry shouts, snarls and even bites became common, since there never seemed to quite enough of the gruel.<br />Personal hygiene was impossible. Their bodies became progressively more foul, sweating in the heat of the hold and denied any form of bathing. Soon the stench of their unwashed flesh became overpowering.<br />The veneer of civilized humanity was wearing off, and existence in the hold was becoming a living hell. And yet they were only eight days into their voyage! <br />Once a week the feeding apparatus was hoisted from the hold with chains. Rancid gruel was scoured from the drop tube and trough. The buckets were lifted from the hold, suspended from long chains and overflowing with corruption. Then the ship’s crew brought a fire hose to the rim of the hatch. A powerful stream of water was directed onto the filthy prisoners below. Utter pandemonium ensued. Women, blinded by the unaccustomed sunlight scattered about blindly in the hold, falling over one another in a writhing mass of screaming white flesh. Despite the fact they badly need to bathe, they did their best to avoid the stream. The water was very cold, and directed with such force as to be quite painful. <br />A burst from the hose knocked Jenny to the deck. As she struggled to her hands and knees to crawl away a lasso was hurled into the hold, landing around her neck. In an instant it was cinched tight and the girl was pulled away from the others. She struggled, screaming and grasping at the rope. A couple of the other women tried to reach her, but the stream from the fire hose drove them back. Another lasso was dropped over Jenny’s shoulders and she was lifted from the hold.<br />The intensity of bright sunlight exploded into her brain and she was compelled to screw her eyes tightly closed.<br />“Ah yes, this one will do nicely,” quipped a thickly accented voice.<br />“Please… don’t hurt me,” whimpered Jenny as she dangled, her naked body flailing about on the end of the rope.<br />Strong hands pulled her from the opening and Jenny heard the loud clang as the hatch to the hold was resealed. She tried to shield her face from the blinding sun, but rough hands seized her by the hair and pulled her to her feet.<br />“You come, slut,” said the voice, pinching her nipple painfully. “No trouble now!”<br />Too disoriented and frightened to resist, Jenny was pulled by the rope on wobbly legs, across the deck and up several flights of stairs. Her eyes were just starting to adjust when he led her back inside, through labyrinthine corridors lined with pipes.<br />She was surprised to find the man handling her was not black. He was of Asian extraction and she could now place his accent as Chinese.<br />She breathed deeply and realized how much she had missed fresh air. It was heaven to be out of the stifling confines of the hold, and even the cool rough metal of the deck beneath her bare feet was a welcome stimulus.<br />He led her a large communal shower and shoved her in, turning on the faucet full and hot.<br />“White pig stink,” he growled, handing her a bar of soap and holding his nose in disgust. “You whites all swine. No wonder you lose war.”<br />Jenny hardly heard him. She was caught up in the incredibly good feeling of the shower. She became more conscious now of her nudity, but even the rake of his lust filled eyes over her pale flesh could not dampen the luxury of hot, fresh water and soap. There was nothing like eight days in the hold of a slaver to reduce life to its physical basics.<br />Jenny rubbed herself, lathering the soap and feeling the grime and sweat and oily filth on her body wash away. She washed her hair briskly and put on an unintentional sex show for her guard as her breasts bounced with the action of her raised arms. But the girl’s eyes were closed and she sighed, blissfully passive to the hot spray as it rinsed her. All too soon it ended and she was clean to his satisfaction. <br />He led her through the corridors again, still dripping wet. The refreshment of bathing left her feeling more alive and human than at any time since her capture and the humiliation and embarrassment of being totally naked were just returning in full force when they suddenly emerged into a galley full of people.<br />Raucous male voices rose with appreciation and Jenny stopped dead as waves of hot shame overwhelmed her. The man holding her rope pulled her stumbling into their midst and they laughed uproariously as the mortified girl tried to hide her charms, folding one arm across her chest and the other hand over her sex.<br />“None of that!” chortled a big Asian woman, who slapped her face and pulled her arms away from her body.<br />Jenny looked around the room. About twenty men, most of whom looked like Asians or Pacific Islanders, sat lounging at tables. There were also about a dozen women, all white, attractive and nearly naked, sitting across men’s laps or cross-legged on the floor.<br />Standing in the center of the room were three other naked young girls, disheveled and soaking wet. Apparently just pulled from the hold as she had been. <br />Jenny felt the man beside her loosen the rope and pull it from her neck. Then she was pushed to join the other huddled beauties.<br />“Now,” said the woman. “We make introductions. Down on knees where white girls belong. Hurry.”<br />The bewildered but intimidated girls sniffled passively, but were slow to obey the woman. She nodded to one of the crewmen who suddenly produced a long, thin cane and brought it down on one of the girl’s rear cheeks with great force. The white girl screamed and sank to the floor, followed quickly by the others, including Jenny.<br />“My name Madame Wu. I run ship’s galley. Discipline the slave girls. You names mean nothing. You answer whatever we call you.”<br />“You very lucky, white sows,” continued Madame Wu. “We take you out of nasty little holes to give you chance to serve. Earn easier passage to Africa. Three ship’s whores need be sold in Lagos at next call there. You replace them. You perform, we let to stay, work on decks. You not perform we put you back in hold ‘til we offload cargo slaves in Africa.”<br />Jenny’s heart leapt. The hope of remaining out of the dreaded hold was kindled, but smoldered an instant later when the words “ship’s whores” and “perform,” sunk in. Was that to be her choice? Rot below decks or become a woman of sin? She shuddered with revulsion.<br />“Life simple for slave girls,” said the Asian woman. “You obey! You belong this ship. Officers and crew use you any way they wish. You not complain or resist. You do shitty jobs on upper decks, but you always remember. The reason you here- the reason you alive. You obey. I show you what happen white girl who not obey.”<br />Madame Wu crooked a finger and a petite and darkly tanned blond girl rose from the floor a few feet away. She padded over to the Asian woman and bowed low before her.<br />“This No-Na,” said Madame Wu. “Ship’s Engineer say she lack enthusiasm last night in his cabin. She earn herself a little of cane. “DOWN. PREPARE.” barked Madame Wu.<br />Jenny could see the anguish on the girl’s face, but she instantly obeyed the woman. She removed her only garment, a small, shapeless rag about her waist and dropped it beside her. Then she knelt with her legs spread obscenely and placed her face in her hands, flat on the deck.<br />Jenny flushed red with embarrassment for the girl. Her legs, back and rear cheeks were totally vulnerable and even her sex was open and presented for penance.<br />“Self criticism,” said Madame Wu.<br />“I was lazy and disobedient, mistress,” said the girl. “Please correct my behavior and help me to be a better slave.”<br />Madame Wu took the cane from the man and brought the tip to the girl’s vulva, lightly probing the pink lips. Then she rubbed her clit and watched the girl’s toes twitch.<br />“Well said. So you admit foolishness?”<br />“Oh yes,” said the girl. “I swear I’ll improve. I’ll always remember I’m a slave. I exist to obey!”<br />“Very well,” said the Asian woman. “I be lenient because you so sorry. Five strokes.”<br />“Thank you, Madame,” breathed the girl, with genuine gratitude.<br />Jenny and the other new slaves looked on as the girl accepted each stroke from the cane. She screamed and writhed with each blow to her posterior. But though she was obviously in severe pain the girl did not flinch or try to change postures. She remained splayed and vulnerable, submitting to her discipline.<br />Finally it was over, and the white girl was panting with exertion as her stinging backside throbbed.<br />“You all obey!” said Mistress Wu to the new girls. “Else you get cane… or much worse!”<br />There were more shouts of approval from the assembled crew and the four new deck slaves were then taken below and put to work. Jenny was given a rag of coarse, white cloth, about a foot wide and three feet in length. She was assigned to scrub the pantry floors with No-Na, the girl who had been punished in the galley.<br />No-Na showed Jenny how to wrap the cloth about her hips, and tie off the corners on one side. Though the effect was pathetic and servile, Jenny was grateful for anything to cover her sex and rear cheeks. She was still acutely ashamed of her exposed breasts, but for the moment, they were working alone and Jenny was able to relax somewhat.<br />No-Na was very friendly. She told Jenny about the ship they were on. Called the New Asseinto, her primary cargo was slaves. She also carried freight on an Atlantic circuit, similar to the sailing vessels three centuries before. Except that now, white slaves were brought from America and Europe, and manufactured goods were being shipped to the new African colonies in those places, (the reverse of the previous pattern). She made several stops on America’s Atlantic seaboard, then continued to Europe and North Africa before calling at the ports of West Africa and disgorging her cargo of slaves. She was then loaded with non-living cargo and dispatched to Brazil and the Caribbean. An entire circuit voyage from Africa to America and back again, including loading and turnover days took just over twelve weeks. <br />The New Asseinto was owned by one of the most powerful men in Africa and other investors. She had all black officers, as the law required. Her crew however were Asian laborers and sailors who were paid very low wages. <br />No-Na told Jenny she had been on the ship a little over six months.<br />“My real name is Winona,” she said. “But the crew can pronounce it better as No-Na, so that’s what they call me. They’ll probably call you Jen-Nee, or some such thing.”<br />No-Na saw the frown on Jenny’s face and cautioned her. “Let them call you whatever they want, and never show any disrespect or defiance, especially towards Mistress Wu. She’s surprisingly fair, even protective of us slave girls, as long as we do exactly as we’re told. But give her a reason and she’ll make you wish you were dead. And that’s no exaggeration. The worst mistake though, is to cross one of the officers. They can send you back into the hold if you don’t perform for them.”<br />Jenny trembled. “You… you mean perform… illicitly?” she whispered.<br />No-Na smiled tolerantly, but answered bluntly. “I mean if you don’t fuck them the way they like.”<br />Jenny looked away, her face a mask of anguish. “No-Na… what can I do? I’m a virgin. I was going to be married in less than a month when… when the blacks invaded. My fiancée… How could I…?”<br />“Forget about him Jenny,” said No-Na gently. “He no longer exists and you won’t ever see him again. This ship, its men and your body are the only realities in your world now.”<br />Jenny shook her head, tears rolling down her soft pale cheeks. “I can’t do it! I can’t be a… a… woman who does such things. Please, I’ll work hard. I’ll…”<br />“Jenny, we’re slaves. They’re going to make you into a whore and there’s nothing you can do about it. Accept it now and things will go much easier for you.” <br />“I’ll go back down to the hold,” said Jenny with false conviction, though even the mere thought made her shudder.<br />“No, you won’t,” said No-Na firmly. “You won’t go back to that hold and you know it. Besides, you have no idea how bad it is going to get down there. You were down there only a week. We won’t reach the ports of Africa for another six or seven weeks. By that time the white people in that hold will be animals. I know. I’ve seen it. I’ve been on this ship now for two circuit voyages. The human mind can’t take what it experiences in that hold! It collapses. No, you’ll do anything they tell you to avoid that hold. We all will.”<br />Jenny was finally speechless. She simply sat and cried, feeling her salty tears drop one by one to the dirty steel deck.<br />No-Na reached out, placing a comforting hand on the distraught girl’s bare shoulder. “You’ll make it. You’ll survive. We all felt this way at first.”<br />They heard footsteps in the corridor and their fat Chinese mistress appeared. She swaggered up to them idly waving a short, black switch. The cowering Jenny started when Madame Wu brought the cold tip of the supple rod to her neck and pushed her hair aside. But the woman apparently wanted only to confirm the number tattooed on the girl’s flesh. <br />“Jen-Nee,” said the Chinese woman. “You go shower and make pretty, now. You fucky-fucky with captain tonight!”<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 3<br /><br />“What is it?” yelled a voice through the door in response to Madam Wu’s polite knocking.<br />“I have Cauc female you order, sir,” she answered. “You want I bring her in?”<br />“Come in,” said the voice.<br />The Chinese woman opened the door and pushed the hapless Jenny into the stateroom. She led the girl by the arm to a desk in an adjacent room, where a very large, uniformed black man sat.<br />“On knees before captain,” said Madam Wu, pushing Jenny down by the shoulders. The white girl nervously obeyed, kneeling on the thick carpet. She was astonished by the opulent appointments in the room. It was large and very comfortable for a ship’s cabin. The office was modern, well equipped and clean. She could see into the living areas of the captain’s quarters and they seemed just as genteel, even elegant in a masculine way.<br />The captain himself was corpulent and appeared to be in his fifties, though it was hard for Jenny to tell. His short Afro was graying and his face held traces of dissipation. He smiled at Jenny but not in a friendly manner. It was a sort of sneering ogle and his gaze swept over her half naked form with carnal anticipation.<br />“Eyes down on floor,” spat Madam Wu, slapping Jenny on the side of the head. “I sorry, sir. She new. Very green.”<br />Jenny obeyed and looked down at her knees. She heard the man rise from his seat and saw his boots as he stood in front of her.<br />“No,” laughed the captain. He grasped Jenny’s hair and pulled it back, forcing her to look up at him. “Not green, very white. Number K616779, fresh from the hold.”<br />He returned to his desk and checked a computer monitor. “Yes, freshly captured, 20 years old and raised and lived in suburb outside Kansas City. Engaged to be married and quite religious. Is all that correct?”<br />“Y… yes,” whispered Jenny.<br />The captain smiled again, a big broad grin that displayed his full set of white teeth.<br />“According to the examining doctor, you’re a virgin. That right?”<br />Jenny couldn’t speak. She blushed and looked away- and cried out when he slapped her face with his open palm.<br />“Answer me. You are a virgin?”<br />“Yes… please…”<br />“Religious and going to be married,” he chuckled. “You were saving it weren’t you. You were saving yourself for him.”<br />“Yes, I…”<br />“What was his name, this male Cauc who was going to be your mate?”<br />“K… Ken.”<br />“The captain turned to the Chinese woman. “You may leave us. Thank you, Madam Wu.”<br />She bowed and left.<br />The captain sat down and ordered Jenny to stand beside the desk in front of him. For several moments he simply starred at her, his eyes smoky, narrowing thoughtfully. “So you are pure, waiting to go to your marriage bed chaste and unspoiled.”<br />“Yes,” she gasped, hating to discus such a topic with a big black stranger, but afraid not to respond.<br />He continued to leer openly at her exposed breasts, smiling and licking his lips. At last she could no longer bear standing naked before his gaze and crossed her arms over her chest.<br />“Aaaahhh…” she blurted when he delivered a wicked slap to her face once more.<br />“You’re a Cauc! Learn now that you never try to cover your tits in the presence of a black man. Put your hands on the back of your head… keep your elbows back. Now thrust your bosom out for me.”<br />Jenny was crying softly but she obeyed. Her face still stung from his blow.<br />He reached up to grasp her breasts, caressing the soft firmness and working the nipples gently with his thumbs as Jenny held her breath and whimpered.<br />“So these were for Ken,” breathed the captain. Then he slid one hand between her legs. She gasped and stared wide-eyed when he began lightly stroking her vulva with his fingertips. “And this… pledged to him alone?”<br />“Yesss,” she choked. “Please, I’ll work hard… Please don’t… don’t hurt me.”<br />He found her clit and pinched it with his thumb and forefinger. “For him alone?”<br />“Yes… please… I love him.”<br />“And you would never betray him, would you Jenny?”<br />Jenny shook her head slowly. She was frightened and repelled by this fat man, his size and his blackness. And puzzled by his questions. But he could send her back to the hold and that fact alone paralyzed her with dread. She was utterly at his mercy and she knew it- however much mercy he had.<br />“Jenny, what is a whore?” asked the captain, his voice smooth and oozing with malicious amusement.<br />“I… don’t know what you mean?”<br />“A whore Jenny, a harlot, a prostitute? She is a woman who trades sexual favors for gain. A female who engages in loveless, illicit sexual intercourse for comfort or profit with a man who is not her husband. Isn’t that right?”<br />“I… yes, I know what… please… what do you want?” <br />“Jenny, are you a whore? I want you to think carefully before you answer.”<br />She gasped. “I’m not… I’m no whore! Please don’t send me back to the hold!”<br />He smiled mirthlessly. How he enjoyed tormenting them. Torturing their minds most of all.<br />“No- You’re not a whore. You’re a virgin white girl, pure, virtuous, clean… But you’re going to become a whore. Tonight. Before you leave this cabin."<br />“Sir, please… I can’t possibly…”<br />“Jenny, take off your wrap.”<br />Jenny’s eyes widened with shock and disgust as her innocent, sheltered mind finally comprehended what the captain was going to require of her in his stateroom. She had known in the back of her mind of course the logical purpose and fate of a scantily clad slave girl. But somehow she had expected to escape that fate. Stall, work or talk her way out of actual rape. She couldn’t fathom that a responsible man, a captain of an ocean going vessel would commit such an act.<br />Now that bubble of self-delusion had burst. The realization that he intended to take her sexually, that her long guarded virginity was about to end filled her with an unspeakable sense of panic and revulsion.<br />“Noooo,” she reacted on instinct, pushing his hands away from her body and retreating from him. She stood a few feet away, whimpering with fear and expecting him to call Madam Wu and have her taken back to the hold. An instant later she was astonished to see him laughing. There was a cruel glint in his eye and Jenny could tell he was toying with her.<br />“Madam Wu was right,” he chuckled. “You are a proud little bitch. It’s going to be very stimulating bringing you to heal.”<br />“I… I’m sorry. Please… I’m not like that… I’m not a… not a…”<br />He reached into his desk and retrieved a long, antenna-like object. It had a handle on one end and what looked like a trigger. He walked calmly over to the cowering girl and smiled again. Without a word he pushed the tip of the rod to her navel.<br />Jenny’s abdomen exploded with radiating stabs of pain.<br />“AAAAAAiiii… AAAHHH, AAAAAAHHHHH, UUUGGGHHH,” she screamed as the black captain held the rod firmly to her belly as she tried to twist away. Finally after several seconds he released the trigger and held the implement before her terror widened eyes.<br />“This is called a correction rod, Jenny. We use it on errant Caucs. It delivers fifty thousand volts of current through the tip and into a slave’s body. It’s a nasty sting isn’t it?”<br />Jenny was still trying to catch her breath. When she didn’t answer he curled the antenna under left breast and fired off another bolt.<br />“AAAAAAAIIIIIEEEE,” please! Oh please stoooop.”<br />Answer me properly Jenny. And call me master. That is the proper way for you to address any Adamic African.”<br />“AAAuuuhhh, yes mas… master. It stings! Please don’t sting me!”<br />“I’m going to sting you every few seconds, Jenny. And you can’t stop it.” He directed the rod tip under her wrap. Jenny felt the cold metal at her nether lips, then the horrendous jolt of pain.<br />“AAAAAIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”<br />This time the agony was too much and she bolted away from him. In panic she ran to the door but found it locked. There was no escape and he easily cornered her and placed the rod to her side.<br />“AAAAAuuuuuugggghhh Aaauuuu… oh please… Aaaauuu… please… master…”<br />She fled again and for several minutes he played with her, chasing her about the stateroom and stinging her in various places while she screamed and cringed, trying vainly to cover herself and begging for mercy. She tugged desperately at the wrap and skinned it off. But he did not relent. <br />“Please! Please master, I took it off,” she yammered.<br />“That’s good Jenny. But you’re still going to feel pain. You’re going to feel it until you tell me you’re ready to become a whore.<br />“Aaaahhh, aaahhhhhhhhiieee, please, massssterrrrr!”<br />“Say it Jenny. Say, ‘I want to be your whore, master.’”<br />The captain was still plying with her, pursuing her naked form as she alternated between desperate flights across the room to pathetic pleading at his feet. Nothing induced him to stop.<br />The stinging agony was beyond endurance, beyond resistance. But still she could not utter the words.<br />Finally she broke away from corner where he was tormenting her, only to collapse onto her back on the carpeted floor a few feet away. Exhausted from screaming and the exertion of her fruitless efforts to elude him, she lay panting and sobbing and he slowly strode over to her prostate form. He was not even breathing heavily. He looked into her eyes and pressed the end of the terrible rod into her belly.<br />“All you have to do to make the pain stop is admit you’re a whore and fuck me to prove it,” he said. “Isn’t that easy?”<br />“Pleeeease,” she groaned. “Please. I can’t do… AAAAAAIIIIEEEEEEE!”<br />“Such a foolish Cauc to suffer so needlessly. I just want you to admit your true nature.”<br />She managed to roll over on her back and he placed his huge boot on her neck, pinning her down. She felt him worm the rod tip between her rear cheeks and tried desperately to twist away, but he was too strong.<br />“AAAAAIIIIIIEEEEEEE, please master oh god STOP… AAAAAHHHHHHGGGG…”<br />“Say it!” He growled. “Say it or I’ll burn your insides out Cauc!”<br />“STOP IT! STOP IT I’LL SAY IT! I’LL SAY IT, MASTER. I WANT TO BE A WHORE. I WANT TO BECOME A WHORE!” <br />The current ceased, but the sting still reverberated in her guts as he released her neck.<br />“Come with me Cauc,” he ordered.<br />She followed him into his bedroom, still weeping with fear and remembered pain.<br />“This is where you start to earn your passage, Cauc. Undress me.”<br />With trembling hands Jenny unbuttoned his uniform shirt and lifted it from his shoulders. She placed it on the bed and received a sharp slap on her breasts.<br />“Hang my clothes on hangers and put everything away, Cauc. If anything’s wrinkled I’ll have Madame Wu cane your ass till it’s bloody.”<br />“Ye… Yes, master.” Knowing it was no idle threat; Jenny carefully dispositioned each article of the captain's clothing. She pulled his boots, socks and pants off and put them away.<br />The virgin white girl bit her lip and closed her eyes as she slowly pulled the man’s briefs down his legs.<br />“Aaahhh,” she cried when he cuffed her face again, warning her.<br />She gasped when she opened her eyes, but not from the slap.<br />His penis jutted out before her in a full erection of eight inches or more. She had never seen a man’s phallus, but the size of the captain’s dwarfed anything she had imagined. She figured he was some kind of human freak and recoiled with disgust.<br />She steeled herself for another slap but was stung only by his laughter.<br />“Think it’s too big for you, Cauc? It’ll fit. We’ll make it fit.”<br />Jenny sniffled and the black man laughed even more. He ordered her onto the bed on all fours, then he reached into a cabinet and took out a small plug-like metal object with a thin wire attached.<br />Jenny watched as he squirted some clear gel on the plug and spread it around with his fingers.<br />“Know what this is, Jenny?” he asked holding it in front of her face.<br />“N… no, master…”<br />“Of course you don’t Jenny. You’re a virgin, innocent and sheltered, freshly captured. You’ve never seen a training plug before.” He caressed her bare back gently, as if trying to calm her.<br />Jenny looked at the metal cylinder closely. She sensed something wicked and cruel about it. The shape was curved slightly and tapered on one end. At the other end was a bulge and a shallow ridge. From there the wire extended and ran across the floor to a box beside the captain’s bed.<br />“This little plug is magical, Jenny. A wonder of modern African science. It helps turn little white virgins like you into pleasing body slaves.”<br />“Please… don’t hurt me anymore.”<br />“Hurt you Jenny? That’s mostly up to you.”<br />“Now,” said the captain. “I want you to take this plug, and insert it all the way up into your rectum.”<br />Jenny starred in disbelief and began to cry again. The big black man smiled. His manner was calm and indulgent, but the helpless girl could see the lascivious glint in his eye. She shivered and shook her head slowly.<br />“Jenny, I told you the amount of pain you receive is up to you didn’t I?”<br />“Y… Yes, master.”<br />“Well, you just shook your head no to me so, you’re going to be punished. You’re a Cauc. You must learn to obey. Put the plug in your ass.”<br />“It… please… it will tear me.”<br />“No it won’t Jenny. It’s small and well lubed. Put in now or I’ll take you below decks and let the crew put it in- after they rape your rear passage.”<br />Jenny groaned and took the plug from his hand. She reached around and placed the tip at her puckered anus.<br />“Relax yourself, Jenny. Don’t fight it. Never fight what we do to you and you’ll feel far less pain… go ahead now.”<br />With a whimper the girl began to press the object into her rectum. It hurt a little but she did try to obey the captain and relax her muscles. The lubrication helped a lot and though her face was a mass of anguish she managed to insert the plug after a few moments.<br />“Very good, Jenny,” he said, patting her rump. “Make sure it stays there. If the plug comes out I’ll stick the correction rod up there and turn it on for several seconds. Is that understood?”<br />“Yes… yes master.” Jenny closed her eyes. The plug felt huge and the bulge at the end prevented her from expelling it unless she pulled it out with her hands.<br />The captain checked to make sure the plug was all the way in, then lay on his back beside her. Reaching up to fondle one of her breasts idly, he cupped it in his hands as if testing its weight. Jenny looked down at his callused, ebony hands as they kneaded and pawed her flesh. She turned away again unable to bear the shame.<br />“Please… Don’t… ra… rape me!” she breathed.<br />“Rape you Jenny? Yessss,” he hissed. “Rape and much, much more. I’m going to ravish your mind and spirit as well as your body. But first you’re going to give me your virginity. Mount me… climb on top.”<br />Jenny bit her lower lip. Her mind was swirling with humiliation but the rod had driven out all thoughts of resistance. She lifted her leg over his hips and knelt, straddling him.<br />“Stroke my cock. Take it in your hands and get it extra hard.”<br />The white girl demurred. She simply could not bring herself to touch his intimate flesh.<br />“Please… nooooo. Don’t force me too… too…”<br />The captain suddenly pulled a small remote controller from his bed stand. “Now Jenny, I’m not going to force you to do anything. I’m merely going to push this button every time you disobey me or fail to please. It feels like this.”<br />“AAAhhh, Aahhhhaa, AAAAGGGGHHH, AAAAAHHHHHH, AAAAAAAHHHHHGGG… AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH.” Instantly Jenny was transformed into a mindless screaming animal. A bolt of lightening surged through her vitals with what seemed like a million volts. Emanating from the thing in her anus, the electricity traveled up her spine and burst into her upper torso in bright sheets of pain. With sheer reflex she tried to reach back and pull the horrendous plug from her rectum but her arms wouldn’t move. She opened her eyes to find her wrists held fast by him. She thrashed about madly, convulsing and twisting in a frantic effort to cast the abominable object from her anus, but to no avail. The bulge kept it in and the pain went on and on, stretching into eternity.<br />“OH PLEASE STOP MASTER STOP. AAAAHHHHHAAAAAAIIII, MMMAASSTTTERR! PPPLLLLEEEEESSSEEE!” She tossed her head about wildly. Her strawberry blond curls flailing in the air. Then everything started to fade and the electricity suddenly stopped.<br />Through a haze of near unconsciousness she could hear the captain’s voice. “The probe in your ass is called a training plug, Jenny. It works quite well, don’t you think? Every time you disobey me you will feel its sting.”<br />As Jenny’s awareness returned in full force she realized that the current had only been turned on a few seconds. Yet for that moment in time she had experienced pure hell.<br />“Pweese, mas… master… don’t turn it back on…”<br />“I won’t Jenny, if you obey. Now take my cock and play with it.”<br />Jenny’s hands seemed to move on their own. His penis was already stiff and lewdly throbbing as she curled her soft fingers around the shaft. Her warm tears splashed on his obese belly and her damp breath rolled across his chest. Not really knowing what to do she pulled at his phallus and worked the loose skin up and down over the hard inner shaft. Her fingers grazed his testicles and he spoke urgently.<br />“You’re a whore, Jenny. You’re going to offer your virginity to your master and say ‘fuck you’ to that fiancée of yours. Say it.”<br />“I… I… oh god… I can’t… AHH AHHH AHHH AAAHHHHIIIEEE, please, Aghhhh,” Jenny’s rectum exploded once more into hot shards of jagged fire. This time however, it lasted only a second or two.”<br /> “You’re the one who is going to decide whether you feel pain or not, Jenny. Say what I told you to say.”<br />“I’m a… I’m a whore. Fuck you… Ken… and I’m, I’m offering my virginity to my master.”<br />“Good. Now rise up. That’s it. Take my prick and put it in.”<br />The shy girl flushed with profound shame as she raised her hips and centered his shaft on her vagina. With her own trembling hand she parted the folds with his dusky glans. Then she lowered herself a little and gasped at the alien feel of something entering her. Pressing onto him tentatively she felt the organ slide in a little further, pushing aside the feeble reluctance of her unused sex lips. Jenny moaned as the emotion of the moment overtook her and she wept.<br />He let her wallow in misery for a moment, then roused her by jogging his hips.<br />“Deeper, Cauc whore. Take it deeper.”<br />She pressed harder and his phallus slid a few inches in. Then it met resistance, the thin sheath of her maidenhead stretched across the passage to her womb.<br />“Pop it,” he hissed.<br />“Please. It… it won’t go any further.”<br />“POP IT,” he shouted. “Take your own cherry!”<br />“But it won’t go any… AAAAAGGGGhhhhh, huuuuhhh, huuuuuhhh… WHAT CAN I DO?” she screamed as the punishing current surged through her once more. When it stopped Jenny was practically hysterical.<br />He seized her breast, pinching her nipples painfully. “OBEY,” he growled. He grabbed a handful of her soft, lustrous hair, and bent her face downward toward their joined organs.<br />“Watch it Cauc… Watch your innocence die!”<br />Jenny looked on with horror at his frightening maleness standing potently, like a dagger poised at her belly. Her pink vaginal lips strained to contain his girth and she already felt stuffed. Yet there was still three quarters of his length to go!<br />“Drive it in. Break it now!” he insisted.<br />Jenny saw his finger twitch on the dreaded button. She pushed down again but the pain was too much. Her hymen was stretched taught now by the black man’s massive joint.<br />“AAAAAGGGHHHH…” the current erupted again. “STOP IT… Please, I can’t take it!”<br />“POP IT,” he screamed. “Break it on my cock!”<br />“AAAAAIIIIIIEEEEEEE… OH PLEASE STOP IT. DON’T PUSH THE BUTTON!”<br />“POP IT NOW, OR I’LL FRY YOUR INSIDES!”<br />The breaking point had been reached and something had to give. Jenny gave a desperate lunge downward to escape the fire in her anus. The extra pressure was enough to decide the issue and she screamed as her virginal sheath ruptured. He still held her head in place and she watched his massive black pole disappear into her hitherto unused vagina. Then his huge black hands take hold of her hips and pulled downward, driving his tool into her depths.<br />It was over! What she had kept all these years for Ken was gone. The fat, black captain was in her all the way to the balls and her precious virginity was no more.<br />But it was only the beginning. He savored the moment of her downfall and allowed her to adjust to his size. Remaining still for a while he listened to her sobs of shame and loss as they welled up from her soul. But it was soon time for the next phase of the game.<br />“Up,” he said simply. “Ride up but don’t let it come out. Then lower yourself again.”<br />When she was slow to execute his instructions he pressed the button again and listened patiently to her shrieks. She quickly raised her hips and lowered them again and the pain stopped.<br />“Pump,” he said. “Up and down. Go.”<br />This time she complied instantly. Her first movements were jerky and stiff but soon she established a rhythm. Instinct took over as she rode him slowly and she was rewarded when he let the remote slip from his grasp.<br />“Yes,” he chuckled. “Now we’ll teach you how to move. You’ll learn your new purpose quickly enough.”<br />Jenny continued to move, thrusting up and down on his shaft. She was actually able to relax for the first time. The initial pain of his huge intrusive penetration was fading a little and she was relieved that he had put the remote aside. She resolved to keep pumping on his manhood, since it seemed to placate him.<br />But there was something else that both puzzled and troubled her. As she continued to thrust herself up and down there was a tiny but unmistakable feeling of excitement that tingled inside her flat belly.<br />At first she thought it was simply nerves, a reaction to the extreme stress she had been subjected to. But as she worked her movements became more fluid and easy. It was almost as if her body wanted to be used in this manner and knew on its own exactly what to do.<br />Jenny curled her feet under his legs for leverage and placed her soft, white hands onto his shoulders for support. Though still a tight fit, her vagina was growing accustomed to the big intruder. There was definitely something to the weird feelings now as both wetness and warmth were being generated inside her without any volition on her part. From tip to base his shaft was now coated with a slippery liquid that acted as a lubricant and eased their rhythmic, coital movements. The captain noted the dampness too.<br />“Yesss, juicy as a ripe peach. I knew you were a hot one, Cauc.”<br />Jenny didn’t understand what he was saying. She only knew the pumping on his shaft felt good and was keeping his hand away from the feared remote. She sensed his movements and intuitively knew he wanted her to speed up the action of her hips.<br />“Rut on it, Cauc. You’re a whore now, aren’t you? Aren’t you!”“Yes… yes, I’m a whore…”<br />“Beg for it. Beg your black master to fuck you.”<br />Beyond any question of pride or decorum at last, Jenny continued to ride his manhood. She answered him without hesitation, the shameful words tumbling from her mouth.<br />“Fuck me… fuck me please, master.”<br />The pleasure, (for that was what the feeling definitely was now,) built relentlessly as her hips gained speed. Her breasts were bouncing lewdly in time with her accelerating cadence and she could see his face light up as she stoked his lust.<br />“Please… master. Fuck me. Don’t hurt me with the plug.”<br />“Pump faster. Give it all to me, Cauc,” said the captain, ignoring her plea.<br />But Jenny was not about to disobey. Her own body seemed to answer her disloyalty to her fiancée with its own betrayal. Though she tried to ignore the tingling delight in her loins her flesh was responding. She could have resisted, quashed the building tension before it overwhelmed her, if only she had been allowed to stop rutting on his cock. But that would bring a sting from the plug.<br />So she continued, moving and bouncing like the slave whore he wanted. Now the excitement alone, apart from the threat of punishment was enough to keep her moving and goad her on. It was strangely liberating, as if she had been released from all moral bonds and responsibility. Yes she was betraying Ken and her own identity. Yes she was sacrificing her self-respect. But under the current conditions who could blame her. It was so easy to simply say and do what he wanted and not worry about what anyone would say. She was alone with him in his cabin and her will meant nothing.<br />A greasy kind of desire spread through her nervous system. Tentacles of the strange, forbidden entity within her wound through her belly, up her spine and right into her brain. It was nothing like the feelings she had when she was with Ken. This was nasty, base and corrupt- and far more powerful and addictive.<br />The captain folded his arms behind his head, lying, watching with studious detachment as Jenny continued to rape herself on his rod. She was working with a steady motion, pumping and thrusting as though she had practiced for years. Periodically he would make lewd comments or observations. If she seemed to falter or slow down he would reach for the remote and that would instantly re-invigorate her movements.<br />She looked down at his corpulent form, into the eyes of a man almost three times her age. But it did not evoke the hatred within her that she would have expected to feel. Her female instincts were in play now. He was her first, the man who had taken her maidenhood. She would in a sense belong to him ever after and though there was only voracity in his gaze, Jenny realized she could love a man like this.<br />Her conscious thoughts returned to the big black organ sliding in and out of her core, worked by the actions of her own body. She was fully conflicted, and her mind rebelled with one last realization of horror. She was being raped by a Negro- and she was enjoying it.<br />Ironically, the sheer, audacious shame of that realization caused the weird feeling to finally peak. Her libido boiled over like a geyser and she was thrusting, wiggling, molding herself to him with insane greed. Despite the shocked revulsion of the thinking part of her mind her orgasm erupted, reveling in her own debasement and shattering what was left of her self-control.<br />AAAAhhhhh, ahhh, aahhh, ahhhhhh, ahhhhhhh, ahhhhhhhgggg!” This time it was staccato cries of ecstasy that burst from Jenny’s mouth, unbidden by her volitional mind. The pleasure was good- so good after the horror of the past few weeks. She managed to capture the feeling, hold onto it and screen out the damning voice within her for a few moments, until brought back to reality by the captain’s cruel, triumphant laughter.<br />“Very good, Cauc,” said the Captain. “Just keep performing like that and you’ll save your ass a lot of pain.”<br />Jenny could say nothing. She could do nothing except pant with fatigue and try to catch her breath. But a moment’s rest was all she was granted.<br />“Now, you Cauc bitch, you can see what it’s like beneath a real Adamic man!”<br />Without warning he rolled her over with one mighty bellow and pressed her helpless form into the bed. Jenny felt his great weight overwhelm her as he immediately began pistoning his huge penis in and out with maniacal fury. He was lunging into her with such force that his thrusts seemed to drive the air from her lungs.<br />“Take it Cauc,” he whispered intensely into her ear. “Right in that belly. You exist to serve us, slave. Move with me.”<br />She did her best to match his rut, churning beneath him as his meat flew in and out. He only used the remote one more time. When he ordered her to wrap her arms and legs about him and kiss him affectionately she was slow to respond, but only because she was so consumed by his need.<br />“AAAAAHHH, AAAAAAHHHHGGGGGG, I love you… I love you master!”<br />Entwining her limbs around him, she meant every word. She did love him. It was not to high a price to pay for relief from the horrible plug. Jenny’s white hands smoothed over his shoulder blades, her ankles crossed above his lower back and she massaged his buttocks with her heels. She wanted to convey her surrender, her receptivity; because at that instant he wasn’t pushing the button and she loved him for it!<br />She cooed and sighed, lying so open and spread. With every thrust he ground into her clit, adding to the delicious dream. They grappled, two writhing bodies, male and female, becoming one, with no thought of ships or holds or fiancées. Just one potent black man, possessing a conquered white woman.<br />Finally the frenzy climaxed. The crest of the wave broke over her and as screams of a new orgasm tore from her throat, he slammed into her one last time. Driving the head of his phallus to the very threshold of her womb and holding there, as spurt after viscous spurt of his copious seed gushed into her.<br />“AAAhhh AAAhh AAEEEEIIEEEEE… fill me master… fill meeeee!”<br />“AHHHHhhhhhh, Cauc whore… Fucking you!”<br />They collapsed into one white and black heaving mass, gulping in air and settling heavily onto the bed. The grand completion of a sublime act of rape.<br /><br />Jenny’s chastity had ended with a bang- and a whimper. As the glorious feelings faded the full import of what she had done and said, what she had in fact become, burst upon her consciousness. A wave of self-loathing engulfed her and she nearly vomited.<br />The sated captain allowed her to pull the hated metal plug from her ass and don her wrap before leaving, but he made her fall to her knees and beg to return. Then he had thrown her out like refuse and she staggered back to the tiny cabin she shared with No-Na. All the way back, semen mixed with blood from her torn hymen leaked down her legs, cooling in the night air. And her mind screamed one word over and over- WHORE!<br />Chapter 4<br /><br />“Why… why! How could I do such a thing,” sniffled Jenny, clinging to the comforting closeness of her new friend, No-Na.<br />“Jenny, you did what you had to do, what all of us have to do,” said No-Na, gently stroking the girl’s hair.<br />“But, I… While he was… was doing it to me… I… I… liked it…” wailed Jenny, her voice broken with spasms of misery. She buried her face in her friend’s bare chest, wanting to close out the world and her cruel fate.<br /> The two girls barely knew each other, yet Jenny was so desperate for the presence of a friendly human being that she had broken down the instant she had returned to the locker. No-Na had been trying to console her- and share the hard truth in order to help prepare her for the new life she was destined to.<br /> “Jenny, you just did what countless women have had to do since the beginning of time. In all defeated societies the women become objects.”<br />“But it’s horrible. We’re human beings!” cried Jenny.<br />“Shhhh,” whispered No-Na, rocking the distraught girl like a lost child. “It’s not horrible, Jenny. It’s simply the way things are.”<br />“I can’t be a woman like that, Nona. I can’t be a… a whore.”<br />“Jenny you can- and you are. Do you think you are somehow better that all those other women? Many of them had husbands and sweethearts, yet were torn from them. None of the other girls on this ship or any other slaver really want to earn their way to Africa on their backs, but we do it, because we have no choice.<br />“But how could I have liked it? Oh Nona, I’m so ashamed.”<br />It’s natural for a woman to respond to a strong male after she’s been captured,” said No-Na.<br />“I… I… feel so dirty, Nona.”<br />“It will pass Jenny. We women are very adaptable. Very soon you’ll be doing without a second thought all of the things you find so abhorrent now. They’re going to break you, Jenny. Don’t fight them because no matter what, they’re going to win. If you fight you’ll only cause yourself more pain.”<br />Jenny closed her eyes tightly. She was grimly aware that the girl was telling the truth.<br />“What can I do?” whispered Jenny in desperation. “What can I…” <br />No-Na brought her finger to Jenny’s lips. “Shush now, it’s time to go to sleep. We’ve a lot to do tomorrow.”<br /><br />The next day Jenny went to work with No-Na. They both wore nothing but the scraps of ragged material about their waists, but Jenny was grateful to be out of the harrowing metal box she had spent the last week in, and into the open air. The girls scrubbed the decks, peeled and prepared vegetables for the cook, washed laundry and cleaned toilets. They and about a dozen other white slave girls performed a myriad of other menial tasks. As she worked, No-Na guided Jenny to various parts of the ship and informed her of their many duties. As a security measure they were not allowed amidships, where the hatches covering the slave holds were located, unless accompanied by a member of the crew.<br />“Madame Wu told me you’re fucking the second officer, tonight,” said No-Na.<br />Jenny grimaced and nodded miserably.<br />“He’s not a bad sort, Jenny,” said the blond girl. “Not like the first officer, anyway. But he is, well, really big.”<br />That evening No-Na showed Jenny to the second officer’s cabin, before heading off herself, to serve the captain. The girl knocked on the door and was summoned inside. Jenny entered and closed the door. Then she turned- to face the largest black man she had ever seen.<br />He was an easy six foot ten inches and probably weighed over 300 pounds. But it was all muscle. His head was shaved and he had a voodoo tattoo on his left cheek. He sounded like an American rather than an African, but he was Negroid, as per the requirement of ship’s officers.<br />“So you’re one of the new sluts from the hold.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement of fact and despite her revulsion at being characterized as a slut Jenny was too intimidated to protest.<br />“Y… yes,” she bleated. She could see he was holding one of the dreaded punishment rods. Between it and his enormous size Jenny was petrified, and stared at him with round, gray eyes.<br />“Nothin’ to be afraid of, girl,” he said, smiling. “I don’t normally use this thing ‘less you give me a reason. But I get all the pussy I want one way or ‘nother. You got that?”<br />“Yes,” she said with resignation.<br />He was not one for anticipatory build up and he quickly pulled off his uniform, laying it across a chair.<br />“Come on, get that rag off and let’s get started.” It was a command, though a casual one. Jenny untied the knot at her right hip and let the cloth fall to the deck.<br />“Come,” he said, crooking a finger. “Say hello to my cock.”<br />She approached him, ending up between his widespread legs. His huge uncircumcised organ throbbed potently in front of her, confusing her mind with oddly conflicting emotions.<br />On the one hand, it frightened and offended her sheltered sensibilities. She had after all still been a virgin only the day before.<br />On the other hand however, it held a strange allure. It was so immense, so black, so alien and male, that it fixed both her gaze and subconscious with wonder- and something else.<br />The nasty, bright feelings that had assaulted her the day before with the captain were sparking once again between her legs. A groan slipped from her mouth as her mind screamed with self-condemnation. She did not want to act or feel that way again.<br />“Play with it,” he said.<br />Jenny reached out gingerly to grasp his phallus, watching it twitch at her light touch. It was both thicker and longer than the captain’s but had the same feel to it, soft yet hard and strong. She wrapped her fingers about the shaft and jerked it awkwardly. A shudder and chill ran through her as well as the conviction that she was engaging in a forbidden act; one that would be another subtle step in transforming her into what they wanted her to be. <br />“Blow me now,” he sighed. Her eyebrows raised with bewilderment, but she dutifully pursed her lips to blow air gently at the blunt tip.<br />“Suck ma meat,” he demanded.<br />“You mean… Put… put it in my mouth?” she asked with alarm.<br />He nodded and smiled.<br />“Please sir, I… I’ve never done anything like that.”<br />“Then you learn now,” said the officer.<br />At first Jenny balked at the revolting idea. She had of course heard if such things and had always thought them perverted and filthy. But when he picked up the punishment rod and looked at her meaningfully she brought her mouth to his joint and flicked out a tentative tongue.<br />Luckily for Jenny, he was greatly amused by her fastidious reluctance. When he brought the tip of the rod to one of her nipples, Jenny sucked in her breath and stiffened. But he didn’t pull the trigger.<br />“Take it all in your mouth. Suck it good woman, or I sting these tits ‘till you do.”<br />There was nothing for it. She was terrified that his easygoing manner would wear off and he would begin to punish her as the captain had. Swallowing her pride and fighting the flip flops in her stomach, she opened her mouth and lowered it onto his shaft.<br />“Use your lips. Suck it, white girl.”<br />Jenny did her best, hoping blindly to get the act over with as soon as possible. She took as much of the thing as she could, stopping when she began to gag. At his prompting she used her hands to stimulate the lower part of the shaft that was still outside her mouth. When she gained a little confidence she let her tongue swirl over his manhood, laving his foreskin and the sensitive under side. There was little taste except for a yeasty, salty trace at the tip.<br />“Aaahhh, yes white woman. That’s it. Bite with those lips but don’t let me feel your teeth.”<br />Tears rolled down Jenny’s cheeks at the sheer humiliation of what she was doing. But most shaming of all was the conviction after a while that it really wasn’t that bad. That having this man’s phallic organ in her mouth was worth it if in exchange he would refrain from hurting her. With an inner sob she realized, that was the way a whore would think. <br />He was patient, giving directions and offering some crass encouragement. After a few moments she acquired enough skill to bring him close to orgasm. He pulled his penis from her lips with a pop.<br />“You need practice, white woman,” he said with mild disdain. “But you get it later. Right now I want some pussy. Get on the bed, hands and knees.”<br />Jenny crawled onto the bed, shaking with anxiety. She did not think his huge penis would fit her and was afraid she would tear internally if he tried.<br />“Spread your legs wide, girl,” he said with his low, melodious voice.<br />“It… please, it won’t… it’s too big,” she whined.<br />“Your spit still on it. It’ll fit. Besides,” he laughed. “You gotta get used to big dicks.”<br />Jenny bit her lip as she felt the bed behind her sag under his weight. She felt so open and vulnerable in this position, even more than when the captain had taken her on her back. At least then she had been able to see what he was doing. She grunted when his fingers began plying her labia, stroking and rubbing while his other hand smoothed up and down her spine.<br />“You want it,” he breathed. “Cauc girls always want black men. You just don’t know it at first.”<br />Jenny gasped when she felt the blunt head of his manhood press against her folds. He pushed forward and her pink lips began to slide around his shaft, but he felt very, very big.<br />“Please,” she whimpered. “You’re much too big… I… Aaahhhh… Oh please, it’s so big! Please be gentle. Aaaggghhh.”<br />She heard the gloating pride in his laughter. He knew she couldn’t take his organ without initial discomfort, but that was part of the joy, the cunt-stretching destiny of all white women. It was his duty to help see that they all felt it. One warm, wet pussy at a time.<br />His hands gripped her pelvic bones and he continued to press forward but at least he was going slow. Jenny’s breathing came in short rasping cries as the gut expanding pressure built- and built.<br />“Ahhhh,” he sighed. “Sweet, tight white cunt! Nothin’ else like it.”<br />The stuffing sensation was becoming unbearable and Jenny, despite her fear of punishment screamed and tried to crawl away. But his hands held her effortlessly and the pressure continued unabated. Struggling only seemed to jar his thing deeper so Jenny at last was compelled to be still, kneeling in utter helplessness while the massive organ pushed ever inward.<br />“It’s gonna burst me,” she squealed pathetically, grasping handfuls of the bed spread. But he was right. Her saliva was lubricating him and she was adjusting. Finally, after long moments of primal fear that she was going to be split in half, insertion was complete. She had taken every inch, though the spongy head was even now pressing into her cervix. <br />Jenny could feel his thighs against the back of her smooth legs and knew he was in all the way. But she could scarcely believe she had taken an object of such size and she remained motionless, lest a single movement cause her stretched vagina to rupture. The black officer also seemed content to let her adjust to his size.<br />For several minutes they knelt quietly, still and coupled as the man stroked her flanks with his hands. When he finally started to move again it was a very slow withdrawal that caused Jenny to feel an even odder sensation of emptiness, as if having grown accustomed to the big penis her body was now reluctant to be without it.<br />He pulled out almost to the head, then Jenny sucked in her breath as he immediately began push back in, very slowly.<br />“Yeah…” he muttered. “That’s good. That’s soooo good.”<br />Jenny buried her face in the bed as the sheer weight of her emotions overwhelmed her. Twice now within twenty-four hours she had been brutally raped by a man of color, yet again, the wicked tingle in her loins was making itself felt. She tried with every ounce of will power to suppress it, but it was impossible to concentrate with such a huge thing goring her most intimate flesh.<br />Fortunately the worst of the pain in her overstuffed vagina was fading. But that was a mixed blessing. As the discomfort decreased her own uncontrolled desires increased. As his thrusts slowly became more ardent and forceful, so her inhibitions evaporated. All concern about propriety was rapidly receding from Jenny’s mind. The sensations were just too powerful for a helpless girl to resist. As the speed of their rut slowly increased he tightened his possessive hold on her body. He looped his legs over hers, trapping them down, against the bed. And his ebony hands raked over her breasts, sex and belly. <br />His roving fingers charged her with erotic stimulation. He worked her clitoris, savoring her moans. Reaching down with the other hand he caressed the sensitive arch of her foot.<br />Jenny was fighting to keep from swooning. She would never have believed such sensation was possible. She was totally filled, as if her body was merely a thin, stretched covering for his sex organ. Once again the latent masochistic stream bubbled up from the secret well of her soul and she reveled in his relentless entry and withdrawal.<br />He was plunging deep now, sending the spongy head of his penis rasping past the mouth of her womb with each forward thrust. Every lunge made his fat testicles bounce with mind-bending salaciousness against her clit. Bending forward he arched his massive frame over her, placing his torso directly above hers and pressing his hairy chest onto her supple back. Jenny was imprisoned in a cage of black muscle and skin.<br />The slats of the bunk creaked with the violence of his coital humping, but for Jenny the pain was gone. All that was left were the vibrant tongues of illicit pleasure licking up her spine and defusing into her brain. It was good now. Her universe had shrunk to the space of his cabin and they were alone. Just a white girl on her knees, mating like an animal with the dominant male, the only male who existed. What was left of Jenny’s resistance crumbled and she thrust herself back to him with abandon as the volcano of lust within her own body erupted.<br />“Aaaaghhh… yes… please… push it in… Oh harder, please!”<br />“Ahhh take it white girl. Fuck it like that… Fuck that tight pussy onto my cock!”<br />They were rushing forward to fulfillment, straining instinctively towards release. At last Jenny screamed with guttural ecstasy as she came. Her vagina tightened and gripped with pleading need, begging for the flow of his living essence. And he obliged it.<br />The black officer held her fast, clamping himself to her with all the strength in his sinuous arms as his balls pumped and his thick semen flowed into her. He collapsed gasping onto her kneeling form, all but smothering her.<br />Jenny lay crouched and panting beneath him, her own orgasm still reverberating inside her belly. Thinking it was over she tried to get up after a few minutes. But he tightened his grip and held her still, signaling wordlessly that they were not yet done.<br />His great phallus was still fully sheathed in her sopping love canal, though it was softening. They sat that way for a long time. Jenny, afraid to break the spell of painless pleasure said nothing, but the presence of his organ soon was re-awakening her own lust. <br />The big black man felt it too and groaned with renewed passion. He sat back on his haunches on the bed, pulling Jenny with him so that his organ never left her. She ended up in a kind of half crouched, half kneeling position, squatting on his lap facing away from him, still impaled on his massive cock.<br />Jenny’s mind still swirled, her own libido primed with the promise of another orgasm from his re-hardening maleness. Being taken from behind by such a large penis, the internal sensations and contact points were different than she had experienced with the captain. Her feet were flat on the mattress and her toes curled into the sheets as she actually felt the top of his foreskin throbbing deep within her belly, rubbing against the threshold of her womb. It swam in the thick, hot puddle of his semen, trapped in the little pocket in front of her uterus, held there by his penis like a great black cork. Jenny could feel it all and her breath was ragged with sensation. <br />He spooned around her, reached in front to play with her breasts and pressing his mouth to her pink shelled ear, he whispered into it, pouring a litany of pure obscenity into her disjointed mind.<br />“White pussy… hugggh… yeah, feel it fuck you so deep, white girl. Soooo fuckin deeeeep. The black power in your white pussy… ahhggghhhh… fuckin’ white girl…”<br />He grasped her ankles with a steel grip holding her down to increase her leverage.<br />“Fuck yourself on it, girl. You do the work. Rape yourself on it… up and down…”<br />Jenny obeyed. It was somehow difficult not to. The unorthodox coital position was fueling the nasty, now familiar sensation and again the haunting specter of her own libido stalked her loins.<br />As she began to set a rhythm he guided her with his arms, helping her move. Soon she was bouncing on his cock, whining with need. His massive arms held her by the elbows and kept her from pitching forward as she humped the entire length of his tool.<br />The friction on his joint and the animate salaciousness of her position were pushing him over the edge again. He seized Jenny’s hair and pulled it back brutally. Then his other arm clamped securely around her abdomen, fixing her motionless and fully impaled. <br />At last Jenny felt the torrential flood of his sperm, gushing prodigiously against her cervix to join the pool that was already there. The black officer howled with triumph as Jenny bucked and convulsed, despite his restraining arms. She rocketed into her own orgasm, utterly senseless with passion.<br />They were both gulping for air. Jenny crumpled into a fetal position, even yet attached to his great organ. He allowed her some moments of respite until he was ready once more. <br />He took her twice more that night determined to explore the limits of her endurance. Each time Jenny thought she was too played out to respond, but each time he took her more energetically and brought her to a shattering climax.<br />It was an exhausted, bowlegged slave girl who slowly shuffled back to her tiny shared locker on the lower decks, the stretched lips of her vulva gaping and open, ovaled like her panting mouth.<br /> <br />The next day, Jenny’s vagina was very sore, but she was surprised however to find that she was not as ashamed as she had been the day before. She had only had sex twice, even yet, but she was beginning to accept the age-old equation of the captive female. Sex meant survival.<br />She and No-Na were doing the crew’s laundry late in the day when Madam Wu gave them their assignments. No-Na was to entertain the chief engineer while Jenny would go to the first officer.<br />Jenny was puzzled when No-Na looked at her with a pained expression.<br />“Madame, Jenny is new. She doesn’t…”<br />The Chinese woman was shaking her head. Even she was a bit apologetic. “First officer see Jen-Nee working, want fucky-fucky with her tonight. We obey.”<br />“Wha… What will he do to me,” asked Jenny, now very much afraid.<br />“You just do like he say, Jen-Nee, you live,” said Madam Wu. “He not kill any girl yet. You both hurry now. Masters waiting.”<br />A little later Jenny was kneeling in the first officer’s stateroom, head bowed and fidgeting nervously.<br />She had gotten only a glimpse of him when she entered the room. He was short man with a stocky frame. He was carrying a long, evil-looking whip and she could hear the steps of his heavy boots as he slowly circled her.<br />“Did anyone tell you what was going to happen to you in my cabin, Cauc?” asked the black officer.<br />“No, master,” she replied.<br />“Good. We will begin enlightening you immediately then.”<br />Without warning he slashed his whip across the soles of her upturned bare feet. Jenny screamed and scrambled around to cover her feet. “Learn first of all Cauc, to remove your clothing before you enter. I demand your absolute submission. One way you demonstrate that is with your nudity. Never cross the threshold of my cabin wearing the barest thread. Understand?”<br />“Yes… yes, master,” Jenny cried, quickly casting off the offending garment.<br />“Second lesson. Whenever I strike you, you will not resist or try to cover yourself. You will not even move. Every time you move the punishment is repeated.”<br />Again he slashed at her and again she screamed. But this time she did not move.<br />“Good. You learn quickly. Third point. You think you are a woman. You are not. You are a Cauc, a slave, a female animal. Just like those other animals in the hold. When you are in my cabin you will demonstrate this by remaining on all fours, unless I give you leave to stand.”<br />“Yes, master.”<br />“You must learn, Cauc that you are nothing. Your breed is nothing. You exist only to serve the Adamic African.”<br />“Yes, master.”<br />“I am a devout man. I serve the Prophet. I do not merely keep Cauc females for use in my bed, though that is their highest use. I keep them also to punish. I believe my ancestors rest easier when a Cauc is in pain.”<br />Jenny understood little of what he was talking about, but she shuddered at his tone. He sounded mentally unstable, almost maniacal. And she was totally at his mercy!<br />He barked an order and she complied, crawling to the center of the room and standing up.<br />“Raise your arms,” said the officer.<br />Again, Jenny obeyed. He tied her wrists together and secured them to a long rope that hung from the ceiling. Then using a small block and tackle he lifted her slowly, until her entire body was suspended. If she extended herself to the utmost her toes could just touch the deck.<br />“Please… Master, I… I’ll do what you want…” Jenny stammered as he walked behind her.<br /> Ignoring her pleas he raised his hand and brought the whip down on her naked back with terrible force.<br /> “AAAAIIIIIIEEEE, please… please, master!”<br /> “AAAAIIIIIIEEEEGGGHHH,” the leather impacted her rear cheeks. “Oh god it hurts, it hurts!”<br /> “AAAAAIIIIIIEEERRHHHHHIII.”<br />“Go ahead and move if you like this time,” he laughed. “I like to see a Cauc’s legs flail and kick about helplessly.”<br />“AAAAAGGGGIIIEEE,” she screamed, when the whip struck her thighs.<br />“PLEASE!” she wailed. “What do you want? What do you want me to do? Please tell me, master… I’LL DO IT!”<br />“I want you to suffer, Cauc. I want you to suffer, just like the black Adamic people suffered.”<br />“I didn’t do it… I didn’t do anything! Please, master! AAAAAHHHGGGGGGHH…”<br />“You are a Cauc female. The Cauc oppressor has spawned in your belly for centuries.”<br />“AAAAAggg, AAAIIEEEE, I can’t take it. I beg you. I can’t take it.”<br />“Confess. The Cauc oppressor issues from the belly of the white female Cauc. Say it.”<br />“AAAAAhhhhhhgggghhh… please I’ll say it! The Cauc comes from my belly! AAAAEEEEIIeeee, hhhgggg, hhhggg… The Cauc oppressor issues from me!”<br />“Louder,” he yelled. “Scream it so I know you believe it! The Cauc spawns in your white whore’s belly.”<br />AAAAAAAAAEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIEEE,” she screeched as he landed a particularly sharp blow. “THE CAUC COMES FROM MY BELLY! HE SPAWNS IN MY BELLY! THE CAUC SPAWNS IN MY WHITE WHORE’S BELLY.”<br />He stopped and the cabin was silent except for Jenny’s hysterical sobs. She was convinced she was in the hands of a madman. Having no knowledge of Hakeem Islamic dogma, the words he was forcing her to shout made no sense. But she would repeat them; she would scream them with conviction- she would believe them in her inmost being if he would simply stop the whipping.<br />She hadn’t realized she was only semi conscious until he released her arms and she collapsed into a heap on the floor.<br />“Go into my bedroom,” he said simply.<br />Thinking that he now wanted sex and eager to please him, she summoned her strength and got up quickly, heading for the small adjacent room. The next instant he was thrashing her again.<br />“Down! Down Cauc! I told you that you must crawl like a beast in my quarters. Stay down or I’ll beat you to death!”<br />Jenny was on the floor on her back, screaming and trying to shield her vulnerable body. He had exchanged the whip for a black lacquered cane and blow after relentless blow rained down on her body in blinding sheets of agony. She thought he meant to kill her. Her pathetic entreaties for mercy had absolutely no effect. But from the corner of her mind she remembered. She was not to resist or try to ward off his strokes.<br />With all her will Jenny struggled to her knees and held herself still as he continued to land the cane. She was groveling now at his feet, babbling plaintively yet not moving, not trying to protect herself. Finally he relented, bringing his boot to her face.<br />“Lick it. Show your contrition.”<br />Without thought or hesitation Jenny obeyed, her pride and self-respect consumed by the whip and the cane. When she had cleaned one he brought the other boot to her mouth. Finally he snapped his fingers and pointed to the bedroom.<br />Jenny scrambled on all fours into the room, and was told to mount the bed, remaining on hands and knees.<br />For several minutes she heard him rustling around the room, but she dared not turn her head to see what he was doing. He positioned her with her knees on the edge of the mattress and her lower legs and feet extending off the edge. She spread her legs wide when told and closed her eyes tight, expecting to feel his blunt organ at her vaginal lips at any second.<br />It did not come. Instead, she felt his fingers, loaded with a greasy substance, pushing apart her buttocks insistently. He found her anus and pushed a digit inside, spreading the lubricant, but she did not grasp the significance until she finally felt his penis pressing forward- at her rear passage!<br />A wave of pure revolution swept over her as the full realization of what he was about to do sunk into her brain. Sodomy! He was going to sodomize her! Jenny’s discipline deserted her and she tried to scamper off the bed, only to be restrained by a black hand around her neck.<br />“Please! Not there! I can’t take you there! AAAAHHHHHHHGGGG.”<br />The cane descended with devastating impact on Jenny’s back. She cried out but did not move.<br />“You will not resist Cauc. I will rip the skin from your back if you resist.”<br /> “Please, master,” she cried. “Do it to me in the right hole. Not there!”<br />He left her on the bed for a moment and the faint hope stirred in Jenny that he had changed his mind. But he had only moved back to gain room to swing the cane.<br />“AAAAAAAAIIEEEchhhh.” Somehow the young white girl managed to remain still despite the soul-destroying pain. Used with such force as he was applying now, the cane was far worse than the whip.<br />“AAAAAAAAIIIIEEEEggghh.”<br />“You want your ass fucked, Cauc. Now beg me for it. I won’t stop punishing you until you do.”<br />“It’s horrible!” Jenny wailed. “Of all the things you’ve done to me… please don’t… don’t do it in my… my butt!”<br />“AAAAAAAAAIIIIIEEEEE.”<br />Jenny heard his cruel laughter. He was enjoying her misery to the full and she knew there was no point in further begging. Yet such was her disgust of what she considered a profoundly filthy and unnatural act, that she held out for six more strokes before the cane finally forced her to capitulate.<br />“Beg me to fuck your ass. Say it now,” he commanded.<br />“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIII… huuhhh… AAAAHHHhhhh… I’ll say it! Fuck my ass. Please fuck my ass, I beg you!”<br />Jenny pushed her face into the bunk and wept with abject shame. In short order she felt his cock once more at the doorway to her rectum, pushing in, pushing aside, pushing- relentlessly. His glans entered and popped inside. There was pain in her anus, but fortunately there was plenty of lubricant and he was going slow. Inch by agonizing inch he went deeper, while all the time Jenny knelt before him, accepting sodomy without complaint. Then at long, long last, he bottomed out.<br />Once again Jenny’s flesh had not torn, but her guts were suffused with a dull ache. The officer pulled her hair back, forcing her to look to the other end of the bed where for the first time she noticed a mirror. She hardly recognized herself. Her hair was disheveled and her face was screwed into mask of despair and desolation. Behind her she could see the black man, humping now, grunting as he worked his organ in and out.<br />Astonishingly he did not seem to be getting pleasure from the act, or at least it didn’t show on his face. It was as if sodomizing her was part of some religious ritual that he was performing as a duty, even a chore. He was the exact opposite of the second officer. That man had wanted her utter sexual submission and was disinterested in physically punishing her. This man seemed determined to punish her regardless of whether she offered any rebellion or not. She was a Cauc. She was there to use and torment. Sexual pleasures, even his own, were secondary.<br />But the greatest shock was yet to come for Jenny. When he reached down to pull at her vaginal lips and massage her clit, the despised pleasure flamed anew. This time it did not build, but sprang to life with lubricious intensity at the instant of his touch. Jenny gasped. Despite the screams of self-hatred that tore through her mind she was enjoying it!<br />It did not take long. He was pumping her with long, heedless strokes that stole the breath from her lungs and crushing downward with all his massive weight. Jenny felt her living guts clasp to him as if paying homage to his depravity. And then the shame to end all shames. She was cumming, cumming right on his hand while his black dick spurted deep in her bowels.<br />The officer’s black shaft deflated quickly and he pulled it out without warning. He ordered her to fetch a rag from his bathroom to clean his organ. Fortunately, Jenny remembered to crawl as she left the bed and returned with the wet cloth.<br />Once she had cleansed his prick she looked up to see him smiling. But it was a hard, sneering expression of pure malice. “So you liked it,” he declared. “You’ve turned faster than any female we’ve had. You’re a born slut. Even more than the average She-Cauc.”<br />Jenny dared not nay say him. Indeed she nodded meekly and crawled quickly from his presence when told to go. But had to walk slightly bent over as she returned to her locker. Later, as she lay in the warm, dank compartment, close to the sleeping No-Na, his final words played over and over inside her head.<br />She was turning. He had spoken the truth. She wished she could switch her mind off, or go insane, but that mercy was denied. She had climaxed as he took her in the anus! Guilt washed over her and as if to turn the knife in her own psyche she suddenly thought about Ken. What would he think of her now? So wrung out were her emotions that she could no longer even weep, only stare at the steel wall and ponder the awful truth. They had already molded her into a whore and were continuing to drag her under. Who, or what, would she be when she reached the bottom?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 5<br /><br />For the rest of the week, Jenny served the black officers in like manner. Each of them took whatever pleasure he wanted, then sent her back to the dismal locker. One lesson was paramount. Always obey. That was the only possible way to avoid unbearable pain.<br />At the end of the week however, Madame Wu determined that Jenny was coming into season. She was then assigned to the lower decks, where she would be available to the Asian crew. The officers wanted to avoid getting the slave girls pregnant with their own seed, since half-black babies could not be sold on the slave market.<br />Half-white, half-Asian babies however, were quite prized. So there was always an effort to get as many slave girls as possible knocked up by the crew. They would be kept on the ship until they delivered, then taken ashore the next time the New Asseinto reached Lagos. There they would be sold, holding their infants while standing on the block.<br /> No-Na explained all of this to Jenny. But of course there was nothing either girl could do about it.<br />They were told to work amidships for the rest of the week, cleaning waste tubs and feeding troughs. Each day the crew opened a few of the long line of hatches covering the miserable slave holds. They used a boom and winch to hoist the items from each compartment. Then the whole container was lowered over the side to allow the sea to claim its foul contents.<br />The troughs and feeding tubes were bad enough. The gruel clinging to them after every meal had gone rancid and when it was pulled back aboard, Jenny and Anne were set to work scraping off the hardened and dried residue with hand tools. The girls had to work hard to get them clean.<br />The waste tubs however, were far worse. Nearly all of them were overflowing with rotting excrement and stagnant urine. To avoid dysentery among the slaves, (which would have lowered their market value) they not only had to be emptied, but the putrid residue had to be removed with scrapers and sponges before the tub was lowered back into the hold. The stench was incredible. Twice Jenny almost retched. But most disgusting and heart-rending of all was the state of the slaves. <br />Even from the upper decks, Jenny had heard the dreadful screams and increasingly inhuman howls from the whites imprisoned in their dark hell. Sometimes the wind shifted, and the smell of the their offal and unwashed bodies blew back toward the crew’s quarters.<br />Jenny noticed that as time went on, the slaves, cramped in their dark holes seemed to grow ever more child-like in their demeanor, as if a veneer of sophistication and civilization were wearing off each individual. Even the adult males would beg and plead to be freed for the entire time the hatches were open. Desperate fights broke out over scraps of extra food or space to lay in. Pathetic, plaintive voices were heard from once proud men and women beseeching mercy, offering money or services or claiming to know secrets of military value that they would trade for escape from the hold. But all were ignored. Attractive, young females were the only ones who were given a chance at life on the upper decks and at present the officers and crew had all they needed. <br />Jenny would shudder with revulsion. She knew she could be returned to one of those horrible festering holes at any time if she failed to please the officers or the crew. She knew she simply could not go back to that place. At least here she could see the sun and feel the fresh wind on her body. She ate real food and was able to use a real toilet. Even if she had to act like a ship’s whore. That was far better than the hold.<br />But now, she was down at the opening to the slave compartments and could see inside. No-Na had been right. Conditions had deteriorated sharply even since Jenny had been brought up, only a week before. When the hatches were removed, filthy, pasty white bodies scattered to the corners like moles, shielding their eyes.<br />When the slave’s vision had adjusted they starred up with faces devoid of emotion or humanity. Yet Jenny could see the hatred in their eyes. Hatred not only for the blacks and the crew, but for her as well. Jealousy that seemed to say, “you’re up there in the sunlight and open air. I’m trapped down here in this accursed hell. What did you do to deserve to be up there?”<br />Jenny could tell that they knew. It was the way that they looked at her. Whoredom was the price of living in the daylight- and Jenny was paying the price.<br />It had been a long day. Jenny and No-Na had worked hard and were led back to the showers after dark. After they had cleaned up, No-Na told Jenny to follow her. They padded down to the crew’s quarters.<br />“You’ll be sleeping down here with the crew for the next two weeks, Jenny,” said No-Na. “I’m already pregnant, so I’ll be fucking the first officer all night.”<br />Jenny frowned. “I’m sorry, Nona. He’s… He’s horrible and…”<br />“Shhhh,” said the blond girl. “I’ll be alright. You’ll be fine too. Just remember, you’re a total slut. Act like one and you’ll be OK. Most of the crew just want a nice, juicy fuck.”<br />Jenny nodded and No-Na left. The apprehensive girl opened the door to the crew’s quarters and stepped inside. It was the first time she had really been there and the room was very Spartan compared to the officer’s rooms. Dimly lit and thick with opium and hashish smoke, there were risqué pin-ups on the bulkheads and dog-eared Chinese magazines strew about. Twelve double-decked bunks lined the walls, with a narrow aisle between them. A common area near the door held lockers and trunks containing personal items, as well as a couch and stack of cushions in front of an old television.<br />Roughly twenty men, all of them of Asian extraction, lounged on the floor or the dirty, dilapidated furniture. Half a dozen white women lay with them, languidly sitting in laps or draped across men’s chests. The women were naked and most of the men wore only shorts or were naked as well. Everyone appeared to be high.<br />“Well,” said a giant-framed man sitting comfortably on a low couch in the center of the room. “Looks like we get a taste of the new one tonight.”<br />There was a roar of raucous laughter as the timid Jenny bit her bottom lip and stared at her feet.<br />“Come in and get friendly. Don’t you want to be friendly, Jen-Nee? Come over here.”<br />There was more appreciative laughter and it seemed to Jenny like she was the butt of some lurid, inside joke. Even the white girls joined in and the still shy former virgin wanted to melt into the deck.<br />She walked over to stand beside him. He was indeed very large and acted like the leader. He looked and sounded more Filipino or Pacific Islander than Chinese. A petite blond girl sat across his lap, arms clinging around his neck as she avidly licked his throat.<br />“Get that wrap off, sow. Sit with me,” he said, pushing the blond aside. The fair haired girl pouted but quickly found another man to cuddle with, as Jenny untied her rag and sat stiffly on the big Filipino’s thigh.<br />“My name’s Benitto,” he said, smoothly palming her back. She could see the huge bulge in his shorts as he leered at her, anticipating what their evening would be like. “Where’re you from, white girl.”<br />“I… I’m from Missouri… in America.”<br />“Ahh, I see,” said Benitto. “You’re very pretty, Jen-Nee. What’s your ancestry?”<br />Jenny stuttered, slightly taken aback by the odd line of questioning. “I… umm… I’m German and… English… and Scottish, I think.”<br />“Yes… very pretty. Such soft red-blond hair, such white skin…”<br />Some of the men began laughing again when Benitto winked at them. They were having great fun toying with her.<br />“What… what’s your ancestry… sir?” asked Jenny, wanting to deflect questions away from herself for awhile.<br />“My father was Chinese, I think…” he smiled and Jenny did her best to return the expression. “My mother was a Filipino whore.”<br />“I… I see…” she stammered.<br />“How about you, Jen-Nee? Was your mother a whore?”<br />The room burst into laughter, as Jenny blushed crimson.<br />“So nervous, Jen-Nee. You need to relax. Here, pull some of this.” He brought the little water pipe to her lips, pushing her forward by the neck.<br />“Please… I’ve never… I’ve never done drugs. Please…”<br />“Just a little bit Jen-Nee. Just to help you loosen up…”<br />Jenny shook her head desperately and the man reached around her to grasp her naked breasts. His fingers found the nubbins and rubbed them lightly, causing them to slowly erect. <br />All around couples were leaving the group and heading for the bunks, or simply laying back where they were in chairs or floor cushions. Other males leered at them, watching and waiting their turns with the women. Jenny was shocked however to find it was the women who seemed to be taking the initiative. Certainly there was no female resistance evident. Feminine hands were groping at male shorts, insistently removing male garments and playing with male genitals. Drugged female giggles filtered through the room and Jenny could see some of the pairs were already beginning to copulate.<br />“Put it in your mouth and inhale, Jen-Nee,” said Benitto, pushing the pipe to her face again.<br />“No… muufffff,” The white girl turned her head away, but the big Asian man’s fingers tightened on her sensitive nipples. He pinched and two stabs of bright pain leapt from her chest.<br />Jenny was filled with the darkest shame. It was obvious he was going to take her here, perhaps even on the very cushion they were sitting on. Even when the officers had raped her they at least had been alone, not in a room full of people.<br />“Breathe it in Jenny. Then you can relax.” Again he applied pressure and she gasped in distress. The pain was like acid, corroding her will. Moments later it broke. She knew it was just like the times with the officers. They could just make her hurt until she gave in. They always won. There was no point in fighting them. Any of them. She took the nozzle into her mouth and inhaled, choking on the unaccustomed smoke.<br />“Good… That’s a good girl,” he whispered, now stroking his hands over the supple skin around her navel. “Take another hit.”<br />Jenny obeyed, breathing the opiate in deeply this time. In seconds her mind began to dissolve, as if flowing like melting butter. She was immediately glad she had given in. It was so much nicer when he touched and felt her up, instead of hurting.<br />The cabin was suddenly much warmer and inviting and she wasn’t afraid anymore. All the fear and stress she had felt when coming to this room had suddenly evaporated. He was helping her turn around so she faced him, straddling his lap with her legs.<br />She was aware of the others in the cabin as well. But now she didn’t mind them being there. Young, alive girls. So pleasant, so friendly. Big, strong, brown men. They were mating. They were loving. They were fucking and it seemed so nice! She wondered why it had bothered her before. It was so natural and normal to be…<br />“OH!” she exclaimed, twittering happily. She had just noticed that he had directed her hands to his shorts. She was pulling them down and… Oh! His big, dark cock sprang forth, sticking right out at her!<br />He pulled his shorts down and off, then guided her hands to his pulsating shaft.<br />“Feel it Jen-Nee? It’s just want you want,” he told her suggestible mind. “Ahhhh, yes. Stroke my dick. Feel my balls, Jen-Nee. Your baby’s in there. You want my baby so bad, Jen-Nee.”<br />“I… I want it. Oh Ben… Benitto.”<br />“Yes, Jen-Nee. Climb on. Get it inside you now, hurry!” he breathed.<br />She was raising her hips and lowering her sex to his, guiding the big organ home with her own hands. “Yes, Benitto… I want to feel it so bad,” she sighed.<br />“Impale yourself, slut!”<br />Jenny lowered herself, the big cock disappearing into her pussy. Rapturous joy seemed to push aside her inner organs as she descended. Joy in the form of his rock hard penis. Jenny lowered herself, gasping when his glans prodded her cervix. As their pubes met, Jenny threw her head back, washed over with waves of ecstasy. The muscles of her vagina clamped and bit of their own accord as they thrilled around the great dark pud. Her own nether liquids gushed and through her drug-fogged brain she realized she had climaxed, just from his initial insertion. <br />“Jen-Nee whore likes my big dick,” he chuckled. “You want more. You want my cum?”<br />Jenny was still trying to catch her breath, but she smiled and cocked her head shyly, “yes,” she whispered. “Ohhhh yes.”<br />“Then work for it. Work for my spew, white girl.”<br />Jenny did not have to be prompted twice. The instinctive need buried deep in her lower brain to hump and thrust for his semen was too powerful. The drug had suppressed all cognition and inhibition. All that was left was raw instinct. The need to mate with the strongest male and harbor his fertile seed.<br />She pumped her hips as the drug oozed through her consciousness, amplifying the familiar urges she had discovered during her captivity. Time seemed compressed, reality a blur. He was jerking, bucking up at her and she realized several minutes had gone by. Her breasts were bouncing lewdly and her tongue was hanging out.<br />“Do you want it now Jen-Nee? Do you want a little half Chinese/Filipino half German/English/Scottish baby…? Huh… Huh?”<br />“Please give it to me… please…” she rasped.<br />“Do you want a mixed race baby?” he whispered lewdly up to her. “Ohhhh, yesss… Whose mother and Grandmother are whores? Is that what you want, Jen-Nee… A little brown bastard… Huhhhh… Yes… To flutter and squirm in your belly?”<br />“Yes, please Benitto, cum in me… Give me your baby. Your… Brown… Baby!”<br />She was humping him now with a drug induced frenzy, not knowing what she was saying or why. They were tearing, grasping, possessing each other’s corporeal beings. Then they were melded, fused as one.<br />“AAAAAgggghhh… take it, slut. Take my cum!”<br />Jenny shuddered with passion and kissed him, screaming into his open mouth as his balls pumped and gushed, spewing into her very core. “MMMMuuhhh AAAAhhhhhgggg… fuck meee, fuck your basterrrred intooo meeeeeeee!” <br />When consciousness returned to Jenny, she was on one of the bunks, humping away again at a warm, firm, brown body. But as her eyes focused she could see it wasn’t Benitto. She was lying beneath a scrawny Chinese man, squeezing his cock as he pounded away at her.<br />The room swirled again and she was squatting on another man, a Polynesian. She was supporting herself by her arms as he grunted and filled her with his essence, only to disappear in the mists of drug induced mental detachment. Then she too faded into gray forgetfulness.<br /><br />“You fucky-fucky only three men, all night long?” Shouted Madam Wu at Jenny. “You lazy white sow!”<br />“I… I didn’t know…”<br />“Lots of men wanted fuck you but you pass out. Lay like dead fish!”<br />“Please, Madame… They drugged me. I tried but I couldn’t… I couldn’t.”<br />“You still think too much about white fiancé,” spat the Chinese woman venomously. “Think you too good for Asian mens.”<br />“No, it’s not that…” said Jenny.<br />“I show you! I show white whore she fuck who she told to fuck. I make you hate you white man!”<br /> She took Jenny by the ear and led the unresisting girl to the first officer. “You wait here. No move.”<br />Madam Wu had a short discussion with the African, who smiled sadistically and nodded with approval. Then the wrathful Chinese woman took Jenny all the way amidships, to the huge lids that covered the holds. One of the crew was summoned to work the hoist.<br />Jenny was suddenly gripped with fear that she was being sent back into the holds. She went to her knees, clasping the woman’s legs, begging her to reconsider.<br />“Please, oh please, Madam, I didn’t mean to be lazy. Please give me another chance, please. I’ll have sex with all of them if you say so,” she blubbered.<br />“Quiet,” snapped Madam Wu. She pulled a bottle of water from her cloak and handed it to the distraught girl. “You drink this. You might not get water for few hours. Go on.”<br />“Jenny thanked her and drank the water. But her terror of the hold was so great that the Chinese woman was forced to sting Jenny repeatedly with a correction rod before girl would grasp the end of the rope. Then, still whimpering and begging, Jenny was lowered into the hold. She was already at the bottom when her eyes adjusted to the darkness. With a start she realized she was in a male hold!<br />All around her were pale white men, starring with wide, glassy eyes at her nude body.<br />“Hel… Hello,” she squeaked lamely, baffled and intimidated by their expressions.<br />“I’m Jenny… I’ve been on the upper decks for awhile…”<br />She realized they were circling her, ogling her exposed charms. And none of them were smiling.<br />All at once Jenny was very frightened. She had thought of white males as protectors. But these men seemed more like savages as they began to close in on her slowly.<br />“Please, someone help me,” Jenny cried. But the filthy males said nothing.<br />Suddenly an arm wrapped around her neck from behind. With insane strength one of the men wrestled her to the slimy floor and unceremoniously pushed her legs apart. He was on her in a flash, mounting her with his small five-inch cock and jamming it home artlessly. She tried to push him off and crawl away but there were others holding her down. She opened her mouth to cry out and another male shoved his unwashed organ into her mouth.<br />Then they crowded in on her, pushing and shouting. Several male organs joined the first one at her face, pressing against her lips, while other men seized handfuls of her hair and wrapped it around their penises, masturbating into her soft tresses.<br />As the man in her snatch humped urgently, Jenny felt men thrusting their crotches against the skin of her legs and feet. She had quickly become the center of a mindless fucking mass of bodies, rubbed with a dozen cocks at once.<br />Helpless and pinned, Jenny wailed with humiliation. There was nothing of the warm, carnal surging within her belly that sex with the black and Asian men always engendered. This was cold and sterile; pure violence and pure violation with no pleasure at all.<br />The man inside her grunted and gasped. She could hardly believe he had ejaculated so quickly. But he was pulling out and was replaced immediately by a second man.<br />This one moved even more mechanically than the last and his penis was smaller. He jerked spasmodically over her for a few seconds, then Jenny felt his thin, watery spend. He too groaned and without even having looked at her, rolled off, to be replaced by a third man.<br />He had a very large frame, fat even after weeks in the hold. But his cock did not match his size. Short and stubby, it simply did not reach the places within Jenny that she was accustomed to having stimulated during intercourse. He too utterly failed to arouse her and his weight was suffocating.<br />Other males were ejaculating now, shooting their milky jets into her hair and onto her face. Her legs were covered with semen and her thrashing feet were splashing in it, mixing it into the fetid slime on the floor. Still a steady stream of men moved in to take the places of those who had spent their wads. <br />On and on it went. Jenny wept and begged them to relent. But man after ugly white man fucked her without preamble or human sentiment. Each of them pumped away in her vagina for a few minutes and climaxed, without the slightest concern or feeling for her. They did not talk, and in some cases did not even look at her. They simply rutted like male animals performing with a defenseless female. It was the most vile and demeaning thing Jenny had ever experienced, rape in its most grotesque form.<br />Finally overcome with physical revulsion, Jenny vomited onto the chest of the man above her. But he didn’t stop. She choked and wheezed and her tortured mind gave up, collapsing in on itself. She lay inert, allowing them to have their way. But her consciousness remained and she felt profoundly filthy in a way she had never felt before with the Africans or the Asians.<br />It endured for what Jenny at least, thought was eternity. Her mind slipped into an altered state. Not quite conscious of what was happening to her. But thoughts still flashed through her brain.<br />How she had wished since her captivity for a handsome white man to rescue her. Somehow she had imagined in her racial vanity that the white men would rise up and escape the holds. They would seize the ship and take her back to America. Back to Ken.<br />Now that hope was dust. They had demonstrated nothing but fiendish consumption. They were inferior. They were savages.<br />The hours dragged by, or were they days, punctuated with the endless line of men inserting their cocks, climaxing and making way for the next man. As Jenny began to slip into delirium she imagined herself in a sea of jism, swimming- and drowning. <br />An impossibly bright light pierced the darkness and blinded her. In her traumatized state Jenny wondered if they had killed her and she was at the threshold of heaven.<br />A thick rope fell around her when she tried to stand. It cinched tight and suddenly lifted her, drawing her up to the light as she hung limply in space. For an instant she became a being of light and color and spiritual energy. As if floating clean and free in a sky filled with luciferous resplendence.<br />But the illusion of the ethereal dissipated instantly when the boom dropped her sprawling onto the steel deck. Consciousness returned with horrible clarity. It was night, and the light came from a spotlight directed into the hold. Its rays no longer dazzled, they illuminated the truth. She was not an angel of light, but merely a wretched, naked animal, covered with ordure and dripping semen from her inundated sex. She was an object of pure corruption, inside and out.<br />“Now you know. White men brutes!” said a voice. It was Madam Wu. <br />Jenny knew the Chinese woman was right. They were all brutes, she thought, even Ken!<br />“You whore now! Fucky-fucky all the time with all officers and crew or you go back in hold with you own kind, you white man devils. You catch, Jen-Nee?”<br />“Yes… Yes I swear I’ll never give you anymore trouble. Please don’t put me back down there!”<br />Madam Wu sneered down at girl, turning her nose with disgust. “Jen-Nee go to showers now. Wash you white man’s filth off. Then you stay in locker ‘til tomorrow. No one want to fuck you dirty cunt tonight!” <br />Jenny staggered off numbly, with a re-enforced conviction to obey and be a pleasing whore, as well as a new and profound hatred of the white male.<br /><br />When daylight came, Jenny and No-na were set to work straight away. They worked their way down the ship, hold by hold, scraping away the dried feces and vomit from the tubs, while the crew would deploy a fire hose and direct the stream onto the slaves.<br />Jenny saw things in a different light now. She no longer related to the prisoners who howled beneath the decks. She feared and despised them, particularly the males, but she had no idea that her perceptions had been manipulated.<br />The entire event had been carefully planned by Madam Wu and the First Officer as the next step in her transformation into willing ship’s whore. The slaves in the compartment had been told they were going to receive a woman who was to be raped mercilessly by all sixty occupants of the hold. The woman had prostituted herself with the black officers in order to rise above the other whites. The slaves of course held a deep-seated resentment of such women.<br />They were informed also that there were cameras in the ceiling and microphones hidden at floor level. They would be watched. Any of them who failed to mount her would be castrated.<br />In reality, the white men had sunk so low and been without women for so long that would have raped her en-mass anyway. The castration threat was the perfect cover for their own consciences, whatever was left of them, and the desire to punish a woman who had betrayed her own people also figured in. At any rate they were warned not to try to talk with her or reveal that they had been coerced into fucking her. She was to believe her own kind had brutally gang raped her.<br />The aim was to condition Jenny to her mistrust and loathe the males of her own race. This would push her ego over the edge and make her pliable and easy to inure to sexual slavery. Their plan had worked flawlessly.<br />No-Na noticed that Jenny seemed subtly different that day, as if she had undergone some permutation. She worked harder and talked less. The things she did talk about all centered on how to please men, physically and sexually and she questioned No-Na relentlessly. It was a turning point. From that day onward, Jenny learned, without serious resistance, all the skills and trappings of whoredom.<br />That night she fucked five men, the next seven, then eight. Soon all of the crew had warmed their bunks with her creamy-skinned body. But like the other women, she began to try to manipulate things in order to fuck the more desirable men. At first it was unconscious, she flirted and fawned on the bigger, stronger men, sometimes even fighting the other whores for the privilege of being fucked by them. Jenny got her share and her belly was drenched every night.<br />As the days went by she tried to rationalize it by reasoning that if she had to fuck a number of men anyway, it might as well be the ones who turned her on. Yet she and all the other girls were desperate to become pregnant. It was said that for a ship’s whore the only ticket to shore was a little whelp sucking at her breast. Who fathered that whelp was unimportant since none of the women ever knew for sure who had impregnated them anyway.<br />Though they preferred some men to others, the fact was that every white girl, Jenny included, welcomed all the members of the crew between their legs and every load of sperm into their wombs.<br />While serving the crew, Jenny also discovered the adept of Madam Wu in training whores. The Asian woman observed a girl intently during a sex act, watching how she responded to her partner, how well she moved and with how much enthusiasm. She was always ready to intervene to improve a whore’s performance.<br />Madam Wu had acquired a wealth of knowledge over her lifetime and combined it with ancient oriental methods. Some were indeed painful, but most were mentally coercive. Like the painless Chinese water torture, they vexed a subject, modifying her behavior with relentless discomfort rather than momentary pain. In an insidious way, these punishments were sometimes even less tolerable than the brutal whippings and electric shocks inflicted by the black officers. <br />When Jenny failed to use her hands to caress and stimulate her man during intercourse, Madam Wu had them cuffed together and tied behind her back for a couple of days. Jenny was compelled to scrub the decks with her face, holding the rag in her mouth. Her soft hands never left the men she fucked the next night.<br />To train Jenny to smile pleasantly at her lovers and kiss them fervently with eager lips, the Chinese woman had a black, leather bag pulled over the girl’s head and cinched tightly around her neck. It was hot and miserable, and restricted her vision and ability to eat for a day. From then on, no matter how she felt about him personally, Jenny was smiling and cooing, nuzzling and favoring her mate with ardent, affectionate kisses.<br />The men liked the slave girls to be verbal, crying out with obscene joy when being fucked and when they were being filled with semen. Jenny acquired one of the lewdest vocabularies on the ship after Madam Wu gagged her for twenty-four hours with a heavy iron ball attached to a leather strip. She couldn’t eat, and her jaw was agonizingly tired after only a few minutes. But the Asian woman did not relent until the next day.<br />“Fuck me! Fuck me! Oh yes, T’Ang,” she crooned up to her Chinese lover as Madam Wu looked on. “Cum in me! Yes, yes… Fill me with your strength, yes… squirt it into me, lover!”<br />There were many other training/punishments. Jenny was hobbled for a day and discovered how to use her feet and toes to massage and stimulate a man’s back and legs during the rut. Her nipples were put into clamps until she learned to make her breast bounce and jiggle with just the right motion as she walked. It went on for two weeks, until Jenny had her period. Then it was back to servicing the officers.<br />Meanwhile, the New Asseinto called at Portsmouth in Britain, center of the slave trade for the British Islands Province of the Empire. Some cargo was unloaded and more slaves were taken on. Then she headed south, and lingered in the Mediterranean at the European slave ports.<br />Finally, loaded down with her maximum cargo of slaves she took to the Atlantic again, bound for the great City of Lagos, gateway to the African Empire.<br /> By the time the New Asseinto had arrived at her homeport, Jenny had adapted to her new life; as a well trained and fully committed whore.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 6<br /><br />Rasheed Jackson sipped his drink as he looked through the observation window. Below him were the massive docks of Lagos. Now one of the great trading cities of the world, the city linked Africa to her new colonies and lands in America and Europe. Thriving on profits and booty taken from the Empire’s successful conquests, her ships and warehouses fairly bristled with goods.<br />From the luxurious upper floor of the trade house, Rasheed could see all manner of commerce at the busy port. But he was here to study only one, the extremely lucrative slave importation trade. <br />He had arrived just in time. Below him a slave ship was preparing to disgorge its contents onto the customs docks. He would get some great photographs for his journal.<br />This ship was carrying mostly slaves from America. That brought reminisces from his old life. Since coming to Africa five years ago he had become very successful indeed. He had completed a four year curriculum in servile management at Hakeem University, the most prestigious in the world. Now he was a graduate student, a far cry from the frightened boy, the Lyndon Jackson who had hidden in the Louisiana Bayous. He had made many connections at the University and impressed some very, very powerful people. Those connections had brought him his thesis assignment.<br />It was considered the choicest plum and his professors had been very enthusiastic. Some had even expressed regrets that they had not been chosen to accompany him.<br />Rasheed’s patron was none other than Ali Hakeem, nephew of the prophet himself. Considered a great seer in his own right and a man of vast power and wealth, he owned one of the major shipping companies which transported slaves. He wanted to fund a comprehensive, academic study of the slave trade in general and his own operations in particular.<br />Rasheed was to board one of his ships sailing for North America and observe it’s activities, then he would tour his patron’s facilities in Ohio and Pennsylvania. Finally he would return to Africa as a guest of Hakeem and write his thesis at the Seer’s palace in Hakeem City.<br />“They told us we’d find you here,” said a melodious female voice.<br />Rasheed looked up to see a familiar couple. A young African man affluently dressed in a business suit. And a beautiful young black woman elegantly attired in one of the colorful dresses that were the latest style.<br />“Hey, what are you two doing here?” asked Rasheed, smiling but a little self-conscious about his accent. They were speaking Bantu, the lilting, sophisticated high tongue. Rasheed usually preferred his mother tongue, but the convenient lingua franca of the Empire, English was none the less considered common and uncouth in the polite company of other Africans. English was the language one used to communicate with slaves.<br />“Well, it wasn’t easy to get Jala away from her society friends,” laughed the young man, “but we just came to see you off.”<br />“Fele, you know my society work is important,” said the young woman. “But I always have time for Rasheed.”<br />Rasheed nodded, laughing as well. “I was just doing a little overview of the docks and slave pens before Jala’s uncle gave me the grand tour. Please, join me.”<br />They sat in front of the huge window and ordered drinks. Then Rasheed noticed the young white boy who had approached and knelt quietly beside Jala. He appeared to be about sixteen and was naked except for a pink silk bag tied around his genitals. He was a very comely boy with a hairless, supple body and quite effeminate with his long brown hair and dark eyelashes. Rasheed would have taken him for a female if it weren’t for the small object between his legs.<br />The slave folded his hands and laid his head in Jala’s lap sweetly. She stroked his soft hair and Rasheed looked at Fele quizzically.<br />“Jala’s little pet,” said Fele, a bit whimsically. “She takes the little bugger everywhere.”<br />“Robby’s not a little bugger,” said Jala, playfully. “He’s a good boy. He knows exactly what a Cauc whelp’s tongue is for, don’t you?”<br />“Yes mistress,” breathed the white boy softly, licking her hand.<br />Rasheed sighed inwardly as he gazed at Jala’s loveliness. She had the old confident, vibrant smile he had loved since they’d met in college. But she was a mature woman now, refined and cultured. There were also elements of petulance and pride about her, but he knew that was the result of having grown up rich and privileged. She was part of a new aristocracy whose attitude of superiority over other races was perfectly justified. But it did make her tedious to be around sometimes despite her beauty.<br />That was why he hadn’t been too upset when she had broken off their engagement and promptly taken up with his best friend, Fele. Despite the stress on their relationships all three had remained friends. <br />“It’s such a shame you’re leaving, Rasheed,” said Jala. “There’s the dance at the governor’s house on Friday and it would have been delightful to have you.”<br />“You know how I feel about those kind of events, Jala,” said Rasheed. “I’d just as soon…”<br />“Oh look,” interrupted Jala, pointing down to the ship. “They’re herding the Caucs off now.”<br />Below them a huge automated ramp descending onto the vessel. Crew opened one of the hatches and a tongue-like extension of the ramp rolled into the hold. Seconds later wretched, naked male slaves climbed timidly into view.<br />“We better start down,” said Rasheed. “I want to tour the pens.”<br />“No wait,” said Jala, giggling. “This is my favorite part.”<br />They watched as the whites, anxious to leave the hold scrambled onto the ramp. The shuffled about and shielded their eyes, looking down at the dock with suspicion. Rasheed thought it curious that there were no guards in evidence. He wondered how the movements of the slaves were controlled.<br />Suddenly the whites at the ship’s end of the ramp began screaming and dancing about wildly. A few seconds later those in front of them did the same. Soon the entire mass was howling and running forward down the causeway, as if anxious to submit to their masters and deliver themselves into the slave pens.<br />Jala was laughing and joking as the demeaning drama unfolded. “I just love to watch the Caucs run off the ships. It’s so outlandish to see them dance their little jigs.”<br />“They electrify the ramp plate by plate,” chuckled Fele, as he explained to Rasheed. “They’re shocked through the soles of their feet and have to move forward to escape. It herds them very efficiently with no guards and minimal security risks.”<br />The ramp was being extended to one of the female holds and the same dynamic was taking place. Hoards of filthy, naked white women were induced to race down the ramp into the captivity of the pens.<br />“Shall we go down and welcome the Caucs to Africa?” quipped Fele.<br />“Certainly,” said Rasheed. “Just let me get my camera and notebook and finish my drink.”<br />There was a crowd of people on the docks watching as more whites were extracted from the hold of the ship. Rasheed half expected to see hostile throngs jeering and heckling, but most of the black people quietly and professionally studied the pale, naked bodies. They were getting their first critical glimpse of the overall character and health of the shipment they would be bidding on later.<br />Rasheed walked along the wide docks with his friends. He was filled with pride for the achievements of the Adamic black man. He wished his parents could have been there to savor the sights and sounds of white subjugation.<br />He smiled as he read a sign on one of the buildings.<br /><br />Omar and Sons, Cauc Brokers.<br /><br />Purveyors of Slaves to the Wholesale Market<br /><br />Healthy, docile Caucs- Freshly imported<br />Clean and bright as monkeys<br />Auctions held Sunday through Thursday noon to six P.M.<br />Males and females of all classes and ages<br />Breeders and females in whelp<br />Servile Trade Permit No. 871<br /><br /><br />The Omar and Sons company were owned by Jala’s family and worked in close association with Hakeem’s operations. There were many other slave brokers with offices on the docks, but Omar and Sons were one of the largest and most prestigious.<br />Inside the offices they were greeted by Jala’s Uncle M’Saba, a competent looking man in his late forties.<br />“Rasheed Jackson,” he said warmly, extending a hand. “We were told to expect you.”<br />“I’ll try not to get in the way, sir,” said Rasheed,<br />“Nonsense, it’s a pleasure to have you. Besides, it’s a festive occasion. The New Asseinto has just arrived. Five thousand females and over a thousand males. And the stock seems to be in very good shape overall; no diseases and little shipping trauma.”<br />“Is that the ship I’m to study?” asked Rasheed.<br />“Yes, it’s one of the largest in the Seer’s fleet,” said M’Saba, “a first rate slaver. Let’s go down and watch the Caucs being processed, then I can explain some of our operations.”<br />The four of them walked out onto a catwalk suspended a few feet over heads of slaves running headlong into the pens. As they watched, fifty or more young white females, yelping with pain and terror came surging in, met by black men with the cattle prod-like rods. The women were filthy from weeks in the stinking hold and their stench wafted up to Rasheed and the others. Jala held her nose and shook her head, remarking, “the swine yards and the Cauc pens smell exactly the same. The only difference is the pigs don’t squeal as loud.”<br />Rasheed crossed the walk to look down to where the slaves were being herded. The area was a maze of corridors and rooms, all open to view from the metal catwalks above.<br />As soon as the slaves entered the building, the groups were broken up by men with whips and rods, which pushed smaller groups of women into the showers. Jets of hot, soapy water streamed from massive nozzles down onto their bodies. This seemed to have a pacifying effect on the whites. They seemed very grateful for the chance to bathe and were scrubbing themselves with the sponges that were provided. Minutes later they were doused with cooler water until the strong soap was rinsed away. When the jets died, the black men entered the showers and herded the slaves into the corridors, where they were sorted by class and whipped to the appropriate housing pens.<br />It was a model of efficiency that took only a few minutes. Rasheed looked back to see the next group of whites being herded into the showers behind them.<br />“Do you do any training here?” asked Rasheed when he had caught up to M’Saba.<br />“Depends. Nearly all the adult males are shipped to the mines. Not much to train them for in that application. Poor wretches only last a few months. Some of the teenage males are earmarked for domestic use. More about them later.”<br />“The females of course are worth a lot more,” continued M’Saba. “So we do give them some rudimentary conditioning. These areas up here are where we stable them temporarily.<br />He paused above a pen containing half a dozen fair skinned beauties, huddled together on new straw. They looked up at their captors with expressions imploring mercy.<br />“These are grade A’s,” said M’Saba. “They’ll fetch the most… They’re the luckiest. Likely end up in the brothels, or as body slaves in hotels or private homes. The best a Cauc female can hope for.”<br />“Those over there,” said M’Saba, gesturing to the next pen containing white women a little older and less attractive, “are grade B’s. Breeders mostly, but they’re also widely used as body slaves and personal maids by African’s with less means.”<br />“Over there are some class C‘s. We don’t import many of them since they’re not worth much. Too old to reproduce and not much to look at, but they can be used as menials.”<br />“The majority of what we broker are class A and B females. That’s where the money is.”<br />Rasheed nodded.<br />They walked further through the vast facility. There appeared to be cells without number, a few women in each. In most the slaves were sleeping or lying sullenly on the straw covered floors. Others were feeding, sucking water or food from lubes that dropped into the pens from above. Towards the rear of the building, groups of five or six slave girls knelt before black women with correction rods.<br />“They’re being taught a little Bantu,” said M’Saba. “Just enough to understand simple commands and answer ‘yes master’ or ‘yes mistress.’”<br />“How well do they learn?” asked Rasheed.<br />“Oh quite well. Caucs are clever when properly motivated…”<br />A sharp cry of pain arose from one of the cells. Rasheed could see a black woman below, berating a slender redhead and shaking a finger as if scolding a child.<br />“They hear the word and they have to repeat it,” said M’Saba. “If they get it wrong they’re punished. After a while they don’t get it wrong anymore.”<br />At the very back of the building was a large open cell. Several racks and restraining devices made it clear that this was an area where more formalized punishment was inflicted.<br />“This is where we discipline Caucs who have committed more serious infractions,” said M’Saba.<br />“It’s not very big,” noted Rasheed.<br />“We really don’t need a large punishment area,” said M’Saba. Most of the females are quite tractable when they’ve reached this point. Only a few require a little correction from time to time. They rarely need a second treatment.”<br />Below them a pretty brunette with creamy skin was pushed into a closed chamber and the door was locked behind her. A woman at a control booth flipped a switch and instantly the girl began to dance and convulse, screaming wildly.<br />“Same principle as the ramps, except she has nowhere to go,” said M’Saba. “The floor beneath her bare feet is electrified.”<br />“AHHHH, AAHHH, AAAHHHH, AAAAAHHGG, AAAAAHHHHHH, AAAAAAHHHH, AAAAIIIEEEEE…” The girl screamed, the shrieks tearing from her throat in short bursts, as fast as her lungs could push them out. She was clawing at the door and the smooth sides of the chamber, begging and leaping about in a vain attempt to elude the current. In seconds she had broken out into a cold sweat, but continued to dance.<br />Jala was laughing so sadistically at the spectacle that Rasheed was slightly taken aback. “Seems to be quite painful,” he said.<br />“Oh they don’t really feel pain and consciousness the same way we do, Rasheed,” said Jala. “Remember they don’t have souls.”<br />“Perhaps,” said Rasheed. “But it obviously distresses them.”<br />“Yes,” said M’Saba. “And I think this one’s had enough.” He motioned to the woman at the controls to stop the current. The slave girl was still standing on her toes when the door opened. She went to her knees before the guard, copious tears wetting her apple cheeks.<br />“Quite painful, but very efficient and leaves no marks,” said M’Saba. “Much simpler and less labor intensive than the elaborate disciple machines at some brokers and trainers. We don’t have time for that here. We have to break them and sell them quickly to make maximum profit.”<br />They continued over the catwalk and out to the next building, a few paces further down on the wharf. Upon entering they could see great commotion and hear men screaming. Inhuman wails and crying.<br />At first it was difficult to see exactly what was going on. A white male who had apparently fainted was being hauled away by a guard even as another guard was hosing away blood that had been spilt on the floor. Four guards were dragging in another young white male who was alternately struggling desperately and whimpering for mercy.<br />Rasheed watched as the man, or boy really, was secured on his back with his legs tied to stirrups and spread apart widely. His hands were then cuffed over his head. Beside the platform the boy lay on was a small, stainless steel tray, filled with scores of bloody little lumps of flesh. Rasheed realized what this pen was for.<br />“Doctor, have you a minute?” called M’Saba. A black man in a slightly bloodied lab coverall walked over to them.<br />“This is Dr. Manpega, one of our vets. Doctor, this is Rasheed Jackson. He’s accepted a commission from the Seer to document our activities.”<br />“Ah, said the doctor pleasantly. Well, you’ve come at a good time. It’s a busy day today.”<br />“I can see,” laughed M’Saba.<br />“Dr. Manpega, what is the procedure here?” asked Rasheed. “Obviously you’re castrating them, but what is your methodology?”<br />“Come, I’ll show you on this one,” said Manpega.<br />They moved over close to where the slave boy was writhing uselessly.<br />“First, we’re going to make a small incision in the scrotum, then we’ll remove the testicles and replace them with these,” he said, holding up two egg-shaped plastic objects, roughly the size of the boy’s original organs.<br />“Ah, I’ve heard of the new controllers,” said Rasheed. “I thought they were still experimental.”<br />“State of the art,” said the veterinary. “Once these are installed and activated the chips will report his exact location, should he ever try to escape. But I think the most important features are the training and obedience modes. Inside this ball are tiny electrodes controlled by radio receivers. They pickup signals from a hand held remote and can deliver up to 10,000 volts directly onto the Cauc’s internal nerves. A small current by the standards of our 50,000 volt punishment rods, but applied to such a sensitive place it is extremely effective. With the remote one can vary the shock from mere discomfort to incapacitation.”<br />“In order to sell males to the domestic slave market,” said M’Saba, “we needed something to assure their obedience to the slightest African housewife. In experimental trails this technology has been found to be effective even beyond our hopes.”<br />“The batteries are expected to last two to five years, depending on the use,” said the vet. “Then we simply replace the unit with another inexpensive operation.”<br />“And there are other applications,” said M’Saba enthusiastically. “Tell him about the other unit.”<br />“Ah Yes,” said the vet, picking up another artificial testicle. These are reservoirs which can be filled with drugs and slowly dumped into the Cauc’s circulatory system with tiny pumps.”<br /> “What kind of drugs?” asked Rasheed.<br />“Almost anything,” said Manpega. “Many owners like them loaded with female hormones to suppress the formation of body hair. It would also make him develop feminine secondary sex characteristics and a more pliant and docile temperament. The perfect houseboy for a single young black woman. The reservoirs can even be filled by syringe so there’s no reason for a second operation. Those are the two units we’re putting into this Cauc.”<br />“Ironic,” laughed M’Saba. “Instead of turning him into a male, soon the little ball in his scrotum will be making him into a female.”<br />Everyone laughed. Except the boy who was now practically hysterical.<br />“Please, PLEASE SIR. Don’t do it… Oh please, please, I want to be a man. Please don’t take them! I’ll obey… I won’t try to escape, I swear. Oh please…” he sobbed.<br />“Such a fuss, Cauc boy,” said the vet, calmly. “You’re lucky. You’ll become some rich lady’s lap dog instead of going to the mines.”<br />“Do you administer an anesthetic?” asked Rasheed.<br />“Of course,” said the veterinary. “A local. But they always scream anyway.”<br /> Dr. Manpega proceeded. The boy did indeed scream as he felt the scalpel cut. The anaesthetic blocked the pain but not all of the tactile perception. He experienced an uncomfortable open feeling and some pressure when the vet felt inside the sac with his finger. And an indescribably hideous sensation followed as that finger chased the helpless little organs about, finally cornering them one by one and drawing them through the incision and out of his body. Scissors snipped the little ducts and the testicles were free. The boy was crying like a child as the vet dropped the little balls into the tray with all the others, sundered forever from their former owners.<br /> Then it was time to insert the controllers, sew the scrotum up and bandage the small wound. The whole operation took less that five minutes.<br /> The boy was released from the table. Sobbing, he staggered over to the corner, holding his crotch protectively. A guard grasped him by the arm, picked him up and led him off.<br /> “We transfer them over to the female pens in a few days when their scrotums heal,” said M’Saba, as the tour continued. “It psychologically re-enforces the emasculation.”<br /> “This controller technology is amazing,” said Fele. “That Cauc male was worth a few hundred Hakeems before the operation, now he’s worth several thousand.”<br /> “Yes, we have twenty thousand of those units on order,” said M’Saba. “As soon as they arrive we’ll start installing them on most of the younger males we receive. It should boost our revenues significantly.”<br /> Rasheed was quiet. He was looking down into the holding pens, into the faces of white men who had been emasculated and almost healed. They stared up at him with hollow, desolate eyes.<br />They walked on, past the cells where the males were disciplined and trained. The treatment of slaves here was even more brutal than in the female building. Intermixed were the sounds of abject moaning and the groans of horrible pain. There were the short staccato screams of slaves being torture trained. And the pitiful servile pleading of men who had been finally broken.<br />As they neared the end of the building, Jala was beginning to yawn with boredom. “Fele, I know you and Uncle M’Saba are fascinated with these creatures, but we really must move on. I still have to shop for a new dress for the banquet. Besides, I’m sure Rasheed is famished just as I am. Please, let’s go have lunch.”<br />Everyone agreed and they returned to the observation deck. Little Robby was still kneeling at the exact table were they had left him. Rasheed understood now why the boy's behavior was so perfectly servile, and his body so androgynous and effeminate. It was obvious he had been fitted with the new controller technology.<br />After they had sat down and ordered, M’Saba questioned Rasheed. “What are your plans for the weekend?”<br />“Oh, let’s go skiing,” said Jala. “The Alps are so nice this time of year. After the dance we could fly up to…”<br />“Unfortunately, I must get ready for my trip,” said Rasheed, who happened to be a poor skier.<br />“The New Asseintio will only be here for three or four days I’m afraid,” said M’Saba. “As soon as she’s unloaded and cleaned she needs to be off for America and Britain again. Our armies are capturing Caucs faster than we can ship them.”<br />“And still not keeping up with the demand here in Africa,” Fele laughed.<br />“Well, the mines are working to capacity and they go through a lot of Caucs,” said M’Saba.<br />After they had finished their sumptuous meal, Fele and Jala said goodbye and left to prepare for the State Banquet. M’Saba also went back to his office. Rasheed stayed in the observation deck, watching the sunset over the ocean. He had mixed feelings about what he had seen. There was much of his mother in him and he felt sorry for the sufferings of some of the whites, particularly the females. Part of him was merciful.<br />But another part, stronger like his father, was filled with pride for what his people had accomplished. In less than a generation they had turned the tables on the whites completely and permanently.<br />Black culture dominated the world. And that culture demanded the utter abasement and submission of the Caucasian race, and the fealty of the Asian.<br />Africans were at the threshold of another golden age. They had fulfilled the dream of the Adamic Black man, to rule the earth, almost as gods.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 7<br /><br /> “He’s so handsome,” whispered Jenny to No-Na as they scrubbed the decks on their knees.<br /> The mysterious man who had come aboard the New Asseinto at Lagos was standing at the railing above them, talking with the captain.<br />“They say he’s a friend of the prophet himself,” replied No-Na. “Or at least the prophet’s family.”<br /> “I wonder if he’s African Royalty,” asked Jenny.<br /> Like most slaves, she did not know much about the hierarchy of the African Empire, other than what everyone knew. It was led by the Prophet Hakeem, who was Allah’s chosen instrument to establish the suzerainty of the Adamic black man. It didn’t matter if Jenny or No-Na believed it or not. The blacks believed it, and they were the ones who counted.<br />“I don’t know,” said No-Na. “But he looks very important. Look at the way he’s dressed.”<br />Both girls knew that clothing was a prime indicator of status in African society. There was much symbolism and tradition that governed modes of dress for the highest leader on down to the lowest slave.<br />“Do you think he’ll want to fuck us?” asked Jenny? It was a straightforward question, and a natural one for a slut slave to ask.<br />“Maybe,” said No-Na. “But you better make sure he enjoys it. Imagine if he complained to the captain or the officers.”<br />Jenny shuddered. She didn’t need to imagine. She could almost feel the cane on her backside.<br />The man looked in her direction and Jenny began to scrub a little faster, in order to make her breasts bounce. She also wiggled her ass and spread her legs a little, causing her wrap to ride up and expose her sex, making it look like an accident of course. Surreptitious invitations of this nature were now second nature for Jenny. Madam Wu had inculcated them into her and she did them almost unconsciously now whenever an attractive or powerful male was present. <br /> Unfortunately, the new passenger gave no indication that he noticed or even cared.<br /> <br />Jenny was growing despondent. In less than a week she would go back into season and be relegated back to the crew’s quarters. By the time she had her period, (assuming she did) the ship would call on the South American. If the mystery man disembarked there, she might never have the opportunity to share his bed. One of the other girls would have the chance to leave with him.<br />Jenny did everything she could to attract his lust, but some other girl always managed to stay one step in front of her. He spent the first night with Gina, an olive-skinned girl with jet-black hair. The next night it was Breanna, a flat-chested sixteen year old. The latest was Janie, a feisty little flaxen haired Briton who hadn’t been fully broken in yet. Madame Wu had assigned each to the man’s quarters, but the stranger did not seem enamoured with any of them. He had spent the last night alone.<br /> It was only when Jenny had been sent to clean his room the next morning, that she got her break. She knocked at the door and receiving no answer, let herself in. She entered the bedroom, intending to make the bed first, but was startled to find him still in bed. Worse, he had awakened just as she entered.<br /> “Forgive me, master,” she squeaked. “I… I didn’t know you were still asleep.”<br /> “What time is it?” he asked.<br /> “After ten, master.”<br /> He shook his head briskly. “It’s the night life in Lagos. I’m used to sleeping in.”<br /> “Yes, master. I’m sorry I bothered you. I’ll come back later and…”<br /> “Stay,” he commanded, as Jenny turned to go. She panicked, thinking she was in for severe punishment.<br /> “Please, master… I didn’t mean to wake you… I…”<br /> He raised his hand and smiled, “I’m not angry with you. Go clean my bathroom.”<br /> “Yes, master,” she said with a sigh of relief. She hurried to obey, lest he change his mind and report her untimely intrusion to the officers. She knew it wasn’t her fault, but that would not save her from the cane, or worse.<br /> She was working diligently, scrubbing the sink when he appeared in the mirror behind her. He stared at Jenny as she worked, but sensing that he wanted to take the initiative, she ignored him as he ogled her lush body.<br />He touched the small of her back with his fingertips and Jenny froze so that he could do as he liked. But with practiced poise she did not respond until he reached around her to cup her naked breasts.<br /> They found each other’s eyes in the mirror. He smiled approvingly when her nipples swelled between his fingers and her fair skin flushed with genuine arousal. He was wearing only a pair of brightly colored boxer shorts and his erection danced through the fly, bobbing about lewdly. The captive white girl felt his engorged manhood being pressed between her rear cheeks and he brought his mouth to her milky neck.<br /> “You’re a pretty Cauc,” he breathed into her ear.<br /> “Tha… Thank you, master.”<br /> “You can clean my bathroom later. Right now I have something else for you to do.”<br /> “Yes, master,” she whispered as he led her to the bed.<br />He tugged at her wrap and the tie parted, allowing it to drop to the floor. “You won’t be needing this in my cabin,” he said. “Kneel on the bed. On your hands and knees.”<br />Jenny expected him to take her from behind, as some of the officers did after placing her in this position. But he left her momentarily to access his closet. Returning after a few seconds, he lay a curious apparatus on the bed beside her. It was made of strips of black leather, padded in some places. The strips were stitched together at odd angles and there were smaller bands and fasteners. A large, black dildo dangled from a stiff central spine that seemed to run length of it. But the leather looked supple, worn, as if it were much used. Jenny was perplexed until he draped the thing over her back and began to fasten her into it. It was a harness of some kind.<br />A wave of alarm went through Jenny. She was well aquatinted with the bondage employed by some of the black officers and was convinced the weird set up was a prelude to some diabolical and undeserved punishment.<br />“Please…” she bleated. “I’ll fuck you any way you want. “I’ll please you master… You don’t need…”<br />“It’s all right,” he said soothingly. “I want to fuck you in a very special way. This will help you learn to move and lay exactly the way I want. It won’t hurt you if you don’t fight it.”<br />“Yes, master,” she whimpered, steeling herself the same way she always did when she was with the first officer.<br />As he buckled her into the harness, the semi-ridged spine forced her to arch her back forward. The dildo he greased and carefully inserted into her anus. When he had made some adjustments in the tensioning of the straps he pushed Jenny over, onto her back.<br />In this position, the bondage forced Jenny’s body onto a very dynamic (and quite lewd) configuration. Her arms and legs were extended upward and spread open. Several cushions were placed behind her to orient her torso about forty five degrees with her head up. The enforced curve of her back required her to push her hips upward and curl her pelvic basin perfectly to accept his coital advance. She was helpless, and utterly prepared to be fucked.<br />“The bridle you’re wearing is called a Kor’kor,” said the mystery black man. “It’s a new design, modeled after a similar harness from India. I’m experimenting with it on slaves, as part of my research. Are you comfortable?”<br />“Yes, master,” answered Jenny, completely bewildered.<br />“Good. I know you’re a veteran ship’s whore and I want your perspective on the harness design.”<br />He dropped his silk boxer shorts onto the thick carpet and climbed between the helpless Jenny’s alabaster legs. His cock was at least as big as the captain’s and as he pushed it in her red, thickening labia were cleaved aside. He began humping her slowly right from the first, delving from the tip to the base and pulling almost out again. Jenny moaned with the sensation of yet another big black cock plundering her intimate flesh.<br />As soon as his weight settled onto her the ingenuity of the harness’ design was manifested. The stiff spine’s tension was altered and her arms and legs were allowed to close about him. Indeed, it was hard not to do so. She found if she resisted the harness would chafe uncomfortably and the recoil of the straps applied force to bring her limbs back around him. The only comfortable and sustainable position was to embrace him and cross her ankles over his buttocks.<br />Jenny could see how the harness would be a perfect training tool for a young girl like she had been ten weeks before. A virgin, or even slave girl who had been a chaste young wife, could be quickly taught how to use her flesh to carnally please a demanding black master.<br />The man was slogging her deeply now and putting a little half twist at the bottom of his thrust to stimulate her clitoris. Jenny was rushing towards orgasm in short order and was thankful for it. Sometimes she had to fake a climax, but not with this man. He was possessed with consummate skill and after just a few minutes Jenny was panting and bucking with her usual alacrity.<br />She found she liked the stranger, with his handsome Negroid face and manly biceps, his confident air and sexual assertiveness. She was genuinely drawn to him.<br />The harness was a new experience too. Instead of being restrictive, it was strangely liberating, and intensely erotic. It insinuated its own masochistic impulse into her libido in a unique way. In a totally unforeseen manner it forced a girl to recognize her own proclivity to whorishness. There was no pain to assuage the soul, no fear to hide behind or blame, only the compelling need to fuck back in the most subservient and lubricious way, as if her body were a puppet and her will circumvented. Yet she could stop, could fight it if she wanted to. She simply didn’t want to.<br />Even if she had not already been a whore, she would have become one now. She knew the simple harness was designed to turn innocent, captive females into trained and willing fuck slaves. But was it really the harness that was magic, or the wonderful man above her, doing the fucking?<br />The question would remain a mystery. For at that moment Jenny’s eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. The dildo in her rectum suddenly began to vibrate, suffusing her loins with a hot tingle. The white girl wriggled from side to side and held him tighter. She moaned and then screamed as his long, merciless thrusts came faster and faster. She curled her toes and hung on, then came the coup de grace.<br />In addition to vibrating, the object in her ass began emitting a tiny electric current. The electricity seemed to flow right through her core, straight to her swollen pleasure nub, already pressed tightly against his cock. Jenny screeched with animal passion as incandescent icicles of pure fuck lust stabbed from her clit to her brain. She heard him grunt and drive his huge organ extra deep, his weight causing the harness to contract and force her limbs to envelop him with fervent acceptance. Then there was a thick whoosh of breath and they were cuming together, babbling obscenities and reveling in the filling of her womb.<br />Moments later the mystery passenger was up on his feet, releasing her from the harness. “What do you think of the Kor-kor, girl?” he asked.<br />Jenny was still gasping for breath, but answered as best she could, “It… works… master!”<br /> <br />That was the start of their relationship. The mystery passenger summoned Jenny back to his stateroom that night, where he screwed her royally until the darkness waned. He did not use the experimental bridle on her again, but then, he didn’t need to. Jenny knew exactly how he wanted her to move. <br /> It was the same the next night and the next. He had spoken to the captain and Jenny had been assigned to him for the remainder of the voyage.<br /> The mystery man had a routine. Jenny was forbidden to wear clothing of any kind in his stateroom and was told to leave her wrap on the floor of the corridor outside. If he wasn’t there, she would wait for him, for hours if necessary, kneeling at the door, straining to keep her posture absolutely perfect. The prescribed position required resting her ass on her heels, legs spread wide, tips of her big toes touching at right angles. She was to keep her face, nipples and palms on the deck. Always, to those who happened by, she was to be seen groveling abjectly at his threshold.<br /> Inside however, with the door locked, the formalities of black master and white slave were greatly relaxed.<br /> “What’s your name?” he asked casually one morning.<br /> “Je… Jenny, master.”<br /> “Jenny. Do you suck cock?” he asked.<br /> “Of course, master,” she replied, blushing. Not at his blunt sexual question, she was used to that. But at his friendly smile and free manner that aroused her and paradoxically renewed a sense of innocence that she had not felt in some time. He had asked if she sucked cock, not simply demanded it. Almost as if she were back in school and he had been asking for a date.<br /> On her knees before him she demonstrated her well-practiced expertise with eagerly roving tongue, and lips, dexterously working the rim of his spongy cock head. Then she used her teeth, ever so gently to drag back his foreskin and worm her tongue between it and his glans. She sucked him with zeal, nursing his man milk as if to nourish her infant, masochistic soul. After she had swallowed his load, all the while looking up to him with lipid, guileless eyes, he had stroked her hair tenderly for some time before asking another astonishing question.<br /> “Jenny, don’t you want to know my name?”<br /> She had stared, open mouthed, but managed to reply at length, “It’s not my place to ask such things, master.”<br /> He simply smiled. “It’s Rasheed. When we are alone, you may call me, Rasheed.”<br /> The startled girl had choked the reply, ”yes, master Rasheed.”<br /><br /> It was nearly one A.M. and a lush, full moon shone onto the stateroom’s private deck, illuminating the interracial lovers who lay on the cushions. It was a balmy night and Rasheed had taken Jenny outside, under the black sky.<br /> He had already fucked her, depositing a warm, fecund load in her soft, welcoming belly. Now she lay beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, an arm idly caressing his chest.<br />Since their first day together, Rasheed had spent every subsequent night with Jenny. That was four weeks ago now and the New Asseinto was nearing the Atlantic coast of America.<br />“Rasheed,” she whispered. “Are you going ashore when we reach Charlotte?”<br />“Yes. I’m going to be touring the reservations in Ohio and I’m returning to Africa by plane.”<br />At that moment, Jenny’s world turned to dust. She had known of course that they would part in this manner. She also knew she had been a fool. Days before, Jenny had realized how dangerous it was for a whore to fall in love. She was a slave and he had absolutely no commitment to her whatsoever. At any time he could have simply sent her away, back to the officers who only wanted a lovely white, female body to spend in. <br />But he hadn’t sent her away. And with each successive night, with each climax they had shared, Jenny had fallen deeper in love. A lifetime of sheltered chastity had been overturned by three months of daily prostitution. But she had never found passion with weak little Ken, or romance with the lascivious officers and crew. With this man, this masterful man, she had found both.<br />Jenny raised her leg with loving fondness over his. The flesh of her arms and legs, so pale in the moonlight, moved slowly, caressingly over his dark form.<br />They lay in that amative repose for some time, communing with soft whispers and tongue entwining kisses. They even slept a little, breathing in unison as the moon rose to its zenith and began to descend. But at length Jenny’s hand strayed to his manhood, grasping with delicate, white fingers the great ebony shaft. It throbbed to life under her ardent touch and erected, gleaming, jet black and potent in her frail white hand.<br />Jenny’s tears flowed in that bittersweet moment. She knew this could be their last time together, yet it was impossible to feel anything but joy when they joined as one flesh. She rolled slithering onto him, spreading and bending her legs to straddle his. Still nuzzling his neck, she kissed her way lightly to his ear gasping, “fuck me… fuck meeee…” as though it were a prayer. <br /> “Put it in,” he sighed, and Jenny raised her hips, guiding his cock to the wetness of her gash. She tucked it in and lowered herself as it slid effortlessly to the hilt.<br />The moonlight shone down on them as for a time they stared into each other’s eyes. Then she began to move, her hips slowly swiveling to draw him in and out. But there was no hurry. It was slow, very slow, moving in and out, her cunt clasping and molding around him. They kissed and Jenny sucked his tongue as it moved and delved in parody with their loins. Slowly… Slowly… So slowly fucking.<br />Their mouths parted with a humid breath and Jenny sat back, still pumping languidly on his shaft. He reached to fondle her lush breasts as they hung offered before him, then his hands moved down, to grasp her hips.<br />He pushed with his massive legs, dragging them both until he was seated on his knees. Jenny folded about him, sitting on his lap facing him, with her legs and arms entwined lovingly about him. His massive cock was sheathed within her and her hardened little nipples raked through his chest hair with each breath they took.<br />She had leverage now, since her heels were trapped beneath his buttocks. She could wriggle up and down as well as in and out. And she did so, fucking herself onto him with a warm, gentle rhythm.<br />Intercourse in the seated position was commonly enjoyed in Africa. The whites, steeped in the Western tradition, frowned upon all positions but the missionary. They pushed their prudish ways on Africans. But now, African culture ruled. White women would learn African ways.<br />Fucking in this position seemed to Jenny, incredibly intimate. She felt so vulnerable yet so protected. She was at once in him, around him and fused to him, body to body, soul to soul. It was a moment of total peace and serenity, unlike any she had experienced since her capture. Indeed, she thought, unlike any she had ever experienced at any time. It was so right, so good, to be helpless, penetrated, permeated by his African manhood and gasping in his possessive arms. Jenny blessed whatever power there was that brought her aboard this ship, to this place, to the stiff manhood and embrace of this wonderful man.<br /> She looked deep into his fathomless black eyes communing with his soul- and lost a final battle. She had been moving slowly, wanting to savor each second of their mating. Now her calm resolve broke.<br />Without warning she began spasming, jerking on his cleaving member. Soon it became a frenzy, her legs and hips thrusting in a torrent of impounded instinct. Flesh slapped and they grunted like starving beasts, bucking together in one turbulent animal rut. Fucking. Fucking! FUCKING!<br />“Master! Rasheed! CUM IN ME!”<br />Rasheed’s mouth clamped onto hers and she screamed into his throat as the warm, gobs of his sperm shot into her liquid depths with fountains of liquid fire.<br /> Jenny was crying, clinging long after the frenzy died. She was still straddled on his lap when he finally lay back down. At last she dismounted his cock and stretched out beside him, cuddling into his handsome form.<br />A lowly white slave girl could come to worship such a man.<br /> <br /> The next morning Jenny hung over the deck above the gangplank. She should have been hard at work and she knew she might be punished for disobeying, but she didn’t care. She was overcome with misery as she watched Rasheed preparing to leave. So great was her despondency that she at last determined she could not go on.<br /> The water was within jumping range and she was sure she could make it over the side before someone could stop her. She put a bare foot over the railing and hauled herself up, intending to jump. But her wrap caught on a hook. She had to climb back to free it but then thought about how stupid she was being. I’m a slave whore, she thought. So what if I die naked?<br /> “Jenny,” someone shouted. She looked down to see the man she loved at the gangplank, talking with the captain.<br /> “Come down here,” he shouted.<br /> She padded down the stairs and over to the gangplank where they stood, kneeling and casting her eyes respectfully at their feet.<br /> “Y… yes master?” she asked, fighting to hide her tears. She didn’t want him to see her like this for the last time.<br /> “Go say goodbye to the pregnant whore; your friend, No-Na,” said Rasheed. “You’re coming with me.”<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 8<br /><br />Betsey struggled with the heavy pump handle, putting her full weight on it to force the water from the deep well. The thirsty milk cows stared at her impatiently as the water finally began to flow into the large trough.<br />It was early evening and she looked out into the field for her young husband. He was finished plowing and was lifting the implement onto its skid so he could guide the draft horse back to the barn.<br />It was the time of day Betsey loved the most. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, spreading a pink hued sunset across the sky. She gazed out to the west in the late evening light, towards the low hills that bordered the white reservation lands. She had always wondered what was beyond those beautiful but imposing hills. But Betsey had not been there since she was very young. She remembered little and could now but imagine other places, outside the valley. Only the sky and the clouds on the horizon gave any hint that there was actually something beyond her little vale; that the world didn’t simply drop off into nothingness.<br />Years before, when Betsey was a child, their valley had been closed from the outside. Visitors, once common, were rare now and they never interacted with the plain folk. They were also, invariably Negroes.<br />Betsey and most of her people knew nothing of the outside world since that closure, or about the true administration of their lands. But after the conquest of the American East and Midwest by the African Empire, vast areas had been claimed, as the personal property of the Prophet, his ministers and his generals.<br />They were keen to control the long-term economic dynamics of the slave trade, eventually making it independent of conquest. One idea to effect this was the reservation system. These were envisioned as autonomous and self-supporting enclaves, where choice slaves could be harvested from time to time for special projects. The only problem was the security risks that the black government at first, thought would be overwhelming.<br />Oddly enough however, such places already existed in the Empire’s new lands. The scattered hamlets of the Amish and Mennonite clans fit this description perfectly. The plain folk, as they called themselves, lived a life of peace and seclusion, bound to the land and adhering to the old ways. Their manner, dress and technology mirrored that of rural America in the mid nineteenth century. African officials realized that these were ready-made reservations. These whites could be easily controlled with little or no security risks. Their culture was religious, based on pacifism. And they had rejected the forms of modern technology.<br />Theirs was a quiet, closed world. But Hakeem was their master, though they did not know it. They had not even heard his name.<br />Betsey glanced at the darkening fields and smiled, seeing that Joseph was now headed back home. He was working hard, in the fields and on their house, preparing for her and the family they would start. And Betsey was so proud of him.<br />The shadows were deepening now, cloaking the green fields and the sight of her sweetheart with the peaceful blanket of evening. Betsey sighed. Life seemed so complete, so wonderful. And in her quiet valley there seemed to be no threats to her idyllic existence. Betsey was eighteen, newly married and supremely happy. Only one unfulfilled wish marred her perfect bliss. She wanted a baby.<br />It was a good and devout thing to have children, so the minister had said. But for an Amish woman, all was subject to a husband’s will. She would have to wait patiently for his blessing and she accepted this. But still her heart longed for a child.<br />“Good evening, wife,” said Joseph as he stepped into the house.<br />“Welcome home, husband,” said Betsey. Spouses usually greeted each other in such formal manner and without overt displays of affection, even within the home.<br />“I have finished my new dress for the summer,” she said. “Would you like to see it?”<br />“Yah,” he grunted, removing his jacket and sitting at their dining table. “My dinner… Is not ready?”<br />“In a minute, Joseph,” she said from the bedroom. “I was working on my dress so you could see it.”<br />She emerged momentarily, wearing the modest garment that she had sewn together herself. But her husband frowned.<br />“There is much of your legs visible, wife.”<br />“Only… only my ankles,” said Betsey. “It is a little cooler in the summer and…”<br />He was shaking his head. “Lengthen the skirt, woman.”<br />“But the almanac says it will be a hot summer and the other wives are…”<br />“Such things are for the outsiders!” spat Joseph. “Not for people of our faith. The savages from Africa allow their women to wear pants. I’ve seen it. But we must not lose the old ways. I can see the flesh of your ankle above the stocking. It is indecent, shameful! Such things are for your husband’s eyes and no other. Only a harlot displays her skin in public.”<br />“Yes,” said Betsey, hanging her head. “I will lengthen the skirt, husband.”<br />Betsey knew he was right. The old ways were best. She changed out of the offensive dress and hurried to get her husband’s supper. She dished some soup from the hearth for him and herself, then sat down.<br />He said his grace and ate his food as he normally did, without conversation. But Betsey was troubled. When he was close to finishing his meal she spoke.<br />“Husband, Rachel Huss had her baby this week, a little boy.”<br />“That is good,” he said simply.<br />“Joseph, when are we going to start our family. We have only… We have only confirmed our matrimony three times and we have been married for several months. Do you not after all, find me attractive?<br />Joseph looked at his wife. She was a beautiful, clear-skinned blond with a womanly figure to rival Eve herself. He knew she was the loveliest woman in the valley and his heart ached.<br />She did not understand that he was impotent, that it was her own overwhelming beauty that was root of his dysfunction. She did not know that his pious heart was deeply conflicted by his religion and the carnal thoughts she inspired in him. And finally, she could not comprehend why he had so vehemently shouted back to her, “do not talk of such things, woman. A child will come when it comes!” <br /><br />“Welcome,” said the black man in a smart, field uniform. “Welcome to the Ali Hakeem Cauc Preserve. I’m Chief Administrator, Omar T’Ahib.<br />Rasheed shook the man’s hand. “Rasheed Jackson. I’m studying the slave trade and touring the Seer’s properties.”<br />“Yes we were told to expect you. Did you have a pleasant trip?”<br />“Very good, thank you.”<br />“Well, we have a busy day today, shall we get right into things? Have you eaten?”<br />“Actually, no,” replied Rasheed.<br />“Good,” laughed T’Ahib. “I’ve had lunches already made. It’s a half-hour drive to the sector we’re harvesting. We can eat in the rover and I’ll brief you on our operations.”<br />“That sounds great,” said Rasheed.<br />It was a bright summer morning and the sun presided over a rich, rural landscape. They set off on the unpaved trunk road that led over the hills and into the preserve. Rasheed noticed they were in a convoy, the rover leading a line of half a dozen vans.<br />After a few minutes they reached the perimeter fences, a double run of chain link, both at least four meters high. Along the tops were coils of razor wire and electronic sensors. Between the fences were lasers, set to detect intrusion. It looked formidable.<br />“These fences are to keep black market slavers out as well as keep the Caucs in,” said T’Ahib. “The Caucs in these preserves are worth hundreds of millions of Hakeems on the open market. We have to take precautions.”<br />They were admitted through the gate by armed guards and proceeded up the road and over a steep hill. Once they had crested it, Rasheed could see into a lush valley, vibrant with greens and golds of agrarian wealth.<br />“As you know, these preserves are on the exact sites of the old Amish and Mennonite communities, which served as early nuclei for the project,” said T’Ahib. “Their technology is limited to mid 19th century, pre-electronic. In other words, the horse and buggy,” he laughed.<br />“The Caucs are given near total autonomy within their own districts. They can grow crops, marry, trade, even make and enforce their own laws. The only rules are, they must stay inside the preserve perimeters, and submit totally to us, when we are present.”<br />“Actually, the preserves are far larger than the original Amish communities. Both in geographical size and the number of Caucs they contain. We expanded their territory and brought in others of their sect from conquered areas all over America. And there’ll be more coming from Canada when our armies conquer it.”<br />“We have over a quarter million Caucs here now and their numbers are rising due to their large families. We harvest slaves from the preserves continuously, but from any given locale only about once every five or ten years. Most valuable of course are the young females, between the ages of sixteen and thirty, though we do take an equal number of males to try to keep the population balanced.”<br />“Looks like they’re growing a lot of grain,” said Rasheed.<br />“Yes, all of the preserves are economically viable, even apart from the Caucs they yield. While slaves are the primary resource, we also buy the grain they produce. We trade them seed, fertilizer and sometimes even horses and archaic farm implements. They also produce wooden furniture and some rather esoteric art, popular with collectors in Africa. All of this they can trade. We make the largest profits from the resale of course, but we never cheat them on their end. They actually do quite well with their farming, feeding themselves and having a great deal to trade to us. We do provide them with medical treatment, which they pay for out of their grain accounts.”<br />“This aspect is extremely important,” said T’Ahib. “Since their technology and culture are 19th century they have little in the way of medicine. Without intervention this would result in a high maternal and infant mortality rate. We make the females give birth in the infirmary to protect the health of our resource, but we never betray their trust. That is to say we do not harvest slaves from the infirmary, when they come for medical treatment. We do however, require a medical check every year, on every individual. This is where we install and check their implants.”<br />“Implants?” asked Rasheed.<br />“Yes. They’re are a closely guarded secret,” said T’Ahib. “Many of the Caucs are the original Old Order ancestry and have no concept of this kind of technology. We don’t tell them about it for obvious reasons. With hidden cameras in the villages and the implants we know the location in real time of every Cauc in the preserve. On there are rare occasions where breakouts occur, but we usually catch the escapee in a matter of minutes.”<br />“What do you do with them.”<br />“Sometimes they are simply put into the harvest herds, but usually they are tortured until they’re practically suicidal, then released back into the preserve. We try to make the escapees experience pain on a scale that literally makes them want to die. And we prolong that for days, even weeks. When they’re released, not only do they never try to escape, but we rarely have trouble with them again. Most importantly though, they tell other Caucs about the experience. It serves as a very effective deterrent.”<br />“Tell me about the harvests,” said Rasheed.<br />“Mostly we like to take the younger females, between the ages of 16 and 30. The unmarried ones are slightly preferred. In their primitive, religious infused culture nearly all of the unmarried girls are virgins, a trait that’s highly marketable. If she is attractive however, there is also a good market for married females. The auction houses find that many older soldiers enjoy owing a white male’s wife. Of course we use the terms “married” and “wife” loosely. Cauc marriages as you know are not recognized by the state, but we let them conduct what they think are their marriage rituals within the preserve.”<br />“Do you have specialized markets then?” asked Rasheed.<br />“We supply a far lower numbers of slaves than the government’s post conquest sales,” said T’Ahib. “Nearly all of those Caucs are shipped by volume in the super slavers. Our slaves though, are rather unique in temperament and quality. They’re usually shipped by plane or the smaller slave ships. Many of our Caucs go into domestic service with the Prophet’s family or associates. But we also sell some to public auction houses.”<br />“How do you actually capture them?” asked Rasheed.<br />“Well, we know before hand which Caucs we are going to take. When we get an order from the Seer we simply drive into the compound with the vans and collect the ones we want.”<br />“Don’t they try to hide or run off?” asked Rasheed.<br />“No, not really,” laughed T’Ahib. “We used to have more of a problem with that in the past. But the implants lead us right to them. They don’t know how we do it but they know we can find them. And the punishment for resisting is pretty painful. Not nearly so bad as attempted escape, but it motivates to them to obey.”<br />The caravan drove through a quaint hamlet, busy with horse-drawn wagon and buggy traffic. There were no obstructions or delays though the populace did scatter to clear the road.<br />“There are over four thousand Caucs in this village,” said T’Ahib. “And we’re only taking about 20. All females this time around, newlyweds to fill a special order.”<br />The convoy broke up now, each vehicle moving down a different road. One van stayed with the rover, however. They turned down a little dirt lane and drove a couple of miles to a modest farmhouse.<br /><br />Betsey spent an hour in the morning lengthening her skirt. It had been another frustrating night as she lay in her nightdress beside a snoring husband. The daylight offered no cheer, as Joseph was gone; risen early to work the plow.<br />She was outside hanging the laundry when she saw an odd sight. Coming up the road in the distance were two vehicles. She had seen cars before of course, but they were rare and often the harbinger of bad things. Looking to the field she saw her husband hurrying back to the house.<br />Several black men exited the vehicles and approached her. Betsey felt a sense of foreboding, incongruously mixed with curiosity. One did not see the black outsiders in the valley much. When they did come, people often disappeared. But despite her fears, she greeted them politely.<br />“Can I help you? She asked. Just as her husband arrived.<br />“Are you registered as Betsey Beiler?” asked on of the men.<br />“That is my maiden name. I am Mrs. Joseph Sauder now.”<br />One of the colored men nodded and quickly walked behind Betsey, slapping cuffs onto her wrists. He immediately began pulling her to the van.<br />“What… Where are you taking her?” asked Joseph.<br />“She is being claimed by the Preserve administration,” said one of the colored men tersely.<br />“Cla… claimed? But she’s my wife… I…”<br />“Find another slut, Cauc,” said the other black agent. “This one’s being shipped out.”<br />“Jo… Joseph… what are they saying?” asked Betsey, her voice trembling with fear.<br />Her husband did not answer. “Please,” he said to the agent. “You can have my farm. It’s good land. Its productive and…”<br />“She’s been selected,” said T’Ahib with a cold, professional voice.<br />“Go back inside, boy,” said the agent. “Or we’ll take you to the jailhouse.”<br />Joseph’s face clouded with fear. The jailhouse was well known as a place of punishment and torture. He lowered his eyes, turned toward the farmhouse and walked away.<br />“Husband… husband?” Betsey called, trembling as they pushed her into the van. “Joseph… where are they taking me?” she cried plaintively.<br />He didn’t answer, but ignored her and continued to walk away with his head bowed. For the rest of her life, Betsey could never forget the shock and feeling of betrayal as she watched her husband meekly make his way to the house, never looking back and closing the door behind him.<br />The woman was quickly knocked out with an injected tranquilizer and the collection party moved on to another residence. The various units communicated by radio and in less than two hours had secured twenty young women. Only one male had given them trouble and he was being dealt with in the jailhouse as they drove off.<br />Heading back to the administration headquarters, T’Ahib explained. “The Seer has instructed us to keep this shipment in a pristine state, dressed as they are and shipped unconscious to Africa. He wants training and conditioning to begin there.”<br />Chapter 9<br /><br />Hours later, Rasheed was on an airliner, crossing the Atlantic. It was a nonstop flight, bound for Hakeem City, and he was sitting in first class. He was conversing with an elegant black lady and her husband, who were flying to the capital for a political conference. The man was hopeful of being appointed governor of the newly conquered province of Kansas, soon to be renamed “Sha Zaire,” or “New Zaire.”<br />In fact, according to the man, many place names in American and Europe were in the process of being changed. Many American States were to be re-named after Hakeem’s generals. Britain was to become Sha Zulu and so on. Rasheed found the conversation stimulating. Conversely, the man and his wife were impressed with Rasheed’s project as well as his association with Hakeem’s nephew, the Seer.<br />Jenny was also on the plane, but she was not flying first class. She and the twenty unconscious slaves were considered cargo. Jenny was seated on the floor, naked except for her wrap and chained with a neck collar as flight regulations required of slaves. She did have a bottle of water and was lapping hungrily at bowl of warm corn porridge, supplied by a kind steward who nonetheless had gotten his cock sucked. <br />When the plane landed in Hakeem City, Rasheed went to his new apartments in the palace of the Seer, taking Jenny with him. She was so grateful to be off the slaver and at home in Africa with Rasheed that she spontaneously knelt before him. With tears in her eyes she declared herself to be his devoted whore for as long as he wanted her. Then they retired to the bedroom, where she soothed his fatigue from the long flight with the most enthusiastic fuck she had ever performed.<br /><br />Rasheed was invited to tour the palace the next day. Since they had arrived at night, he had not been able to appreciate its true scope or grandeur. The grounds were enormous, over five square miles. In addition to the 300 room private residence of the Seer, it encompassed numerous public and government buildings incorporated into the scheme.<br />He was met at the front of one of the largest and finest of those buildings by a man named Hassan Koba, chief steward of the Seer himself.<br />“His Excellency welcomes you, Mr. Jackson and has suggested you begin your tour at his museum.”<br />“He owns this personally?” asked Rasheed, looking at the Greek Revival edifice.<br />“Yes, but it is open to the public.”<br />They ascended the marble steps and were met by a guard who smiled and tipped his hat respectfully.<br />Inside, Rasheed could see the building was in fact a museum documenting and chronicling the subjugation of the white race, the so-called Cauc. On the outside were murals and sculptures thematic of the heroic struggle of the Black Adamic man and final victory over the whites. Inside there were lithographs and photographs from the nineteenth century, showing the treatment of Africans at the hands of the then dominant white man. There were many high quality displays depicting facets of slave keeping from the profligate use of Negroes in fieldwork to the deplorable conditions prevalent on the slaver sailing ships of the day. There were artifacts and pictures, even dioramas of punishment techniques employed by the white masters.<br /> Rasheed studied the images with avid interest as his host guided him through the highlights of each section of the museum.<br /> “It is important to document the crimes committed by the Cauc against our peace loving ancestors,” said Hassan. “Whenever some of the more squeamish of our people complain about the treatment of Caucs on our slavers, I show them this. I proves that today’s Caucs are treated far more humanely than black Africans a few centuries ago.”<br /> Rasheed nodded and Hassan led him to next gallery. This section dealt primarily with the war of liberation, when the prophet Hakeem had unified the black peoples of Africa and thrown off the yoke of white oppression. There were ten battles in the long war which the prophets armies had won, marking the end of centuries of white political and economic dominance. These were immortalized in vivid displays; each accompanied with detailed texts recording the total triumph of black Africans and their leader.<br /> Moving to the next floor they toured a section devoted to Hakeem Islam, now the dominant world religion near universally practiced in Africa. There were statues and videos, artifacts from the life of Hakeem and his reign. In addition to a rendition of the basic precepts of the faith, (the belief that Hakeem had superseded Mohammed as Allah’s greatest prophet), there was a reconstruction of the pre-history of the African continent, hearkening to the glory days of the first African Empire.<br />Thousands of years before, so the history went, an advanced civilization had thrived on Africa. The unified culture of the black Adamic man had achieved technology and refinement unsurpassed even in the modern era. Gleaming cites housed vast wealth. Music, literature and art flourished.<br />But the people became arrogant and disdained Allah and his prophets. Despite their riches they fought among themselves to decide who would do the manual work and menial tasks. Their men violated the marriages of their neighbors and had adulterous relations with each other’s wives. <br />In his wrath Allah destroyed their civilization. He gave them over to their own catastrophic civil wars and even allowed them to be dominated by the lowly Cauc until they repented and acknowledged his prophets.<br /> Rasheed was fascinated. He had taken many courses in his adopted religion, but this museum stated the issues succinctly and skillfully. He was filled with new admiration for his religion and its values.<br /> They moved on to the final exhibit of the museum. The top floor was committed to the real history of the Cauc and a detailed prospective of Hakeem Islam’s doctrine regarding them.<br /> Whites were not a true human race. They were created some 5000 years before by a rebellious and evil man/being named Yacub, as a caricature and counterfeit of the Adamic, true human.<br />Yacub was the most brilliant scientist of the first African Empire. But he committed atrocities in his experiments. As punishment the leaders of the Empire banished him to the wilds of the far north. There he sought revenge. He resolved to create a race that would breed quickly and obey his every command. By blending the DNA of pigs and rats with that of the lessor Adamic man, (present day Asians), he succeeded in the creation of the Cauc, a soulless creature to populate his armies.<br />The Cauc was cunning and ruthless, but weak compared with the Adamic man. When Yacub attacked the Empire, he was defeated and killed. But some of his Caucs however, escaped into the wilderness of northern Europe.<br />They bred and survived the centuries. Their numbers grew to millions and when the black civilization failed they moved south into the vacuum. Later they stumbled on African science, discovering it piecemeal in the ruins of African cites. The clever mind of the Cauc recognized the power of black technology and copied it, using the knowledge to enslave the Adamic black man. <br />For many generations the Africans toiled for their white masters. But Allah remembered his people. He smote the Cauc with a plague and raised up the prophet Hakeem to unify the African nation and teach his precepts. To prevent them from quarreling among themselves again, Allah gave them the Cauc as slave labor. To sate their natural urges Allah designated the Cauc female as carnal slave, so that the African marriage would remain pure. The second African Empire had been born.<br />Rasheed browsed the section while his host looked on. The young graduate student was very impressed with the facility. Everything made sense now and he felt like he finally understood history- real history, not the fabrications of white males that he had learned as a boy.<br />Rasheed spent a couple of hours avidly soaking up the historical information documented in the museum. But he knew he couldn’t see it all in one day.<br />“Shall we move on?” asked Hassan politely. “We still have to tour the Cauc pens.”<br /><br />Betsy and the other girls had awakened from their drug-induced sleep, to a large, brightly-lit room. It was a sterile place with concrete floors and no windows, utterly alien to them. As their consciousness returned they huddled together, talking in low apprehensive tones and wondering what was going to happen next. Moments later guards appeared, all of them large, female and very black. They wore stark gray uniforms and carried whips or shinny metal cylinders. And they looked very severe.<br />One of them stepped forward, saying simply, “Strip naked.” The African woman spoke evenly and did not even raise her voice, but she spoke as one who expected unquestioning and instantaneous obedience. Her calm manner belied the shocking and outrageous demand.<br />The white women clung even closer but made no moves, certain they could not have heard the uniformed woman properly.<br />“Obey us!” shouted the woman. “Strip naked. Do it now.”<br />There were gasps among the white women and hands went to open mouths. A couple of the younger ones began to cry, but the demand was so preposterous that none of them moved to obey.<br />“You can’t be serious,” said Emily, a woman noted in their village for her assertiveness. “We can’t undress here in this open place. We are women of faith, not heathen.”<br />Without warning the guard backhanded the white woman so violently that she fell to the floor, clutching her bleeding jaw in devastated silence.<br />“You will remove all of your clothing and pile it here. Any of you who are not naked in ten seconds will be whipped.”<br />There were more gasps and some nervous white hands went to the buttons of their conservative blouses. But none of them could bring themselves to do so unthinkable a thing as removing their clothing in public.<br />Suddenly several of the colored guards burst forward, violently swinging their whips and bringing them down on the bodies of the helpless white women.<br />Pandemonium ensued. There were screams of anguish and outrage. The white women began scattering in panic, but more guards appeared, all of them converging on the victims and whipping relentlessly. The Mennonite women seemed to lose the will to resist when they left the cohesion of the group. All over the room they began quickly pulling their clothes off, begging and crying as the brutal punishment continued.<br />Betsey was just as frightened as the others and was frantically pulling her shoes and stockings off. She tore at her homemade blouse and her skirt and slip. Then she pulled her bonnet off and collapsed with mortification, hoping they would let her keep her underclothes.<br />But the whipping didn’t stop. She realized to her horror that they really did want them to strip naked! Really totally naked!<br />A litany of beseeching whimpers and sniffles had no effect on the savage black women and one by one the white females were compelled to pull off the last ultra modest coverings. But colored guard’s whips were still snapping until they gathered up their clothes and piled them in one place, as the black woman had demanded.<br />Finally the whites were huddled back together, pathetically trying to cover their exposed charms with their hands and arms.<br />“Kneel,” said the head guard, snapping her whip. “All of you, kneel.”<br />This time there was no resistance. Betsey felt the cold, hard concrete on her bare feet and knees, and started at the crackle of the whips. They were all thoroughly cowed, though some were weeping quietly, begging to go back to their husbands and families.<br />The guard silenced them by lashing the whip in mid air.<br />“You are slaves,” she said forcefully. “You are in the house of his Excellency Ali Hakeem, in Africa. He is your master and your god. You will be trained to serve him and worship him. We are your trainers. Any disobedience will be severely punished.”<br />“Now up,” barked the guard. “You are all smelly Caucs and you need bathing. Into the showers.”<br />More cracking of the whips hurried the women along and they were chased down a long corridor and into a room where hot water sprayed from above. Some of the women had never seen a shower before. They took baths of course but only two or three times a week in metal bathtubs. <br />After the first few seconds, Betsey relaxed a little. The water was pleasant and they were at least in a semi private place. She had never seen other people naked before, unless they were very young children. The Amish Mennonites did not have gymnasiums and open showers.<br />All of the bodies of the other girls were similar to hers. Naked, they seemed less mature, more vulnerable than before. Their modest, buttoned to the neck dresses and their bonnets, worn by all married Amish women, were gone. They were now just fair skinned, pretty young girls.<br />When the shower stopped, they were herded once more into an open area. Here, Betsey and the others flushed bright red and frantically tried to cover their nakedness. There were men standing there. Big, black men.<br />“Ah, here we are,” said Hassan. “These are the Caucs you helped collect at our preserve.”<br />“So they’re being processed here?” asked Rasheed.<br />“Yes, let’s watch and I’ll explain each step of the conditioning as it progresses.”<br />The mortified white women were led, still dripping wet, over to a long bench. They were told to sit cross-legged on it. They sat down as ordered, but placed their legs before them with their knees together tight and feet on the floor. They had been taught since childhood never to sit in the course, bawdy manner of heathen, with their legs spread. They were certainly not going to do it while naked, in a crowded room, with men of color present. All of them sat with their arms crossed protectively over bare their breasts.<br />“AAAHHHHGGG,” screamed one of the girls. An instant later, whips were flying and Betsey felt the horrible sting on her own back.<br />“Sit cross-legged,” repeated the trainer. “In a lotus posture with your feet resting above your knees. Keep your arms to your sides. Do not try to hide your teats.”<br />Faced with the whips, the red-faced slave girls obeyed, whimpering with fear and humiliation.<br />A door opened and several white slave girls hurried into the room. They carried strange bags and wore only a thin leather thong about their waists, with a small, bright red triangle of cloth dangling in front. Their buttocks were totally bare and Betsey was astonished to see they made no effort at modesty.<br />“This is a very important first step in their conditioning,” said Hassan. “There is much psychology and symbolism here.”<br />The slaves who had just entered pulled scissors from their bags and began cutting the hair of the new slaves. This brought bitter wails and protests.<br />“One of the odd traditions of this sect of Caucs is that the females are forbidden to cut their hair and have very long tresses when they’re taken,” said Hassan. “We have their hair cut short to violate this custom. We’re trying to shake their identities. Also, the hair is used by the slaves. I’ll show you that later.”<br />Rasheed nodded.<br />The women were openly sobbing now. The old ways said it was a deep shame for a woman’s hair to be cut.<br />The slaves doing the cutting carefully placed each flowing lock in their bags, wasting none of it. The end result however, as far as the girl’s appearance was concerned, was certainly not ugly. Their hair was short, but still very feminine and fairly uniform. And though it did give them a slightly waifish look, Rasheed thought it was actually an improvement. <br />They were allowed to stand and each of them was given a leather thong, with the little red triangle.<br />“Another deliberate violation of their religious tenants,” said Hassan. “They believe that red is an ostentatious and impure color when worn. We give them a choice. They can wear the thongs or go naked. They always chose the thongs,” he laughed.<br />Betsey and her friend tied their new garments around their waists. They were ashamed to their very souls of the color and scantiness of thong and cloth. But at least their private vees were hidden- a little.<br />Then they were led away.<br />“They’re taking them to their new quarters,” said Hassan. “We’ll let them digest what they’ve just been through, then we’ll train them further. Step by step we break them down.”<br />“I’ll take you upstairs now,” said Hassan. “We’ll see some Caucs undergoing more advanced training.”<br />On the next level, they walked down a hallway. Lining both sides of this corridor were rooms, small alcoves really with bead curtains stretched across the doorways. <br />“The next training stage involves sex. We immerse them in it,” said Hassan. “The secret to pacifying these wild Caucs into submissive, even eager slaves is understanding their psychology. These Caucs are from a Mennonite district close to the one you visited. They’ve been raised in small rural settings and large families. Communities are very close knit, with narrow regulations on dress and powerful taboos limiting sexual expression. It’s at the core of who they are.”<br />“Knowing this, we separate them from their original groups at this point and put them into solitary cells, to heighten the individual’s sense of isolation. We keep them nearly naked and make them wear red, a forbidden color. During the day they’re brought here where we force them into relentless sexual intercourse. The idea is to literally rape them out of their little minds.”<br />Rasheed could easily see through the curtain into the room and they watched quietly, not wanting to disturb the occupants.<br />Inside, a naked young white girl was straddling an older black man, avidly fucking him. Rasheed watched for a few minutes. There seemed to be no affection or warmth between them and her movements were oddly stiff and purely physical. The man was issuing instructions and goading her with a short switch.<br />“Faster,” he grunted. “Time to make me cum.”<br />The girl, honey haired and curvy, obeyed. Breasts flouncing and back rolling she plunged up and down on his member, but her face was a mask of ignominy. Rasheed could tell that she was experiencing pleasure, but she hadn’t turned yet to accept her new life.<br />Rasheed looked into the next stall. There another very large man was kneeling on all fours on a bed while a slender white beauty dangled beneath him, fully pierced by his cock. He held himself rigid and she was compelled to hang by her arms and legs and hump herself up to him.<br />“Fuck it Cauc… Keep that ass moving,” he said, staring down into her straining, frightened face.”<br />Rasheed could see why the slave girl was so anxious not to slip from his organ. On the bed under her buttocks he had placed a correction rod with the trigger jammed on. If her ass dropped to the bed she would contact the rod and receive a shock.<br />Adjacent cells held a tiny blond girl with a flat chest, crushed flat on her back by a fat African who was pounding her into the bed; a tall, well endowed redhead, also on her back under a small but powerfully built colored man; and a bent over brunette wailing as a man laid into her with a whip while taking her from behind.<br />There were many other rooms and judging by the gasps, groans and squeals of mixed delight and shame, they were all in use.<br />“This phase of their conditioning lasts about a month or two,” said Hassan as he and Rasheed continued on. “They’re forced to engage in sex at least four or five times a day, different men each time. We aren’t concerned in this phase with teaching finesse or technique. We simply want them fucked as coldly and cruelly as possible without causing any lasting physical damage. The goal is to break them in preparation for the next step.”<br />“Where do you get enough men to do this day in and day out?” asked Rasheed.<br />“We hire mostly retired soldiers, veterans of the Liberation. His Excellency feels strongly that every veteran should have the opportunity to own a female Cauc. There simply aren’t enough of them yet, however the Seer owns over a thousand of them, so he shares Allah’s bounty. Besides, it is very good for a Cauc female to know she is pleasuring men who have killed and conquered many of the male Cauc.<br />They walked outside and over to another building. This one was better lit and not nearly so stark.<br />“This is where we mold them after they’ve become malleable,” said Hassan. “These slaves have been committed to stage three, where we begin detailed reconstruction of their sexual and social attitudes. We also condition them physically.”<br />They entered a large room where perhaps twenty or more pretty white girls were working out to exhaustion on exercise equipment. Others were running on a small, indoor track around the perimeter.<br />Off to one side, half a dozen slaves squatted on their haunches over tubes set in the floor. A black woman patrolled the area, closely watching the girls. At first it was hard to see what was going on, but then Hassan asked the woman to explain the training to Rasheed.<br />“These Caucs are being taught to use and tone their vaginal muscles,” said the woman. She motioned for one of the girls to stand and reached down to turn off a switch. When she rose, Rasheed could see she had been impaled on a long, fat dildo.<br />“The slave crouches on this shaft,” said the colored woman. “The phallus is filled with a conductive gel and a pressure sensor is connected to a computer. The female must learn to contract her internal muscles around the shaft, as well as bite the base with her vaginal lips. They must exert and sustain a constant force on the shaft, or they receive a severe shock through it.”<br />“This devise is extremely effective in habituating their sexual muscles and training their cunts to fit perfectly around the larger penis of the Adamic man,” said Hassan.<br />“How do you keep them from simply pulling off of it?” Asked Rasheed.”<br />“The whip,” said the colored woman, succinctly. “And they must press their clitoris onto a pressure switch at the base of the phallus or the current is activated.”<br />Suddenly one of the white girls began to scream. She pulled back instinctively but the black woman ran over and began tearing into her ass with the leather. “Back down,” she barked.<br />“But it hurts,” whined the girl. “Please, I can’t squeeze it anymore, my muscles are tired.”<br />“Work to make them stronger,” said the trainer. “You on for ten more minutes.”<br />All of the white girls groaned and Rasheed could see the sweat beading on their faces. But they knew they would be given no mercy and redoubled their efforts to contract their vaginas.<br />As they left they heard two more of the girls erupt in screeches of pain. Hassan began laughing heartily. “We teach them that the black penis is the most vital part of their lives. It sounds as though they lost their grip on what’s important.”<br />Next, they walked into a classroom-like facility, complete with marker and storyboards. There were however, no desks and only one chair, occupied by a buxom and maternal looking African woman. All around her, sitting in the prescribed lotus position were eight white females. They were naked, having placed their little thongs in a pile beside the trainer. Beside each of them, on comfortable pads, lay an older black man relaxing face down.<br />Hassan and Rasheed stood unobtrusively off to the side, so as not to disturb the lesson.<br />“Slaves, today will be your introduction into the arts of massage; both therapeutic and erotic,” said the black woman pleasantly. “You will be taught expertise in both. You will practice on these men, until I determine you have mastered these skills.”<br />Each girl was given a small bottle of scented oil and told to insert it into her vagina, to heat it so it would be more comfortable for her man. Then they were given a graphic and detailed lecture on the theory and principles of massage.<br />“You must always remember your proper role.” Said the teacher. “You are Cauc females. You exist to serve and give pleasure to your black Adamic master whoever that may be. Your bodies and minds must be absolutely devoted to him. Think of nothing else but him, his body, his needs.”<br />Rasheed studied the slave girls as they sat with rapt attention, their backs perfectly straight and their breasts jutting proudly from their chests. He saw a difference in the faces of these girls. Their eyes were bright and alert; their expressions were slightly more relaxed. They even smiled a little. They seemed to have been broken and accepted their new roles and their new identities. Their minds were wide opening, susceptible now to training. <br /> At a word from their mistress they pulled the oil bottles from their warm cunts and straddled their men, who lay prone beside them. Then, following her direct instructions they opened the bottles and poured some of the contents on their hands and a small offering onto their man’s back. They were then told to replace the bottles in their vaginas.<br />“Dip hands in the oil,” said the trainer. “Now spread it evenly… Glide your hands over your master’s back in long, easy strokes… Good girls! Use your fingertips… Soft, long strokes. Caress him. Touch and feel his magnificent body.” The woman’s voice was silky smooth, provocative and hypnotic. The girls responded, obeying her and working the aromatic lubricant with gentle touches.<br />After several minutes the men were groaning, twitching, shifting their crotches and their swelling organs.<br />“I know all of you were farm girls,” said the black woman. “You know how to make bread and work the dough. Massage his shoulders now just as if you were kneading bread.”<br />As each of the girls complied, groans and sighs of contentment drifted up from the men. The slaves fingers were nibble but strong. In addition to making bread they had also milked cows. Their trainer had them practice the various techniques of therapeutic massage for several more minutes, describing different pressures to exert and places to touch. Then the instructor asked the men to turn over.<br />“You have all done well slaves,” said the black woman. “Now you must continue to excel as we practice erotic massage.” The girls were told to pull the now very warm and slippery bottles from their quims and pour more oil into the bowl of their man’s navel. Dipping their hands once again the instructor had them apply the unction to the now rampant manhoods beside them. Then they straddled their man’s hips, brought his phallus to their moistened vulvas and lowered themselves onto their master’s sex spine.<br />“Good,” said the teacher, amid soft, feminine intakes of breath as tight young vaginas were filled with knurled middle age shanks. “Now begin to caress him as before. Use just the fingertips and go slow, very slow. Work your cunt muscles, mold yourself onto him.”<br />The white females were obviously aroused themselves. Rasheed watched as they moved ever more lubricously and ardently on their men. It was steamy and quiet. Each couple seemed locked into their own universe of temporal lust.<br />Rasheed found the spectacle wildly erotic. In a sense it was even more provocative than the daily rapes the girls had already undergone. This was so intimate and so forbidden. It was not just elemental sex. The girls were being taught to make love.<br />The implications were more profound than for any conditioning he had yet observed. The slaves old identities, culture and mores had been ripped from them. From here on they would be remade into whatever the Seer wanted them to be- whatever his image of a Cauc female really was. Rasheed ached to know more.<br />It was deeply satisfying to watch. Beautiful young white girls engaging in intimate play with colored men more than twice their age; supple white hands grasping handfuls of shiny, ebony skin. And between them, their bodies fused at the loins in the ultimate interracial submission. Rasheed wanted to bolt forward and replace one of the men, but he restrained himself.<br />The girls were told to pour the rest of the oil onto their breasts and bellies and even dab a little onto the soles of their feet. Now they were to lower their slippery torsos to their man so that their breasts hung like pendulums and their nipples traced greasy tracks over their man’s upper bodies.<br />Then they were told to sit up and grind on the manhood within them, twisting like belly dancers. Their naked flesh gleamed and a mesmerizing hush descended onto the room. The black woman droned on, directing the slave girls, inveigling their vulnerable minds.<br />“Think about what your man is feeling,” breathed the woman. “You are one with him… One living, breathing flesh. Sit up and look at him… Feel his cock in your belly… So full… So strong… Gaze into his eyes… Keep your hands and feet moving slowly… slowly… Feel his eyes on your breasts. Your nipples so hard… So exposed… So vulnerable… Look down and see his big black cock as it gores you deeply… See your pink pussy lips stretched around him… So tight… Sooooo tiiiiight. You feel so helpless, little slave… Your man’s possessing you… He owns you and he’s fucking you… He’s fucking yoooouuuuu…”<br />It went on for some time, but finally the dam broke. The men began to grab their slaves and thrust into them with climactic fury. Some of them seized their girl by the hips and held her fast as their orgasms raged. Others rolled their slippery whores onto her back and bore into them with savage thrusts, pouring semen into their bellies with hot, fecund spurts.<br />At length the lesson was done and each couple was a slithering mass of intertwined arms and legs gasping for breath.<br />“Very good for the first practice, Caucs,” said the instructor. “Tomorrow you will learn to incorporate your mouths, tongues and faces into the massage.”<br />Rasheed’s pants felt tighter than at any time in his life. Hassan told him he had a pressing engagement to attend and suggested they continue the tour the following day.<br />Rasheed readily agreed. He had something in mind to relieve his tension. He walked back to the first building where the new slaves were housed and found Betsey, the girl he had seen captured. The guard was smiling when he let Rasheed into her cell.<br />“Take as long as you want, sir. When you’re done with her just let me know.”<br />“Have they started on her yet?” asked Rasheed.<br />“No sir, no one has touched her.”<br />Now Rasheed smiled. He wanted to be the one to welcome her to Africa.<br />“Hello Cauc,” he said, standing over her. She was trying to hide her breasts and crotch and at first could not look him in the face. But she recognized his voice and finally looked at him with curiosity.<br />“You… you were at our farm…”<br />“Yes, slave. I saw how your pathetic husband let us take you- and walked away.”<br />He saw the emotion in her eyes. She did feel betrayed.<br />“You’re mine now,” said Rasheed. “You will give your body to me.”<br />Before her wide, fearful eyes he undressed, and pulled his belt from his pants.<br />“Lay down on your back and spread your legs.”<br />“Noooo,” she gasped, and tried to scramble away. But he was on her in an instant, easily overpowering her. Though she thrashed desperately she could not throw him off, and once he had gotten between her legs, her virtue was finished.<br />“AAAAGGGHHHHHH,” she screamed when his belt crashed across her tits.<br />“You’re mine now Cauc and I’m going to fuck you. The more you resist the more you’ll hurt.”<br />He had inserted himself and was working his manhood into her bit by bit. But still she struggled. Rasheed relished the moment. It was pure rape, quintessential violation. He was glad he had gotten to her before she had been conditioned. It doubled the joy, to be her first black man.<br />“AAAAGGGHHH, AAAGGHHH, AAAAGGHHHH, she shrilled as he brought the belt down repeatedly, with all of his strength.<br />“Give in to me…” he shouted. “I’m your man now!”<br />Betsey was hysterical, screaming and tossing her head, “Nooo, I can’t… You’re not my husband! AAAAAGGGGHHHHH!”<br />He slashed wildly with the belt and began slapping her face. Then he pressed his hips into with all his weight, driving his penis into her, all the way to the balls.<br />That seemed to break something in her psyche and she went limp. Her face was red from his slaps and there were glowing wheals on her chest. She was gulping air and sobbing softly.<br />“I’m your man now, your master. Say it and I’ll stop hurting you.”<br />“You’re… you’re my man,” she whispered. “You’re my master.”<br />From that point on, she surrendered, offering no resistance as he began to rut into her with abandon. She even began to move with him, instinctively thrusting a little as weird, unfamiliar feelings engulfed her. There was some pain, but that was because he was so much bigger than Joseph. After awhile the ache disappeared and she simply accepted him.<br />He could not last in the state he was in, and soon Betsey felt him stiffen. With a great roar he erupted within her, flooding her depths with his potent seed.<br />As their gasping subsided, Betsey’s mind flashed with recollection and realization. She was filled with a black man’s essence. She might become pregnant. Even now the tiny spark of life, the baby she so badly wanted might be burrowing into her womb. Except the child would be this man’s, not Joseph’s.<br />Betsey bit her lip with anguish. She knew if a child developed within her she could not reject it. She could never return to her husband. Even now she was starting to consider that she was indeed this man’s woman now, and the thought engendered an oddly warm feeling inside her.<br />It was all too much, and she began to cry softly.<br />Rasheed had pulled out of her and begun to dress. Looking down at her, suddenly, astonishingly, he felt sorry for her. His blood had been saturated with testosterone after the massage scene, but with his climax the savage edge of his lust had abated. Her quiet weeping touched him and he was sorry. Not for raping her. She had to learn to obey a black man. But he had hurt her more than he liked. The lurid red stripes of his belt were still evident as he lay beside her. He pulled her to his chest and held her, speaking to her tenderly. Strangely, she did not try to pull away now- and she was calming.<br />“What’s your name?” asked Rasheed quietly.<br />“Be… Betsy…”<br />“Betsey,” he said with genuine kindness. “You’re a slave. You must not resist when the black men fuck you.”<br />“But… but how can I help it?” she whispered, as if to a confidant. “I’m a married woman.”<br />“You will never see your husband again, Betsey,” he said. “Give in to them and participate willingly when they start to train you. You will give in eventually and you will hurt much less if you do it now.”<br />Recognizing his sincerity, she clung closer to him and sobbed quietly. She craved the warmth and security of a man’s arms, even if he was her rapist- or was he now her rightful man?<br />“Please, I can’t be a… a harlot.”<br />“You can and you will,” he said, not trying to frighten her, but soothe her and give her hope. “So will all of the other girls in your group. You’ll survive. You’re going to be fucked by hundreds of men, but you’ll survive. Don’t be afraid. When your training is over, when you can be my willing slave, then I’ll come for you. Don’t lose hope.”<br />Betsey hugged him tighter, not realizing that in the days to come, his words would be her only solace.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 10<br /><br />“The Seer has asked me to make sure you are comfortable in your apartments,” said Hassan, “And to let you know he would like to give you one of the slaves, if any of them particularly impress you.”<br />“Thank you,” said Rasheed. “And thank his Excellency for me. I’d like that.”<br />“Today we will show you some Caucs who have completed their training and become part of one of his collections. Shall we?” said Hassan, pointing to a land rover.<br />Rasheed was somewhat surprised. He hadn’t expected to be driven anywhere. But the grounds of the Seer’s palace were so vast that walking would take some time. Officials were accustomed to taking vehicles to visit some of the remoter areas.<br />“We will see his Excellency’s Cauc Village showcase on the south holdings,” said Hassan. “It’s one of the Seer’s favorite collections and illustrates his philosophy of returning Caucs to their appropriate conditions.”<br />They rode up to a village of tiny mud and stalk huts, situated on a pleasant, grassy slope. There were large shade trees in and around the village, providing some relief from the hot, African sun.<br />“As you saw yesterday,” explained Hassan. “Our re-discovered history teaches us that the Cauc was a primitive hybrid animal which settled in the wilds after the Social Wars. It was only after the first African Empire collapsed and the Caucs were able to steal African technology, that they came to rule the world. They colonized Africa and forced our people to live in a primitive state. Then they falsified history to make it seem like we were always backward.”<br />Rasheed agreed.<br />“The Seer has determined that some of his Caucs should be returned to the condition they forced unjustly on our ancestors.”<br />They parked the vehicle and proceeded into the village on foot. As they approached, every slave they met instantly went to her knees and bowed her head respectfully, staying in that position until they passed. But they were in no way unfriendly. They were all very pretty and smiled towards the black men, shyly but invitingly.<br />“There are no male Caucs loose here,” said Hassan. “We have a few for breeding purposes, but we keep them locked up.”<br />Rasheed observed the slaves closely. All of them were white females, though they had medium to dark tans. They were completely naked except for the thin cord that circled their hips. It suspended a curious little flap about six inches square, which hung over their pudenda. Their breasts were bare as well as their rear cheeks. <br />Their dress was very similar to that worn by the trainees, except that the flap was not red and seemed coarser than cloth.<br />“What are they wearing? Asked Rasheed, curiously.<br />Hassan snapped his fingers.<br />Instantly, the nearest girl, a petite doe-eyed brunette came running. She knelt before them, hands clasped behind her back and diminutive chest thrust out. Bowing her head low, she remained stock-still.<br />“Take off your covering and give it to this master,” said Hassan, pointing to Rasheed.<br />Still kneeling, the girl loosened the leather cord around her waist and handed it to Rasheed. Close up he could see that it was actually a thin cord of very soft leather. Attached was a little flap woven from Caucasoid hair, quite soft and silky. It was blond, apparently from another person.<br />The girl’s only other adornment was a slender collar, also apparently braided and twined from the slave’s own hair into a thin cord about a quarter inch thick.<br />“As you saw yesterday, for both aesthetic and psychological reasons we cut back the hair on their heads. We do not allow these slaves to wear any form of cloth, but we give them the hair and let them fashion these small things to cover their sexes. But the leather is even more interesting.”<br />Hassan led them over to area near the huts where three girls were stretching raw hides and staking them onto the ground to dry. There were also several smaller hides pulled tightly across basket cores like drums. The hides were of an odd shape and were hairless. Nevertheless, it took Rasheed several seconds before he realized the hides were human, or at least, he thought, Cauc.<br />“These skins are from condemned male Caucs who either tried to escape or harmed a black person,” said Hassan. “We buy the hides and have our slaves tan them and work them into fashionable handbags, shoes, watchbands, etc. We sell the items at the palace’s souvenir shops and boutiques in Hakeem City.”<br />“Ingulube,” yelled Hassan at one of the white girls. “Give me that basket.”<br />She scurried over to retrieve the item and knelt before Hassan, holding it up to him.<br />“These are becoming very popular as wallets,” said Hassan, handing the basket to Rasheed. “They’re Cauc scrotums. Stretched and tanned it produces fine leather of surpassing softness. After they’re rendered the slaves will sew them with their own hair. They’re all the fashion rage now and I have one myself.” He pulled out his wallet and showed it.<br />“Excellent workmanship,” noted Rasheed.<br />As they walked through the village, Rasheed could see that a majority of the women were in varying stages of pregnancy. Some had babies suckling at their breasts that were obviously of mixed race.<br />“Do you have them on any form of contraception?” asked Rasheed.<br />“No, we don’t really sell the infants, so we’re not interested in pedigree for commercial reasons. If they bear a half-breed infant, the whelp is taken when weaned. The Prophet has envisioned creating an army of Janissaries as shock troops. Half-breeds are perfect for this. We’ll let the Cauc females breed the soldiers who will enslave the rest of their species.<br />As for the slaves themselves, they’re very anxious to get knocked up and they aren’t choosy about who the father is.”<br />“Why do they want to become pregnant so bad?” asked Rasheed.<br />“They gain status,” said Hassan. “There is a strict hierarchy. You’ll see some of them wearing the little ovals of dried leather on their collars. Those are dried Cauc ears. Every time they bear a whelp they add one. The more infants a female produces the higher her rank. They don’t have to work as hard and they get other privileges.”<br />“Then there are the normal female instincts. Remember that we destroy the social and religious mores of these Caucs as well as their culture. You take all that away and you truly have just primitive females with the compulsion to mate and reproduce. Also, thanks to our efforts, they’re so sexually active now that fucking is almost done as casually as shitting.”<br />Both men laughed.<br />“What do you do with the pure white infants?” asked Rasheed.<br />“We let them keep those whelps,” said Hassan. “The males will be sold when they reach puberty. The females we’ll keep to build our stock. In a few years we’ll have more females who have known nothing but slavery and the ways of this village.”<br />They walked over to a shady area where dozens of slave girls were sitting, chattering happily. Some were weaving baskets from field stubble; others were working the leather with bone tools. They showed absolutely no shock or disgust.<br />As if reading Rasheed’s mind, Hassan said, “One has to understand these creatures. By making the female Cauc render the skins of the Cauc male we impress upon them their true animal nature. It is also of enormous psychological benefit for them to see the ultimate fate of any rebellious Cauc.” <br />Rasheed looked at the girls. Except for their white skin and Caucasoid features they were indistinguishable in dress and behavior from the most primitive African Bushwomen. They seemed totally accustomed to their near nudity and their primitive lives, yet he knew that all of these girls had once been modest, pious wives and daughters, living in conservative Amish families. The transformation was incredible and he could not but stand in awe of the Seer and his vision.<br />They spent a couple of hours in the village, observing the activities. Some women were grinding corn on stone mortars; others were carrying giant bags of corn on their heads, African style.<br />“We make them walk to the farmhouse for the corn,” said Hassan, “over two kilometers away. They also have to go there for water.”<br />Rasheed also noticed a number of females stealing glances at them and trying to attract their eyes.<br />“They vie for our attentions shamelessly,” smiled Hassan. “Watch this.”<br />He pulled a candy bar from his shirt pocket and held it up. In seconds there were kneeling slaves all around them, begging and offering themselves.<br />“Come and fuck me in my hut master, please,” pleaded a particularly stunning auburn haired girl with round, sky blue eyes. She was taking Rasheed’s hand insistently.<br />Hassan tossed Rasheed a candy bar as two pretty blondes led him to a hut a few feet away. “I’ll see you in about an hour,” he laughed.<br />Rasheed allowed the big-titted girl to pull him to her own hut. There he enjoyed a delightful little interlude, fucking her raw on her own sleeping mat.<br /><br />“We know that the Cauc is a soulless animal and therefore does not worship in the same sense that the Adamic man worships,” said Hassan, after they were back in the rover. “Most scholars of Hakeem Islam feel that the appropriate religion for Caucs is master worship. Here we mandate cult rituals for them and provide a small shrine.”<br />“Don’t they resist?” asked Rasheed. “I know how religious these particular slaves are.”<br />“You’re right, the Mennonites are very religious, and yes, they do resist vehemently, at least at first. In fact they garner more punishments over this than during their sexual training. But we whip and cane them until they do what we want. After a while it becomes second nature to them. It’s all part of conditioning them and extinguishing their prior identities.” <br />They parked in front of a large communal hut and got out. “This is the center of the religion we force them to adapt,” said Hassan. When they entered, the air was thick with smoke and incense and the lighting was dim. Most prominent in the room was a larger than life statue of the Seer himself, looking benevolently down on several women who knelt before it with their hands clasped in supplication, chanting in low murmurs.<br />“Ah, we’re in luck!” said Hassan, pointing to a little group of slaves near the back of the hut. Looking closer now, Rasheed could see one of the women was lying back on a kind of slanted platform. Her legs were spread wide and she was crying out as if from surges of pain. She was a small girl, but very great in the belly. Rasheed suddenly realized she was giving birth.<br />The two men watched in silence as the girl groaned and pushed, crying out with each breath. The other girls began to sing an African tune in Zulu while they attended her.<br />A black woman dressed in a colorful robe set with feathers and gold necklaces approached them.<br />“This is Abadit M’Kava,” said Hassan, after they had exchanged greetings. “She is known to the Caucs as the Shrine Goddess. She runs this shrine, dispensing fetishes when they’re sick and listens when they confess their sins. She has the keys to the cages which hold the male Caucs.”<br />“You have males here?” asked Rasheed.<br />“Yes,” said Abadit. “Back here.”<br />She led them to a separate room, which also featured a large statue of the Seer. In the room were three open barred cages, each holding a white boy.<br />The shrine goddess took a ladle of water over to one of the cages. The boy immediately went to his knees and pressed his face to the bar to receive the water. His skin was very white, apparently he was not let outside often. In addition to being caged, there was a thick leather collar around his neck and a long chain secured to one of the bars. He was naked and looked no older than sixteen or seventeen. He was also none too clean.<br />“These are the Caucs we use to breed with,” said Hassan.<br />As he spoke, a white girl entered the room, removed her thong and knelt before the cage door, waiting patiently.<br />The shrine goddess pronounced a brief incantation over the girl and made her drink from a vial of liquid. Then she opened the cage door and the girl went in.<br />Immediately, and without formality, the girl lay on her back on the straw covered dirt floor and spread her legs. The boy mounted her and they began to engage in enthusiastic sex.<br />“What did she drink?” asked Rasheed.<br />“Just sugar water with a mild stimulant and some fertility enhancement drugs,” said the black woman.<br />“Abadit is actually a trained vet,” said Hassan. “She gives them medications they think are magic and treats any serious injuries. She is also near at hand when they give birth, in case she’s needed.”<br />The couple in the cage continued to rut audaciously, as if no one else were in the room. The boy’s meat was flying in and out and the girl moved beneath the male, urging him to cum. But there was no talking and no sign of affection. It was simply the mating of two animals. At last, however, the passion overcame the girl and she twisted her head from side to side, “Ahhh, please…”<br />The shrine goddess deftly snapped the whip from her side and<br />flicked it onto the girl’s upturned rear cheeks with a pop.<br />“EEEEIIIeehhhh,” cried the girl.<br />“We do not allow them to talk with the white males or show any signs of pleasure with them,” explained Abadit. “Cauc males are simply for procreation. The slaves must love only the black Adamic man.”<br />Soon the pathetic little act in the cage was over. The slaves separated and the girl was released. She immediately padded over to the statue of the Seer, brought her face down and kissed its foot. She then rose to her knees and placed her palms together in a gesture of reverent supplication. She spoke in Zulu, but her vocabulary was so limited and her foreign speech accent so acute that she sounded delightfully simple, primitive and ignorant.<br />“Black-masta, me-slave beg you make slave-boy fuck juice into fat baby in me-slave belly. Me-slave worship you Black-masta god. Me-slave beg you give me-slave fat teats for baby. Me-slave beg you baby no get sick. Me-slave love Black-masta. Amen.”<br />Having finished her prayers the girl left. In the back of the room the pregnant slave was still pushing out her baby inch by inch and moments later they heard the squall of a newborn baby girl drawing her first breath.<br />“We dominate their lives with this religion,” said Hassan. “Their master the Seer is truly their god. Three times a day they come here to kneel and pray to him. And his statue watches when they conceive their whelps and when they deliver them.”<br />“Do they really believe it?” asked Rasheed. “Do they really worship him, or just act like it to avoid punishment?”<br />Hassan shrugged. “Who knows. We can’t read their little Cauc minds, yet. But that infant in there will know nothing else. When she matures she will have worshipped her master her entire life and will know nothing of the religion of her ancestors. That is what the Cauc did to our forefathers. Now the circle has turned. The Caucs we are breeding here will worship us!”<br />When they stepped out of the gloomy shrine they could see workmen setting up canvas tents on an open, grassy area.<br />“What’s all this?” asked Rasheed.<br />“The Seer is hosting a safari tonight to watch the Caucs dance,” said Hassan. “He himself will be there. You must come, Rasheed. It’s a fantastic spectacle.”<br /><br />It was indeed quite a show. The Seer brought thirty of his associates and friends, all black men of sophistication and social standing. The entire village was turned out and the Seer, with his entourage was carried in litters by the white women. Rasheed and Hassan were also carried in turn. All the men were wearing safari garb, smart, pressed khakis with pith helmets.<br />“The Seer hosts these safaris every other month or so,” said Hassan as they were borne up the hill. “The local businessmen love it and it gives him a chance to show off his collection.”<br />Once inside the village they were given the high place of honor to sit and watch the dance. But first, there was business to attend to.<br />All the white woman filed before them a few at a time, offering their obeisance and prostrating themselves before their gods and masters. The Seer condescended blessings on all of them all and they scampered back to join their throng.<br />Next, Abadit stepped forward. Five white women were dragged by other slaves before the great master. They knelt, crying miserably.<br />“Your Excellency, these are new slaves who refuse to worship you and the Adamic Black Man. They still adhere to their old religion. The village wishes you to punish them.”<br />“We are your gods!” said the Seer to the groveling women. “You will pray to us, now.”<br />“Please master,” said one of the women. “We acknowledge you as our master, but we cannot worship… AAAAGGGHHHHHHH.”<br />Abadit had moved behind the girl and applied the whip. “How dare you use the foul slave tongue to address his Excellency. Speak with respect, in Zulu, or we’ll flay you alive.”<br />All five of the girls were crying, trembling in fear. They were re-thinking their stubborn refusal to join the slave cult, but it was too late, They would have to be punished now.<br />The girl struggled to speak in Zulu, stammering in the unfamiliar language, “Black-masta no god. Me-slave love black-masta. No worship black-masta. Me-slave beg black-masta no punish!”<br />Everyone held their breath in anticipation as the Seer stood. He waved his arm as if casting a spell or powerful curse.<br />Instantly the rebellious slave girls leapt to their feet and began dancing and flaying about. Their shrill screams rent the air as they clutched with desperate hands, as if trying to reach something between their legs. Unable to dislodge whatever it was, the white women threw themselves in to the dust, writhing and screeching in horrific agony.<br />“Me-slave worship black-masta,” they shrieked hysterically. “Black-masta god. Black-masta god!<br />But it didn’t stop. The white slaves were left to plead and tear at their bellies and scream their lungs out for several minutes before the Seer waved his hand again, and the pain magically ceased.<br />The errant slaves crawled abjectly toward him, weeping but proclaiming clearly, “Me-slave bad… Me-slave bad! Me-slave worship black-masta… Me-slave beg black-masta no punish… Black-masta god… Black-masta god!” <br />“Look between their legs,” whispered Hassan to Rasheed. “They’ve been fitted with correction devises inserted into their anus and their vaginas like pincers. When the tips are brought together they can’t be removed except with a key. There’s a remote controlled electrical discharge, like a cattle prod that stings them along the length of both inserts. Abadit tells me the pain is worse than anything else they’ve yet been subjected to. Like giving birth to fire ants.” <br />The chastened women were led by their fellow slaves back to the shrine hut where they would begin a week of intense training in the cult. Abadit would have no further trouble with them.<br />The dusk was descending now and some of the Seer’s men were lighting torches. From the tents were brought tables and a great feast was set before the black men. A wild boar, roasted on a spit was carved first for the Seer, then for the others. Even the white females, squatting in the dirt were given scraps passed from their masters and wooden bowls heaped with warm gruel. As a special treat for the slaves, small slices of the pig were mixed into their meal and they savored the rare taste of good meat.<br />After all had eaten, the shrine goddess once again strode in front of the Seer as all the white women genuflected in unison.<br />“Your Excellency, your slave Caucs wish to celebrate your ownership of them. They wish to dance for your pleasure and that of your guests. They beg your permission to do so.”<br />The Seer rose again and waved his hands over the slaves kneeling at his feet. “You may dance,” he said.<br />Instantly Abadit gave a loud hoot. The white women rose and shouted back. Drums began to beat and the slaves formed three concentric circles beginning to sing as they moved. All were smiling festively as they caught the rhythm, swaying and undulating in perfect choreography.<br />It was indeed a celebration, a rare evening of play and frolic in their servile lives. It was also a chance to show off their bodies and catch the eye of their black masters who looked on.<br />The first ring circled, continuing to dance while the other girls sat, squatting on their haunches. This movement was traditional Zulu, one of many the girls had practiced countless days for their lord and master the Seer. Abadit had drilled them each evening in the proper maneuver. The steps were very simple, little more than jumping up and down with alacrity and gyrating in unison while they sang enthusiastically in Zulu. It was repetitive and beat oriented, designed to display the female form and present her body in feral, athletic beauty.<br />Rasheed watched their lovely forms, avarice growing in his loins. It was a warm night and soon the white girl’s skin dripped with sweat, gleaming lurid and pagan in the torchlight. Their breasts bounced wildly as they jumped in time, clapping their hands and shouting. It continued for some time, but the women neither slowed nor flagged until the drums stopped.<br />The next ring, the advanced, pregnant females, rose to dance. Their ritual accentuated their abdomens and breasts, making their swollen bellies jostle and their ripe teats flop. They did less jumping, but all of them humped and swayed their hips with such obscene fluidity that they seemed to be copulating in mid-dance. In the flickering firelight one could imagine invisible satyrs, rutting between their legs profanely as their round bellies bounced with fertile consummation.<br />The black gods looked on with leering grins. Little fetal bastards kicked and churned, while their mothers reveled in the knowledge that they were in truth enceinte whores, maculate daughters of carnal joy.<br />The third ring of girls knelt around them, watching their pregnant sisters with mixed admiration and jealousy. But all of them turned their longing eyes to the tables from time to time. There, their dark-skinned masters lounged with confidence and pride, their black faces shining as they ogled the naked, savage Caucasian females. The girls would sigh, and look back at the dancers, little tingles licking at their clits and their brains. Perhaps tonight, they thought hopefully, one of the handsome African men at the table would put them in a similar condition.<br />Then it was time for the third group to perform. They were the youngest, the prettiest- and the most desperate. None of them were with child yet. Their dance was also African and very old, filled with fertility symbols and a pounding, blatantly sexual beat. Their bodies were the loosest of all, their movements the most provocative blend of lithesome grace and whorish debauchery. They thrust their pelvises with the same salacious parody, inciting and feeding off one another’s fever pitched voracity.<br />Then they broke the circle and ran to the tables, forming a crescent before the Seer and his guests. There they danced at arms length from their masters, staring into the men’s eyes with wanton smiles.<br />The hypnotic rhythm went on, pulsating and building while the girls gyrated, their bare feet stirring the dust beneath them. They stuck out their pink tongues and wagged them from side to side, an African gesture of ultimate lascivious invitation.<br />Arms waving above them, they hurried back to the open area, where the first ring began to perform again.<br />The night rolled on with dance after lewd dance. The black men watched and lusted, laughed and gamboled. The air was alive with raucous jokes and ribald comments- but all were taking mental notes.<br />When the spectacle ended the white women stood with their bare breasts heaving, panting and sudoral, but not exhausted. Their minds and genitals were primed now for the night’s climactic activities.<br />Rasheed was panting too. He could hardly believe the women he had just watched for over two hours had once been shy, pure, Amish maidens and wives. Quiet, devout women with blouses buttoned to their necks and homespun dresses to their ankles. But the sure knowledge that they had, made his testicles bloat with greed.<br />He and the other black men pushed aside the tables at last and waded into the inviting throng of white females, selecting those who had most inflamed their lust. These they led back to their tents, to begin an all night orgy of raw, wicked fucking.<br />Many a future soldier of the prophet was conceived that sultry night in the fervid, semen drenched wombs of their captive, white mothers.<br /><br /> <br /><br /><br />Epilogue<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />It took Rasheed eight months to complete his study of the Seer’s commercial Empire. When it was done, he probably knew more about the grand operation than any other single person. He submitted the report and waited, hoping his Excellency would be pleased.<br />It was time to unwind and enjoy a few pleasures. He remembered the pretty and devoted white farmwife who had been taken from her husband and her people. So virtuous, so modest, so chaste; the thrill he had felt violating her still had the power to fire his lust. Now after all this time, he had an overwhelming urge to see her and know her fate.<br />He drove down to the village, to the shrine hut where Abadit directed the worship of the Caucs in her charge. The shrine goddess told him where the girl was to be found.<br />Still it took a few minutes to locate her and for a bit he feared she might be out carrying one of the corn sacks. But then he saw her, sitting in a group with four other women. He had planned to simply collect her and go back to his apartment, but now he decided he wanted to observe her for awhile in her adopted element. There was a hut adjacent to where the women were working and he went inside, where he could peer through the corn stalks and observe her without being seen.<br />What he saw stole his breath set his manhood stiff.<br />She was naked, except for the little woven flap of hair they all wore over their sexes. But for Betsey, this scant covering did her little good. She was greatly pregnant and on her knees grinding corn. Rasheed watched quietly for a moment, admiring the way her exposed breasts swayed and bounced with her movement, her nipples tracing little circles in the air.<br />Suddenly she turned in his direction and he saw her face. Her eyes were bright and her expressions as animated, as they had been that morning on her husband’s farm. But her skin was tanned now, instead of creamy white. He allowed his eyes to feast as she turned back to her work. They descended her unclothed back, over the delicious swell of her rear cheeks and down into the mystery of her ass crack. From the soles of her grimy bare feet to the nape of her lovely neck there was but the tiny thong that circled her hips. And there was not the slightest trace of modesty left in her bearing. <br />Rasheed was surprised at his own reaction to her. He had been to the village before and seen the women. He knew they were all kept in this state. Still, he had never seen her this way before.<br />Her degradation was so utterly beautiful, so sublimely complete, that it seemed to him a vision of prophecy. She was perfection; the once proud white female impoverished and defiled, distilled into this helpless, fuckable essence. He knew his empire’s cause was sacred, to render every white woman thus despoiled.<br />And before him Betsey worked, thinking for the millionth time about a man.<br />Her training had been an unspeakable ordeal. For a long time she fought it, or denied it. Having grown up an old order Amish girl steeped in religion and conservative doctrine she could not immediately capitulate.<br />There was pain and despair, indescribable humiliation. Yet the black man was always there, comforting, guiding. Give in, he had said. Don’t resist them. You will survive.<br />She had. Though her culture, her traditions, her family and identity had all been ripped from her, leaving only a desolate husk of body and spirit, she had survived.<br />As her self-respect withered and she succumbed to their conditioning, they turned her once chaste mind more rancid and foul with each man and every manhood that ravaged her cunt- she had survived!<br />Cunt! She thought, that was what she called it now. Cunt, fuck, whore, cock; the words echoed in her polluted mind. But she survived.<br />The man who had taken her that first day in Africa had said she would. Many times since that day she had been raped and violated. Many men had plundered her and had their fleshly way with her. But she had learned to trust his words, to give in and learn the ways of a slave whore. That man had always been with her.<br />Betsey had been surprised, then ashamed that as her travail unfolded she had thought of him, instead of her husband. But it was true. When she was afraid, she thought of him, when she slept, she dreamed of him- and when she was raped, she felt him deep inside her, all over again.<br />She didn’t even know the name of the man. But she knew he would come. That he would return to claim her she had no doubt, because he said he would- and because in reality he had never left her.<br />From the first there had been a presence quickening behind her navel, a token of possession that he had left to thrive in her womb. Betsey knew instinctively that his seed had taken. She carried his child. He had told her he would return when she had learned to be his slave and Betsey remembered the promise, every time the baby kicked.<br />She had filled her basket of corn flour and was walking to her hut when he overtook her from behind, starling her with his commanding voice. “Kneel, Cauc.”<br />She turned and fell to her knees, then gasped when she recognized him.<br />“Master? You came back for me… I knew you would.”<br />“You are a slave,” he said.<br />She understood his meaning and knew this was the moment of truth. Her fate hung in the balance. She had to tell him, make him understand that her heart had turned. She was ready, so very ready, to be his slave.<br />“You had a husband,” he said. “You said you were vowed to him.”<br />“Yes, master. I’m ready now. I want…”<br />“No,” he commanded sharply. “Speak in Zulu, not your gutter slave English. Tell me in Zulu what you want me to know.”<br />She frowned. They had taught her only a little of that tongue, only enough to perform the rites in the shrine. But she couldn’t lose him. Not now! She answered, striving with her very soul to make her surrender known- in her master’s holy language.<br />“Me-slave no want white husband. Me-slave belong black-mastas. Me-slave love black-masta. Me-slave take black-masta cock in me-slave cunt, much much. Black-masta juice make me-slave belly big. Me-slave like much much.”<br />“Black-masta no worry. Me-slave make good fuck black-masta much much.” She petted her round belly, “me-slave make good, fat baby for black-masta. Me-slave love black-masta cock. Me-slave love black-masta juice. Me-slave love black-masta baby. Me-slave want black-masta!”<br />Rasheed could see the frustration in the girl’s face. Her blue eyes clouded with tears, fearful that she would not be able to make him understand with her limited Zulu. She loved him!<br />Finally with a moan she clutched his knees tighter and cried, “Me-slave no want husband Joseph.” She spat on the ground to convey her disgust of him. “Me-slave want black-masta, much much!”<br />Finally he relented and said simply, ”you may serve me, little Betsey slave. You have learned your lessons well.”<br />She looked into his handsome Negroid face and burst into tears. Such was her relief and joy that she buried her head in his crotch, sobbing, “Me-slave love black-masta. Me-slave love black-masta!”<br />At length he stepped back and slapped her face, not cruelly, just hard enough to let her know he accepted her surrender. She smiled and kissed his hand, loving him for his blackness- loving him for his strength.<br />He spoke to Abadit, to let her know he was claiming one of the slaves. She was aware of his right and bowed with assent. Betsey was given directions to his new estate, three kilometers distant. Then he left her there, driving away in a cloud of dust.<br />Betsey felt her baby squirm in her swollen womb. She caressed her belly lovingly, then passed her hand further down under her tiny woven hair flap.<br />“I don’t even know his name,” whispered Betsey to herself, brazenly fingering her clit. But it was not her place to know her black god by any name but master- or even to ride in his car. It was up to Betsey to find her own way. She would walk in the dirt, as befitted a Cauc female, barefoot, bare-breasted and pregnant, to the house of her black-masta. <br /><br />endMy Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-46131744609409289252007-09-30T14:41:00.000-07:002007-09-30T14:42:48.333-07:00Black DomiationExpanded Edition<br /><br />Black Domination<br /><br /><br />By<br /><br />Gordon Kerr<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Prologue<br /><br /> World War III some survivors had called it. Certainly it was the greatest war in human history. A war in which hardy a shot was fired, but which cost the lives of countless millions. A war with little material destruction, and no territory conquered. A war without victory, yet it altered the global and racial balance of power more significantly than any event in the previous three thousand years.<br /> The Bio War, as it came to be called, was also by far the greatest killer. Hitherto, in their long, bloodthirsty history of conflict, men had primarily murdered each other with tools; inanimate weapons fashioned from rocks and sharpened sticks. Down through time technology had followed this logical progression all the way to hydrogen bombs and laser guided missiles. But still the ability to wreak death was limited. Missiles struck and bombs exploded, but even the most powerful of these munitions were, in the final analysis, simply tactical weapons. They dispatched a limited number of the enemy on application, then their energy was spent. But there were some among the war planners of great nations, who knew that this was not the only method of waging war. <br />The clever, hideous minds of scientists and academics remembered that the hand of man, after all, was not the most efficient slayer. An enemy far older and insidious than humanity itself claimed that distinction. Disease wielded might and terror undreamt of by the most ambitious warmonger. From the kingdom of virulent contagion, the nations of mankind had but a feeble defense. And the sovereign of that kingdom was the virus.<br />Viruses had destroyed billions, and had altered history before. The Americas had been largely depopulated of indigenous people not by the white man’s guns or even his malice, but by the diseases, he brought with him from Europe. In ancient times in both Europe and Asia, armies had catapulted diseased corpses over the walls of enemy cities in an effort to spread the pestilence to the besieged inhabitants. But the effectiveness was limited. Moreover the microscopic sword could be two edged if the wind changed.<br />It was, as usual, technology that provided the solution. In the very early years of the twenty-first century, the human genome was precisely mapped and cataloged. Using super computers and sophisticated techniques, scientists were able to discover, in minute detail, the blueprint to the human body. This knowledge could be used to treat, or even cure countless diseases. It could also be used for military purposes. <br />Researchers in China, the United States, and Europe learned quickly that the genetic codes of viruses could also be mapped- and manipulated. It was possible, even cheap and easy, to produce deadly strains that would attack only specific racial groups. Since, with few exceptions, the political balance of power on earth was vaguely divided between Asians and Caucasians, the possibilities of such weapons were clear.<br />Yet still, diplomats, leaders, and populations were blithely unconcerned. The implements of mass destruction; nuclear, chemical, and biological, had been present in the arsenals of great powers for decades, they reasoned. And those powers had found the wisdom not to use them. <br />The atomic threat had been dealt with, or at least contained. And while millions had marched and protested the build up of nuclear forces, biological weapons, deadlier still, drew little attention from anti-war groups. Surely, thought politicians and citizens on both the left and right, the world had many other worries more threatening than flu bugs. It was a complacency that would kill nearly all of them.<br />The new bio weapons were qualitatively different previous weapons of mass destruction. They were even less understood in terms of their real potentials than their nuclear or chemical cousins. Also increasing the likelihood of their use, was the political shield of plausible deniability. A biological attack could always be blamed on a naturally mutated virus. Leaders and despots could threaten and strike covertly, and express their innocence and desire for peace publicly.<br />Given these factors, and the economic and social pressures of a burgeoning global population, deployment of these weapons was tragically inevitable.<br />The crisis between China and the United States festered for some time, but the war itself came and went quickly, with speed that belied its horror. Nearly 400 million Caucasians, and over three times that many Asians, were dead and rotting in the streets of their cities, towns and villages. Entire regions were swept clean of their human inhabitants in scant days. <br />The white populations of the United States, Canada, and Western Europe were devastated, as were the people of Central and South America. Nine out of ten white Australians died, and in Japan, Indonesia, Malaya and the Philippines, the death rate approached 98 percent. China, India, and their client states virtually ceased to exist. And it all took just over a month.<br />Governments throughout Eurasia and the Americas collapsed, and in the ensuing chaos many more people starved or died of secondary diseases. Organization broke down and institutions centuries old became extinct along with the populations that fostered them. But the viruses were short-lived, and mutated into less virulent forms just before some populations were wiped out completely. And in one place on earth, humans survived relatively unscathed.<br />Africa’s status as an international backwater spared its populations, and in the sub Sahara, people of all races escaped the greatest effects of the war.<br /><br /> Ironically it was the African Whites who were first to take advantage of earth’s new global power vacuum. More organized and better educated, they quickly moved to supplant native black governments and impose a system of white rule and white social culture. White coups seized power in South Africa, Zimbabwe, and half a dozen other former colonial nations. Many other smaller black nations were annexed to white owned territories. Surprisingly much of the African population were relieved at the return to power of the white man, who belatedly were seen as relatively corruption free. African regimes by comparison had often been run by despots and tyrants who had ruled post colonial Africa.<br /> For a brief time, all went well for the whites. They attempted to strengthen their ascendancy and keep the blacks, who heavily outnumbered them, off balance and under control. At the same time, they tried to pacify the black populations by restoring fundamental services, such as free education and health care that had disappeared under indigenous rule. These changes reassured the black population that the “good times” were returning.<br />At least that was the way the white propaganda had put it.<br />In fact thing were getting better. But the whites at the same time began to rebuild the institutions and structure of apartheid and white supremacy, knowing that their political and economic survival depended on those structures.<br />The white’s hold on power however, was tenuous. They needed time to truly consolidate power, and history was loath to give it. Africa was ripe for revolution, a powder keg waiting to explode. It was Mohammed Hakeem who supplied the spark. <br /> Hakeem was the charismatic leader of a powerful rebel faction in South Africa. The child of a Zulu father, and a Bantu mother, he was hailed by tribes and nations on opposite ends of the continent as a hero, destined to lead the black peoples on to a glorious new era. When his armies won a few key victories, oppressed blacks, mostly from the core of political fanatics, rallied to his flag in the millions. They had been deprived of power and the chance for wealth by the return of white rule, and they were not about to miss a chance to get it back; to bring back the “good old days” of black rule. They gradually began the conquest of Africa.<br />A long war ensued, with many bloody battles. Both sides won victories, and suffered defeats, but the whites were vastly outnumbered and gradually beaten back. Region after region fell to Hakeem’s forces and many whites fled. But as white territory dwindled and their enclaves were taken, more and more whites fell into the hands of Hakeem’s soldiers. The first to be captured were exterminated, but as his position became more secure and total victory ever more certain, Hakeem and his followers began to see the whites not as dangerous enemies, but as potential source of wealth and labor. The institution of slavery was re-born.<br />Hakeem also dealt successfully with many black rivals; warlords of autonomous tribes and Islamic fundamentalists. But as his empire expanded outward, so did his power expand inward into African society and black African minds.<br />Hakeem the general became Hakeem the prophet. He blended Islam and local black shaman faiths with a personality cult revolving around himself, to form a new religion. His hatred of whites and his fanatical belief in the racial superiority of the black African were codified onto the laws of his new empire, and the scripture of his new faith. Education and science reflected his views of racial purity and hierarchy. The pure black strain was the zenith of humanity, the pure white, it’s nadir.<br />Millions of black Africans saw him now as more than a man. He was Hakeem; Allah’s chosen instrument. Spiritual and temporal Messiah in one. And in one short decade, his mind, his beliefs, and his will, became Africa’s.<br /><br /><br />As the story of Black Domination opens, it is ten years since Hakeem began the glorious African revolution. The last of the white strong holds are falling and the war on the African continent is ending.<br />Hakeem has remade society to his own liking. Slavery of the conquered whites is widespread, and a legal and lively slave trade flourishes.<br />A unified Africa is filling the global power vacuum and is taking off economically. The black masses are reaching levels of wealth and standards of living unheard of even a decade before. A new Afro-centric world culture has flowered, and black art, black music, and black literature are totally dominant. Young blacks are pursuing business and educational opportunities. Millions are now enjoying the comforts and appointments of a modern society, and Hakeem is universally credited as the fountainhead of these accomplishments.<br />The economic boom however, has created a severe labor shortage, particularly in agriculture. Whites, who have lost all rights and freedoms in this society, are systematically enslaved, but the demand for menial laborers remains tight. New arable land is being carved out of the jungles and savannas and is being cultivated, but there is not enough mechanized farm equipment. This shortage is further fueling the demand for white slaves, needed in ever-increasing numbers to work the fields and rice paddies. As most blacks move into the middle and upper middle class, and some into a new aristocracy, they consider menial labor beneath them and the labor shortage grows ever worse.<br />The last white enclaves and large population centers in Africa however, have been at last been taken, and the supply of new slaves is limited. In the future, the system of black plantation economy and government will depend on two methods of labor supply; the development of procurement organizations to capture new slaves from the remnant white populations of Europe and America- and slave breeding.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 1<br /> <br />An insistent pounding awakened Andrea early that fateful morning at her front door. She had been staying at her father’s villa while her husband was away at the front. Her sister Cecelia was still apparently asleep as she passed the girl’s bedroom, so the older girl donned a robe and answered door, wondering who it could possibly be at such an hour.<br /> To her shock and amazement, it was her husband, standing in a soiled uniform, blood streaming from a gash in his head.<br /> “Jeff! My God, what’s happened?”<br /> “The army has collapsed,” he said. “We’re falling back into the city.”<br /> “Come in… here, let me help you,” said Andrea, aghast at seeing the blood.<br /> “No. It’s all right,” he said. “It’s just a scratch.” He came into the house and she led him to the kitchen, seizing some alcohol and some gauze from one of the drawers.<br /> “Where’s Cecelia?” he asked.<br /> “Sleeping.”<br /> “Better get her up. We need to prepare.”<br /> “Prepare for what?”<br /> “Andrea, I’m sorry, your father has been killed. We fought hard but their numbers overwhelmed us. Colonel Smithson is in command now and he is negotiating surrender. This enclave will be under the control of the blacks by noon.”<br /> “Oh my God,” said Cecelia. She had arisen to see what the commotion was and had just stepped into the room. “You mean the Negroes are here? Now?”<br /> “Yes, I’m afraid so,” said Jeff. “I don’t know what they’re going to do, but you ladies had best get dressed and get some things together, in case they come to collect us.”<br /> “Collect us?” asked Cecelia, her breath catching in her throat.<br /> “Yes,” he said. “I’m sure they will register the population when they occupy the city.”<br /> “When is father coming back?” she fretted. “He’ll know what to do.”<br /> “Cecelia,” said Andrea softly. “Father is dead.”<br /> The younger girl’s eyes widened in horror and disbelief. For a second, Andrea was afraid that she would faint. But she was able to sit down.<br /> “No,” she said. “Oh noooo.”<br /> “I’m sorry we couldn’t break the news to you under better conditions,” said Jeff.<br /> Cecelia looked up at them, crying now. “What’s going to happen to us now?”<br /><br />News of the impending surrender spread through the enclave like wild fire and was greeted with an ironic mixture of despair and relief. This was one of the last areas of white control in Africa. But after nearly ten years of war the whites desperately wanted the conflict to end. Now that it was at hand, however, the expectation of peace, after surrender to the blacks brought an uncertainty that fostered fear.<br /> While they were at war, the objectives were well defined and the cause they fought for was clear, resisting a hated enemy. Now that the war had ended in defeat, they would be at the mercy of that enemy. No one really knew what sort of treatment they could expect at the hands of their conquerors.<br /> The three young people waited anxiously all morning for news and official information. The morning paper had not come. They watched the television and listened to the radio, but aside from reporting the news of the surrender, those channels had little additional information.<br /> Jeff phoned around to friends and exchanged bits of information, but no one seemed to know any more than they did. Shortly after 1 PM, the broadcasters went off the air one by one in quick succession, and they were left guessing as to what to do. The best course of action seemed to be to sit tight and be patient. <br /> Both women engaged in nervous conversation, while Jeff tried to make contact with someone on the military short-wave frequencies.<br /> “Father said the stories of black atrocities are merely war propaganda,” said Cecelia. “And Mr. Pratt, at the school, says at worst we will have to move to Europe.”<br /> “Surely those stories can’t be true,” said Andrea, as her husband returned to the room. His effort to glean something useful from the radio had been in vain.<br /> “I’m sure their people are told the same stories about us,” continued Andrea. “Now that the war is over, the black government will want to rebuild. They will need our help, so I’m sure we will be treated well.”<br />Jeff nodded, but Andrea could tell by his eyes that he was unsure himself just what to believe of the horror stories. There was no longer a white government anywhere in Africa. Indeed white rule was being encircled and threatened even in the remotest corners of the globe. There was absolutely nothing to stop the blacks from doing whatever they wanted with their captives.<br />He looked at his wife and sister-in-law. Andrea with her light brown hair and hazel eyes, Cecelia honey blond and gray eyed. Both women had gloriously lithe figures and flawless white skin. General Taney’s daughters were so lovely, and so charmingly sheltered. It was his instinct and duty to protect them- but how?<br /> Suddenly they heard shouts outside and felt a rumbling in the floor. Jeff went outside to see down the street and returned seconds later.<br /> “There are two tanks, one at each end of the street,” he said. “They have antipersonnel machine guns mounted on them.”<br /> “But what are they going to do?” asked Andrea.<br /> “I don’t know,” said Jeff, his voice quiet and calm, so as not to alarm the younger girl. They made their way to the window, where they could see one of the street corners. A convoy of military trucks was winding slowing toward them.<br />“Looks like they’re making the rounds in trucks now, loading up civilians. That much I heard on the radio before the last channel went off the air.”<br /> Andrea looked at her young husband. She was so thankful he was here with them. Without his quiet strength and resolve she knew she would be deathly afraid, especially since the news of her father’s death a few hours before. She clung tightly to him, putting her cheek against his solid, warm chest. She realized how much she needed a strong, comforting male figure, now that her father was gone.<br /> Cecelia entered the room. The younger girl was also very frightened.<br /> “The phones are dead,” she cried, on the edge of hysteria. “I was talking with my friend, Gina. She said that the blacks came pouring into the city with trucks as soon as it was noon. Our soldiers are being arrested as they surrender. She told me that all the men are to be taken and held and they’re rounding up the women as well. Then the line went dead!”<br /> “It’s probably nothing to worry about,” said Jeff, trying to calm the girl. “When one army takes an area they always inter the soldiers. I’m sure everyone will be released after they report and are disarmed.” <br /> The two women moved to the window and peeked behind a curtain. Large military trucks were moving slowly down their street now, and soldiers were from going house to house. They were removing whole families from each house at gunpoint, and lining them up in the street. It looked as though they were separating the men, women, and children.<br /> “Perhaps we should flee,” said Cecelia. Andrea could see the panic on her sister’s face.<br /> “No,” said Jeff. “The enclave is completely surrounded. There’s no place to go. We’d surly be caught and then it could really be bad.”<br /> “But where are they taking those people?” asked Andrea. “Where will they take us?”<br /> “Probably just to register us as enemy citizens. Relax, ladies, you don’t see them shooting anyone, do you?” He tried to sound as calm and confident as possible, but he was more than a little disconcerted himself at the current turn of events.<br /> Andrea looked back outside. As Jeff had observed, there were no shootings and no gunfire. But that was far from completely reassuring.<br />She could tell that the men, women, and children were indeed being segregated and loaded onto the trucks. Soon the soldiers would be at the Taney house. In fact, she could see men walking up the driveway now.<br /> She looked at her husband’s face again, seeing him through teary eyes as he tried to smile reassuringly.<br /> “Can’t we do something?” she asked. “Hide until they leave?”<br /> Jeff shook his head. “Don’t resist or try to hide. Just answer their questions and follow their orders. Maybe it will be all right.” A trained fighter, he hated the impotence of his words and worried that the women could hear the fear in his voice. But he could think of no solution save capitulation. He could not believe his wife and sister in law would be harmed. Surely even Hakeem’s savage men would respect women of such noble bearing and virtue.<br /> There was a sharp pounding on the door and Jeff reached to open it, then stepped back to embrace his terrified wife. <br /> At the entryway stood a black sergeant and two black soldiers carrying automatic weapons.<br /> “Everyone out of the house, now!” shouted the sergeant. The two young soldiers rushed past them to search the home.<br />“Line up at the street,” bellowed the sergeant. “Anyone hide, we shoot. You first,” he added, pointing at Jeff. “You soldier?”<br />“Yes, Major Jeffery Forester.”<br />“Take him out,” he ordered to the two young black soldiers, who stepped forward and trained their guns on Jeff.<br />Andrea quailed as even more men entered the house. She was crying, clinging tight to her husband. She looked fearfully into his face and he gave her one last kiss. Then she felt the steel grip of the soldier’s hand on her arm, pulling her roughly from his arms, tearing her away from his comforting grasp.<br />“Oh Jeff,” cried Andrea. “Don’t leave us!”<br /> “Apparently I have no choice,” he replied grimly. “Don’t worry, I think they are just going to register us as prisoners of war and let us go. The war is essentially over now.”<br /> “But why are they separating the men from the women?” asked Cecelia, on the edge of panic.<br /> “Probably just routine,” he said, smiling bravely. “Look, you two, don’t worry. I’ll bet we’re back here in a couple of hours.”<br /> “Oh Jeff, I love you!” cried Andrea.<br /> “Go. Now!” ordered the sergeant. One of the soldiers struck Jeff brutally in the head with his rifle butt.<br />Andrea cried out in anguish as he fell. Two soldiers picked him up and dragged him, half-conscious out of the house. When he was gone, the sergeant turned to the women.<br /> “You have jewelry, gold?” Demanded the sergeant.<br /> “A… a little,” said Andrea, shaken. “Upstairs.”<br /> “You show me,” he said.<br /> The two women led the black sergeant up to the bedrooms. Soldiers were already ransacking the upper floors, stuffing whatever small objects of value they could find into their fatigues. The sergeant barked something at them in Bantu and they reluctantly left.<br /> Andrea knew their home was being looted, but she was too frightened to protest. As she looked out the second story window she could see her husband laying in the back of a large truck crammed with men. A soldier waved to the driver and the truck left with Jeff.<br /> Inside, the sergeant rifled through drawers and closets, finding a few items worth taking. Then he turned to the women and summarily ordered them to disrobe.<br /> Both Andrea and Cecelia held their breath, thinking they hadn’t heard him correctly. He repeated the order sharply, and Cecelia turned to her sister, eyes wide with terror.<br /> Andrea was sure that the younger girl was so innocent that she had no real mental concept of sex in such a context. She was reacting with instinctive fear to the idea of exposing her body to a fierce man of color. She did not understand, as her older sister did, that such a demand under the circumstances was certainly a prelude to rape!<br /> “Take off white woman’s clothes!” he shouted impatiently. Then he seized Cecelia by the collar and yanked her blouse down from the back. Buttons scattered everywhere, but the girl panicked and bolted to her sister, clinging to her and crying hysterically. <br /> The sergeant grinned with lust and moved to grab her again.<br /> “Don’t touch her, please,” pleaded Andrea. “She’s only sixteen. She’s a virgin!”<br /> The sergeant laughed under his breath, but stopped for a moment as if thinking. He took Andrea by the arm and led her into the hall where the shuddering Cecelia could not hear them.<br /> “You wife of officer?” he asked.<br /> “Yes.”<br /> “Who other girl?”<br /> “My… my sister.”<br /> The sergeant’s eyes sparkled, but he appeared undecided. Then he smiled.<br /> “We make deal,” he said. “You fuck me good, I let other girl go. Good to take virgin, but even better to fuck pretty, young wife of Cauc officer!”<br /> Andrea’s blood ran cold. She could not believe the “deal” this man was suggesting. She wanted to fly out of the house and run to Jeff. Her instinct told her to flee, hide until her husband returned to protect her! But she could see a hardness in this man’s face. She knew if she did not do something he was going to rape them both within the next few moments, starting with the delicate, fair skinned Cecelia.<br />It was a horrible dilemma, but the young wife’s love for her sister won. She decided to make the bargain to get her sister out of the house. Then she hoped she could reason with the sergeant and dissuade him, or stall him until Jeff returned from being registered.<br /> “Let… Let my sister go first.”<br /> The man frowned, but shouted downstairs to the soldiers who were pilfering on the first floor now. The men came in and took the trembling younger sister from the bedroom, escorting her out to where a group of white women were being held in the street. Andrea could see from the window.<br /> “There,” said the sergeant. “Virgin girl gone. Now wife of officer fuck me good in husband’s bed. Take off clothes now.”<br /> “There’s still some valuables in the house,” she said helplessly.<br /> His eyes narrowed. “What, where?”<br /> She led him though the upper floors, but all the small objects of significant value were already gone. It was obvious she was stalling.<br /> “We fuck now,” he said seizing her by the hair and pulling her roughly back to the bedroom. He tossed her sprawling onto the large, canopied bed, yelling sharply, “Get clothes off!”<br /> Andrea’s head was spinning with shock and horror. She sat on the bed weeping, but made no effort to disrobe.<br /> “Please…” she gasped. “I… I’ve never betrayed my husband!”<br /> The sergeant calmly went to the closet and selected one of her husband’s thin, black dress belts from a hanger. He smiled cruelly.<br />“Take off clothes now. I beat you ‘til they come off!”<br />Andrea could scarcely believe that a man would do that to her. Her sheltered upbringing would not let her immediately come to grips with the realization that he actually meant to rape her, and thrash her if she resisted. She swallowed hard but continued to plead.<br />“Please… Just take what you want and… please, I can’t…”<br />The sergeant walked behind her, waving the belt slowly, then without further ado he brought the leather down on her back with savage force.<br />“Aaaiiiieee,” Andrea screamed. She had never been whipped in her life and the sting of the leather striking her flesh was psychological as well as physical. Another blow fell almost immediately, then a third. The white girl’s shock and disbelief were so great that for a few seconds she was frozen, paralyzed with the pain and knowledge that the big Negro sergeant was actually whipping her!<br />The belt continued to come down on her defenseless back and she made a desperate, instinctive attempt to get up, escape. His hand was on her soft white neck in an instant, squeezing and forcing her to her knees. She was crying out continuously now, fear and pain and outrage causing her to shout with a whimpering urgency.<br />“Please, aiiieeee… please stop. Aiiiieeee… please… I’ll do what you want! Aaaiii eeeaaaahhh.”<br />He stopped. She remained on the floor, sobbing, but immediately began stripping, pulling off her shoes and stockings as she cried from the humiliation and her still stinging backside.<br />“Hurry,” he yelled. “Take all clothes off or I whip harder.”<br />Literally and figuratively beaten, Andrea hung her head and continued undressing. He struck her twice more with the belt to emphasize the need for haste and seconds later she stood, shaking with fear, naked in front of him.<br />He quickly pulled off his pants, boots and shirt, then pointed to the bed. “Lay down on back. Spread legs.”<br />Andrea whimpered and obeyed, wincing as her chastised back made contact with the bedspread. A second later, he delivered a blow again between her naked breasts.<br />“Spread legs wide! Open white cunt up!”<br />Andrea squealed when he made another motion with the belt and spread her legs as wide as they would go.<br />She stared up at his robust barrel chest and powerful brown hips, but had to look away from his gloating face. The moment seemed to stretch into an eternity, his black strength and potency regarding her delicate whiteness, her fragility. Then he fell on her splayed form, mounting her without preamble, guiding his stiff member to her slit. He smiled broadly when he found, to Andrea’s utter mortification, that she was already wet.<br />“Cauc wifey like big, black sergeant,” he said, sliding into her in two or three strokes. He began a rhythm immediately, rutting lewdly onto her as she bit her lip and closed her eyes tight. Andrea was struggling to keep control, but he purposely ground himself against her clitoris on every downstroke, sending waves of unwanted pleasure straight to her brain. Now, to the appalling reality of rape was added the even more emotionally devastating knowledge that her body was deriving pleasure from it. She turned her face from him, utterly ashamed of the servile, traitorous need that was simmering in her guts.<br />He was really fucking her now, plying her with long strokes that pushed the head of his penis all the way to her cervix. It was beginning to take Andrea’s utmost concentration to keep from responding to him.<br />Suddenly her chest erupted in pain as he brought the belt down with sadistic force. She screamed but he lashed her with the whip again, striping her other breast. <br />“White wife fuck back good, pump hips and wiggle. Not lay like dead fish.”<br />Andrea groaned but complied, thrusting back at him in the most salacious way. Her deep vaginal nerves exploded with pleasure. There was nothing else she could do. She began to hump and gyrate like the most wanton whore. It was now a race to save the last scrap of her honor. She had to end this act before he made her cum. Then she could tell herself she had hated it all along.<br />“Don’t close eyes,” he said. “Look at me. Smile,” she obeyed, tightly smiling and looking at him with glazed eyes.<br />He lay his belly flat against hers, pushing his barrel-like upper body down until he could feel her nipples bounce with his thrusts, dragging the tips through the hair on his chest.<br />“My name N’guna,” he hissed into her ear. “Say ‘I love you, N’guna. Fuck me good, N’guna’.”<br />She merely groaned, but he knocked her hard in the ribs with his fists.<br />“I… I love you, N’guna,” she gasped, the demeaning words spilling from her lips. “Please f… f… fuck me.”<br />“Get arms and legs around me. Fuck back now!” he demanded.<br />Andrea finally gave in; completely encircling him urgently with her limbs and rutting back with abandon. She tried to tell herself it was just to get it over with, but deep inside she knew. She was enjoying it. She was cheating on Jeff.<br />“Say I better than your husband. Say ‘cum in me, N’guna. Cum in me on husband’s bed.’”<br />The words gushed from the defeated girl without volition. Even as she said it she was horribly confronted by the truth. He was better than Jeff. He was much larger and her beloved husband had never given her feelings like this! Dear gods did she really want him to cum in her?<br />“Yes… yes,” she whispered with genuine passion as he rode her. He was pounding her now, building to his climax, dragging her unwillingly to her own.<br />She told herself she didn’t mean what she was about to say. He was forcing her and she just wanted the act to be over. Yet he was now pushing her over the edge of a precipice and as the words tore from her she knew deep inside that she meant every word.<br />“Oh yessss. Fill me. You are better than my husband, N’guna. Cum in me on my husband’s bed. Fill meeee!” she cried. He gave her one last, long stroke, pinning his raping rod up to her very heart. Her legs tightened around his back and she pressed her bare heels into his buttocks. Then the room began spinning as she rocketed into orgasm, and she reveled in every word and movement that might excite her ravisher.<br />“Yesss… yesss… fuck me N’guna!” As her orgasm swirled inside her like a vortex, she turned her head. She happened to look right at the wedding picture she kept on the night stand, fixing her eyes on it just as the black sergeant began to cum, bellowing out his lust.<br />“Whiiiite Cuuuunnnt… cumming in it!”<br />Andrea gazed dispassionately at the picture, helpless under his weight as she felt each spurt of his semen splash deep inside her. She felt an unfathomable sense of shame, as she looked at the image of herself in her white wedding dress, the virgin bride of a proud husband. How could she ever look at that picture again and not think of this act, not feel like a whore. For that was exactly what she was. She had purchased the chastity of her innocent, virgin sister with her body and that could never be undone.<br />Finally he was sated and his weight lay twitching upon her like an obscene burden. <br />He got dressed quickly and so did Andrea, dreading to look at his face. She could not bear to look any human being in the eye at that moment, even her rapist.<br />The sergeant went to the nightstand and picked up the wedding photo. He chuckled, then broke the frame and glass on the bedpost. He took the photo and tore it in half, separating Andrea’s image from her husband’s, and placed the remnant in his pocket.<br />She had her clothes back on now and he grasped her hair and pulled her face to his. He kissed her passionately and then said. “I keep bargain. No one touch virgin sister. Go now. Out to street.” <br />There was no time to freshen up before he seized her hair and led her, his jism leaking lubricously into her panties, down to the first floor. <br />A soldier walked Andrea out to the street to join the other women, her face red with shame as much for the reaction of her own body as for the rape itself. A strange man, an enemy had just raped her in her own bedroom. And she had enjoyed it! <br /> “And… Andrea… are you all right?” asked Cecelia. She didn’t know why her sister had been gone so long and was startled by her disheveled condition. “They didn’t hur… hurt you did they?”<br /> Andrea shook her head but could not meet her younger sister’s concerned gaze. How could she relate what had just happened to her untried sibling. She felt oddly dirty in the chaste girl’s presence and didn’t wish to reveal the nature of the sacrifice she had made to preserve her sister’s virtue. It was enough that the sixteen year old remained safe, her virginity intact.<br /> “I… I’m fine,” said Andrea, trying to steady her voice. “I’m just a little scared that’s all.”<br /> A large military truck pulled up in front of them. “Get in,” shouted one of the soldiers. “Hurry, get in women’s trucks. You go to register then you be released. Hurry now.”<br /> Dozens of women struggled to climb aboard the vehicle, the high step to the truck bed taking its toll on their dignity. The soldiers grabbed some women and threw them onboard, barking at others to climb faster. Cecelia cringed at the grasp of a black men. She had been raised by a conservative father and brought up in the culture of the American south. She disliked intensely having the black soldiers handle her. But though she whined and tried to push his hands away the man did not release his grasp. Once on the truck they found places to sit, then listened and watched what was happening to their neighborhood.<br /> All around them, the normally placid street was in an uproar. Andrea could see the panicked commotion in houses of their neighbors and friends. The spacious, neat, modern homes and their manicured lawns told of affluence and order, but the setting contrasted with the sight and sounds of physical violence, coming from those houses whose occupants had not co-operated. Desperate male voices of protest were met by the sickening thwack of rifle butts hitting flesh. Pandemonium now reigned, building like some demented symphony of pillage, to the screams of women, the harsh guttural laughter of gleeful African soldiers, and then shots- the killing of guard dogs. A jeep was cruising up and down the street, an officer yelling into a bullhorn for everyone to leave their houses and report to the trucks.<br /> Down the entire length of the street they could see the chaos as families were sundered, children packed into one truck, women into the next and men into a third. Everywhere the air was rent with shouts and curses.<br /> Some of the residents still refused to capitulate, but the black soldiers seemed pleased at the opportunity for sport that such resistance offered. One white man was beaten bloody by three soldiers on the street in front of his house. He was unconscious or dead when wife, half-naked and bruised, was dragged from their home and thrown onto a vehicle.<br />A few children tried to run but were easily caught. Some mothers clung to their crying sons or daughters and had to be pried away. All the children were tossed onto a separate truck and chained together by the neck.<br />Elsewhere, many of the whites were passive. Couples exchanged tearful good-byes, then climbed onto trucks, unsure when they would see each other again. Perhaps in a few hours, they hoped. Perhaps…<br /> Andrea could also see other women, walking from houses sullenly, hair and clothing disordered and dull looks in their eyes. Apparently she was not the only woman who had been raped.<br />After the truck Andrea and Cecelia were on was full with about forty white women, two soldiers got into the cab and drove the vehicle out. Three more armed men in a jeep followed them. On the main highway they joined a convoy of many more trucks, just like the one she was on. All of them were packed with prisoners and all were headed in the same direction, out of town.<br />They stopped at several checkpoints and the women looked around for any clue as to where they were being taken. Once, one of the more assertive women climbed down from the truck and started to walk to one of the guards, intending to inquire about their destination and complain about the rough treatment. She had scarcely set foot on the ground when the guard fired his rifle three times into the air. She hurriedly scrambled back onto the truck.<br />They continued to travel further behind black African lines, finally arriving, two hours later, at what looked like a detention camp.<br />The black government had appropriated a recently captured industrial area with cavernous warehouse buildings, adjacent to a convenient railhead. There was a large open area in front of each building, intended as a parking lot. Now however, the lots were filled with people who had arrived on the trucks, thousands it looked like. The buildings and lots were surrounded by barbed wire fences, search light stands, and watch towers.<br />Andrea could see several other trucks delivering their human cargo into the holding area. Many were already empty and were apparently headed back for more, while several fully loaded vehicles were still waiting outside. It looked as if every white inhabitant of the enclave were being brought here to be registered.<br />Andrea and Cecelia’s truck pulled up to one of the kiosks and the guard and driver exchanged some paperwork. After waiting several minutes, the truck backed up into one of the open areas. The soldiers got out and lowered the tailgate.<br />“Get out!” yelled a man over a loudspeaker. The white women came climbing and tumbling out of the truck. When Andrea and Cecelia were out, they could see several men, all black soldiers, yelling instructions to the white people as they exited the vehicles. A few of the soldiers had automatic weapons. Dozens of other blacks were brandishing meter-long metallic cylinders and pointing them at the white women.<br />“Follow me. Leave all your bags!” yelled one of the black guards.<br />Several of the women were reluctant to leave their purses and bags, but the men were insistent. “Leave all bags. You pick them up later. Into building. Now move!”<br />The bags were left in a pile. The women were pushed, actually herded, into the building, through a large steel door. Once they were all inside, Andrea could see that the interior of the huge warehouse had been partitioned. She could hear shouts and cries from other small groups of women beyond the partitions, but not see them.<br />They themselves were in a compartment about sixty feet square. Two large metal bins lay on the concrete floor near the center of the room. A smaller plastic box sat beside them. About two dozen strong looking, uniformed black woman formed a semicircle around the whites. Some were carrying the metallic cylinders, others brandished leather whips. Andrea heard the steel door clang shut behind them, and instantly, a black woman sergeant yelled, “STRIP!”<br />All the white women jumped, startled. A second later the woman repeated the command, and punctuated it with a crack of her whip.<br />“STRIP!” screamed the woman. “Put your shoes in the first bin, the rest of your clothing in the second bin. Place all of your rings and jewelry in the small box.”<br />Many of the bewildered white women were slow to respond, outraged that they were being told to denude themselves in such a semi-public area. The black female guards, however, showed little inclination to tolerate this reluctance. They immediately began to touch the ends of their strange rods to the white girls’ backs and buttocks, actions which brought sudden wild eyed screams and wails of pain as the women jumped away.<br />“DO NOT WASTE TIME! STRIP! EVERYTHING! MOVE OR YOU FEEL WHIP!” yelled the woman in charge.<br />None of the whites argued or delayed further. All of them quickly removed their shoes, clothes and jewelry, dumped them into the appropriate bin. Very reluctantly, Andrea dropped her wedding ring into the plastic box. The women moved with haste now, but several of the slower ones were given a taste of the metal rods. The crackling spark when the tip met flesh was followed by shrieks of pain and terrified outrage.<br />In short order, all the white females were naked, most of them sobbing and clinging to each other in fear.<br />The black woman in charge held up one of the cylinders. “This correction rod. Some of you already feel. You all obey, or feel sting. You come now, move quickly.”<br />The naked women were quickly herded forward, holding their hands and arms over their breasts and genitals. As they ran barefoot over the cold concrete floor, Andrea and Cecelia could hear the shrieks of pain from the women in the back of the group as the guards stung them with the rods. The women behind were pushing the ones in front of them, desperately trying to avoid the bite of the cylinders.<br />Another door opened in front of them and the panicked group of women was pushed into another large room.<br />“Form lines!” screamed the sergeant. Quickly the whites lined up in front of an odd assortment of six tables, each of which was accompanied with three or four people in white medical coats. There was a computer terminal on a small stand, and other equipment near each table. All the tables had a bar suspended about three feet above the table top. Padded manacles hung from chains at either end of the bar. It was a curious arrangement, but any mystery to the tables was to be quickly dispelled.<br />The first six women were told to mount the tables and lie on their backs. The command was enforced by liberal use of the whips and correction rods. The two Taney girls watched in horror as the women’s legs were spread and placed into what they could now tell were stirrups, then the manacles were locked around their ankles and their feet suspended. It was very similar to some kind of gynecological examination. <br />There was absolutely no privacy. The tables were in the main part of the room with no partitions or panels. There was a doctor and a couple of nurses at each bench.<br />The waiting women watched in mixed disgust and fascination, as the first six of their number were put through several tests. The process took several minutes and, judging from the faces and reactions of the women on the tables, was not all together pleasant. One by one, the examinations were completed, and the women were directed to another room, out of sight.<br />Then it was Andrea’s turn. The shy, conservative girl could not however, despite her trepidation, bring herself to mount the table and lie in such an exposed fashion. She hesitated and an instant later screamed as one of the guards shocked her with a rod. The pain was indescribable, like being stung by a scorpion. It only lasted a second but it was sufficient to induce her to scramble quickly onto the table and assume the position, her modesty forgotten. Her legs were brought up and out, her ankles were placed in stirrups and her feet were raised. She was told to open her mouth, whereupon her teeth were examined and the inside of her cheek scraped with a plastic probe.<br />One of the nurses asked her a series of questions; her name, her age, was she a virgin, was she married, was she pregnant, did she have any diseases, had she borne any children, if so, how many. Even more questions ensued. When she became reluctant to share such personal information, the doctor brought out what looked like a small version of the correction rod, and nestled it into her navel. It emitted another sting, which caused Andrea to gasp and jerk her hips convulsively.<br />The doctor held up the little rod to her face, saying calmly, “cooperate and you won’t be hurt. Resist and you’ll get this. Understand?” Andrea hurriedly nodded.<br />“And don’t lie,” he added. “Or you’ll be very sorry later.”<br />The nurse resumed her questioning as if nothing had happened, and Andrea answered truthfully. The black woman busily entered the information into the computer as she spoke. It took only a few moments, but to Andrea, lying naked with her legs apart in a room full of people, it seemed like hours.<br />The two other nurses took three syringes from a pile near the table and gave Andrea three shots. The doctor told her these were inoculations, but she immediately began to feel more relaxed and care-free. She thought it must be a mild sedative, but the drug made it difficult to concentrate and her fogged mind decided that it wasn’t important anyway. It was a rather nice feeling, actually. The fear and apprehension seemed to fade, leaving her still conscious, but listless and drowsy as if drifting into a nap on a warm summer’s day.<br />The doctor placed a long, tube-like instrument at the lips of her vagina and carefully slid it into her. Andrea gasped at a sudden feeling of being filled, but she smiled and giggled a little. The drug had driven out all fear and will to resist.<br />The doctor checked the computer monitor, which held a picture of the interior of Andrea’s vagina, transmitted from the cameras inside the tube. After several seconds, he satisfied himself that she was healthy and withdrew the tube.<br />“Classify A5,” he announced and entered the same into the database. Andrea was then released from the table. The drug made her feel happy and docile, and she padded over to the next station as told. Her sister took the table immediately after her and was subjected to the same examination.<br />At the next station, she allowed them to bend her face down over another padded table without protest. Then a small incision was made in the check of her left buttock. She started at the momentary sting, but the pain was minor and in her drugged state she immediately returned to being happy and unconcerned.<br />A tiny silicone chip no bigger than a grain of rice was inserted into the muscle tissue. The cut was so small that it barely bled and did not even need stitches. A topical antiseptic was wiped over the wound.<br />Then one man moved in and held her head still, pinning her neck to the table. The other brought a tattoo gun to her neck and proceeded to apply a number behind and below her ear. She did not try to fight them. They were not gentle but nor did they hurt her and even the pain of the tattoo gun was not severe. Finally, the tattooed area was also swabbed with antiseptic and she was released.<br />Drugged and happy, she was led down a corridor and over to a gate in a large cage, holding about 100 other women, most of them asleep. Andrea was pushed in and the gate clanged shut behind her. She found an open spot on the floor, then curled up, naked on the foam mat, sighing contentedly. Several minutes later, Cecelia was also put in the cage. The girls hugged each other and giggled brightly, then lay down side by side and slept.<br /><br />When Andrea came to, she was in a different holding cell. She did not know how long she had been out, but Cecelia was nowhere to be found. She looked around and tried to rise, but her head was still slightly fogged with the tranquilizer. She lay back for a few minutes, but was finally able to rise and walk about the cell. All of the women in this cage appeared to be about the same age as herself, early twenties. No longer drugged, she felt her fear return with a vengeance.<br />Like the last holding area, this one was also large, but instead of bars and chain link walls, it was more like a concrete pit with a small door at one end, and a large steel door at the other. Above them, armed guards on catwalks slowly paced back and forth. There were two portable toilets, but they were open, so that anyone using them could be seen by all.<br />Andrea continued to explore the room. There appeared to be about 100 women held here also and she made a thorough check for Cecelia. Once she had satisfied herself that her sister was not present, she tried to talk to a few of the women. Unfortunately, most appeared to be in a state of shock and were in poor condition to converse with. Her stomach was growling and she realized she had not eaten since she had arrived at the camp, or detention facility, or whatever it was. She realized also that she didn’t know how long she’d been here. Was it hours, or days? <br />Andrea was just settling back down on the mat when the small door opened and two guards entered with a cart laden with bowls of food. They stayed long enough to make sure each of the women received a bowl and a plastic bottle of water, then left.<br />Andrea sat in a corner with her bowl. It held a piece of bread and a quantity of a porridge-like mush. It did not look particularly appetizing, but it was warm, and she was very hungry. She cleaned every spec from the bowl.<br />After the meal, Andrea finally broke down. She had avoided until now, using the open toilet which afforded no privacy. But her bodily needs at last required her to use the facility and she did, blushing with shame.<br />In the ensuing hours, several more women were put into the cell. Andrea hoped she would see Cecelia but she did not appear. It was the first time she had had a moment alone to think since her rape, and fear that the black sergeant might have gotten her pregnant haunted her. Andrea sat, hugging herself, wishing she had at least had a chance to douche. There was nothing she could do about it now however, several hours at least had gone by since the man had spurted his seed into her.<br />The small door opened again. This time, several guards appeared all holding whips or the correction rods. The frightened young white women moved away from the guards, toward the large steel door at the other end of the cell. Seconds later, the large door was raised and the incredibly bright, full sunlight flooded into the room. They had all been indoors for some time, and the outside sun was so blinding, they could not see beyond the outline of the door.<br />“Out! Out onto the dock!” yelled one of the guards. “Into the car. Move, all of you out!”<br />The guards began fanning out into the cell, sweeping the women before them. The naked white women moved quickly. By now they were all familiar with the correction rods and none of them wanted to feel the sting on their backsides. They hurried out the door and onto a concrete loading dock.<br />The outside air hit them like a like a wall of heat. The concrete was scorching to the touch and the African sun beat down, just as merciless as the whips of the guards on their exposed feminine skin. They were confined to a small area of the dock by a chain link fence that extended on either side of them from the building to the open doors of a rail car. The women were quickly pushed on board, and as Andrea’s eyes adjusted to the sunlight, she could tell it was a cattle car.<br />There were more young women already on the car and, by the time they were loaded, the space was full but not so tightly packed that the girls could not sit down. At either end of the car were more open portable toilets. Andrea hoped to see Cecelia, but after calling out and looking for several minutes it was apparent she was not on board the train, at least in the same car.<br />After Andrea had found spot at the side of the car to sit in, a fair skinned girl with chestnut hair moved close to her and sat down. She looked a little younger than Andrea, seventeen or eighteen perhaps.<br />“Do … do you know where they’re taking us?” she asked. Andrea could tell the girl was very frightened. Her large, striking brown eyes were red, and the dried tears on her face confirmed she had been crying, just as most of the other girls.<br />Andrea shook her head, and tried to sound reassuring. “No. Have you asked anyone else?”<br />“No one knows where we’re going,” replied the girl, whimpering. “Why do they keep us naked, and why did they put us in a cattle car?”<br />“I don’t know,” said Andrea gently. “I’m Andrea, what’s your name?”<br />“Dana … Dana Wilke. They told us they would let us go home.”<br />“They told us the same thing,” said Andrea. “But I think that was just to get us to go along quietly.”<br />The younger girl began crying again. “I’m scared. Are they going to kill us?”<br />“No,” said Andrea, with a confidence she did not feel. “They would have shot us by now if that’s what they intended.”<br />“But what is going to happen to us?”<br />Andrea felt intense compassion for Dana, but they were all in the same boat and at the moment, there was nothing to do about it. She could see that the girl needed a distraction.<br />“Dana, I’m looking for my sister. Her name is Cecelia. She’s slender and blond, a little younger than you. Have you seen her?”<br />Dana shook her head. “I don’t know … I don’t know anyone here by name.”<br />Andrea smiled. “You know me by name.”<br />The younger girl sobbed and embraced Andrea. Even though she was a total stranger, Dana held onto her tightly, desperate for the warm comfort of a friendly human body. She nuzzled her face to Andrea’s breast, but the movement was totally asexual.<br />There was a jolt as the cattle car began to move. After some back and forth runs to hook onto other cars the train headed out with its human cargo. <br /><br /><br /> Chapter 2 <br /><br />Andrea Forester looked out from the slats of the cattle car, and watched the lush African landscape gliding by. It was such a beautiful place, she thought. If only it was five or six years ago, when there had been peace and this part of Africa had been controlled by the whites. She would love to be touring through these hills in a comfortable, air-conditioned car with her family. Andrea began to sob quietly. Her father was dead, and she didn’t know if she would ever see her husband or sister again.<br />Her tears dried quickly in the parched air. She was grateful for the breeze created by the train’s movement, as it rushed between the slats. Without it the heat in the cattle car would have been unbearable. The movement and the draft also helped keep down the flies. She dreaded what would happen when the train stopped. The car would fill with the buzz of malaria carrying mosquitoes, hornets, and horseflies. They would find the soft white skin of the women easier to penetrate than the cattle that they usually found on these dry plains. Dana was sleeping fitfully beside her, the younger girl’s head leaning against Andrea’s shoulder.<br />Andrea closed her eyes to think. She remembered the scenes from Nazi death camps in Europe during World War II. It was much like this. People being shipped in cattle cars to camps where they were held in abysmal conditions. Worked until they dropped and starved, finally being pushed into gas chambers and ovens. Did the same fate await her, or members of her family? She shuddered in fear and bitter tears rolled down her face.<br />It was obvious that the other women in the train car were thinking the same thing, though no one dared voice their dread out loud. Many of the women stared almost zombie like, not responding to anyone. Others chattered incessantly and inanely about topics that now seemed so trivial. Were they in denial? Or were they unconsciously, desperately trying to wring a few more moments of normal life from eternity. She knew what could lie at the end of this train ride, degradation, dehumanization, and lingering death. And the others she felt sure, knew it too.<br />It all seemed so meaningless and wasteful. Their personalities, their talents, their memories, might soon be seared to nothingness. All their hopes, dreams, lives, and loves could be burned away in a death camp’s ovens, to be swept literally, once consumed into the ash heap of forgotten history.<br />Andrea glanced down at the younger girl huddled close to her. She had a sudden vision of her not as human, but as a piece of live stock. She wondered insanely if perhaps they were just animals after all. Was Dana no more than a monkey, a rat… or an insect? Would not this lovely, vibrant creature, eat and breathe, and procreate the same way they did? Would she be a mother someday? Or would she soon be just a fine layer of ash floating onto the ground, to be taken up into plants, and reformed by nature into monkeys, rats and insects. <br /> Andrea knew she wasn’t thinking clearly. The events and psychic trauma of the last couple of days were warping her mind. She held onto the slats of the cattle car for support and she put her face to the smooth wood. Tears flowed again silently as she contemplated what might be her fate, perishing alone in a death camp. She cried, unable to stop herself now, beyond pretending to be brave. She wanted to live. She was only twenty and there was so much life that should be hers. She wanted to live, more than anything else! She knew it made her a coward but she knew she would do anything to stay alive.<br /> She thought about how her father would feel about such thinking. Robert Taney, the man of honor, so virtuous and dignified. How would he feel if he knew his daughter would do anything to live? She was ashamed at her own weak thoughts, but knew it was the truth.<br /> Dana stirred and Andrea held her a little closer. They had been traveling now for three days, moving into the interior of Africa, the heartland of Hakeem’s new empire. In reality though, they had only traveled a few hundred miles. The train stopped at least twice a day at special fenced enclosures to allow the prisoners to exercise. While they were out of the cars they were fed, the toilets emptied and the drinking water tanks filled. At first the women were reluctant to exit the cattle car, being naked and out in the open. But as the trip progressed, the women lost any self-consciousness and eagerly pushed out of the car at every opportunity.<br /> There was no chance of escape at any of the stops. Most of them were located in desolate areas, and even if the women had managed to elude their captors, they would quickly die of exposure in the desert. Indeed, none of them made even the most feeble escape attempt. Being soft skinned whites, they were more used to being in the shade of their cool tiled verandahs, than naked and exposed to the sun of an African day. It would take time for them to develop a protective tan. They huddled under shade trees or the open, roofed pergolas.<br /> Andrea and Dana were especially vulnerable due to their fair skins, but managed to keep from being seriously burned.<br /> After about an hour the women would be loaded and the trains would head out again. There were however, frequent stops at sidings to allow passenger trains to pass.<br /> Andrea watched these express trains with interest. They were very modern and clean, not at all how she had envisioned passenger trains in black Africa. They were filled with well-dressed travelers, all of them Negro, and from what she could see from glimpses as the trains whizzed by, were well appointed.<br />The windows were larger on the first class cars, and she could see well into their sleek interiors. Each time one of them passed, Andrea would peer into them with wonder, (and more than a little jealousy) at the sophisticated, smartly dressed people moving past in air-conditioned comfort.<br />Finally, late on the third day of their journey, they passed into a region of farmland. Andrea watched as they rolled past fields of tobacco and cotton. Towering orchards of bananas and sunflowers waved majestically in the warm breeze.<br />Mile after mile the land was covered by the fragrant stalks of ripening maize. Then the railway ran close to the river, and the land became wetter, more and more dominated by wet rice cultivation.<br />Some of the fields and paddies bordered the rail line. Andrea, and Dana, (who by now was also looking avidly out the spaces between the slats), could occasionally see the small parties of field workers. They were cutting the corn ears with machetes and gathering them in sacks, to be hauled in what looked like back breaking labor to heavy farm trucks. Without exception, the workers were white, though the majority were well tanned. They wore a simple white cloth, about a foot wide, wrapped around their waists. Andrea realized with a shock, that most of them were women, and all of them were bare breasted.<br />The paddy workers were also white. They worked in the hot sun without even the shade of the maize stalks. Their first harvest was complete, and they were planting the second crop, stooped in the muddy water of the rice paddies. They too were half-naked and seemed oblivious to the trains as they trundled by. Andrea could also see the bosses, all black, who supervised the work from pickup trucks or small trailers parked in shade.<br />They passed through small towns too. And because the trains slowed considerably, the two girls could get a brief glimpse of the character of them. They all seemed to be busy, prosperous agricultural hamlets, the inhabitants mostly black. They did see a few Caucasian females, always accompanied by a black. The whites carried bags or boxes, and always walked a step or two behind the fully dressed black person. In every case the white woman was bare breasted and wore the same wrap-style clothes. <br /> Once the train came to a stop in one of the little towns, holding on a siding to yield the right of way for an express train.<br />It was here that Andrea saw something that was in some ways the most horrifying thing she had yet witnessed.<br />Their car had stopped near the back of some kind of warehouse or mill. As Andrea and Dana watched, a large black man emerged from a rear door, dragging some kind of object. An instant later they realized the object was a young white girl, held bent over by the man’s grip on her long auburn hair. She was naked and dirty, and they were just close enough to hear she was crying, pleading with the man. He ignored her, pushed her roughly and ordered her to do something. She bent over and grasped her ankles, her long hair falling onto the ground. Then the man proceeded to take a short leather whip, and thrash the girl soundly.<br />Andrea noticed that although the girl was obviously in considerable pain, she did not let go of her ankles, or try to move away. She screamed with each of the lashes, babbling and begging abjectly for mercy. But the black man continued to whip her, raising ugly red welts on her alabaster skin.<br />Andrea could feel Dana holding fast to her as they watched the grim spectacle, eyes wide with horror. They could hear gasps and cries of despair from other women in the car as well. It was not just the brutality of the beating. It was the fact that it was being administered by a black man, on the person of a white women that made it seem even more unspeakably savage. <br />Andrea had seen things just as bad at the detention center. But somehow this was different. It was semi public and Andrea watched a few people pass by on the street while the girl was being beaten. No one did anything to stop the man. Indeed they acted as if the public beating of a naked white girl were a common event, hardly worth a second look.<br />At last the punishment ended. The man pulled the girl erect by the hair, and yelled something into her face. She nodded miserably and followed the man to area not visible from the street, but still within sight of the train. The black man sat on crate and unzipped his trousers. Then to the utter disgust of the women in the cattle car, the lovely white girl went to her knees and buried her head between her punisher’s legs.<br />The black man worked her head over his organ with both hands for several minutes. Finally he began bucking his hips and grunting. When he released her head she pulled away, red faced and gasping for breath as semen dripped from her chin. She staggered to her feet just as the train began to move again, and when the black man brandished the whip she scurried on her bare feet, back into the mill.<br />The train was moving now, leaving the little town. But Andrea shuddered, wondering what kind of culture these people had.<br /><br />Their cattle-car tour of central Africa ended an hour or two later. The train pulled into a massive enclosed complex, far larger than even the detention center. Permanent guard towers and observation posts bristling with machine guns dotted the grounds. Andrea could see that the perimeter fence was electrified, and topped with razor wire. Escape from here would be practically impossible.<br />Andrea studied the buildings closely. She half expected to see chimneys belching human soot and ash from the ovens. But there was no such structure. There was an air of nervous foreboding in the cattle car as the women strained to look through the slats on walls. They viewed the facility with mixed emotion. Glad to be at the end of the difficult rail trip, but fearful of what might lay in store for them.<br />The train slowly pulled alongside what appeared to be one of the main buildings. Like the detention facility, there was a concrete loading dock at the same level as the car floors. There were some jolts and clangs as the cars halted, and a few seconds of silence. Then all hell broke loose.<br />There was a deafening command through the loudspeaker, and the door to the cattle car opened.<br />“Out,” yelled the voice. “OUT! NOW! HURRY!”<br />Suddenly correction rods appeared through the slats of the car on the opposite side. Prisoners on that side began screaming as guards began blindly stinging the women from the outside. The prisoners panicked, stampeding and tearing at each other in an effort to exit the car and avoid the rods. Andrea could hear the same shouts and commotion in the other cars as the train was being unloaded. Fortunately, Andrea and her friend were on the opposite side, near the door, and they escaped without getting stung. As soon as their bare feet hit the concrete however, they were herded into the building, like sheep into a pen.<br />All 100 of them were inside before they even knew what was going on. The thick metal door slammed shut behind them, and they heard a bolt snap shut. They were in a concrete lined bunker perhaps twice the size of the rail car. The room appeared to be sealed, and even the lights were recessed behind glass. There were metal pipe fixtures extruding from the ceiling. The kind, Andrea suddenly realized that could be used to spray chemicals into a room!<br />Suddenly one of the women screamed, as she made the same conclusion about the room’s purpose that Andrea had.<br />“They’re gassing us!” she cried. “THEY’RE GOING TO GAS US!”<br />Screams erupted from every woman in the room. Dana once again clung tightly to Andrea, crying pathetically, as other woman, wild eyed with terror began pounding on the doors and scratching the walls. They wailed and cried in mortal fear and panic.<br /> Then the lights went out and they were plunged into total darkness. Andrea held Dana close under her chin, sure they were living the last seconds of their lives. She felt herself gasping for air and realized that she too was screaming.<br />They heard a hissing noise and felt a liquid being sprayed on them, and instantly the noise inside the cell rose to shrieks of utter hysteria, like a roomful of animals being slaughtered.<br />And then the lights came back on. Andrea realized she could breath without difficulty and the spray was not choking her or hurting her eyes. It was hot, but not noxious. Indeed it felt soothing and familiar. The chemical being sprayed on them was water.<br />Some of the women had fainted. A few were still screaming insanely, but even they abruptly stopped. Women cried now, weeping and sobbing with relief.<br />Andrea released Dana and the two girls began to bathe themselves in the soapy spray. They began laughing and giggling without volition. She hugged Dana tightly once more, this time with joy. It was the most wonderful feeling to be soaking, and bathing… and breathing… and alive. The soap stopped and the water turned from hot to warm. They were rinsing the dirt and soap from their bodies. By now all the women had calmed down and revived the others who had fainted.<br />The shower lasted several more minutes, then the water stopped. The door at the other end of the room opened and the women were ordered by loudspeaker to exit.<br />They filed out quickly, every one of them cowed and fearful. They emerged into a larger room, where they were told to kneel on the concrete floor.<br />Not a single woman protested or hesitated. All of them felt as if they had just escaped death by an eyelash and that their lives hung by a thread. It was exactly the effect their captors wanted. After an episode of such terror and emotion their minds were open and pliant, their wills temporarily submerged. A powerful psychological tool had just been used on them. Training had begun.<br /> A short, fat black man appeared through the door, followed by even more men with whips and correction rods. He spoke tersely, without preamble, as someone stating facts that were unrefutable to persons who were mere chattel.<br />“White women, you have been brought here as prisoners of the Islamic African Empire, and have been purchased en mass by the Bantu International Service Company. As of this moment, you are no longer prisoners of the government… You are slaves.”<br />He paused a moment to allow his final sentence to sink in. A week before, that phrase would have brought howls of indignant protest from these formerly free white women. Now they were so chastened there was not a whisper of dissent.<br />“Some of you have guessed the truth. Yes, a few short years ago, we killed whites with cyanide gas, in the very chambers you were just in.”<br />There were some gasps, and still more whimpers of fear.<br />“But our Prophet and Emperor Hakeem, may Allah defend him, is merciful. You are to be allowed to live, to serve him, and his people.”<br />“This is where you will begin your new lives as useful slaves. You will be taught about the foundations of our society, and the basics of your role as slaves. But higher training will be done by the master or mistress who eventually buys you.”<br />“Forget who you were. Forget your husbands, sweethearts and families. The relationships you had in your former lives are irrelevant now. You are slaves.”<br />He paced to the side a little, and his voice took on a soothing, oily quality. “I know you feel despair, hopelessness. You think your lives are over but they are not. You will start new families. You will know fulfillment and the joy of life. But you must submit, accept your identity as a slave. If you resist, you will feel pain. You will continue to feel pain until you obey. If you submit the pain stops.”<br />“You must always remember this. Say it over and over to yourself. ‘While I resist, the pain continues. When I submit the pain stops. I will submit.’ This is to be your mantra while you are here.”<br />With that, he turned and walked out, leaving 100 naked white women to ponder their fate. <br /><br /> Throughout that night, the women were separated into small groups of about eight or ten, and taken to holding cells. Andrea and Dana were taken together. There was straw in their cage. Nice soft straw. A pleasant change from the concrete they had just come from, or the wood floors of the cattle cars. The room was warm too, and soon the exhausted women were sleeping soundly, though their dreams were often too much like reality.<br /> The next morning, women from their cell were removed one by one. When Dana was taken, the girl was apprehensive about being separated from Andrea. But there was nothing for it, and Andrea nodded as reassuringly as possible.<br />When it was Andrea’s turn, she was taken by a guard down several corridors, and up an elevator. Finally, she arrived in a room where she was made to kneel, and put her head in a stock-like fixture, which the attendant promptly closed, securing her. He surveyed her neck for a few seconds and reached into an open cabinet. He pulled out what looked like a ring. Andrea could see as she strained her neck around apprehensively. It appeared to be a steel strip covered with black rubber. He stamped a number onto it, and fitted it to her neck. Then he took a stainless steel ring attached to a flange, and snapped it over one end of the ring, closed it, and snapped the other end in place. It fit loosely around her neck. He then brought up a small, tong-like tool, with wires extending into a machine. “Don’t move, or you’ll be burned,” he told the white girl. Andrea held her breath, and the man welded her collar together.<br /> Next he checked the number tattooed on her neck, and accessed a computer database. He nodded to the guard, who led Andrea back to her cage.<br /> Dana was there, wearing the object on her neck and looking miserable. The black rubber surface of the collar contrasted sharply with the girl’s white skin. And her face flushed with shame. The effect was strangely servile and erotic, and Andrea already suspected that Dana’s future led to some affluent black man’s bed. She refrained from comment however, and tried to console the girl by pointing out they all had the collars.<br /> Andrea had not gotten a good look at her own collar, and of course could not see it under her own neck. All of the women’s collars seemed to be basically identical, so she studied Dana’s.<br /> Besides the fact that it was a rubber-coated band of steel, there was at the front and bottom, a ring about two inches in diameter. Above this ring was a shinny red badge, affixed to the collar. The badge bore the logo of the company that now owned them, the acronym B.I.S., in stylized letters. Dana also examined Andrea’s collar curiously, knowing it was essentially identical to her own.<br /> After they were fed, the whole group was taken to an exercise yard. They were worked hard for a couple of hours by a trainer, who watched them and kept notes on their performances.<br /> Later they were taken to small room, where a black woman of about thirty-five sat on a chair. The slaves were instructed to sit on the floor around her, and once they had settled down, their lessons began.<br /> “Slaves,” she said pleasantly, “I am mistress A’ala. I will be you teacher and trainer.”<br /> She picked up a correction rod and sat it in her lap. Andrea noticed that this rod looked a bit more sophisticated than the ones used by the guards. It had a small box, and data screen attached to the upper end. <br />“Now you must all pay close attention while you are here. As you can see, I have the means to enforce your will to learn.”<br />“We are a slave preparation facility,” continued the black woman. “We don’t do very much actual training of slaves in specific tasks, here. Basically, because we don’t know what your masters will be using you for.”<br /> “We do however, instill a few rudiments of disciple and behavior that are expected of all whites. In short, we teach you how to be a slave.”<br /> “First, never try to escape, or desert your master. Escape is quite impossible. The police are very adept at catching slaves, and there are numerous private companies that also specialize in slave recovery. Punishment is severe, and repeat attempts lead to the slave being destroyed. ”<br />“Second, never harm a black person. Slaves who commit violent acts against black citizens are usually forfeited to the government, and are consigned to the mines. A court may also order a violent slave destroyed, or committed to research facilities for vivisection and medical experiments.”<br />“Third, you will address all black people as “sir,” or “Ma’am.” When you are purchased, you will call your owner whatever he requires, but he will probably have you address him as master- or mistress as the case may be. Until you are sold, you will address all black people at this company as “master,” or “mistress.”<br />The lesson went on for about an hour. Then she rose and summarized. Finally, she said, “before we leave each lesson, we will have you recite your mantra. What is it?”<br />The women looked at each other. None could remember the exact words.<br />“Forgotten already?” said A’ala, with mild irritation. “Listen carefully, for tomorrow you must know it by heart.”<br />“’While I resist, the pain continues. When I submit the pain stops. I will submit.’ Now you say it.”<br />They all dutifully recited the mantra, and the black woman dismissed them.<br />Then they were taken back out to exercise, and finally back to be fed.<br />The next morning was more of the same. They exercised for two hours outside, were fed, then exercised again, this time in an indoor gym. This was more formal conditioning than sprinting and running around the grassy enclosure. In the gym, they climbed ropes, worked on leather gymnasium horses, and did extensive calisthenics. Again, their performance was carefully watched and recorded.<br />Then it was back to the small “classroom,” for further lessons. The same teacher was there, and this time there was a small table near her chair. Once again Mistress A’ala had the white women sit on the floor around her chair, like small children. This time however, she told them to sit cross-legged, in a lotus position. The girls were a little reluctant. Most of them were still unconsciously covering their pubes with their hands, and had sat demurely with legs folded to the side. The lotus position meant their legs were spread and their vaginas were exposed and open.<br />“Come on,” A’ala insisted. “All of you, sit cross-legged. Lock your feet turned up, behind your knees. That’s right. You are all young females, this should be no problem for you. Hands at your sides. Now hold the hand of the girl next to you. That’s good. If any of you drop your hands, both slaves will be punished. Good. Now you are in a proper position for learning.”<br />A’ala picked up the correction rod, and suddenly brought it down, nestling the tip between the folds of Andrea’s sex. Andrea jumped and almost let go of the girl’s hands beside her. But the expected jolt did not come.<br />“What is your mantra?” asked the mistress.<br />Andrea struggled to remember, her mind racing as she felt the cool, smooth metal rubbing her clit. At the next instant she knew it could deliver a jolt of unspeakable pain. <br />“While… while I resist the pain continues. When I submit the pain stops. I will submit,” said Andrea fearfully.<br />“Very good,” the trainer smiled. Then Andrea saw her pull the trigger. The white girl caught her breath, then gasped and bucked her hips involuntarily. Instead of a painful shock the rod emitted a pleasurable little tingle of current, right onto her clitoral bud. A’ala held the rod there for several seconds, and the feeling was so good that Andrea was quite unable to keep from rubbing herself on the blunt tip of the rod. When it ended she blushed and sighed, embarrassed yet glad she had not felt pain.<br />“Right answers are rewarded,” said A’ala. “Wrong answers earn a sting. Understand?”<br />The other slave girls nodded.<br />“Now we come to the subject of names,” said the teacher. “Your names. Once you are sold, it will be whatever your master decides. He or she may change it, or leave it as it is, or you may have only a number. For our purposes, we do not require you to memorize your number. While you are here, your name, your only name, will be your first name. Your last names are no longer relevant, and you are to forget them. You identify yourself with your fist name and the name of your owner.”<br />Once again A’ala brought the rod down between a girl’s legs. “You would say, ‘I am slave Merri, I am the property of BIS.’ Say it.”<br />The girl said it properly, and sighed softly. She too moved her hips as the black woman pulled the trigger, and rubbed her clit with the rod.<br />“All of you, say it.”<br />The women repeated the phrase, adding their own first names.<br />“Now,” said A’ala, continuing. “The black African is the master race. The white Caucasian is the slave race. The Prophet Hakeem has taught us this.”<br />“The black African is the Adamic race and the direct descendent of Allah,” continued the teacher. “The black race is destined to rule earth from Africa. The other races exist to serve the black race.”<br />A’ala quickly brought the rod down again between a girl’s legs. “Who is the master race, Tina?”<br />“The black race is the master race. Ahh ahh…” the white girl replied, receiving the tingle.<br />“Who is the slave race, Janet?”<br />“The white race is the slave race, umm… ummm.” she replied.<br />“Who is the prophet who brings us this truth, Andrea?”<br />“Hakeem is the prophet… haaa… aaahh.”<br />It was poor little Dana who got the first sting.<br />“What is your full name?” asked A’ala.<br />“Dana Wilke… aaaaaaaaiiieeee,” she screeched. The pain was so bad she almost let go of the other girl’s hands. But knowing they would be punished as well, if she let go, they hung onto her tightly.<br />“Your name is Dana, you are the property of BIS,” shouted the black woman. “I will review your lesson at times, and you must remember.”<br />A’ala went on, relentlessly teaching hour after hour, her voice becoming increasingly chant-like and mesmerizing, but always clear and concise for the girls. The black woman circled continuously behind the crosslegged white females, lightly touching the tip of the correction rod to the soft skin of their naked backs and buttocks. Without warning she would deliver a painful shock to any girl who slouched her posture, or appeared inattentive. It was a combination of instruction and brainwashing, designed to open the mind of a young woman and change both her conscious and sub-conscious thoughts and attitudes. <br />“Thousands of years ago, a wicked man named Yacub rebelled against Allah and the prophets. He was a learned man of science, and built a laboratory secretly in the forsaken wilds of Europe. He captured the Neanderthals, an ape-like humanoid, and experimented on their bodies. Slowly he bred them and manipulated their DNA and their genes. With dark arts and science he mingled the blood and flesh of these creatures with pigs and rats, producing a light skinned humanoid, a grotesque parody of the Black human form.”<br />“Still the creature could not talk, and wanted nothing more than to wallow in mud and hide in the shadows. He needed the spark of human spirit. He mated the creature with the lessor Adamic man, the Asian. And finally the creature gained the power of speech.”<br />“He and others like him had created the Cauc, a crime against nature and the Adamic man.”<br />“They planned to use the creatures to wreak vengeance on the Adamic Africans who had exiled them. Yacub made war on his own people. He attacked Africa with armies of his soulless Cauc, whom he had bread and multiplied by the thousands.”<br />“But Yacub and his followers were defeated by the leaders of the ancient Blacks. They burned his laboratory and should have destroyed his evil creations. But their mercy prevented them from killing the hapless things. They were allowed to escape into the wilderness of the north, to survive or die by Allah’s will.”<br />A’ala continued, the lessons and the ideas behind them pounded into the girl’s captive, vulnerable minds like the ocean surf, endless and irresistible. The teacher’s ever-present rod punctuated the demand, driving the need to listen and retain, assimilate… and believe. That became the imperative. Believe or suffer. <br />“In Africa humanity flowered,” said A’ala. “The Black ancients produced technology and culture of surpassing beauty and power. They invented and composed. In latter days everything that was good in the warped culture of the Cauc was copied from their records and relics.”<br />“But the old ones displeased Allah with their disunity. To punish them for a time he decreed that the inferior sub-race, the animal Cauc would rule the world for 2000 years. Then He would remember the divine race and re-establish the Black Adamic man as master.”<br />“Our time is the fulfillment of Allah’s promise. The white so called race is to be brought back to its animal origins. The Cauc, henceforth and forever is to be the chattel of the Adamic human.”<br />“Look at yourselves. Your skin is the same color as your cousin the pig. Your hair is brown and straight like the rat. You are descended of both and yours is the lineage of swine and vermin.”<br />“You are slaves. You will be slaves for the rest of your lives. Your offspring will be slaves and all your decedents forever. That is what the prophet teaches us.”<br />A’ala resumed her seat in the center of the circle. She refreshed herself with wine, poured from a bottle at the table. The slave girls sat with bated breath around her, clasping each other’s hands tightly and straining to hear and understand. The black woman began again, seeming to take a more measured, slower tone.<br />“Hakeem is the prophet, come to lead the Black race to its rightful position as masters of the world. You will not speak the name of the prophet while standing. You will sit on the floor or go to your knees and speak his name with reverence and awe. Any disrespect for the prophet or his Clerics will be severely punished.”<br />The air was electric as the white women worked hard to listen and remember. A’ala would stop every few minutes and ask questions, each time placing the correction rod between a white woman’s sex lips. There were occasional screams of pain, but mostly the answers were correct, so hard were they trying to learn.<br />That the lessons were genetic and historical nonsense didn’t matter. The all-important object was to learn the proper answer, and repeat it back when prompted.<br />As the session wore on the questions became harder and more frequent. Once, after Dana answered a particularly difficult one correctly, A’ala did not pull the trigger on the rod nestled between the girl’s legs. Dana frowned, wondering why she didn’t get the pleasant little tingle. The teacher reached into a box and removed a small brown object. When she bought it close to Dana’s face the other girls could see it was a chocolate.<br />“Would you like this?” asked A’ala.<br />The chocolate looked very good. None of the slaves had had anything to eat but bread and the insipid gruel since they had been captured.<br />Dana looked up at the mistress with her big, soft brown eyes, and answered meekly, “yes.”<br />The teacher pulled the sweet back, and rubbed the rod slowly, tantalizingly up and down in the girl’s sex. “You did not say, yes mistress.”<br />Dana’s eyes clouded in fear and her muscles tensed in anticipation of the shock. But nothing happened.<br />“It’s all right,” said A’ala, petting the girl’s dark hair softly. “We haven’t covered that yet.”<br />She bought the chocolate back to the white girl’s face. “Stick out your tongue.”<br />Dana obeyed, and the teacher dropped the sweet onto it. A’ala was pleased that the girl did not pull her tongue in and close her mouth until receiving permission.<br />“Good girl! Go ahead,” said the teacher.<br />Dana retracted her tongue and ate the treat. Then she gurgled and smiled as A’ala pulled the trigger on the rod, sending the delightful current into her little pink pleasure bud as a further reward. She humped shamelessly on the rod and even wiggled her toes unconsciously, her face beaming with gratitude for her mistress.<br />“You must learn to trust us,” said A’ala. “You will not be punished if you obey. You will be rewarded if you submit.”<br />It went on like that for two more hours. A’ala taught them more about the origins of the glorious black race, the benevolent hand of Hakeem, and the proper role of white slaves in the new Africa. A’ala relentlessly probed them for answers, and whenever she was especially pleased with a girl, she would feed the slave a chocolate as well as the delicious bit of current. She also did not hesitate to apply the agonizing current for incorrect or non-enthusiastic answers.<br />The girls responded by striving their utmost to remember every scrap of detail, parroting it back with conviction, as though they had believed it all their lives. They also lost all inhibition when reacting to the stimulus of their clits, mewling and humping against the rod shamelessly. This also pleased the teacher and she held the current trigger down longer as a reward.<br /> As hard as they had tried though, their legs were becoming cramped, and their minds were saturated. A’ala could see that they’d had enough for the day. She dismissed them, but not before having them recite with alacrity and in unison, their mantra.<br />“While I resist, the pain continues. When I submit, the pain stops. I will submit!”<br />Their indoctrination as slaves was well underway.<br /><br /> The days that followed established the same routine. Working out, eating, being taught, working out, eating, showering, and sleeping. Gradually the duration of the brainwashing sessions lengthened. Soon they were being taught ten to twelve hours a day. The simple concepts were repeated over and over as mistress A’ala drilled them mercilessly. They were compelled to memorize and internalize every intricate detail, until the beliefs they were being presented solidified in their brains, becoming their beliefs. Still A’ala probed and programmed them with ever increasing intensity.<br /> “You are Caucs,” she shouted. “All your lives you have lived within the bubble of white society. But the bubble has been pricked and you now see yourselves as you really are. You are slaves, animals. You must not think of yourselves as equal to the Adamic black person. You exist to serve the master race.” <br /> <br /> After three weeks of A’ala’s tutelage, they had learned to say “yes master” in several Bantu languages. They knew and understood the details of divine ancestry of the black race. And were taught the specifics of white animal origins, and their servile fate decreed by the Prophet Hakeem.<br />With these lessons and many, many others, they were totally inculcated into a slave mentality. It seemed perfectly natural that they were slaves. They were white, part animal, and inferior to the master race. It seemed amazing to them that they had ever been free, or had ever seen themselves as anything but slaves.<br /> Andrea understood why she was a slave. She saw herself as a slave. Indeed she now needed the emotional validation of being owned by a black master or mistress.<br /> And yet, it was still only three weeks. They had managed to twist Andrea, to mold her mind into believing that she should be a slave. But she still cared for, and missed her family.<br /> As she lay in her cell at night, sleeping on her mat, she wondered what had happened to Jeff. Was he still alive? Was he in the mines? She wondered what their lives would have been like if the enclave had not fallen. She thought about him, and his body, as she lay night after night without the touch of a man. She regretted they had not had married sooner and had a child, but that all seemed so distant now. She doubted she would ever see him again. She realized with shame that she was forgetting about him. Whether it was the conditioning of the slave facility, or the trauma of the past weeks, she did not know. But even now she could not visualize his face when she closed her eyes. He seemed increasingly irrelevant and unreal… like her life before that fateful day four weeks before.<br /> She drifted to sleep easily these days, mainly from the exhaustion of the training and lessons, though she often dreamed of her family and life before her capture. Her old personality and identity seemed increasingly surreal and her concerns trivial. Still she remembered and flashes of her old life played back in her dreams, days of innocence and freedom.<br /> They came to life now only in her dreams, when she and her dignified, proper sister were the most sought after young women in the enclave- and the most aloof. She nodded, and sleep enveloped her ravaged mind, bringing dreams of the past, from a different world. <br />Life was so unfair, thought Andrea Forester, with a petulant little frown. Unfair and cruel! <br /> “But why to they have to cancel the ball?” asked Cecelia, on the verge of tears. “Everyone was so looking forward to it.”<br /> “I know, I know,” said Andrea. “This hideous war.”<br /> “I was hoping to dance with a whole roomful of cute boys on leave. Now it will be just another evening at home,” lamented Cecelia.<br /> Andrea laughed. “Cecelia, you know you only want to tease the boys. You have no intention of letting them do anything but dance with you.”<br /> The comment brought a blush of color to the younger girl’s fair cheeks. “Andrea, you know father doesn’t like us to make bawdy talk.”<br />The slight frown on her sister’s fresh, innocent face and the timbre of her voice told Andrea that her remark had been taken a bit more seriously than she intended. She reminded herself once again how delicate and sincere her sister’s purity was.<br />“I only meant that the ball would have been a good place to meet a man of quality,” said Andrea.<br />Cecelia sighed. “That’s the worst thing about the war. It’s destroyed any social life we could have had. ” <br /> Andrea nodded, but suddenly felt a belated guilt at her feelings and the comments she had just made. It was disappointing, yes, to have to forgo the annual serviceman’s dance, but their sadness and loss was nothing compared to that of the families who had lost loved ones recently.<br /> “They’re right to cancel the ball, Cece. It would be very insensitive for us to go dancing and celebrating in light of the casualties on the front in the last few weeks. We have to set an example, especially since father is in charge of the army now.”<br /> “I suppose so,” said Cecelia. “But I was so expecting to find a dashing young man at the ball.”<br /> Andrea suppressed a laugh. The younger girl’s romantic ideals and her lack of a boyfriend was the subject of much good-natured fun within the Taney family. It was not as if the girl were unattractive, quite the contrary. She was stunningly beautiful. Her long golden hair, pale flawless skin, and incredibly lithe body meant she was asked out frequently by the young men of the enclave. So frequently that the other girls were jealous.<br /> “Oh, when will I ever find the man of my dreams?” she asked melodramatically.<br /> This time Andrea lost her battle to refrain from laughing.<br /> “It’s all right for you,” said Cecelia. “You already have a dreamboat husband.”<br /> “Oh Cece,” said Andrea. “There are lots of men. You just have to give one of them a chance. I know. I was single until six months ago too, remember?”<br /> Cecelia smiled bravely. Like her sister, she was naturally shy and her father had forbidden both girls to date until they were seventeen. She had little social contact with males and no experience sexually. She was a virgin, just as Andrea had been before her wedding.<br /> Not that she would have had it any other way. They were their father’s daughters, virtuous, chaste and deeply conservative. Their time in Africa had been as a moment in the sun; beautiful girls of an important family, sought after and admired. They were the unofficial royalty of the enclave and did their best to live up to their father's high standards.<br /> Andrea had rejected many a suitor and she too had had many. Her long, light brown hair, her hazel eyes and trim figure had been the subject of many a boy’s dream. She had a fair complexion and blushed easily when embarrassed, together with a certain good-girl look that said loud and clear, virgin.<br /> She had been married for six months, but still had the air and bearing of a virtuous, chaste young woman from the American South.<br /> “What’s it like?” asked Cecelia abruptly.<br /> “What?”<br /> “What’s it like when a man… makes love to you.”<br /> This time, Andrea blushed, “well… it ah…”<br /> “Yes?” asked the younger girl breathlessly.<br /> “I don’t think this is a conversation father would approve of,” said Andrea, smiling.<br /> “Oh really,” said Cecelia sarcastically. “I’m sixteen and father says I have to wait another year to go out with a boy. Oh Andrea, all my friends have boyfriends, and I’ve never even been kissed!”<br /> The older girl shrugged. “There’s more to making love than kissing. And I thought you didn’t want to hear bawdy talk.”<br />“All right then, go ahead and keep your secret,” said Cecelia with mock exasperation. “After all, you have your man.”<br /> “Yes,” said Andrea, her smile fading. “One I haven’t seen in four months. That’s why I was so looking forward to the ball.”<br /> Cecelia sighed. “Will this horrid war never end?”<br /><br /><br />Chapter 3 <br /><br />Andrea and Dana stood respectfully, eyes down, in front of the fat agent again, along with over 100 other slaves who were almost finished with their basic training.<br />They had been warned by Mistress A’ala that this was an important moment. This man was the president and top agent in the company and thus their ultimate master. They were to give him their undivided attention, and listen to him as well as they had listened to her. A large rack built to secure and bind slave flesh had been rolled on wheels beside the agent. Andrea shuddered as she wondered what was about to transpire on that rack. <br />“You will all soon be auctioned off to new owners,” said the agent. “And it is very important that you behave properly while on pre-auction display, and on the block. You will be led out to the display hall before the customers arrive. Before they come in, you may talk, move around or play within the limits of your chain, however, when the hall opens, you are restricted to your mat. You may stand or sit, but you must remain basically still when being inspected, unless told otherwise. Do not speak unless you are told otherwise. You may be ordered to turn, or bend over, or perform other displays, if so, obey immediately. This is a time for customers to evaluate you as a slave they may wish to purchase. You will be watched, both by the customers and by the guards and trainers. Any disobedience or poor behavior will be punished.”<br />“When you are placed on the block itself, however, you will not be examined closely, since our customers will have already inspected the slaves they are interested in prior to the actual bidding. You need only to stand still and smile, and follow any simple instructions.”<br /> “You are very lucky to have come to this facility. It is state of the art, and you have all been treated well here. Your pens are sanitary, we are patient with your training, and you are even allowed to socialize. But do not make the mistake of believing that we are soft. This company is a commercial enterprise. We broker, prepare, and sell slaves. A poor performance on the block effects out return, and we do not tolerate it.”<br /> The agent walked over to two slaves who had been singled out. One was a pretty blond woman of about twenty-five. The other was a white man of about thirty. The first white male Andrea had seen since being captured.<br />Two trainers took the young woman and she looked about nervously as they led her to the rack and secured her face down by the wrists. The whole frame then pivoted forward, and the woman was lifted from the floor, lying diagonal across the frame.<br /> “This female’s offense was minor,” said the agent. “She did not smile at the buyers, and display a docile manner. As a result, she did not sell above the minimum and was removed from the bidding. She is a newly captured slave, so this time her punishment will be light.”<br /> A trainer with a cane moved beside the bound white woman. Her face clouded with horror as she realized what he was going to do.<br /> “Oh please. Please, no. I’m sorry, I’ll smile… I’m sorry. Oh please…”<br /> The thin cane whistled through the air and struck the slave’s bare buttocks with a loud pop. She instantly screamed and tore at her bonds. Her arms were held fast but her bare legs and feet waved wildly. The cane swung again and the woman repeated the desperate but futile struggling. She received six strokes, all the while pleading for mercy from the agent and screaming her willingness to cooperate at the next auction.<br />There were six glowing red wheals on the woman’s back, rear cheeks and upper legs when the agent nodded. She was released and taken over to the agent, where she knelt in front of him.<br />He placed his short whip under her chin. “Has your brief encounter with the cane ensured your future behavior, slave?”<br />“Oh yes… yes master… please, no more, master.”<br />“And what have you learned? Say it loud for the benefit of the other slaves.”<br />“I will smile, master and… follow instructions and… and… behave well on while on display!”<br />“Good,” smiled the agent with satisfaction. “But remember, if your performance fails again you will receive twenty strokes.”<br />The woman gasped, and Andrea could see the terror in her face.<br />Next, the bound white man was brought up and placed on the rack. He looked haggard and he was struggling and clearly defiant, but he was also very obviously afraid.<br />“This male slave committed a much more serious crime. He became aggressive and began shouting obscenities on the block. This display has damaged his marketability and cost this company a large sum of money. Accordingly, he will be punished severely.”<br />Andrea and Dana held their breath. If the caning had been considered mild correction, then a serious punishment must be horrible indeed!<br />Three guards began dragging the struggling man forward. He was still shouting and cursing defiantly.<br />“No NO! I won’t be sold like an animal, you black bastards.”<br />The guards quickly locked the man into the harness and rotated it, just as they had the woman. This time however, they secured his legs with heavy chains and attached wires from some apparatus on the floor. Electrodes were placed at the man’s underarms, his nipples, his genitals and his big toes.<br />“This is what happens to any slave who shows a rebellious spirit on the block.”<br />The white man was snarling with rage. “You go to hell, you filthy Kaffir. I’m no slave! YOU FILTHY KAF… aaahhhh! Ah ah ah ah AH AHHH AHHHH.”<br />Suddenly the man’s eyes bulged as if they were about to pop out of their sockets. He screamed, but it did not sound like a human voice. The cries came in short staccato blasts, as if the victim were instantly and literally being driven insane with the torment. He too desperately pulled at his bonds, but the movements quickly became a series of dislocated spasms and convulsions. It seemed to go on and on. The man howled and screeched like a child, apparently being pushed well beyond the boundary of endurance. They he went unconscious, still twitching and shaking.<br />Cold water was flung in his face and he was immediately revived.<br />“No NO NO! Stop… Stoooop. AH AH AHHHH…<br />Again the convulsions began and the short agonized screams. The man’s body went rigid now except for a shaking reminiscent of someone freezing to death. It continued for several minutes more before the man again lost consciousness.<br />And the cycle continued over and over. Each time he passed out his face was doused with water and the current resumed. He was screaming still but the cries were more rasping and breathy. The spasms became even more violent and for a moment it seemed as if the man would tear his own body apart before their eyes. And still it went on for interminable minutes more. The man burst forth with a shrill, long scream of inexpressible agony and then lost control of all bodily functions. He urinated and defecated, vomit poured from his mouth and bloody mucus dripped from his nose and lips. Many of the other slaves were trembling and crying. Andrea watched as Dana stared, her mouth gapping with shock and despair.<br />Then it stopped. Or at least the current stopped. The man continued to twitch and spasm for several seconds and his eyes rolled back as he seemed to hover on the edge of consciousness. The bucket of water was flung in his face and the white man was awake again. He looked wild-eyed at the agent as he approached.<br />The black man leaned to his face and said something that no one else could hear. Then he seized the slave’s head and pointed it to the crowd of slaves.<br />“Master, master.” The white man was sobbing, like a little boy.<br /> “Say it louder, louder you white Cauc!”<br /> “Master… you are my master.”<br /> “Say it, all of it. Louder you wretch or I’ll leave you on that rack until your brain boils.”<br /> “No please. Master, no more… master… please…”<br /> “Say it.”<br /> “I AM YOUR SLAVE… I AM YOUR SLAVE! I will obey, master,” he whimpered pathetically. “No more master, please… I will obey!”<br /> The agent turned and addressed the other slaves. “What we expect is simple and we do not feel it should require any special training. When you are placed on display and on the block, you will appear docile, happy and above all, as obedient slaves, because if you are not sold, this will happen to you.”<br /> <br />On the eve of the date when they were to be auctioned, about 120 naked white slaves were brought early in the morning, into a very large, open building. Inside, running the entire length of the building, were rows of steel loops, sticking out of the concrete in the floor. The loops were spaced about ten feet apart, and beside each was a colored foam mat, and a plastic sign with a number. The slaves were brought in a few at a time, chained together in small groups. One by one the guards released them, and reattached their collar chains to the loop. The lengths were long enough to allow them to sit or stand even to get close to the slave next to them. The chains were light and not uncomfortable.<br />Andrea and Dana had begged to be displayed together, and their trainer had relayed this to the sales personnel. The assistant agent had shrugged, and assigned them consecutive numbers in the catalog. It made no difference to him and trainer A’ala said it might make them more docile and less nervous. They sat next to each other now, chatting and whispering, and generally deriving a feeling of security from being next to each other, just as they did in the cell.<br />Andrea watched the preparations for the event, and marveled at the enormity of the room. It looked like a convention or exhibition hall of some kind, or perhaps a fair. In addition to the slaves themselves, there were semi permanent concession stands, and individual tables for equipment dealers, outside trainers, and even booths with banks to provide the necessary financial services.<br />This was the pre-auction display area, where prospective buyers could inspect slaves prior to bidding on them the next day. It was the only time they could get a close look at the slaves before buying them, so it was a hectic day.<br />Thousands of blacks walked by, checking their catalogs against the numbers on the slave’s mat, poking and probing and making marks in their notes. Most of the customers were very professional, inspecting teeth, feeling musculature and shinning little penlights into eyes and ears. Andrea and Dana would have been very respectful, but the buyers rarely spoke to the slaves or asked questions. Most of the important information about them was already in the catalog.<br />Occasionally, they were looked over by men who obviously wanted a sex slave, but there were only two who really frightened the girls. One man waited until there were no other customers around then approached Andrea.<br />“Where’re you from cunt?”<br />“I… I’m from the eastern Enclave, master.”<br />He reached out, fondling her belly, then her breasts.<br />Andrea caught her breath, but did nothing to hinder him.<br />“So you were married? To an Army officer.” he hissed into her ear.<br />“Yes master.”<br />He stroked her quim with his middle finger, then probed deep. Andrea gasped in spite of herself, but managed to keep from pushing his hands away.<br />“I should buy you for my brothel. I’d have you fucked by 2000 men a year. My clients like the wives of white soldiers.”<br />She closed her eyes, wanting to die of shame and misery.<br />“Unfortunately,” he laughed, releasing her. “I’m looking for a blond.”<br />Later another man stood leering at Andrea and Dana. They smiled at him dutifully, but he sneered with disgust. After several minutes he walked up to Dana and began fondling her. She remained still, but he began pinching her painfully. “You filthy white cur. I’m going to buy you and have you raped by my dogs.”<br />Even after all she had been through Dana was shocked. Not just by the statement, but by the sheer naked hatred in the man’s eyes.<br />He poked his finger in her navel. “How many pups can you carry bitch?” he laughed.<br />He stepped back and again she saw his eyes. His gaze was fixed on her exposed breasts, staring with lust and hate filled eyes. Acting purely on instinct, she brought her hands up to cover herself. The man’s face suddenly clouded with rage.<br />He stepped forward and slapped her across the face, so hard it spun her around and she crumpled to the floor. She cringed in stunned terror on the mat as he moved on her again, fixing her with his malevolent stare. But one of the guards had heard the slap.<br />“Hey, don’t damage the merchandise.”<br />“Fuck you.”<br />The guard spoke into his radio, and seconds later a company agent arrived. Dana was shaking now, whimpering with fear. She was afraid the incident would cause her to be removed from the auction and earn her a caning.<br />“Why Mr. M’tuma,” said the agent sarcastically. “It’s you again.”<br />The man scowled, but said nothing.<br />“What is it this week, Mr. M’tuma?”<br />“This white slave cunt insulted me!” he shouted.<br />“Really?” said the agent, “How did she do that?”<br />“She was primping in front of me,” he raged.<br />“She’s a freshly captured virgin, Mr. M’tuma,” said the agent. “We want the master who buys her to have the pleasure of breaking her of that.”<br />“I’ll knock her teeth out!”<br />“Buy her first, Mr. M’tuma,” said the agent angrily. “Or you’ll get a hell of a bill from us for those teeth.”<br />The man fumed, then stormed off.<br />The agent turned and stooped down to the crying girl. “Calm down,” he said gently. “Stop crying, it’s turning your eyes red. We want those big brown eyes nice and clear.”<br />“He hur… hur… hurt me, master,” she trembled, her voice breaking.<br />The agent checked her carefully for damage, he didn’t find any. Then looked at her face and understood why she was so frightened. The man had hurt her. Not to punish a misdeed or induce a desired servile behavior, but simply because he wanted her to feel pain. She wasn’t used to that, even here. He couldn’t blame the creature for her reaction. <br />He took a cool, soaked towel from one of the guards and wiped her slap-reddened face. Then he told her to open her mouth.<br />“Anything missing here?” he asked.<br />“No,” she sniffled meekly. “I’m… all right, master.”<br />“Good,” he said. “Now don’t worry, most buyers are not like him.”<br />“Yes master… Master?”<br />“What?”<br />“Are… are you going to have me caned?” Dana asked, her voice not quite steady yet.<br />“Of course not. Now quiet down and smile. Just make your breasts bounce a little, look up at the buyer with those bright eyes and say ‘please take me home, master.’”<br />“But… master,” whimpered Dana. “Wha… What if he buys me tomorrow, master?”<br />The agent smiled and combed her hair back to its former order. “I doubt it. He’s much to tight to pay for unspoiled, white virgin cunt-flesh like you.”<br /> <br /> The following morning the slaves were awoken early again. They were bathed, feed, and their bodies given final checks. Then they were sent back briefly to their cells.<br />They were taken to the auction hall in small groups, each slave appearing in order as they were numbered in the catalog. Andrea and Dana were taken, along with the rest of the women in their class, and lined up behind the platform, waiting for their turn on the block.<br /> They could hear the auctioneer taking bids on the other human stock. White people just like them who a month before were living happy, free lives. Now they were slaves.<br /> As they moved up the line, they were finally able to see the auction block, and the activity surrounding it. Andrea watched with morbid fascination as slave after slave was sold to the highest bidder. She saw the white man who had been caned two days before, the one who had resisted at the last auction and shouted defiantly at the crowd. Now he stood docilely, turning and smiling meekly at the buyers, but also looking furtively back at the handlers. It was obvious he did not want to risk another encounter with the rack. The electrical torture had transformed another proud white man into a slave.<br />Then came the dreaded moment. It was Dana’s turn. “I love you,” whispered Andrea into the younger girl’s ear. “Whatever happens… if we don’t see each other again, just remember someone loves you… me.”<br />Dana turned back and embraced her friend, “I love you Andrea,” she said, the tears filling her eyes.<br />“Don’t cry,” said Andrea. “You’re going to be bought by a kind, handsome master who will love you forever.”<br />“So are you, Andrea,” she cried.<br />She kissed her friend and protector, and Andrea looked into those round, chocolate eyes one last time.<br />Then the agent took her collar chain and led the beautiful, naked white girl out to the block.<br /> “Catalog number 2119. Full blood white female, seventeen years of age, never married, virgin. Carries an A-5 government health certificate, and is judged well suited for breeding. SID number, 117-B102714C. Answers to ‘Dana.’ Bidding starts at 10,000, do I hear ten? Thank you, do I hear ten-five…?”<br /> Andrea had to turn away, bile welling up in her throat. Even with all the conditioning she’d had the past weeks, she couldn’t bear to watch her lovely young friend auctioned off like a piece of live stock.<br /> “…Twelve-five once, twelve-five twice, sold to bidder 153.<br /> The girl looked back at Andrea as the agent led her off the block and back to the pens. And Andrea closed her eyes, hoping that wasn’t the last time she would see her friend.<br /> Then it was Andrea’s turn. The assistant snapped the lead chain into the front of her collar and led her out onto the block.<br /> The room was filled with perhaps 300 or more bidders who made offers by holding up paddles with numbers. There was a circle of seats, almost filled to capacity, and people hurriedly checking catalogs and notes. She arrived at the block and the agent led her onto it. Then he dropped her chain and stood back. The lights nearly blinded her and she fidgeted nervously on her bare feet, as she looked out over the audience. So flushed with shame and humiliation was she, that she very nearly forgot to smile, and turn around when prompted to do so.<br /> “Catalog number, 2125. Full blood white female, twenty years of age, previously married, no offspring. Carries an A-5 government health certificate, and is judged very suitable for breeding. SID number, 117-B102761A. Answers to ‘Andrea.’ This particular female is the daughter of the former white leader of the eastern enclave, for who those find that of particular interest. Bidding starts at 10,000, do I hear ten? Thank you, do I hear ten-five, ten-five, eleven, eleven-five, twelve… twelve, thank you. Do I hear thirteen? Twelve-five, thirteen anyone? Twelve six, do I hear twelve seven? Do I hear twelve eight…?” Twelve seven is the bid. Do I hear twelve eight? Twelve-seven, twelve-seven… going at twelve –seven, sold to bidder 61…”.<br /> Andrea was then led off the platform, her mind numb with mortification. She had just been auctioned off, sold to a Negro master. <br /> She was led back to another holding pen, where the other slaves sat listlessly staring.<br /> The straw was fresh and clean, and the room was warm. None of the other slaves seemed willing to talk, so Andrea, exhausted emotionally, curled up on the soft straw and drifted off to sleep.<br /> The next morning she was awakened early by the guards as they removed slaves a few at a time, checking the numbers on their collars. After verifying her collar number with their notepads, they snapped the lead chain on the front of Andrea’s ring and led her out of the pen and down the corridor.<br /> Andrea searched the other pens as she walked by for Cecelia or Dana, but saw neither of them.<br /> Finally, she arrived in what she recognized was the collar fitting room. Again she was made to kneel, and put her head in the stocks. The technician placed a special tool on her collar near the joint behind the ring. With a quick movement he snapped off the old ring, wiped it off, and returned it to the rack.<br /> He checked a computer monitor and opened a large cabinet. After several seconds he brought out another collar, this one quite different from her old one. <br /> It was a little thicker, but lighter. It was made of plain black leather and had no logo. There was however, a ring to fasten chains to, and some numbers.<br /> The man adjusted the collar so that it gave her neck plenty of room, then he punched six holes in the leather and inserted rivets. This collar was apparently meant to be permanent.<br />Finally the fitting was done and the guard led her to a loading dock, where a muscular young black man stood waiting beside a pickup truck. The man checked a computer printout against the number on her collar, satisfied himself that this was the slave he had bought, and pushed her into the bed of the truck, securing her chain to the vehicle. He pulled a white cloth from the cab and told her to put it on. Then he got in the truck, and drove away with her.<br /><br />It was a long windy drive to where ever it was that she was going. Andrea quietly sobbed as the wind streaked through her hair and the truck raced through the farmland. She was as miserable as she had ever been in her life. Her family was gone, her husband was gone, and now Dana was gone. How she longed to see even Mistress A’ala or the other trainers. She felt totally alone and totally vulnerable, bound half-naked to the back of a truck.<br />They passed many small towns, just like the ones she’d seen from the train. Through her tears she saw people, going about their everyday business, seemingly happy and perfectly normal.<br />Interestingly enough, her modesty started to return now that she was in public, and she crossed her arms over her chest. Though many people could see her in the back of the truck though, no one seemed much concerned. The passage of a bare breasted white woman in chains was evidently a common event.<br />After several hours on the highway, the truck turned up a gravel road, and traveled several miles past flooded rice paddies. Then it crested a hill, and Andrea saw a magnificent house in the plantation style, amid sparkling landscapes and lawns.<br />The truck continued down into a little hollow. Here there were scores of small mud and stick huts. Further down, she could see the rice paddies, and dozens of white slaves busily planting rice in the muddy water. All of them were clad just as she was, with a simple white cloth, a foot wide at their waists.<br />They finally parked near a small cluster of buildings; barns, silos, and animal pens. The big black man unlocked the chain from her collar, and told her to climb off the truck.<br />“You paddy slave,” he told her. “You plant rice starting tomorrow. But now, you come, see your mistress,” he said.<br />“Yes, master,” she said.<br />He stopped. “I am not master. Do not call me master. I am M’buto, overseer. Call me sir.”<br />“Yes sir.”<br /> “Come,” he said. And she followed him into a well-kept bungalow, apparently an office.<br /> An obese, well-dressed black woman sat at a mahogany desk, and leaned back as the overseer brought Andrea into the room.<br /> “Kneel before mistress,” said the overseer.<br /> Andrea went to her knees; her eyes cast down to the floor.<br /> “Is this the new one from BIS?” asked the black woman.<br /> “Yes ma’am, we just got back.” The man grasped her hair and forced her to look at the woman.<br />“This Mistress Dominika N’kuba,” he said. “She own farm. She own you.”<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 4 <br /><br /> “When do you bleed, bitch?”<br /> Andrea looked up, puzzled. “I… I don’t understand.”<br /> The black woman’s eyes narrowed. She spoke again, her voice softer, more menacing.<br /> “When do you menstruate?”<br /> “I… but why do you…”<br /> “Tell me slut!” snapped the mistress. “And don’t lie because I’ll have M’buto flay your ass if you do.”<br /> Andrea whimpered. It was so mortifying to be nearly naked, and kneeling before this fat but well dressed African woman and her huge overseer. Despite her conditioning, she was still a well brought up white girl, recently married. How could she answer such a question?<br /> A few seconds later she screeched and tried to stand when the man brought a correction rod to the smooth cheek of her ass and gave her a two-second jolt of current.<br /> “Get down, sow,” barked the mistress. “Stay on your knees or we’ll give you something to squeal about. Answer my question!”<br /> “The… the twenty-first… about three weeks ago, mistress,” the white girl gasped, rubbing her ass. Her eyes went to the floor in humiliation. <br /> Dominika smiled, and spoke to the overseer. “Twenty-two days. We’ll need to have her covered right away so we don’t miss the cycle.”<br /> “Yes ma’am,” said M’buto. “Any preferences?”<br /> “Oh, Jordy I think. May as well break her in right. If we start immediately she should have a fine whelp squirming in her belly before the first harvest.”<br /> “Very good, Ma’am.”<br /> The white girl frowned. Surely the black woman didn’t mean what she thought she did. She looked up when the mistress lightly tapped the black crop under the girl’s chin.<br /> “You will not fight it, slave,” said Dominika. “I want you fertilized several times within the next few days.” <br /> Andrea stared, shocked.<br />“Wha… what do you mean, mistress?”<br /> “You know exactly what I mean, slave. I want you pregnant straight away. This month if possible.”<br /> “But I’m… I’m married. My husband is in a prisoner of war camp. He…”<br /> The fat black mistress laughed. “As to your husband, if he was an officer, as it says in the catalog, I very much doubt he will be released. But that is a matter for the authorities. Even if he is released, he will not be coming to this farm. I have all the white males I need at the moment. As for your marriage, slave marriages are not legally recognized.”<br />“And as for you,” Dominika smiled. “There are plenty of males here to inseminate you. You will make sure they do.” She leaned closer to the frightened girl’s face. “Because it is my will.”<br /> Andrea shook her head slowly in disbelief. “I… please, I couldn’t. I just couldn’t do such a thing. Please…”<br /> Dominika’s face clouded with anger and her lips tightened. But she remained composed, her voice even. “As I said, we are a small plantation. We cannot afford to carry female livestock which will not mate or produce, and we will not tolerate rebellion.”<br /> “Please… I’m not rebelling. I just…”<br />“M’buto!" shouted the mistress. “This bitch needs correction. Even more than we realized.”<br /> “Yes ma’am, he said.”<br /> The white girl was cringing on her knees. “But, I’m not… Please, don’t hurt me.”<br /> “Silence,” yelled Mistress Dominika. “I do not intend to argue with a slave. I will tell you what is expected and you will obey! M’buto, put her over the railing.”<br /> “Yes, ma’am.” He grasped the frightened girl by the arm and led her outside. In the middle of a small courtyard, the railing was a long steel tube running horizontally between two poles, at about waist height. It looked like a configuration to tether animals, but Andrea was soon to find it had other applications.<br />The other slaves and overseers were returning from the paddies as another day’s work ended. Seeing M’buto lead the woman to the railing, the overseers immediately brought their slaves to witness punishment, forming a semi circle around a certain spot on the rail. <br /> Andrea could see the faces of the other slaves. They were frowning with pity and fear. She had obviously touched a nerve with her plea to the mistress, and was in for serious punishment. Even M’buto seemed a little sympathetic.<br /> “You in trouble now, missy. You better learn fast to keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told. Here now,” he said, guiding her to the rail. There were two heavy chain lengths attached to thick steel bolts set in concrete, several feet apart. “Take off your wrap.” A cowed Andrea complied.<br />“Now bend over rail.”<br />The other slaves instantly knelt, casting their eyes downward abjectly when Dominika appeared, and strode over to the railing.<br />The white girl was now crying, her face contorted with fear. M’buto bent down to her, speaking softly into her ear. “You beg mistress like you sorry,” he whispered. “Tell her you fuck men like good slave. Maybe she go easy on you.” She looked up at him and could see the genuine concern in his face.<br /> Andrea was really terrified now. If the overseer was worried, the punishment she was about to receive must be horrible indeed!<br /> “Spread your legs,” said M’buto. “Wider. Now grasp your ankles.”<br /> He took a heavy chain and wrapped it several times around her wrists and ankles, on both sides, pulling a length back to the bolts and securing her.<br /> The mistress walked around in front of the bound girl, then seized her hair and lifted her head painfully. The black woman played the length of her crop lightly over the girl’s flushed and anguished face, smiling cruelly. <br /> She addressed all the slaves. “You all know the punishment for failing to breed. This female has expressed a reluctance to mate. She is new, so her punishment will be mild.”<br /> Andrea could see M’buto as she looked from her inverted position. He was applying what looked like clear grease to a long cylindrical rod, about an inch in diameter. She closed her eyes and whimpered, wishing she could crawl into the sand and escape the shame and humiliation of this moment. Then she felt the overseer opening her ass cheeks. He daubed some cold jelly-like substance on her anus, and she could feel an object being pushed up into her.<br /> The white girl cried pathetically. Not knowing what was going to happen added to her near panic. He was inserting the rod slowly, carefully, so as not to tear her, but it was still degrading and painful. She tried to calm herself, to stem the panic that was even now making her tremble, driving coherent thought from her mind. Beg, M’buto had said. Beg and mistress may relent.<br />Then she was talking, begging. Even before she realized it, the subservient words were gushing from her in a torrent of fear and trepidation.<br /> “Please… Mistress. I’ll do whatever you want. Please, I won’t cause any problems… I’ll be cooperative, I promise. Please don’t hurt me. I… Aaaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeee!” she screamed. Her guts seemed to literally explode with pain. It was the same scorpion-like sting she had felt from the correction rods. But this was much worse. It was continuous, emanating from the cylinder buried in her rectum!<br />“Please… oh please stop! MAKE IT STOP! I’ll do it. Oh please…”<br /> The white slave screamed, pulling uselessly on her chains, bucking mindlessly over the rail. Her eyes were wide with torment and horror, as she shouted and pleaded her willingness to comply with her black mistress’ demands. The current seemed to grip her and stab from the inside out like a million ice picks. And still the pain built.<br /> She was beyond shouting words now. She was screeching and screaming like a terrified and tormented animal, like a chimpanzee, being torn apart by an enemy troop. And still the agony continued. She lost control of her bladder and golden urine streamed onto the sand between her bare feet. Just as she was about to blackout, she heard the mistress’ command. The current stopped.<br />Andrea went limp, her head dangling listlessly between her legs as she panted and sobbed. Through her still terror widened eyes, from her up side down position she saw the overseers. M’buto with his stoic non-expression, and the other blacks, grinning from ear to ear and snickering.<br />Dominika seized her head again. “That, my stubborn little slave, was thirty seconds of current from a correction rod. Starting tomorrow, your cunt will be checked by the overseers every morning. It better be dripping with semen every time. I can have you artificially inseminated, but I do not like to go to the trouble or the expense. If that becomes necessary you will be punished accordingly.”<br />“When you are not working in the paddies, you will mate, frequently, with any male that is available. If you are not pregnant after the third cycle, you will be subjected to the correction rod up your anus for ten minutes. Then you will be gang raped for a day by every male on the plantation. After that, you will be taken to the clinic for insemination.”<br />“You have two purposes here, sow. Work and breed. If you fail to do either, you will find that this is just a taste of what we can do to you.”<br />“Yes mistress. Yes, I will,” the white girl gasped, hardly realizing what she was saying.<br />“Good,” said Dominika. She released the slave’s hair again and spoke to the overseer. “Give her another thirty seconds to crystallize the memory, then let her loose. She works a full day tomorrow.”<br />“Oh please, please,” intoned the white girl, “I’ll make love with them, I swear. Please mistress, please don’t turn it back on.”<br />The mistress walked away, ignoring the girl’s desperate entreaties for mercy. Seconds later the servile pleading became hysterical screams again as the current returned, coursing through her guts for another half minute of mind quenching agony. She vomited and convulsed, as the searing hell seemed to stretch into eternity.<br />When it was over, she hung over the rail like a rag, babbling incoherently. She had nearly lost consciousness again, and was only dimly aware of the overseer removing the chains. The other slaves and overseers were gone, leaving only M’buto, and herself in the courtyard.<br />M’buto lifted Andrea from the rail, supporting her with his iron grip on her upper arm. He allowed her to pick up her wrap and she slowly donned the rag, tying it off at her waist. She found she could walk, and the overseer led her stumbling, over to an older pickup truck. A white man sat in the back, cross-legged; his eyes lowered abjectly, a chain running from his collar to the steel loop in the truck bed. The overseer lifted Andrea into the back of the truck and secured another chain to her collar.<br />Andrea was still breathing heavily from her ordeal, but the pain had faded, and she recovered her strength quickly. She sighed a little whimper of relief. Apparently, the prod did no lasting damage. She had been afraid that her entire insides were being cooked.<br />It was only a short trip up to the plantation house, less than a mile. But M’buto had to take it slow over the rough dirt road. Andrea looked at the white man, who stared at her stupidly. It had been several weeks since she’d been close to a white man, and being near him was somewhat reassuring. She knew of course, that he was a slave, just as she was. But at least he was a white man, and would do what he could to protect her.<br />“What’s your name? I’m Andrea.”<br />“Jordy,” he replied slowly. He was staring at her, ogling her openly as the jostling of the truck caused her breasts to bounce. He was obviously appraising her, but his expression was dull, almost as if he were dim witted or retarded. She wondered how long he had been here. He looked about thirty, but that was hard to tell. His thinly bearded face and long hair, as well as his demeanor, made him appear wild, animalistic. He reinforced the impression by pushing his wrap back and masturbating openly, still staring at her.<br />She turned away in disgust, crossing her arms over her naked breasts to shield them from his leering view.<br />Finally the truck approached the manor house, turned alongside the mansion and parked. M’buto got out and unlocked the chains from the slave’s collars.<br />“This mistress’ house,” said M’buto to Andrea. “You be respectful, especially here. Keep your eyes down and do as you’re told, or mistress really make you suffer.”<br />Andrea nodded meekly as they headed into the house through the servant’s entrance.<br />The place was incredibly opulent, and elegant, especially for the manor house of a small plantation. Even from the service rooms, Andrea could glimpse into the main part of the dwelling, where the mistress and her family lived. It was apparent that the villa was very comfortable, even luxurious in some ways. But Andrea realized that this house must have once belonged to white owners. And some of the sumptuous furniture and expensive appliances were no doubt looted from other whites during the wars. <br />Andrea wondered why she was being brought here. She had been told she was to work the paddies. Had her mistress changed her mind and was going to assign her domestic work? She hoped so. Even though it would be humiliating to be servant to this arrogant, fat, black woman it would still be better than working ten hour days, more than half naked and stooped in the mud. She was sure the decorum in this house would demand she at least be given decent clothing.<br />In an anteroom they were met by an impeccably dressed black butler, an elderly man with graying hair and an aura of the severe about him.<br />“The mistress does not want these filthy pigs in the house proper, overseer. Take them down to the kennels.”<br />M’buto shrugged, and led the slaves down a staircase to the basement, then out a door to a small stable-like building. There were three chain link cages inside, about ten feet by ten. The floor of each was covered with straw, and an empty bucket sat near the door. There was also a ball spigot, the type that pets would drink from by licking the tip- but no dogs.<br />“Get inside,” said the overseer. The two slaves obeyed. “Take off your wraps.” Andrea removed her cloth and handed it meekly to the black overseer, then stood sidelong to the white man, hands demurely covering her pubic vee. Jordy shucked his wrap without untying the knot. M’buto took them and tossed them onto the floor, in the next kennel. He took a tube of the clear lubricant from his pocket, and squeezed a line of it onto his hand. Moving to the girl, he ordered her to put her hands on her head, and spread her legs. She complied, and he spread the gel onto her vaginal lips, and up into her vagina. Andrea gasped and fidgeted, her bare toes digging into the straw, but dared not try to push his hands away. She was unsure what he was doing, but he was very gentle, and very thorough.<br />She sniffled and looked up at him with limpid hazel eyes. He was the only person besides Mistress A’ala, who had offered her even a scrap of kindness since her capture.<br />He applied a little more of the slippery gel, then finished by flicking the girl’s clitoris lightly a few times.<br />“Now you be a good girl,” he smiled reassuringly, and wiped his greasy fingers in her disheveled brown hair. He then stepped outside the cage, padlocked the door, and left.<br />Naked once more, Andrea moved to a corner, and sat down on the straw. The white male eyed her for several moments, then moved over to sit next to her. He was still filthy from the day’s work in the paddies. For sanitary reasons, the overseers usually bathed the slaves with a soapy spray from a large hose two or three times a week. During the planting season however, this was curtailed, simply because everyone was too busy. It had been several days in fact since he’d had a bath, and he smelled.<br />She stiffened when he put an arm around her, but she didn’t try to move away. He was much stronger, and she was afraid of angering him.<br />“How… how long have you been here, Jordy?” she asked, hoping to engage him in some conversation.<br />“I donno,” he said, in a dull voice, as if the question had no meaning for him.<br />“How… how many white men are at this farm?”<br />“Me, and Brian, and Benny… And lots of others. I donno. You pretty.” He leaned over, trying to kiss her. When she turned her head away, he began to lick her neck.<br />“You pretty.” “Jordy, please, I…” she tried to squirm away from his embrace, but he was insistent, holding tight. Then he brought his free hand up to her feel her belly. Andrea closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. She had to reason with Jordy, defuse the situation fast before things got out of hand. She looked down and saw his erection, rampant and throbbing near her bare thigh. She turned her head to look the other way, but gasped and tried to pull away again when he palmed her breast.<br />“Jordy, please…” She squirmed some more when he pinched her nipple roughly, but he had her trapped in the corner, and he still had a good grip on her.<br />“Jordy, stop it… I want to talk with you,” she whined, trying to push his hand away from her tits.<br />“You pretty. Jordy want to fuck you. You have to fuck. Mistress say.”<br />Andrea was stunned. It was suddenly very clear why she had been placed in the kennel with this man. Even though he was white, he was not going to help her or protect her. He was here to mate with her!<br />Andrea panicked. She shrieked with outrage and torn herself from his grasp, leaping away. He got to his feet, leering at her, chuckling idiotically.<br />“Stay away. Stay away from me,” she cried, her voice quaking. She looked frantically around the small cage. It was hopeless. He would catch her in a moment, and force himself on her. And she knew he was right. The mistress had demanded that they have sex. The terror of the railing was still fresh and bright in her mind, and she knew if she resisted, she could end up there again. But the panic of the moment overpowered her; the instinct to flee was too strong for volition to quell.<br />He lunged at her, but she was fast enough, barely, to elude his snatching arms. Andrea whimpered and cried. It was so hideous and demeaning. She had always been a faithful wife, never even thinking about having relations with another man until this ordeal had begun. Even when she’d been told she would have to have sex and conceive children here, she didn’t think it would be like this, raped in a kennel. She was shocked that any white man could be so filthy and disgusting. Jordy came at her again, but she escaped, slipping through his grasp once more.<br />If he’d reasoned a bit, he would have seen that it was a simple thing to get her in a corner, and seize her straight away. But his demented and impaired mind was filled with lust, not reason or strategy. <br />They were both breathing heavily now, staring at each other. If only I can keep away from him, maybe he’ll give up, thought Andrea. She remembered she would still have to reckon with the overseers checking her for evidence that she’d had sex with Jordy. But maybe that could be faked. No one was here with them. Maybe she could lie and tell them she’d done it. It would be her word against his and they couldn’t prove anything.<br />None of this thinking made any sense, but Andrea was in too much of a state of panic to consider things carefully. Jordy was crouching at the center of the kennel, considering his next move. Suddenly, the door to the main building opened, and their mistress, Dominika Nkuba strode imperiously over to the cell. She was carrying a long rod that Andrea easily recognized as a correction rod.<br />Jordy instantly went to his knees, and Andrea followed. The white girl felt icy fingers of terror inch up her spine. Her anus tightened involuntarily with the memory of the punishment her mistress had given her barely an hour ago, and she retreated, cowering into a corner.<br />“Mistress… I… I…” the naked white girl moaned.<br />“You disappoint me, slave,” she said, frowning at the young white girl. You have forgotten so quickly the correction you received for your disobedience? I think perhaps I was mistaken to be so lenient with you.” Dominika unlocked the cage, and walked slowly over to the cringing slave girl, menacingly waving the prod.<br />Jordy crawled over, kneeling beside the black woman.<br />“Mistress… Mistress, please. Oh please…” pleaded the white girl.<br />“I’m surprised you don’t like Jordy. He’s my most prized white breeding stud.” The male smiled and the mistress idly stroked his hair.<br />Andrea whimpered, and watched in frozen fear as Dominika calmly pressed the tip of the prod to her buttocks and pulled the trigger. The white girl shrieked with pain and scrambled away. But there was no where to hide in the small kennel. The mistress cornered her again with ease and pressed the rod tip to Andrea’s exposed breast.<br />“AAAAHHHHHGGGGG,” she screamed, as the black woman held the stinging prod to her skin for several seconds. Andrea writhed and screeched in agony, trying to push the object away. But Dominika was too strong for her. <br />“Get on your back!” shouted the mistress. “Lay down.”<br />The slave girl instantly complied, weeping and begging for mercy.<br />“Spread your legs… now… do it you sow, or I’ll burn your ass out.”<br />Andrea’s legs spread wide, and Jordy was on her in a flash. Instinctively reacting, she tried to close them again but his bulk prevented it, and his hands gripped her hips, keeping her from moving away. She had placed her hands over her vagina in a pathetic attempt to protect it from the white slave’s penis, now poised only inches away.<br />“Get your hands up,” snarled the mistress. “Put your hands over your head.”<br /> Again Andrea obeyed, lifting her arms in total surrender above her head, letting them rest lifelessly on the straw. She sobbed quietly now, passively awaiting the inevitable.<br />Jordy moved his hips forward and brought the head of his manhood to the white girl’s lubricated vulva. He took the uncircumcised shaft in his hand, skinning back the foreskin and guiding the red glans back and forth through the length of her slit. It was the second time the virtuous wife had felt the male organ of someone other than her husband and the shame was unbearable. But the threat of horrible punishment was too real; the will to resist too subjugated. She was beaten.<br /> Jordy now flexed his hips, ready to begin the act of mating, but at a word from the mistress he stopped.<br /> “Wait Jordy,” she said calmly.<br /> “Yes mistress,” he replied, pushing only his glans between the slave girl’s vaginal folds, and panting with expectation. He leaned forward and planted his hands on the straw, on either side of her shoulders.<br /> “Open your eyes, bitch,” said the mistress, her voice now oily and calm, as if she were preparing herself to savor a moment of pure joy. “That’s good. Look right into Jordy’s face, right into his eyes. There… isn’t he handsome. He’s one of your own kind, a white, a slave like you.”<br /> Andrea opened her eyes, staring blankly into the man’s face. His pupils flashed primal lust. He was literally salivating, slobbering pedantically with anticipation, and carnal greed.<br /> “I want you to bring your hands up and put them on his back. That’s good. Caress his back. Softly. Good girl.”<br /> “Now I want you to beg him to fuck you. Go on, beg him.”<br /> The white girl whined with outrage, but when the mistress reached for the rod she sighed, a soft groaning wail as if part of her soul were being torn out.<br /> “Please… take me. Please make lo… love to me… Jordy.”<br /> “That doesn’t sound very convincing. Say it again. And I want you to beg him to fuck you. Fuck you. That’s the proper language for a slave girl in heat. Say it again with feeling, convince him… and me.<br /> “Please… please Jordy…” the girl sobbed and turned her head to the side unable to meet the man’s eyes any longer.<br /> “Look him right in the face…” yelled Dominika, reaching again for the rod. “Look right into his eyes and say it!”<br /> The fear of imminent punishment brought her gaze back to his face, and her eyes clouded over in surrender.<br /> “Please, fuck me Jordy,” she groaned, this time with conviction. “Please fuck me…”<br /> “Yes, yes it’s time Jordy,” said the Dominika softly. “It’s time! Push it in now, slowly… that’s it, very slowly in. Make her feel it. I want her to feel every inch. Yes, that’s it, sloooowwwly.”<br /> Jordy was pushing forward, penetrating, feeling the head glide smoothly into her tight but lubricated depths. At eight inches he was almost twice the size of Jeff, the only other male besides the black sergeant she had ever accommodated.<br /> “Ahh, mistress… she feels good,” said Jordy.<br /> “Good boy Jordy,” said the mistress. “All the way in. Right to the balls, slave boy.”<br /> Andrea gasped when he bottomed out. She felt stuffed, but no pain. The lubricant had worked well.<br /> “Go as deep as you can Jordy. There,” said Dominika. “Hold it there, Jordy. That’s very pretty, just how I want my slaves to look. Hold it still, Jordy. I just want her to feel it inside her for a few minutes.”<br /> The mistress circled them slowly, surveying the couple from all angles. Then she squatted beside them, reaching over to idly stroke the underside of the girl’s bare foot. <br /> “I know who you are… who you were. The pampered daughter of William Taney.” The mistress saw the girl’s eyes roll with humiliation, and a hot thrill coursed in her own loins.<br />“Yes,” said Dominika. “It’s all in the documents we get when we purchase a slave,” she laughed sadistically. “His beloved child… his very flesh and blood. So poised… so proud. Yes, Jordy is the perfect choice for you.”<br /> “Shall I tell you something about Jordy, slave girl? I’ve owned him for about four years. Jordy did not like it when the whites ruled. You see Jordy, as you’ve probably noticed, is a little slow. Well, he’s retarded, actually. Mentally challenged, as they used to say. He’s big though, in a lot of ways. And you know what? Jordy just loves to fuck.”<br /> “Jordy had a problem, though. Before our armies overran the white enclave where he lived, he couldn’t find any girls to fuck. None of the white girls wanted to have sex with a retarded male.”<br />“But all that is changed. Jordy has his pick of the girls now. As I said, he’s my best breeder. He has a very high sex drive and can cum three or four times a day, on a regular basis. In fact, Jordy has plugged every slave female on this farm. He has a very high sperm count, so most of the girls who are pregnant, have been made that way by him. And one more thing, all of the frozen sperm we have is his, so if you’re artificially inseminated, it will be his whelp that swells your belly.” <br /> “Agghhh,” Jordy groaned, feeling the woman’s love canal adjust to his size. He shuddered and ground into her a little, tickling Andrea’s clit with his pubic hair. He desperately wanted to begin rutting in and out but dared not disobey his mistress. He looked up at her imploringly.<br /> Dominika chuckled condescendingly. “So impatient, Jordy,” she said, stroking his hair. “All right then, let’s let nature take it’s course, shall we. Go ahead Jordy, you may fuck her.”<br /> The white male immediately began to thrust his pelvis, sliding his huge cock in and out, slowly at first. He established a rhythm, then lowered himself onto the girl. Her nipples grazed through the thick hair on his chest as they bounced with each thrust. He brought his mouth to hers, trying to snake his tongue between her teeth.<br /> “Kiss him back, bitch. And get those legs up and wrap them around him. Go on, show Jordy how much you need him. Now move with him… do it!”<br /> The white slave girl complied, lifting her soft white thighs over his dirty legs and draping them prettily over his ass. Nature was indeed taking its course as the mating act continued. Andrea actually started to relax a bit as the warm sensations of pleasure washed through her. Jordy's cock was much bigger than her husbands, but she was getting used to his size, little by little. He was going deeper, and touching places inside her that her husband had never reached, and she was experiencing new sensations.<br /> Jordy was pumping her evenly now, thrusting in and out of her warm belly with practiced strokes. There was no pain anymore for the slave girl, no uncertainty. Even the fear of the rod had subsided. She was obeying her mistress and knew now that the terrifying instrument would be withheld as long as she continued to obey. Her conditioning kicked in and the words they had brainwashed into her mind played back, …when I submit the pain stops… I will submit!<br />A faint echo in her mind screamed at her, and Andrea saw flashes of her husband’s face, and remembered their brief lives together. Could he ever forgive her, for what she was doing? With a sob she realized that he might never know of this betrayal. She might not ever see him again.<br />To her surprise and shame she found that prospect almost a relief. For she knew at last that she could resist no longer. Her marriage vows and love for her husband could not survive here. The black society, which demanded the obeisance of her mind and body, was simply too powerful. She had to capitulate. And though it stripped her of every scrap of dignity, self-respect, and virtue, she would consummate the sex act as her mistress had ordered.<br />Andrea sighed, and a faint smile pursed her lips. It was as if a great burden had been abruptly lifted from her, and she was free to yield to the black woman. Her entire body loosened and relaxed. It was nice to simply give in and perform, and not feel pain.<br /> She looked into Jordy’s face as he took his pleasure. He was holding her, grasping her possessively as he continued to hump her. He brought his lips and tongue down again and began licking her face, gasping and purring in his own wet paradise. He raised his face a few inches form hers and Andrea studied it once more. It was so serene. She had feared and hated him a few minutes ago, but now his face seemed so ardent, and so caring. It was not his fault. The pain and degradation of the last few weeks, was not his doing, she knew that now. He was just a man, a boy really; doing what boys liked to do. And she knew now that Jordy would not hurt her out of malice.<br />She felt safe once more, as he held her, covering her with his strong, virile body. Safe, and warm, and secure. They were feelings she had not had for weeks, and to the deeply traumatized girl they promised succor, at least for the moment, from her ordeal. It was so easy to forget her shame, and humiliation, so easy to give in. Just surrender and obey, accept her position and fuck like a good slave.<br /> “Jordy.” She whispered, caressing his back. She grasped his shoulders and pulled him down, thrusting her breast to his chest and dueling his tongue with her own. She moved with him, thrusting her hips up to meet his strong thrusts. “Jordy, I want you. Oh, yes, darling, yes. Let’s fuck. Fuck me, my love.”<br /> The black mistress smiled. It was obvious that the girl had broken. It was so easy when she stuck to her methods. The two slaves were rutting with abandon on the straw, now. There was no shame, no pride, and no resistance. Just two slaves copulating at her direction and command. It was an almost omnipotent feeling, and it was, as always, intoxicating. <br /> She let them continue until they seemed close to mutual orgasm, then there was one last demonstration of her complete mastery. The psychological coup de grace.<br /> “Stop Jordy,” she barked. He froze in mid thrust, with a despairing groan. Andrea continued to hump but she could not match the friction or power of his lunges from below. “Stop, both of you,” the mistress snapped. “Don’t cum until I say so.”<br /> Both white slaves were panting, on the edge of orgasm, but neither dared move and risk Dominika’s displeasure.<br /> “Now. Do you want to cum?”<br /> “Yes, yes mistress,” replied both slaves. Andrea lay shaking with frustration. Her eyes widened with alarm and bewilderment when the big black woman took the rod, and nestled the tip into her anus, just below Jordy’s hanging ball sac. Was mistress going to sting her now? She was being a good slave; she was mating with Jordy. What more could the black woman want?<br /> “You may have Jordy’s seed, in your womb,” said Dominika. “Or the sting of the rod in your ass. But if you want Jordy to cum in you, you must beg me. Beg me to allow him to impregnate you.”<br /> The words gushed from Andrea without hesitation. “Please, mistress. Please let Jordy cum in me. Please let him impregnate me. Please mistress,” she wailed, feeling the cold touch of the correction rod on her anal opening. At any instant it could deliver an agonizing sting.<br />“Are you sure?” purred Dominika. “Are you sure you don’t want the prod? What about you marriage, your husband?”<br /> Suddenly Andrea knew in her lust and fear fogged mind what her mistress wanted, and what she wanted her say. It would be the final act of self-abasement that would confirm her as breeding slave. And she would do it- now.<br /> “Please mistress. Please let Jordy cum in me. I want Jordy’s seed. I don’t want my husband. I want Jordy. Please, I beg you. I don’t want my husband. I WANT JORDY’S BABY!”<br /> Dominika fixed the slave girl’s gaze. “Why?”<br /> Andrea’s breath caught in her throat. “Because it is your will, mistress!” She gasped.<br /> The black woman smiled and removed the prod from Andrea’s anus. It was time to savor victory.<br /> “Very well, you may cum in her, Jordy. Squirt your seed in now. Pump it right into her belly.”<br /> “Yes mistress,” he gasped, and the rutting immediately resumed. This time there was no stopping them. They bucked madly at each other, caring for nothing but their abject, carnal need- needing only the moment of fulfillment, craved by their very souls. And through it all they could hear the soothing, hypnotic voice of the black woman; “yes, yes… Serve mistress… It feels so good to obey mistress… Mistress commands you to mate… Slaves fuck for their mistress… Mistress gives pleasure…And life… And seed… Fuck for your mistress!”<br />It took only a few more seconds to finish, to complete the act of servile mating before their black owner. Jordy gave Andrea one last desperate thrust, and began gushing his sperm into her. Dominika grinned with satisfaction as she watched his testicles bounce as they pumped. Andrea’s mind swirled with lust and joy as her toes curled and she ground her bare heels into his ass. She felt a final bulging of his big cock then the release; a flood of his fertile, liquid essence right into her womb.<br /> They continued holding fast to each other for several seconds, little spasms and flickers of orgasmic afterglow flashing through their still joined bodies. Andrea cooed contentedly, still stroking his back with her loving hands. She unlocked her ankles and slid her bare feet softly down his thighs to the straw. She sighed as the flesh-joy faded, and then the laughter of her mistress invaded her consciousness.<br /> “Very good, little slaves,” chuckled Dominika. “Mistress is very pleased. Now slave girl, I want you up, on all fours.”<br /> As Jordy pulled his deflated penis from her with a soft pop, and rolled off her, Andrea felt her shame and humiliation returning with a vengeance. She flushed red as her Negro mistress gloated. But she obeyed the woman’s orders.<br /> “Get your knees up. Now put your face to the floor. Slope your back down… that’s right. Spread your legs a little.”<br /> Dominika reached down and clasped the girl’s slippery wet vaginal lips, clamping them tightly closed.<br /> “Let it all run up inside you. Work your muscles and draw the semen deeper, right into your uterus.”<br />She placed her hand on the girl’s belly, below the navel, feeling the muscles to make sure Andrea was obeying. “That’s it. Work it harder. You begged for his seed, now make sure it runs all the way in. Can you feel it flowing?”<br />When the slave girl didn’t answer, her black mistress picked up the rod, and pushed the tip of it onto the sole of Andrea’s upturned bare foot. The girl immediately knew what she was feeling.<br />“Yes… I can feel it… Please, I’m trying. I’m sucking it in,” cried Andrea plaintively. “Don’t sting me, mistress.”<br />“That’s Jordy’s whelp inside you. I want it to take,” said the mistress. “You stay in that position until you’re fed, understand. If you get up I’ll put one stinger on your ass and one in your mouth.”<br />“Yes, mistress,” said Andrea, her voice cracking with humiliation. <br /> The fat black woman picked up the rod, and opened the kennel door. Then she closed it, locking it behind her.<br />“Yes, I think you two will do especially well, paired as breeders. You will be fed shortly, and then I expect more mating activity.”<br />“Each time Jordy cums in you, white girl, I want you to assume this position, and stay there for at least 15 minutes. In case you haven’t noticed, there are cameras trained on the kennels. They have night vision capability, so even when the lights are off, I can see everything you do. If I see you disobeying, or offering Jordy any resistance, I’ll have M’buto put you on the rail again. And this time you’ll get a full ten minutes instead of one. Is that clear, little sow?”<br />“Yes mistress,” whimpered Andrea.<br /><br /><br />Chapter 5 <br /><br />After her mistress left, Andrea, fearful she was being watched, dutifully remained in the insemination position until the old butler entered the building’s outer door. He was carrying two metal bowls of food. He opened the feeding door at the bottom of the cage, and pushed them in, then left without a word.<br />Both slaves quickly scrambled after the food. It was a kind of pasty white gruel, with some bread mixed into it. There was also what looked like slices of cheap meat. It was dark and tough. Horse meat, or maybe dog. Jordy wolfed down his share, cleaning the bowl with his fingers, then licking the bowl and his fingers clean. <br />Once such food would have made Andrea nauseous, but at present, she was very hungry, having not eaten since the previous evening. She too scooped up the contents of the bowl with her bare hands and licked it clean, just like Jordy.<br />After the meal, they licked water from the ball spigot. Jordy showed her how. It was dreadfully demeaning, but she was thirsty, and there was no other water. She knelt on all fours, and put her mouth to the pipe, pushing in the ball with her tongue. It worked. With a combination of licking and sucking she was able to drink her fill.<br />Andrea moved to a corner of the kennel and sat down. Her mind a mass of conflicting emotions and impulses stemming from this day’s psychological trauma. She put her head in her hands and cried softly.<br />At length, she was able to stem her tears, but they did not speak to each other. Jordy looked at her curiously, but made no move to approach her. He giggled mindlessly and lay on his back, idly playing with the straw and humming to himself tunelessly. With nothing else to do, Andrea silently watched Jordy. He seemed to have no sense of conventional human decorum. He ran his fingers through his ass crack, then examined them and sniffed them. He continuously handled his genitals, caressing and fondling his penis and scrotum. His antics lasted for about an hour, then got up and stretched like a tomcat. Sighing contentedly and smiling, he squatted on the straw and began to masturbate, unabashedly leering at her. In seconds, his penis was throbbing, and stiff, and he crawled over to her as she sat, resigned in a corner of the cage.<br />He grabbed her toes, pulling at her gently, “Jordy fuck you ‘gin.”<br />Andrea knew it was likely she was being watched, and since she had already had sex with him there was no point in risking further punishment by resisting him. She emitted a soft sob, and nodded. “All right, Jordy,” she whispered, moving onto her back and spreading her legs voluntarily.<br />He moved down and squatted between them, placing his hands on her flanks and stroking her. He smiled down at her, not the leering smile of a few minutes ago, but a beaming little-boy grin. He nestled the head of his prick into her slot and reached down to pull it back and forth along her slit. Andrea sighed despite herself, and brought her hands up to idly stroke the skin of his arms.<br />“What your name again?” he asked innocently.<br />“Andrea,” she gasped.<br />“Drea,” he whispered. “You pretty.”<br />“Thank you, Jordy,” she replied, wanting to be kind to him. “You’re handsome.”<br />Jordy’s face beamed even brighter, and he pushed forward. Andrea was already well lubed with his spend, and he glided right in to the hilt in one easy thrust. He lowered his body onto hers, putting his weight on her and holding her tight with his arms. He moved his mouth to her ear and began whispering excitedly. “Ohhh, feel so good Drea.”<br />Andrea began to feel the betrayal of her body again. She had decided to simply turn her mind off and let him have his way. But as it had an hour before in the presence of their black mistress, his big manhood stirred her libido salaciously, stimulating her lust.<br />He kissed her passionately and she did not fight it. She brought her arms behind his neck and back and caressed him affectionately.<br />He began to rut her into her now, plunging his big eight-inch penis in and out. Each thrust brought their pubes together, mixing her light brown hair with his black mat.<br />She brought her own hand down to manipulate her throbbing clit as the little fingers of lust slid up and down her spine. The couple established a smooth coital rhythm now, and Andrea’s legs rose and entwined themselves around his back. <br />Jordy pounded her now with his brute strength and greater weight. His lovemaking was utterly without finesse or technique and Andrea was surprised to feel herself building toward a climax so quickly again. This time she didn’t try to fight it and gave in to the feeling from the onset. She thrust her loins up to him, matching his strokes, and locked her bare feet over his ass as he pumped in and out of her warm receptive femaleness. She cooed and wriggled, bucking and moving with delight.<br />“Oh, Jordy. Yes, darling, fuck me. Fuck your Drea.”<br />“Dreaaaaaa,” gasped Jordy. “Sooooo pretty.”<br /><br />Jordy and Andrea were fucking with abandon now, and the black mistress lay back on her bed and chuckled as she watched them on the screen. Her arousal was still at a fever pitch after watching the performance of the new slave, what was her name, oh yes, Andrea.<br />Dominika enjoyed personally initiating all the white females after she’d purchased them. It was an incredible feeling of control and superiority to bring them to the level of animals, watching as they mated, trying to produce more slaves to expand her wealth.<br />It was also sweet revenge.<br />For the first 16 years of her life, she had been Judith Mills, a penniless black South African orphan. Her parents had been killed in an uprising when she was an infant, and a white planter family took her in, supposedly as an act of kindness. From her earliest days she had learned about slavery first hand, as a slave herself.<br />They didn’t call it slavery of course, but in the house of the rich white farmer she was a slave in everything but name. She cooked and cleaned for the mother, preened the white daughters, and later served in the white man’s bed. She had grown to hate the whites but had yet to realize it.<br />When South Africa had been liberated the first time, in the 1990s, she had escaped to Johannesburg and by chance befriended a woman professor at the University. She had learned well and even earned the chance to study in Britain at Oxford. She had wanted to be a psychologist, and her studies had taught her much about the human mind. There she also learned about politics, and how the white colonial system had enslaved her people.<br />She met other black Africans, and learned still more. Returning to South Africa just as the whites regained control she quietly simmered in rage. She could protest and defy, but the global hegemony of the whites was simply too powerful. Substantive change was impossible.<br />Then came the bio war.<br />With most of the European and American whites dead, there was a chance of dealing with the African whites. She had seen Hakeem early as black Africa’s salvation, and her support had paid off later when the spoils of white property and positions, (and later the whites themselves) were distributed.<br />She had received this plantation, and prisoners, who shortly were slaves in name as well as fact. That had been six years ago, and since then she had become one of the richest landowners in the region.<br />But she had never forgotten the torment of her youth, even as the wheel turned. Now she was the mistress, and every time she watched her white slaves toil in her paddies and fields, every time she sold a white baby, and especially, every time she had a white female impregnated, she felt an almost orgasmic joy. <br />She had indeed found owning a plantation and breeding slaves to be very lucrative. But the feelings of revenge and power were the greatest rewards.<br />Between Dominika N’kuba’s legs, a naked, white, slave girl continued to lick and suck at her mistress’ black nether lips, her short blond hair flopping and her head bobbing up and down as she worked. The girl had been mistress Dominika’s body slave for several months, and knew from long experience just how to please the woman.<br />“Tongue only,” said Dominika. And instantly, the young white girl began long stroking licks of Dominika’s vulva and inner thighs.<br />“Stop,” said the mistress, and the blond girl ceased her licking.<br />“Sit up.” The girl removed her face from between Dominika’s legs and sat back on her heels apprehensively. Had she displeased her mistress? If so, she might be in for a taste of the black woman’s small but effective whip.<br />Dominika’s attention however, seemed to be centered on the television picture from the kennels. The white girl, whose name was now Holly, breathed a sigh of relief, and sat on the covers with eyes lowered.<br />Dominika had the girl kneel across the foot of the bed with her legs folded beneath her. The mistress could then rest her fat feet comfortably up on the girl’s warm, satin smooth back.<br />The mistress smiled and felt the ridges of Holly’s spine with her heels. The gray eyed blond looked so much like the one of the planters daughters, who had tormented her so long ago, and the hair style she’d ordered for the girl enhanced the effect. The poor girl never knew why her mistress was so cruel to her, or why she had changed her name to Holly, (she had been born Kimberly Witt). She simply did her best to please the black woman- and survive. <br />The mistress laughed delightedly. Andrea and Jordy had completed their coitus, and separated. Jordy yawned and curled up in a corner, while Andrea, remembered to assume the insemination position to let his seed slide up into her uterus. She held the pose dutifully for several minutes, then crawled over to lie next to Jordy. He lay an arm and leg over her possessively, and she snuggled closer to him, her head on his shoulder sweetly.<br />“Come back up here and get that pink tongue on my slit. Go on,” said the mistress harshly, slapping the leather across the girl’ upper back, “get it in there deeper. That’s it. Now suck it ‘til I cum.” Holly obeyed with desperate enthusiasm, and Dominika turned her attention back to the two on the TV.<br />Yes, thought the black mistress with satisfaction. The new female was going to make a good breeder.<br />Jordy was soon asleep after their last coupling, and Andrea had crawled back to the comfort of his body after she’d spent several minutes in the insemination position. Even though they were naked, it was the tropics, and she really hadn’t been cold. It had been natural though to seek the warm, strong body of a male after the lights went out. He felt warm and inviting, and Andrea, after such a traumatic day needed the feel of peace and security, in any man’s arms. Their shared intimacies of the last few hours made it seem right.<br />Andrea could see the full moon through the window of the outer kennel building. It shone with subdued gray splendor, casting a moonbeam to the back of the building, covering Jordy and herself with it’s pale light. For some reason, it made her think of Jeff. Tears came to her eyes when she thought about how ardently her body had reacted to Jordy’s loveless rut. Even with her recent conditioning and knowledge that she had been given no choice the deeply conflicted girl felt utterly ashamed. She knew what her father and husband would think about her if they could have seen her today, if they could see her now!<br />The profound truth she had discovered about herself in the cattle car, the realization that she would do anything, no mater how ugly or abhorrent, to survive, ate at her soul like acid. She groaned, but did not relinquish her embrace of the male slumbering beside her. Instead she ran her hand through the thick black hair of his abdomen, cuddling her head on his chest as she drifted off to sleep.<br /> <br />It was shortly after dawn when Andrea made the muddy, barefoot walk out to the paddies, with the other slaves.<br />The rice paddies were not far from the slave hovels, only a couple of hundred meters in fact. Andrea and Jordy had been picked up by M’buto earlier and released near the hovels.<br />The slaves emerged from their huts to report for the day. One of the overseers, a man named Tabu, took a paintbrush, and daubed Andrea’s belly with a bright red dye. The mark looked like a large dot, a couple of inches across, and was quite indelible once dry. He gave Andrea no explanation, and the rest of the slaves were soon assembled. It was time for work.<br />It was the planting season, and all of the over 100 paddy slaves were currently engaged in the placement of the individual rice stalks into the flooded soil. When they arrived at the area to be planted, Andrea could see great bundles of the young rice stalks on the trucks, and on flat bed trailers. The overseers were cutting the bands of twine that held them together.<br />The overseer handed Andrea a bundle, and she followed the other slaves, wadding knee deep into the opaque water. To plant the rice, a slave would stoop over, and take a single stalk, from the small bundle they were holding. Then they would push the root end of the stalk into the soft mud under the water. The slave would plant all the stalks in her bundle then return to the roadbed where more of the opened great bundles were strewn along the shore. It was all very labor intensive, and primitive. There was no modern equipment to speak of in the paddies of this farm, but Dominika didn’t need expensive machinery. She had slaves.<br />Andrea learned by emulating the other slaves, but she had of course never done work like this. She was much slower than the others were and soon one of the overseers was barking at her to plant the seedlings faster.<br />She tried to pick up the pace, but soon she felt the strain in her back. She straightened up and rubbed her lower back, trying to give the muscles a rest.<br />Thwack! Came the sting of the overseer’s whip on her buttocks. She squealed and turned. The black man stood on the embankment a few feet away.<br />“You are lazy slave,” he shouted. “Get to work. Faster or I flay your white hide.”<br />Andrea turned back to the work at hand, rubbing her soft backside and redoubling her efforts to keep up with the other slaves.<br />By mid-day the stooping was really taking its toll on Andrea’s back. She had straightened up to give her back a rest when she though no one was looking, but overseer snorted loudly and reached menacingly for his whip, and she once again returned to planting.<br />She tried to take her mind off the boredom by watching the other slaves as the mud oozed between her bare toes, and her back screamed at her. They were mostly women, just fewer than 100 in number. The slave population of the entire plantation was over 200, the balance being breeder males, infants and small children.<br />Every slave over the age of five worked in the paddy. The white males worked side by side with them. None of them seemed to be having difficulty stooping, even the women who were roundly pregnant. Probably you got used to being bent over all the time after awhile, thought Andrea.<br />Two other young women approached Andrea and befriended her, introducing themselves as Amy and Evelyn.<br />Evelyn was roundly pregnant, into her seventh or eighth month. She was a blond, and her hair hung loosely and clung to her tanned, sweaty back. She had striking blue eyes, round and wide, and a pretty smile.<br />Though fairer skinned than Evelyn, Amy had brown eyes and brown hair, darker than Andrea’s, but straighter and tied off at the back with a loop of twine. Her breasts were full, and the dark red teats were swollen and elongated. She told Andrea that she had a four-month-old baby, and was a wet nurse.<br />Amy and Evelyn were both very friendly, and showed Andrea how to plant the rice quickly and just how many stocks to plant in a given area. They also showed her how to bend over and plant the rice seedling with a kind of bounce, making it easier on her back. Soon the three girls were laughing and socializing, talking about babies, and the farm- and the males.<br />Andrea had already talked with a few of the boys. They approached her when they saw the red dot on her belly. “Would you sleep with me tonight?” they asked, in a direct and easygoing manner. The invitations, though forward in the extreme, were so sincere and unrehearsed that Andrea was quite unoffended by them. When she instinctively told them no, they were unperturbed, and moved on to the next woman in season. There were plenty of females to go around. <br />Evelyn told her that there were about ten white males. Three of them were mentally retarded. Dominika was partial to them, as they were less of a security risk. They were content as slaves, with enough to eat, and all the pussy they wanted. Also they did not have the mental capacity to plan a rebellion, even if they had wanted to. The mistress observed that they mated as well or better than the normal males, as they were less inhibited and seemed more animalistic. <br />Amy whispered that another reason Dominika favored them was that she was hoping some of their desired attributes would be passed on to their offspring. She knew of course that their mental retardation was most likely not genetic, but it was of course, highly desirable to breed the traits of docility and low intelligence into the next generation of paddy slaves. Since the retarded males were valued for other reasons, it made sense to mate them liberally with the females, and pass as much of their mental “slowness” on as possible.<br />In fact, the only real problem Dominika had with the retarded males was that there were just not enough of them. They were prized for the same reasons by other plantations, and they were just too expensive and scarce use them exclusively for the stud needs of the farm. She had to use normal white males for the many of natural fertilizations, though the overseers were instructed to make sure the retarded males got first choice of the females.<br />The girls also explained to Andrea the significance of the red mark placed on her belly. Every day the overseers would review the ovulation charts for the white females. Women coming into season were marked with a circle of red dye, painted around their navels. This was the signal to white males to mate with them. The dye lasted about the eight or ten days that the woman was fertile. The male slaves were not to engage in relations with women who did not have the mark, and hence were not in season. Those females were reserved for the enjoyment of the black overseers.<br />In this way, the mistress ensured that the vast majority of slave babies on the plantation were purebred white, worth more on the slave market. At the same time it ensured the overseers would have the fringe benefit of all the white pussy they wanted.<br />The overseers constantly monitored the sexual activity of the slaves. They frequently checked the women’s vulvas, and questioned the white males to see if there were any female slaves who were reluctant to mate. This was primarily a problem of the newer slaves. Once a female had been on the plantation for a few months, and had her first pregnancy, she tended to lose any inhibitions and or loyalties to former husbands or boyfriends. Any women who did refuse to mate however, was subject to the same punishment that Andrea was subjected to, and this tended to cure any cases of chastity among the slaves. <br />Amy told Andrea surreptitiously that it was dangerous to turn down the boys who approached her for sex, as she had heard Andrea do earlier. While none of the normal white males were likely report her, the retarded ones certainly would, and in any case the overseers were going to make sure she was mated. Amy advised her to agree to a nice warm, wet night with the next boy who asked, or she might get stuck with one of the retarded males.<br />Andrea however, was disappointed with the normal males. They were all well built and in nice shape, attractive boys. But that was just it. They were boys. While the retarded males were in their thirties, Most of the normal males were in their late teens, the oldest, said Amy, was twenty-one. <br />It was another way the mistress had of minimizing the security risk, by making sure there were no individual slaves, particularly male, who were likely to lead or join a revolt.<br />Andrea could see now that escape from the plantation would be next to impossible, and there was virtually no chance of a slave uprising. The retarded whites where not able to plan such a move and the normal white males were just kids. None of them would have dared to start an action which would almost certainly end in failure, and get them sold to the mines or the quarries- or worse. They were malleable at those ages and could be cowed as easily as the women. <br />After about five hours, at mid-day, they took a break. The overseer blew a whistle, and the slaves waded out of the paddy. On the road, two trailers carried long troughs of the rice porridge. A third was filled with a yellowish gruel called sudsa. This was made from corn meal and mixed into the rice to provide a dietary supplement.<br />Small loaves of bread and some dried fish and meat provided protein. The slaves all lined up near the troughs, and knelt, waiting patiently. Andrea watched as three female slaves scooped up helpings of the nutritional, but bland paste and slopped it into wooden bowls with large spoons.<br />Chunks of the bread, a few vegetables, and a small piece of the meat or fish were added to each bowl. Then about ten slaves from each group were sent to pick up the bowls, and take them to serve to the others. The slaves would then eat communally within the small groups, dipping their bread into the porridge, or using their fingers.<br />Andrea wanted to eat with Amy and Evelyn, but Amy told her she had to go nurse her baby and some of the other infants while she ate.<br />“The mistress does not allow most of the mothers to nurse their babies after about three or four months,” said Amy. “When a girl is nursing it is harder for her body to conceive the next child. Our babies are weaned as soon as they are able to eat solid food, so there’s usually only ten or fifteen of them, over four months who need nursing.”<br />“To feed them the overseers pick four or five of us who are giving a lot of milk, as wet nurses.” Amy sighed. “That’s why my breasts and nipples are so big. I have to suckle two or three babies beside my own.”<br />“I’ll sit with you anyway,” said Andrea.<br />“No,” said Amy. “We wouldn’t be able to talk with the hungry babies crying. You need to meet the rest of us and find a boy. We can talk after lunch.”<br />Andrea agreed and stayed in the line. <br />They were given about an hour to eat. The slaves huddled together to socialize and gossip. It was peaceful and idyllic. The females with young babies nursed their children, holding them and rocking them gently as they suckled on the women’s exposed breasts. Once the same white women would have considered this humiliating and primitive. But the vast majority of the women were either pregnant, or already had infants, or both. Their breasts were always bare anyway, so none of them was embarrassed or self-conscious anymore about so natural an act as nursing a child.<br />All girls with red navels were flirting shamelessly with the males. Some were already kissing and petting on the embankment while they ate their meal.<br />Andrea was just about to receive a bowl, and join Evelyn, when Jamie, an attractive slave boy about eighteen years old, approached her. He was carrying two bowls of food. She recognized him as, one of the boys she’d talked to earlier in the day.<br />“Andrea, overseer Tabu is not happy with you. It’s gotten back to him that you’ve been turning down boys who’ve been asking to sleep with you.”<br />Andrea looked up at the road. The overseer was looking directly at her, brandishing his correction rod menacingly.<br />“He said for us to go over to the grove and fuck.”<br />Andrea looked at Jamie. She had wanted to eat with Evelyn.<br />Jamie touched her shoulder lightly. He was attractive enough, with ice blue eyes and long brown wavy hair. But he was two years younger than she was. Weren’t there any men older besides the retarded white males and the overseers? <br />Andrea glanced at the overseer, who was obviously on the verge of coming down into the paddy with his rod. She knew she was on the edge and if he had to get his pants wet she’d surely get a very painful sting.<br />Jamie made the decision for her. “Come on,” he said. “We only have an hour. And we have to eat too.”<br />Jamie took her hand and led her over to the little copse of trees. From where they were, it appeared to be a small hill, between the two major rice paddies. When the paddies were flooded, as they were now, the little grove was practically an island, connected to the shore only by the service road. Jamie hurried them along, and when they got there she saw that a lush, grassy glade descended a few feet from the road bank, dropping slowly until it met with the water. About twenty huge shade trees, knurled with age, dotted the flat, and the ground was covered with long green grass.<br />“Oh how lovely,” said Andrea.<br />Jamie helped her down the embankment, and they padded barefoot, onto the tiny island. Once they were on the grass she could see the whole grove, for it was quite open and airy. But they could not be seen from the paddies, where the other slaves were working. Only the overseers in the truck parked on the road could see them. <br />It was beautiful and intimate. But Andrea could see they were not alone. Here and there were four other white couples fucking boldly on the warm grass, smiling and rutting as if they were in the privacy of a bedroom.<br />Andrea looked up nervously at the road, but Jamie reminded her that it was all right. This area was technically out of bounds to the slaves, but the overseers tolerated the visits here as long as the purpose was to copulate. Mistress Dominika herself had instituted the long lunch schedule, to encourage mid day sexual activity. Sometimes the visits were even mandated, as was the case for Andrea and Jamie. Rules were relaxed, and the overseers frequently even allowed the couples a few extra minutes at play. They were given extra bits of food to take with them, and couples who performed well were rewarded with slices of fresh fruit or melon and sometimes even candy. At times, the overseers would have some prurient fun with the slaves, jokingly spreading peanut butter or honey, (rare treats for the slaves) on a girl’s breast or vulva. The substance was to be licked off by the male and serve as a further stimulation to mating. Any expedient was tried as long as it resulted in more sex, more pregnancies and more pure Caucasian babies to sell.<br />Jamie sat on the grass and started to eat. He motioned for her to hurry and eat as well.<br />“I love this place,” he said. “It reminds me of home.”<br />“Where are you from, Jamie,” asked Andrea, now scooping the mush out of the bowl with her fingers.<br />“I grew up on a farm in South Africa. We grew wheat and flax. My mother had a garden, and there were trees just like these. ”<br />“How did you end up here?”<br />“Our farm was seized when the blacks overran our region. We escaped, and lived in a refugee camp for about a year, but then we were captured.”<br />“What happened to your family?”<br />“My older brother was killed in the war. My father’s probably dead, he was sent to a quarry. My mother and my two younger sisters are probably alive… somewhere.”<br />“I’m sorry Jamie,” she said.<br />“It’s the same for all of us,” he said. “But we learn to cope with it. Our lives before are gone forever. We know that. After a while, you just accept it. I’m sure you had family too.”<br />“Yes,” she said. “My father’s dead. The others, I don’t know.”<br />“Were you married?” he asked.<br />“Yes,” she replied.<br />It was indeed such a beautiful place. If only she were free and alone, how wonderful it would be to just lay back and enjoy the solitude, and the warm blue sky. The sunlight reflected off the water and sparkled in millions of tiny rainbows thrown into the shadows of the tress. There was the color green, in seemingly infinite shades and nuances. It was as if the little glade were bursting with energy, the very quintessence of life itself. She had to admit it was a most appropriate place to engender a baby.<br />They finished up their lunch and Jamie took his wrap off. “We better fuck now,” he said.<br />Andrea looked up at the road. Tabu was there looking at them, waving the correction rod slowly. She untied her wrap and laid it beside her. Jamie pushed her back gently into the soft grass, and knelt between her legs as she slowly spread them. His manhood was already stiff and throbbing as he worked his delicate young fingers along her labia. He discovered her wetness and smiled.<br />They could hear the soft gasps and cries from the other couples as they consummated their own casual yet profound unions.<br />Andrea caught her breath as he lowered his mouth to her crotch. Her eyes widened when he began licking her slit and inner thighs.<br />“Ahhh haa, Jamie,” she gasped, as his long tongue rasped upward, sweeping across her clit. Her legs doubled and her heels went to her bottom cheeks as she thrust her womanhood up to his open mouth lewdly.<br />She felt hot with shame. It was so nasty for him to put his mouth there, where she peed! And yet it felt so good. Sooo goood! Every time he licked her clit it brought a little cry of ecstasy from her lips, and by the time he raised his face from her sex, she was seething with need for him.<br />He moved his loins to hers, and his six-inch boy cock slid into her depths.<br />He was smaller than Jordy, but he still felt very good. She smiled and when he planted her face and neck with little nipping kisses, she giggled, licking his ears and throat. He seemed so tender and affectionate, yet fervent and eager. It was not at all like Jordy’s rough, violent lunges or Jeff’s tentative, almost impotent probing.<br />The little glade was alive now with rhythmic squeals of ecstasy from the females and the sharp, orgasmic cries of the males as they ejaculated. She and Jamie were rutting just as shamelessly as the others were and Andrea bucked and twisted on his organ with glee.<br />Suddenly he stopped, bringing his face nose to nose and sliding his manhood from her vaginal grasp.<br />“Get on all fours,” he said. “I’m going to fuck you from behind. The overseers like to see us do it that way. They think it enhances the chances of conception.”<br />Andrea loosed a soft whine, but complied. Seconds later, the boy was slogging her like a dog, holding her by the hips and thrusting his belly onto her warm, soft cheeks. <br />Andrea’s toes curled as Jamie cleaved her. His penis stroked her vaginal walls in a way subtly different from the way it felt with “normal” face to face sex.<br />Jeff had never done it to her this way. When she’d been married she would have been shocked and disgusted if he had suggested it. But here on the open grass, with this lovely boy, it seemed so right and natural.<br />He was plunging deeper now. She felt like an animal. And it felt good. Then Jamie reached down to diddle her clit, and Andrea nearly swooned with passion.<br />“Oh yes… Oh, fuck me Jamie.”<br />“Oh yes, Andrea. Push back, lover. I’m gonna cum…”<br />Andrea exploded into orgasm and collapsed on her face, her nipples caressing the grass as fecund loads of warm semen were ejaculated into her womb.<br />They joined other slave couples who were returning to the paddy, males holing hands with their maculate females. Andrea blushed as they walked past the overseer. She knew he had carefully watched them and the other slaves the whole time they were in the glade. <br />“You like this grove.” Laughed Tabu. “Mistress call this Orgy Forest. Lots of little whelps get start here.”<br />Andrea’s back managed to survive the day, and when the whistle was blown at dusk she walked back to the hovels with Amy and Evelyn.<br />“You sleep in hut with slave boy Timmy,” said Tabu to Andrea. “Do fucky fucky all night. We check you tomorrow, better feel lots of Cauc boy juice in cunt.”<br />Blond, winsome Timmy was even younger than Jamie was, but he knew how to perform. Andrea was indeed given two more injections of sperm that evening, on the little reed mat that served as their bed.<br />She even talked to him a bit between lovemaking. He pulled out a plastic comb from under the straw pillow and began to run it through her now tangled hair. Caucasoid hair was straight and thick, susceptible to lice. There were no lice on this plantation, and mistress N’kuba wanted to keep it that way, so she issued cheep, fine-toothed combs to allow the slaves to groom each other.<br />Timmy also massaged her back, easing the pain of stooping. He assured her she would get used to it within a few days.<br />Andrea returned the favor and gave Timmy a massage and then it was time for another joy session. When they were done, her fatigue took over, and before long she had curled up to his warm, tan body to sleep. <br /><br />Andrea’s second day in the rice paddy differed in only one important respect.<br />She started the day as before, walking down to the work area just after dawn. She planted rice in the mud for five hours, ate lunch and fucked again in the little glade, this time with Benny, one of the retarded males Tabu selected for her. When finished they returned to the paddy to work the afternoon.<br />It was just after lunch when an event occurred, common on the farm, but quite novel to Andrea.<br />A young girl named Kerri, with golden blond hair wadded out of the paddy, and lay down on her back in a grassy section of the road embankment. Andrea had met her the previous evening. She was full term pregnant, and her labor pains had begun had three hours before. Now they were close together and she was ready to give birth. The overseers allowed one of the older women, who already had three babies, to assist the girl. The other woman helped remove the mother’s wrap, and placed it under her hips.<br />It was the slave girl’s first child, conceived on the plantation soon after her arrival.<br />Although careful to maintain her work speed, Andrea watched spellbound. The act of giving birth was disgusting and ugly and beautiful and splendid, and most of all, fascinating and profound. And Andrea happened to be only a few feet away, looking right between the girl’s splayed thighs.<br />It was not a difficult birth. Kerri’s belly was full, with a large, healthy child, but her hips were wide and she was in good physical condition. She grunted and pushed, crying and gasping with pain. But the other woman held her hand, encouraging her.<br />“Come on sweetie… push hard. That’s a good girl. Breathe, sweetie… now push.”<br />Kerri gave a sharp cry, groaning from her labor pangs. I took a half-hour more for her to push the baby out of her womb. But finally, Andrea could see the top of the head emerging from the girl’s birth canal. She contracted again with another cry and the baby’s head appeared. The girl whimpered and panted, her now milk filled breasts bouncing with her exertions. A minute later she pushed again and the rest of the baby came gushing out.<br />The other woman caught the child so as not to let it fall onto the dirt and the baby drew its first breath, beginning the vociferous squalling that characterized a newborn.<br />M’buto handed the older woman a cloth, soaked in clean warm water, and she cleaned the baby carefully as the mother tried to catch her breath.<br />“It’s a boy!” the woman said to Kerri, placing the infant at his mother’s breast. As the girl sighed, exhausted by the effort to expel her baby, her muddy toes dug into the grass and her legs remained spread obscenely, exactly as they had done nine months before to receive him.<br />The infant quieted and began to nurse, and the other woman cleaned Kerri’s vulva and legs with the damp cloth. She took the girl’s wrap and rinsed it in the paddy water, and laid it on the grass to dry. The afterbirth was kicked into the paddy, to become more fertilizer for the rice.<br />Mother and child were allowed to rest on the roadside for the remainder of the day. But Kerri had to walk back to the huts with the other slaves, her new infant suckling at her breast. On the way, some of the women (including Andrea) clustered around, fussing over the baby and commenting on his eyes and hair. They speculated on who the father was. Most thought it was probably Jordy. His offspring had the thick, dark hair at birth just as this baby had. Kerri had been fertilized quite frequently by the retarded male her first weeks at the farm. But of course, no one knew for sure. There was so much overseer-enforced transience in their sexual relations that few of them had any idea who the father of their child was.<br />Andrea was astonished at how beautiful the baby was. His tiny hands and feet were formed to perfection. As was the angelic little face that his wondering mother gazed into.<br /> Andrea padded back to the slave hovels with the others and she thought about how keenly the event symbolized their status as property.<br />The miracle of life. A perfect white baby, conceived, carried, and birthed, by a pretty Caucasian slave girl, to enrich her black mistress.<br /><br /><br />Chapter 6<br /><br />“Mistress want you to have white whelp first time,” said Tabu. “But Tabu take you in other holes so not have to worry,” he laughed.<br />Andrea was kneeling outside overseer Tabu’s small bungalow house. She had now been at Dominika N’kuba’s plantation for nearly three weeks, and had yet to have her period. A very good sign for all concerned. She was either pregnant now, or her period was late. In any case, she was out of season and now fair game for the overseers.<br />Tabu had been keen to use the new sow, since her arrival. There was something about her look that gave him a lech. He had seen to it that she had a partner at the “Orgy Forest,” each day, and had watched leeringly as she coupled with the male he had chosen for her. Since it was not a sure thing that she was expecting, he would have her put to another “red belly” cycle with the white males in a few days. In the meantime he could enjoy her himself, as long as he took some precautions.<br />She was told to shuck he wrap at the door, and enter naked, crawling through the doorway.<br />“Head down. Stay on all fours,” he said. “Special treat for white slave girl to be allowed in Tabu’s house. What you say now?”<br />Andrea repeated the words he had ordered her to say when he told her she would be spending the night in his dwelling.<br />“Thank you for favoring me tonight, sir. I will do my best to be worthy.”<br />The overseer laughed condescendingly, and told her to get busy and scrub his floors. She found a bucket, a rag, and some soap under his sink and was shortly hard at work.<br />While Andrea toiled, he watched a soccer game on the tube. His team won, and this put him in the mood to celebrate. He called the white girl into the bedroom. Tabu lay back comfortably on the bed naked, his hands behind his head resting on a pillow.<br />“You come. Suck my cock. Get your mouth on now,” he said, spreading his legs.<br />Andrea grimaced with revulsion. She had heard of that disgusting act but didn’t know anyone actually did it. Of course she’d enjoyed Jamie’s oral stimulation, but for her to practice it on a male seemed filthy and repellant.<br />“Please… I can’t do…” He had anticipated the reluctance and reached for the correction rod, which lay near the bed. He calmly brought the tip to her breast and stung her on the nipple. She squealed with pain and recoiled, standing up at the foot of the bed.<br />He crooked his finger at her but she was too frightened to approach. “Please… please sir,” she whined.<br />“If I have to get up, I’ll stick this thing up your cunt and sting your belly from inside out.”<br />Andrea gasped with terror, and bounded onto the bed.<br />“Now, I want my black cock sucked. Get mouth here, now,” he said, snapping his fingers.<br />She climbed between his muscular legs and took the rampant member in her hand tentatively. She wouldn’t mind so much if he wanted sex with her in the normal way. She had gotten over any inhibition in that area. But that was natural, this was perverted.<br />She felt the tip of the correction rod on her rear cheek and instantly began swirling her tongue over the purple head before he had a chance to pull the trigger. He took her hair and pulled her mouth down over his eight inch rod until it hit the back of her throat. She nearly retched, but he let it out a little, and she was able to swallow the contents of her stomach back down.<br />“Now suck, and lick. White woman make Tabu cum, then she swallow. You let some of Tabu’s seed fall, I whip you. Then make you lick up.”<br />Andrea tried to turn her mind off and concentrate on his phallus. She instinctively began to work her lips up and down, simulating the motions of fucking.<br />“Use tongue,” he said. “Lick under head.”<br />Andrea obeyed and soon the big man was bucking under her, driving himself in and out. Finally, he seized her by the ears and held her mouth down on him as he erupted, squirting great gobs of his spunk as she desperately tried to swallow.<br />She was successful in ingesting it all, but again nearly heaved when he released her hair and allowed her to turn away. She sobbed in misery but the overseer laughed.<br />“White woman learn to like Tabu’s cum soon enough. Tastes like candy to white slaves.”<br />He busied her for the next hour with menial tasks. After he had taken a shower, he made her stand outside, and sprayed her with water from the garden hose.<br />“Tabu not fuck no smelly white slave on his bed. Clean up slave,” he said, tossing her a bar of soap.<br />When she was finished, he grabbed her hair again, and forced her to double over as he led her to his bedroom.<br />“Get on bed, all fours, spread legs. Now, white bitch!”<br />Tabu put two pillows under her belly. Then he stood behind her, and brought the tip of his correction rod to her inner thighs, but did not fire it.<br />“Spread legs more,” he demanded, using the rod to direct her movements. She obeyed and she felt him applying some of the lube to her ass crack.<br />Andrea wondered why he applied it there. He missed her labia. It did not occur to her that he was going to sodomize her, and when he brought his manhood to her anus and began to push, she erupted in screams of outrage.<br />“No, please… not there, that’s horrible… oh please!”<br />Tabu was chuckling again, immensely enjoying himself.<br />She tried to escape him, struggling as he held her down. She felt the rod tip at her navel, and an instant later felt the agonizing sting.<br />“Aaaiiiieee… please, oh please. Don’t sting me again, sir…”<br />“Be still. Reach back and hold cheeks open!”<br />The rod won. It always won. Andrea sobbed with shame and disgust. But she reached back as the overseer ordered, and spread herself wide to ease his entry.<br />“Ahhhh,” he gasped with delight as he pressed it slowly into her. “Tight white ass hole. Make Tabu happy!”<br />Andrea gave in. She simply lay on her face and cried. The mortification of what he was doing to her was too great to bear, but so was the punishment for not complying. All she could do was react the way a slave always did, with craven acceptance.<br />He pushed it in slowly, adding more lube. It still hurt, but soon he was gliding in and out of her and she had gotten used to the intrusion. Still she hated it, and shuddered with disgust. But she held still as he pistoned her, digging her toes and fingers into the bed in anguish, all the while waiting for the vile moment to end.<br />Finally he pressed himself in extra deep. He grunted and she could feel the pulses of his jism as he spent deep in her vitals.<br />He pulled out slowly, and she gasped with mixed relief and pain.<br />“Get some toilet paper and clean this up,” he said. When she moved too slowly he barked. “Hurry up, or Tabu make you lick you own shit off his dick.”<br />Andrea moved quickly to get the paper.<br />Andrea returned to Tabu’s hut for the next three nights, sucking him off and being taken anally each time. She got used to the oral sex, licking and sucking avidly to please him. But she could not get over the anal abuse. She dreaded the moment, performed each night, when he would order her onto the bed on all fours, or force her to bend over the edge of the couch.<br />It came to a merciful end five days later, when M’buto applied the red mark to her belly. She was back in season.<br />This time around, she did not deny any male who proposed sex. Knowing the mistress’ preference, Tabu usually paired her off with Jordy in the grove and overnight. For Andrea’s part she was now fully resigned to becoming pregnant. Whenever the overseer had not mandated that she fuck with Jordy, she eagerly sought out the normal boys, preferring to carry a child by them rather than one sired by the coarse bodied retarded man.<br />Andrea watched Evelyn deliver her baby that week. The girl had been having labor pains all day, but she did not start to give birth until they were walking back to the huts.<br />This was actually a good thing, since several of the women were able to help. M’buto had become concerned at the duration of the blond girl’s labor, and was watching closely. He was about to call Magabu to summon a veterinarian when she finally popped the whelp out.<br />He breathed a sigh of relief. He did not want to lose a valuable slave and her progeny, but he knew the mistress would be displeased at the expense of a vet.<br />That night, Andrea continued the effort to engender her own baby. Jordy was being used to initiate a newly purchased slave girl, so Tabu had paired her up with Sandy, a nineteen year old, freckle-faced, red haired boy she’d turned down the month before. The overseer reminded her that he intended to check her labia in the morning for traces of semen, and would also interview the boy.<br />She complied, receiving him at her hut at dusk and copulating with him long into the night. He was rather taken with her, and supplied three copious loads of sperm deep into her fertile belly. She enjoyed the evening, and slept cuddled warmly in his arms until morning.<br /><br />Near the end of her subsequent month at the farm, Andrea missed her second period, and it was confirmed. She was pregnant.<br />This development was very much a mixed blessing. It meant that she was sparred the horribly painful session with the punishment rod in her anus, but it also signaled that she was fair game for the overseers.<br />Mugaba was the next overseer to claim her body for a night. He was a huge black man, perhaps the largest male of any race at the plantation.<br />He could also be the most brutal and merciless of the overseers, using the cane to beat her with his full strength at the slightest infraction. All the slaves, including Andrea were terrified of him, but he was not a monster.<br />He did not, as some overseers did, invent rules or misdeeds in order to inflict gratuitous punishments on the slaves. He was very fair, never relenting from punishing a slave, but never malicious. <br />Andrea eventually found that if she were very careful, and supremely servile, she could avoid his cane altogether. All it took was a dedication to provide him with a very good fuck.<br />Another reason Andrea respected if not liked him was that he did not demand any anal or unconventional sexual performances from her. She never knew if he disliked sodomizing a woman, or that he was simply unimaginative. For whatever reason, Andrea’s sexual episodes with Mugaba were frequent, but limited to conventional oral and vaginal sex.<br />Weeks turned to months and, as humans do, Andrea adapted to her environment. She submitted, as she was conditioned to do, to the reality of servile existence. To her surprise she found life as a paddy slave to be very tolerable, as long as she groveled and obeyed. She saw herself as a slave now, so there was little humiliation left to be felt from being topless, or performing sexually while being watched. After she had become used to the stooping the paddy work was not hard, and the nine or ten hour days were not exhausting. There was much time to socialize and play.<br />One truth at first had horrified Andrea. The slaves were not in fact restless. Their basic needs were met; their lives were secure, and were no expectations or ambitions to cause dissidence. Once Andrea would have been astonished and disgusted that white people could accept such abject subjugation so easily. But now she understood. It was easy, so easy to be a slave. To grovel when all one’s peers groveled. To kneel and beg pathetically for a scrap of kindness. To work and mate and reproduce like a domesticated animal to increase the wealth of a master of superior race.<br />Hakeem and his society had discovered a system that was invincible. Whites as a race, had not only been enslaved, but utterly pacified. At least in Africa.<br />At Mistress N’kuba’s plantation, life for the slaves was in many senses, almost a utopia. There was no enmity among the slaves, no rivalries, no competitions or jealousies for men, women or possessions. All of them had sexual access to each other and none of them had any possessions.<br />For all of the work Dominika and the overseers did to facilitate mating, the fact was they had nature squarely on their side.<br />Though the females especially formed close friendships and often talked for hours, there was practically nothing to do at the hovels and no recreational opportunities for the slaves, except for the ever-popular one on one. Young males in their late teens and early twenties do not generally require much prodding, in any case, to engage in sexual activity. Intermingle them with young, attractive, scantily clad females, who are themselves desperate to get pregnant, and nature is bound to run its course. <br />Thus was life for the slave girl Andrea. She was walking back to the hovels one afternoon with Evelyn, when Overseer M’buto drove up to them in the pickup.<br />“You sleep in my hut tonight,” he said, to Andrea firmly. “Go there straight after dark. Wait for me on porch.”<br />Andrea nodded with a respectful “yes sir,” and the boss drove off.<br />Evelyn was smiling. “Well, aren’t you the lucky girl tonight?”<br />“What do you mean?” asked Andrea.<br />“Are you kidding? Every girl on this farm wants to fuck M’buto.”<br />“I hate it with the overseers,” said Andrea. “They knock you around, or want your… your rear hole, and they’re horridly brutal.”<br />Evelyn laughed. “You haven’t been fucked by M’buto yet have you?”<br />Andrea shook her head. “No, just by Tabu, and Omar, and Mugaba. Is M’buto any different?”<br />“Oh yes, very different,” said the blond girl.<br />“Gentler perhaps?”<br />“Oh, I wouldn’t say that exactly,” said Evelyn, her blue eyes shining. “Just better. You’ll see.”<br />M’buto had business at the plantation house. When he returned to his bungalow he found Andrea waiting for him, on her knees, as Tabu had taught her. She had been on the wooden porch for two hours, continually looking and listening for the sound of the pickup truck, that would herald his return.<br />He smiled with amusement as she entered the house on her knees, and once inside he closed the door and told her to get up.<br />“Take off wrap and go to kitchen,” he said. “Wash dishes.”<br />She obeyed, folding her wrap neatly and placing it on the floor by the front door. She went to the kitchen and saw there were several days worth of dirty dishes on the counter.<br />She worked on them and had them dried and stacked in about an hour.<br />“Gather all laundry,” he said, with reference to the dirty clothing in the bedroom and bathroom. “Put my clothes in machine, then come back here and kneel.”<br />She obeyed, and returned to the living room to kneel at his feet. He was watching TV, ignoring her. She kept her head bowed and her eyes to the floor, afraid he might, like Tabu, turn suddenly to see if she were watching the set. <br />Moments later, he snapped his fingers.<br />“Lay with me here,” he motioned. She complied.<br />“You may watch TV, keep hands on M’buto.”<br />“Yes sir,” she replied.<br />He was going to allow her to sit on the couch! And watch television! She hadn’t seen television in almost five months. She had not sat in furniture for that long either.<br />Andrea slowly ran her hands through the sparse wiry hair of his chest. She lay her head against his shoulder and looked at the set. It was very different in content to what she had known.<br />The premise of the shows was the same, even some of the names of dramas and comedies. But whites seem to have been largely edited out. Rarely did any whites appear at all, and when they did, they were always depicted as slaves; stupid, petulant, or as clowns.<br />There were whites in the commercials. She saw two ads for slave traders, and three more for the brothels. Smiling, attractive white girls were shown lined up for selection at the establishments, posing and moving provocatively. Even a few boys were shown. Then a sweet little red head who winked cutely at the camera gave the address and phone number.<br />There were commercials for a chin of massage parlors, and several firms who provided rental slaves for domestic use. The language and imagery of the advertisements made it clear the duel menial and sexual service that one could expect from renting a white slave.<br />The simple an overall message was that there should be a white female slave for every black man. It was a right, even a religious and patriotic duty to keep a slave. The rental companies existed for those who could not afford to buy their own, making the sexual possession and use of white women more common and universal all the time.<br />Andrea was enthralled by the TV, but she was careful not to neglect M’buto. How different he was from Tabu. By now the younger overseer would have pushed her to the bed, and ordered her to spread her legs. This man exuded an aura of absolute mastery over her. He did not need to drag her from her hovel and fuck her straight away. He could simply command her presence, and could take her in his own sweet time.<br />They watched a war movie. The black forces won, defeating the evil whites. Then M’buto got up, and told Andrea to follow him.<br />In the bedroom, he ordered her to undress him. Then they went to the bathroom to shower. Andrea was unsure what was expected of her, but he took hold of her collar, and pulled her into the shower with him.<br />“Wash me,” he said.<br />She took a hand towel and began to rub it on him.<br />“No. Learn how white female wash black man.” He was not angry, and did not bark the command. He simply stated it as though he were training an intelligent animal.<br />“Take soap and lather tits and body, then rub on M’buto.”<br />Andrea obeyed, and was soon rubbing her soaped up body over every inch of his. She found it incredibly erotic.<br />For Andrea, it was hard to concentrate on bathing the man. There were severe distractions. First, she was taking a shower, a real shower in an actual shower stall. She hadn’t done that since her capture. Second, the intimate contact with his unspeakably handsome body was charging her libido with 1000 amps.<br />By the time they were finished, her pussy was soaking, and not from the water.<br />Andrea climbed out of the shower first, and reached for a towel to be ready to dry M’buto as soon as he got out. She ran the towel over his muscular ebony skin, then used the cloth to dry herself. She smiled at him and went to her knees. Holding his nine inches of rampant manhood, she moved to place her mouth over it, but he stopped her.<br />“No. In the bedroom.”<br />Andrea rose and kissed him passionately. “As you wish, sir,” she whispered into his ear. They walked slowly to the bedroom, M’buto stopping several times to receive her eager kisses, letting his black hands grasp her smooth, tan flesh. When they entered the room, Andrea immediately went to her knees beside the bed, casting her eyes to the floor in submission.<br />M’buto sat on the edge of the bed. “Come here,” he said, quietly, beckoning her to the bedside between his legs. She smiled and crawled to his manhood. Her hands stroked lovingly over the hard muscles of his thighs and she traced the line of his hairy legs to his magnificent genitals.<br />Then her mouth descended over the head resuming the act of fellatio she had begun in the bathroom. His balls were heavy in her hands as she fondled them gently. She lightly traced the great rampant shaft with her fingertips before reaching out with her tongue to graze the underside of his glans. <br />He petted her head affectionately, and she responded by licking his balls.<br />She had thought he wanted to cum in her mouth, but near his peak he pulled her head off. He moved up the bed and lay back, hands folded behind his head. Crooking his finger at her, he said smiling, “Now, white female worship black god.”<br />Instinctively, Andrea crawled onto the bed, and straddled him, fixing his eyes. She knew he could see and smell the arousal, dripping from her spread labia. She wanted him to see. It was an offering to her god.<br />Breathing heavily and still looking directly into his coal black eyes, Andrea grasped his rampant manhood, which stood straight up with regal glory. She mounted him, poised for a long moment with his magnificent phallus just touching her. At the little hole in its massive head, a drop of milky liquid formed. Andrea applied the drop to her throbbing clit, then tucked the ebony rod into her snatch and descended on all nine inches.<br />She felt the organ fill her, stretch her as none other ever had. He gave her a moment, then seized her breasts, tightly pinching the tips. He tugged firmly, painfully downward. Andrea gasped but he said nothing. A second later, he did it again. The meaning was clear; he was setting the rhythm he wanted from her.<br />She lifted up, and dropped herself downward the next time he pulled. It continued several times, and she found that she could precisely match his pulls and save herself some pain. <br />Andrea picked up the lewd cadence, bucking up and down on his cock as he pulled mercilessly on her nipples. But it didn’t hurt as long as she obeyed, humping and thrusting exactly as he directed.<br />Up and down she bounced, riding him with voracity. For several minutes he made her work, finally he grasped her collar and pulled her down on to his chest, just as the viscous bolts of his seed gushed into her belly.<br />She lay on him, sweaty, exhausted, trying to catch her breath. He pulled a book from the nightstand and Andrea waited for the painful kick or punch in the ribs that the other overseers gave her as the sign to leave. Back to her hovel with the man’s semen leaking from her slit. But the blow never came.<br />He put the book down and closed his eyes. “Where you from?” he asked.<br />“M… me?”<br />“No, other slave girl in bed. Who you think I ask about?”<br />Andrea was astonished. None of the other overseers had tried to engage her in pillow talk. They considered her to be nothing but a whore to cum into and toss out.<br />“I… I’m from America, sir.”<br />“How you get to Africa?”<br />“My father was stationed here before the bio war. When the conflict broke out, we were stranded.”<br />“What he like?”<br />“He was a very… traditional man. From South Carolina, one of America’s southern states. My mother died about ten years ago and my sister and I were raised on military posts.<br />My father had a thing about his daughter’s virtue. We wore long dresses, conservative clothes,” said Andrea thoughtfully. “We weren’t even allowed to date until we turned seventeen. Even then he wanted to approve the boy first.”<br />“What he think of black man fuck his daughter?”<br />Andrea looked into M’buto’s face. She wondered why he was asking such questions. Was he trying to trap her as a pretext to some kind of punishment? She decided the truth was the safest answer.<br />“My father hated black people, sir. He would have gone insane with rage if he knew I was having sex with a man of color.”<br />“He very foolish man, bring white daughters to Africa,” said M’buto, his face expressionless.<br />“Yes,” said Andrea, “I guess you’re right, sir.”<br />“You were married?”<br />“Yes.”<br />“Why your husband not protect you?”<br />“What?”<br />“When M’buto get married, he not let his wife be taken. He fight!”<br />“We… he couldn’t… He had to surrender.”<br />M’buto was shaking his head. “M’buto fight. No one take his woman till he dead!”<br />Andrea thought a moment. He was right. She couldn’t see M’buto surrendering meekly. He would have found a way to escape. Or win. The more she thought about it, the more Jeff looked pathetic and weak. She carried that growing conviction back to the paddies with her.<br /> <br />Around midnight Andrea was awakened by the rain. The lightening crashed and from time to time the eerie light of the bolts illuminated the two figures on the bed.<br />Two months had gone by since Andrea’s first evening with M’buto. She had spent many subsequent nights in his bed.<br />She lay quietly for a few minutes, admiring his body, then she smiled. She rose up on her knees, and felt for his manhood, discovering he was already stiff, dreams of anticipation sifting through his half-conscious brain. She lifted one leg and draped it over his hips, straddling him. He gazed silently up at her, wondering if he were still dreaming. But when he reached down to guide her hips, she pushed his hands gently aside.<br />“Relax, my love,” she breathed. “Let your white slave girl do the work.”<br />She took his heroic phallus and guided it to her labia, dragging the velvet tip back and forth through her drenched lips. Grinning happily, she wriggled her toes under his calves, and gazed deeply into his smoldering black eyes. <br />The little lamp flickered and danced in the corner, casting its rays softly on the interracial couple. The golden light seemed to gleam on their bodies, sweating in the warm, humid night air.<br />Finally the white woman could endure the anticipation no longer. She impaled herself with one easy stroke, and began thrusting her hips ardently, her breasts bouncing, nipples catching the glint of lamplight. He was inside her to the hilt, and she felt the incredible thrill of once again being filled with his manhood, much larger, more rampant, and far more thrilling than her husband’s had ever been.<br />They were grinding out their rapacious lust, moving together zealously, deliciously. He was holding her hips tight to his at last, grunting out the warm copious spurts of his semen deep within her as she shook and gasped with a climax of her own. He drenched her, their mingled juices spilling onto his balls.<br />She collapsed onto his firm chest, panting to catch her breath. A few moments later she moved to dismount him. But he brought his strong black hand to her lower back and gently, yet firmly kept her pressed to him. This was his wordless command that she keep his manhood buried in her sex. He sat up on the bed, his back resting against the headboard. Andrea moved with him, never releasing the now soft but still substantial black shaft from her snatch.<br />She wrapped her legs around him as she sat straddling his lap, holding his hard body in her arms and resting her head at his collarbone.<br />“It’s really storming out there,” she said softly.<br />“Rains come now,” said M’buto. “Good thing rice harvest done. Rain come for many days now, flood rice paddies for next crop.”<br />“What work do we do ‘til then?” she asked.<br />“Mistress have slaves work on landscape at manor house, and turn the vegetable gardens. Slaves also repair their own huts. Mostly though, slaves fuck. Mistress say slaves must stay busy making whelps when not working in paddies.”<br />She snuggled closer to him. It felt so soothing, so intimate to be sitting with him, her breasts rubbing against his as they breathed. She felt secure as never before in her life, warm and safe in his bed.<br />Andrea sighed as she felt his phallus twitch within her. She caressed his shoulders with her fingertips and looked into his eyes. <br />“M’buto,” she whispered to herself. Even his name was so strong, and manly. “M’buto.”<br />She wished fervently that she were not already pregnant by the white boys. How wonderful it would be to conceive and carry M'buto’s child, to prove her love and submission. She fantasized the baby would be a boy, with his father’s handsome Negroid face. Her white baby would always be a slave. If she had a child by M’buto it would at least have a chance for freedom and a life outside the plantation.<br />Andrea chided herself angrily. She was nothing but a slave, a dirty little paddy slave at that. How foolish to fall in love with her overseer. Why would any black man, let alone a man like M’buto, be interested in her for anything more than a causal fuck?<br />Yet she could not help it. He was so devastatingly masterful and attractive.<br />In her mind’s eye she could see herself and the black overseer in a peaceful domestic setting. He working at his desk diligently. She sitting on the floor by the fire, her chocolate brown baby, suckling at her naked breast. It would be like being married. At least as close as she could get in this society. And no one would take her child. M’buto would love it, and her, and she would be happy.<br />It was a moment of sheer indulgence in female fantasy.<br />As she straddled his lap, she felt the magic returning to the organ that joined them as one flesh.<br />“M’buto…” she whispered simply, her head nestled onto his hirsute chest, “I love you.”<br />He chuckled. “You slave.”<br />“I know. Forgive me, sir. I still love you.”<br /> As if reading her mind, he stroked her navel with his thumb and asked, “You want baby next time by M’buto?”<br /> He knew the answer, but she looked into his handsome face and replied with a soft rustle of breath, “yes”.<br />He responded with a smile, and pushed her onto her back, his newly hardened penis still inside her. He gave her a sharp thrust downward with his hips, driving his ebony shaft into her cervix. Then he pulled downwards on her nipples. She understood these movements to be a sign that he wanted her arms and legs submissively entwined around him, and she complied immediately.<br /> “Maybe after you have white baby, you move in with M’buto. Then you have M’buto’s baby,” he said as he began to piston his cock in and out from above. Andrea’s heart leapt with a surge of joy.<br /> He smiled. “For now, you practice making M’buto throw his seed.”<br /><br /><br />Chapter 7<br /><br /> “Uunnggg,” Dana gasped as camera probe went deeper into her belly through her vagina. She was laying flat on her back in a doctor’s office, her legs spread obscenely and secured to stirrups so that she could not bring them together. In fact, she was immobilized everywhere and could move little else except her fingers and toes. A thick plastic tube ran into her vagina. At the other end it was attached to a metal box and wires ran to a computer terminal. But the screen was facing away from her, and she could not see the images on it.<br /> Dana whimpered as mortal shame passed over her. There were four people in the room. Beside the doctor and a nurse in white coats there were a black man and woman who appeared to be their mid thirties. They were talking among themselves, but in Zulu. Dana could make out almost none of it. <br /> “Ahh,” said the doctor. “See, this is very good. There’s this nice, pink little layer here. A very healthy uterus. I’d say she’ll have no problem with twins.”<br /> “Perfect,” said the man. “I was concerned by this Cauc’s small size.”<br /> “Well,” said the doctor, “she’s rather small, while you and your wife are both fairly large, so I’d imagine her belly’s going to be very big before she delivers. But I think she can manage it.”<br /> “Shall we go ahead with the procedure then?” asked the man.<br /> “Yes, I have two of your embryos prepared. All I need is the go ahead from both of you.”<br /> The man and woman conversed among themselves for a bit, then the husband nodded, “yes doctor, go ahead.”<br /> Dana felt small vibrations in the tube. She sensed movement deep inside her lower abdomen, a dull pain, a flowing liquid and a physical presence she had never experienced. She whimpered, the unknown driving her fear. What were they doing to her?<br />With the aid of surgical cameras and advanced technique the probe had been pushed up into Dana’s birth canal, then directed back and upward, past her cervix and down into her uterus. The doctor was about to implant two embryos, which had been pre-fertilized from gametes taken from the black couple. These were placed directly into the white girl’s womb; the last stage of an ultra advanced in-vitro fertilization and insemination technique. All of the black people studied the monitor intently for several seconds, then the doctor announced success. The apparatus was slowly withdrawn from Dana and the nurse wiped off her labia with a damp cloth. <br /> “We can’t thank you enough, doctor,” said the black woman. “Haile and I have wanted to start a large family for so long, but I haven’t wanted to risk my figure or take the time from my career.”<br /> “Yes, I understand,” said the doctor. “Many women are opting for this procedure these days.”<br /> “And you’re sure the children will suffer no ill effects from being incubated, birthed, and suckled by a Cauc?” asked the man.<br /> “I’m certain,” said the doctor. “This procedure is tailor made for busy modern couples and is fast and easy with this new technique. We didn’t even have to break her hymen. The embryos taken from your wife are genetically yours and hers. This Cauc female is merely the host. She only supplies the womb to grow them, and the teats to suckle them.”<br /> “So none of her blood or genes will pollute our children,” said the woman.<br />The doctor nodded.<br /> “Excellent,” said the husband. “We just bought this slave, hoping she would be suitable for this operation. I’m glad we’ve been able to use our investment straight away. By the way, when will she be able to perform sexually?”<br /> “Oh, I’d give the fetuses a day or two to settle in her uterus,” said the doctor. “Then you can make use of her whenever you wish.”<br /> Her new owners smiled. With the doctor they walked back to his office, leaving poor Dana on the examination table. She whimpered and the nurse looked down at her reassuringly.<br /> “You’re a very lucky Cauc,” said the nurse sincerely, rubbing the white girl’s abdomen.<br />But Dana trembled, suddenly cold. She had no idea of what had just occurred but she felt apprehensive, violated. As the nurse released her from her bonds the slave girl thought she felt a warmth in the depths of her belly, but dismissed it as her imagination.<br />“Yes,” said the nurse. “A very lucky slave.” <br /> <br /> The next day they came to the hospital to collect her. Dana was given a thin white wrap and taken out to a waiting car. She was told to get into the trunk, then the hatch was closed over her. Fortunately it was not a hot day, and it was only a short ride to where her master and mistress lived, a moderate sized house in an affluent neighborhood.<br />Dana was taken inside through the back door, and told to kneel forthwith.<br />“My name is Bruna Notabu,” said the young black woman.<br />Dana shivered. She so wanted to appear submissive and make a good impression on her mistress, as her conditioning was prompting her to do, but she was very nervous. Having new owners was a stressful time for a slave.<br /> “My husband’s name is Haile,” said the African woman. “You will address us as mistress and master.”<br /> “Yes… Yes, mistress.”<br /> Bruna outlined the new slave’s duties for her. She would cook and clean, scrub and toil, performing all the menial tasks in the house. She would also obey everyone in all things. Most explicitly in things sexual. She was not to regard herself as a person, but as an object to be used as her owners saw fit. Fair-skinned, chocolate eyed little Dana was to be the family’s body slave, expected to go at once from sheltered virgin to domestic whore.<br /> Dana frowned. She had always been a good girl. But as a slave now, she hadn’t known what to expect. Somehow she felt her chastity would be respected if she showed them that she was an upright, moral girl. She had no knowledge of the fact that she was already pregnant, and was still unconsciously hopeful of saving her virginity for a nice white boy. She had yet to learn exactly what it meant to be a slave.<br /> “My father lives with us,” said Bruna. “He is a veteran of the early African battles and a hero of Africa. You will treat him with the utmost respect and deference. You will obey him as you do me or my husband, is that clear, little Cauc?”<br /> “Yes, mistress,” said Dana.<br /> “Now I am going to demonstrate to you the consequences of any disobedience. There is a cane hanging on the door to the pantry,” said Bruna, gesturing to the next room. “Go fetch it.”<br /> The white girl did as she was told and hurried back to her mistress.<br /> “Kneel,” said the black woman. “When you bring the cane you will always remember to present it on your knees, and you will beg for correction.”<br /> “Y… yes, mistress,” said Dana, “Please correct me, mistress.” She was led over to a high padded stool and told to lie face down on it and drape her arms and legs over the sides.<br /> “Put your palms and the soles of your feet on the floor and keep them there,” said Bruna. “I don’t want to bother binding your arms and legs and I don’t feel I should have to. A well-disciplined Cauc will learn to remain still and accept punishment. I do not expect you to keep silent or not to flinch. In fact I do not think you’re being properly influenced unless you hurt enough to cry out. But you will not move from the posture you are in right now.”<br /> “Please mistress,” bleated the cowed white girl. “Please, I’ve been good… I’ve obeyed!”<br /> “Yes, you’ve been a good girl,” said Bruna, as if talking to an errant child. “But I want to show you what will happen if you’re bad.”<br /> Dana began to cry. She couldn’t help it. She had seen caning while at the training facility, with terrifying results. Now she was to be punished with the dreaded implement, even though she had committed no infraction.<br /> Bruna saw her distress and took a little pity. “Only six strokes, little Cauc. Just to give you a taste of your mistress’ will. If you handle it well, we’ll leave it at that,” she said.<br /> The white girl sniffled and shut her eyes. As afraid as she was of the impending “demonstration,” she was even more terrified of disobeying. She could hear the sound of her mistress’ footsteps as she circled slowly around her. The cane seemed to whisper as the black woman swished it though the air for effect, and Dana dug her toes nervously into the thick carpet. Waiting in agony of spirit, the new slave girl began to tremble. The first blow when it came, though searingly painful, was almost a relief.<br /> “AAAAggghhhh… unnggg.” Dana clenched her teeth and closed her eyes tight. A bright read weal rose on her pale back and her mistress smiled. The slave girl had remained still in her vulnerable, servile position.<br />“AAAAgggghhhhhh, please, mistress…” Dana begged.<br />“Very good,” said Bruna. “Only four more. Keep your hands and feet flat on the floor.”<br />“AAAAAAgggggghhhhhh, oh god it hurts!”<br />“Of course it hurts, little Cauc,” said the mistress. “It hurts so bad you will never, ever want to disobey!”<br />“AAAAAAAgggggghhhhhhh,” please mistress, please stop… I’ll obey I swear it!”<br />“I know you will obey, little Cauc,” said the black woman pleasantly. “Because we are going to train you correctly from the very start.”<br /> “AAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH… it… uhhhh… hurts!” Dana’s fingers and toes were now clawing into the carpet, her face a mask of tormented anguish, wet with bitter tears.<br /> “Learn the lesson and remember this well. In my house you have no will. Think of the pain, Cauc. Let it fill your mind and soul. The pain is your friend. It compels you to obey and saves you from worse punishments. You are a slave. My slave!”<br /> “AAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH… uhhhhhh, uuhhh, uuhhh.”<br /> “Very, very good. Kneel before me and thank your mistress for the correction.”<br /> Dana obeyed, “Thank you for teaching me, mistress.”<br />“You may get up now and rub the marks.”<br />The white girl stood up, whimpering when she touched the stripes on her buttocks.<br /> “Do you feel them?” asked Bruna sharply.<br /> Dana nodded and squealed when she received a snap of the cane across her enflamed buttocks.<br /> “Answer me! Do you feel the stripes, you little whore?”<br /> “Yes… yes mistress,” said Dana quickly.<br /> “Those are marks of ownership, my ownership of you. I know you were conditioned before you were sold. But I remember when your kind held sway over Africa. I was only a small child but I know how my people were kept in squalor and degradation by your clever schemes. That’s what Caucs do best. So feel those stripes and rub them. Contemplate them so you understand fully in that little white monkey brain; I’ll cover your backside with bloody welts if I even suspect you’re scheming.”<br />“Yes, mistress. Please, I’ll be good!” <br /> “There,” said Bruna finally, speaking evenly, almost kindly again. “That was only to enlighten you, little one. If you were being punished for real you’d get twenty or thirty strokes. Now get up. You have work to do and I expect it done before my husband gets home. In case he wants to sample your charms.” <br /> Dana complied, shivering from the remembered pain. But what frightened her most was the black woman’s seeming instability. She acted calm and temperate one moment. At the next, the least thing could set her off. Dana was very apprehensive about being in the power of a woman like that.<br /> <br /> In the next few days, Dana settled into the routine of domestic labor. She had been given a short, drab skirt to wear as she worked; scrubbing the floors, dusting, sorting the laundry. Before her capture she had never done such work, being the only daughter of wealthy parents. They had brought her up well, if overprotected, and a colored maid had always been employed to clean the house.<br /> Dana was not lazy however, and learned fast, completing her chores and duties each day.<br /> Her owners also employed a Filipino maid, Tita, a woman in her late forties. She lived in a modest room in the basement and was responsible for the day to day upkeep of the house. She was therefore, in charge of Dana, and in Bruna’s absence was her de facto mistress.<br /> Tita enforced her office with sharp eyes and a wicked little crop. Dana’s ass frequently bore the red marks of Tita’s discipline. There were times when she failed to finish her work, or missed a speck of dust while cleaning, but to Dana it often seemed that Tita was looking for excuses to punish her. There was a glint in her dark eyes when she ordered the white girl to bend over and throw her skirt over her back. Tita would then apply a few stinging strokes to Dana’s bare buttocks and berate her for her carelessness before allowing her to straighten up and return to work. <br /> At night, Dana was chained by her collar to a foam mattress in a corner of the basement. She would cry, humiliated and homesick and wondering how her family was faring. She also thought about her friend Andrea. Would she ever see any of them again? Tears of loneliness dropped to the mattress as she curled up, nodding off at last.<br />Every morning, Tita released Dana from her chains to perform her chores. At this juncture, the white girl was required to demonstrate her submission to the housekeeper by tonguing her to orgasm.<br /> This was very hard for Dana at first. She was in no way a homosexual and had never had any experience with lesbianism. She resisted the woman’s advance the first time and ran to her mistress to report the “unnatural” demand.<br />This rebellion earned Dana ten strokes with the cane, administered by the Filipino woman as Mistress Bruna looked on. Dana discovered it was expected of a slave to acquire both the trappings and skills of lesbian love. For though Bruna was also no lesbian she did enjoy the feel of a slave girl’s mouth on her sex. More importantly however, Dana needed to learn with utmost conviction that she was a slave. She was to obey anyone of color, no matter what the demands.<br />It only took a few sessions and liberal use of the crop to turn the girl into an eager, if somewhat novice cunnilingust. Dana laved her tongue deeply and used her teeth and lips to caress the dusky labia before her face, whose ever they might be. It became easier and easier until she performed without a second thought.<br />And it was not just the mouth sex. Dana was proving so passive and tractable that even she herself noticed. She had always thought of herself as courageous, from a long, proud line of pioneers and freedom lovers. Now she saw the truth. She was a slave, mentally as well as physically. She was naturally submissive, and in her earlier life had always been anxious to please the authority figures in her world. She had remained a virgin due to the fact that she was a good girl. To be submissive to her family meant chastity and decorum.<br /> But all that had changed now. Submission to the new authorities in her life meant the banishment of chastity. Her new Negro masters did not want a quiet, reserved young girl, waiting to become a virtuous wife and mother. They demanded her transformation into an energetic and enthusiastic slut. Matrimony was irrelevant to a slave girl, though motherhood was definitely in the offing. This lesson was brought home to Dana in the most forceful way, only a few days after she arrived.<br /> Master N’dumo, Mistress Bruna’s father returned home from an induction rally. Though retired, he was still active in his support of the Prophet’s armed forces, and had supervised an honor guard.<br /> Dana was sent to his quarters, (as he referred to his rooms) to present herself.<br /> The white girl had grown in confidence in the past few days. She was worked very hard, but that was easy to get used to. No one had assaulted her and she was beginning to dare hope she might keep her virginity. Perhaps she had misinterpreted what the mistress had told her about being a body slave. Perhaps, she thought, she would not be forced to perform sexually with a male at least, after all. She did not know they were merely saving her maidenhead for the esteemed patriarch of the family. <br /> She knocked on the door timidly after re-tying her hair and straightening her skirt. When the door opened, Dana was face to face with the blackest man she had ever met.<br />He waved her inside the room and immediately, without speaking she went to her knees and bowed her head as she had been taught. She looked at his feet but he said nothing for several minutes. When he walked around her slowly, Dana realized he was appraising her with military efficiency.<br /> Finally his deep African voice broke the silence. “So you’re a virgin.”<br /> “Y… yes master,” breathed Dana.<br />“Do you know why are you here?”<br />“To serve you, master.”<br />He pushed her onto all fours with his foot, then held something before her face. Dana moved her face back a little to allow her eyes to focus. He was holding a whip.<br />He circled behind her again, and she flinched a little when she felt him uncoil it, allowing it fall gently onto her neck. He trailed the leather slowly, tracing lightly over her naked back from her shoulders to her buttocks.<br /> “How old are you, piglet?”<br /> “Sev… seventeen, master.”<br /> “Seventeen years old and no one has ever mounted you. That’s rare for a Cauc,” he chuckled.<br />He was drawing the whip slowly, almost caressing over her back now. Dana whimpered with fear but marveled at how something so soft and supple could cause so much pain, depending on how it was applied.<br /> “I am fifty-nine years old, little Cauc,” he said. “I have seen much. Much of what your kind has done.”<br /> Dana tensed at the edge in his voice. “For centuries you enslaved us, a race vastly superior to you. Your Cauc males took our women. They ravished and soiled the flower of Africa. But that time has ended. Now you must settle accounts. With what do you intend to pay, little one?”<br /> “Please,” said Dana plaintivly. “I’ll do what you want. Don’t hurt me.”<br /> “Get up,” he said abruptly. “Take off that skirt.”<br />Dana obeyed, nervously untying the hip cord that held up her simple garment and letting it fall to the floor.<br />“Now undress me and fold my clothes.”<br /> Dana moved quickly to comply with his instructions. After she was finished she blushed, standing in front of him. Ironically it was his nudity that made her self conscious and embarrassed. She had never been naked and alone with man who was also naked. Especially such an imposing black man!<br /> The big, black object bobbing between his legs was the source of special trepidation for Dana. She certainly was not so naive that she did not know what that organ was for. Yet as a virgin she could not believe that a penis of that size could possibly be used inside her. She simply was not big enough internally. Black women, she thought, must be much larger in their private places.<br />“Get on the bed. Turn over on your back,” he growled. “Spread your legs.”<br /> Dana turned beat red, realizing she was going to be displaying her most intimate flesh. But the black man’s tone was insistent. She knew even the slightest hesitation on her part would result in punishment, so she immediately obeyed.<br /> Her eyes widened when without further ceremony, he climbed onto the bed and moved between her open knees. Dana reacted instantly, attempting to close her legs. It was not an action of conscious rebellion. It was simply fear. Fear of the huge truncheon at his crotch and its proximity to her to her virgin slit.<br /> “Aaahhhhh, hhhaaa,” she cried when slapped her belly hard with his open palm.<br /> “Keep those legs spread, slave,” he barked. “Try to obstruct me again and I’ll have Tita give you twenty with the cane!” <br /> Dana’s face clouded with terror and she splayed her knees as far as they would go.<br /> The older black man smiled and ran his hands lightly over the smooth, creamy flesh of her inner thighs. Dana whimpered in misery, but the man watched her face, savoring the mental and spiritual turmoil bubbling up from her soul as the reality of her impending rape sunk in.<br />N’dumo now moved his loins even closer, so that the dark, shinny head of his glans was poised at the very entrance to her vagina. Its oily kiss on her nether lips made her tense with alarm.<br />“Please,” she gasped. “I can’t take you! Please master, you’re too big!”<br />His only response was to guide his rampant member to her sex and tuck it between the thin, pink lips. Her sharp intake of breath followed as he pressed his weight forward, onto her, pushing the rock hard phallus between her delicate vaginal folds.<br />Dana now tensed up on the edge of panic. At that instant her denial was shattered and it became obvious that he was going to take her precious virginity. He really was going to try to insert that terrifyingly large, black thing inside her body, and there would be no talking her way out of it. He would kill her with it!<br />Paralyzed with fear, the white girl watched as he slowly planted his flesh into hers. She felt her labia parting, stretched tightly now around his thick, black member; felt the pain as he gored deeper, ever deeper. She bit her lips when he encountered resistance within her. Then he stopped. Less than a quarter of his great length had been inserted and he had struck what Dana thought was the end, the bottom. In reality he was pressed all the way against her hymen.<br />He held himself still over her, transfixed by his moment of heady triumph. Beneath him Dana held her breath, conscious only of a sensation of being painfully stuffed. All she could do was lay trembling, wanting to escape his grasp and run screaming from the room, yet knowing that was impossible because of his overwhelming strength. She was afraid to offer the slightest resistance and had no idea what was going to happen next, but obviously, she thought, he couldn’t go any deeper with his “thing.”<br /> N’dumo reached down to place a hand possessively over Dana’s choking vaginal lips, pinching and pulling them with his fingers. “This belongs to Africa now. Do you understand?”<br /> “Yes, master… Ahhhhh.” He slapped her lower belly hard.<br /> “No you don’t, Cauc. You have no idea what this moment means to an African Man. Praise be to Allah and the Prophet for what he has wrought in my lifetime!” Without warning he lunged downward with irresistible force. Caught totally off guard Dana screamed as his huge penis burrowed deeper, stretching her maiden sheath before it. The elastic “bottom” of her vagina flexed with the strain. He was too big. Too Big!<br />Then came a sharp pain and something inside her seemed to rupture. The resistance was gone and his big organ slithered in unobstructed now as she sobbed and gasped under him. He bore down with all his weight and strength, slowly but relentlessly penetrating now, all the way in.<br />Finally, he was home, all nine ebony inches sheathed in her belly as her pudenda at last met the base of his groin. Dana was staring at down between her splayed legs though disbelieving, horrified eyes, sure her little hole had been ripped open. But N’dumo kept himself still, pinned tightly against her for several minutes, enjoying the feel of her helpless sobs as her body shook. She wept bitterly, thinking herself mortally wounded, her insides torn and bleeding. Fortunately for Dana, he remained motionless for a time, allowing her stretched vaginal canal to adjust to his prodigious size. He rose on his arms enough to take his weight off as she breathed. Then he began to withdraw.<br /> She was not wounded of course, and the rupture she had felt was only her virgin tissue, not her vital guts. But Dana lay still in stupefied shock, closing her eyes tight and wondering why the pain wasn’t worse than it was. Surely she was dying. Wasn’t she?<br />He was nearly out of her now, and Dana looked down to their loins again, expecting to see her living organs spilling out. There was a viscous liquid coating his fat thing, making it appear slimy. Then she gritted her teeth; he was pushing it back in!<br />She stared imploringly up into his coal black face and he grinned back. “Pleasssssse,” she wailed. “You’re too big!”<br />He laughed cruelly and slowly pressed deeper until he bottomed out once more. “Ahhhh,” he sighed as he felt the head of his cock kiss the spongy wall of her never before touched cervix.<br />“Yeah,” he rasped into her ear. “I’m too big. But you’re going to take me anyway. I’m going to stretch this little white cunt to fit an African man!”<br />Dana whimpered. She had always imagined that the moment she lost her virginity would be one of trust and love on her wedding night, after she had married the man of her dreams. Now here she was under an old, gray haired, black man, a stranger; her first intimate encounter with a male!<br />Dana wanted to cry but found herself so overwrought by emotion that she couldn’t. She was too afraid. She simply couldn’t take pain and knew instinctively her choice was to surrender to him or suffer. She didn’t want to feel the cane, and if losing her honor along with her virginity was the cost of avoiding it, she would do it. It was soul a destroying realization and the truth of it exploded into her consciousness. She was a whore!<br />Relentlessly, the black man continued to hump her, gradually gaining speed with his thrusts. Almost imperceptibly, the pain started to fade. Every time he pulled out again and slid his organ back the friction seemed to ease the sting, soothing rather than irritating.<br />He had established a slow, deep rhythm, plying her gently but firmly, grinding himself onto her clitoris at the base of every stroke. Dana at last began to relax a bit. The pain was definitely lessening now and he seemed less menacing, engrossed as he was in taking her. She began feel the nuances of sensation missed in the fear and dread moments before.<br />His body was so hard, his skin so dark. Scarred with age and a rugged life, yet still vibrant and voracious with his lust. The white girl felt the weighty brush of his scrotal sack with each of his plunges, grunting earthly with every down stroke of his hips. The muscles of his arms and legs were like steel, holding her in place for his rapacious needs.<br />“Welcome me, white girl,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Embrace me!”<br />Dana obeyed, enveloping him with her arms and legs. She was rewarded when he lowered his face to hers and ravished her mouth with a passionate kiss, locking his lips onto hers and delving his tongue to lick behind her teeth.<br />Dana was surprised when it began to feel good. There was a tingling deep in her belly, and the friction of his big cock working in and out of her relentlessly was ceasing to be unwelcome. The white girl, anxious to please, began thrusting her pelvis and humping back to him. It was what he wanted after all, and she was a slave. Alone with him in this room, nothing else existed; only N’doma, his penis, the dreaded cane- and the warm masochistic glow now waxing behind her navel.<br />Dana sighed, returning his kisses. Her tongue dueled with his and she began to match his movements, jerking her hips to his thrusting cadence. She was a slave, she told herself. There was no reason anymore for pride or chastity. She had to fuck back like a round-healed little whore. What else could she do? <br />They were fucking for real now, he was squeezing her like a python in his arms and Dana was bucking up with his rhythm, undulating the way her female instincts told her to. The bed creaked with humankind’s oldest musical beat and she looked up into the older man’s dark, smoldering eyes. There she saw the strangest mixture of race hate and compassion in his furrowed, Negroid face.<br />Then the most magical thing happened to the white girl. At that moment the truth of her enslavement was more tangible than ever before. And she liked it! She wanted him. No man had ever made her feel this way. There were no bonds or chains, no canes or whips. He was dominating her with sheer physical strength. It transcended bondage even mere rape. It was a demonstration of the dominance of the male over the female in its most profound form, spiced by its interracial qualities. Dana was just female property, which existed to be fucked.<br />She finally gave in completely, surrendering at that moment to this man, to his society, and to his big black organ. It was not an end to her fear or shame, or but it was an end to all resistance. Never again would she wonder about life as a free person or even long for her old existence. She was Dana, the little slave whore. That was her destiny.<br />And now it was time for a consummation of sorts. Not of marriage, as Dana would once have expected from this act, but as master and slave. One more husky grunt and thrust and he pinned her to the bed with all his might, pressing himself as hard and deep as possible. When he came, pouring the hot liquid of his essence into her, it was as an iron searing into her soul, branding her forever as his fuck-whore.<br />And most appalling of all, to the former virgin was that part of her own innermost being that welcomed it so!<br /><br /><br />Chapter 8 <br /><br />The time passed, and Andrea’s belly grew more and more pronounced. She would lie in her hut some nights, running her hand over it with wonder, feeling the delightful little shudders and kicks, even wondering at times who the father might be. During this time, she didn’t have much contact with males. She was off limits to the white boys of course, being already pregnant, and she was of little use to the black men aside from the occasional cock sucking they demanded.<br />Nature took its course, and one day it was Andrea who wadded out of the paddy holding her round belly. She lay in the soft grass on the road embankment as the contractions gripped her. Her friend Amy was at her side.<br />Even though she’d lost practically every scrap of modesty, and witnessed the delivery of many children, she thought she would be self conscious about giving birth on the very public embankment. She had hoped the labor would begin at night, and she could have the child in her own hut. Alas, the labor pains had begun in the morning, and by late afternoon she was delivering. Once the birth began in earnest however, she found that she was unable to think about anything but the pain, and the instinct to push.<br />“Come on Andrea, you can do it," encouraged Amy.<br />Andrea grunted crudely and yelled as the painful contractions gripped her. She was clawing at the grass and grinding her bare heels into the muddy bank.<br />"Oooohhhh, aaaggg god," she choked out, through clinched teeth.<br />Amy took her hand and squeezed. "Push honey," she said. "I can see the head now, PUSH!"<br />Only two more contractions and Andrea's baby oozed squirming out of her stretched vagina. She lay gasping for breath as Amy cleaned the child with a warm, wet cloth. Someone handed Amy a second towel, a cool one, which the girl applied to Andrea's face to wipe the sweat from her eyes. Andrea could see it was M'buto who had supplied the kindness, and it was his handsome face that smiled down at her.<br />Amy brought the baby up to Andrea's face. "A little girl!" she exclaimed, placing the baby at Andrea's breast.<br />The new mother cried with joy, gazing into the infant’s tiny face. She had never seen anything so beautiful.<br />Andrea looked up at M'buto. She could sense his approval and it filled her with pride.<br />"Mistress be most pleased, with her newest slave," he said, smiling good-naturedly. <br /><br />About three months later, Andrea was sitting on the road bank of one of the rice paddies, nursing her baby during a lunch break. She looked down at the beautiful little girl; suckling contentedly at her mother's now swollen breasts.<br />Like her friend Amy, who was now back working the in the paddy, Andrea had been selected as a wet nurse. Her mammaries had naturally responded to the extra milk demand, and were now always full and tender. Her areolas and nipples, once a mild shade of pink, had become a dark, lurid red, the teats fat and elongated from the constant suction of hungry little mouths. <br />“Would you suckle him, Andrea?” asked Jenny, a teenage, auburn haired girl. She was holding her six-month-old son, who was fussing and squirming.<br />“I have to go to the grove with Jordy,” she told Andrea. “If I don’t get pregnant this cycle, the mistress will give me ten minutes with he rod,” she fretted. “Even worse, I might lose him,” she said, unconsciously pressing the child to her own breast.<br />"You can leave him. I have enough milk," said Andrea.<br />She did indeed have enough milk. Her breasts were uncomfortably full at the moment, and the nipple not in use was leaking and dripping down her bare chest.<br />Jenny nodded gratefully and placed her baby at Andrea's nipple where the infant immediately began to nurse with greedy little coos.<br />Andrea sighed and watched the ragged workers as they waited for their food. The water was mostly gone from the paddy now, and the slaves were cutting the mature rice. They sweated in the hot sun; their bare feet caked in the thick, congealing mud. It was like a wheel, endlessly turning, season after season. In a few weeks they would flood the paddy, and the cycle would begin yet again. <br /> Another wheel had come nearly full circle. Kerri, the first young woman she had seen give birth at the plantation, was full term, and nearly ready to drop her second child. It was the way white slave girls marked the time, the planting and harvest of the rice, and the conceiving and birthing of babies.<br />The slaves were very restless and apprehensive. It was nearing the end of the first rice season, when there would be a short slackening of work on the plantation. The slaves would be repairing their mud and stick houses and the black overseers and farm workers would be doing maintenance on the plantation’s equipment. It was also the season when the mistress began to select the whelps to be sold.<br />Despite the welcome reality of less work and more social time, the slaves, especially the women, lived in dread of this season. Any of them could be sold or traded to another farm, or factory. A troublesome or simply unlucky slave might be sold off to the mines or the brothels, or worst of all, to a university or research center.<br />Even the overseers and farm technicians were nervous, since it was the time when their boss made decisions on the number of employees that would be needed for the coming year.<br />It was the slave women with children though; who suffered the most anxiety. Dominika usually did not sell whelps that were still suckling. They were simply not worth a great deal at auction. But any child over the age of about a year was marketable, and therefore at risk. They all knew of course, that the eventual sale of their progeny was likely, probably even inevitable, they were after all, slaves on a breeding farm. That knowledge however did little to console the women. All they could do was hope for a reprieve during these times that would let them keep their children a little longer. <br /> This year, the commodity prices for white children between the ages of two and twelve, (picas, as they were called), were very high. The rumor was that that the mistress intended to sell a number of picas, particularly the males, in order to finance the purchase of a few more breeder females.<br />Sure enough, when the slaves returned that evening, about twenty of the women were told to line up behind the rail with their children. The rest were assembled a few feet away, as if witnessing punishment.<br />There was much soft crying and fear on the faces of the women as they waited for their mistress to appear from the office. All of them knew what was about to transpire, but were holding their breath, hoping against hope for some miracle.<br />Dominika N’kuba stepped outside, and all the slaves immediately went to their knees. She strode imperiously over to the first mother at the railing, followed by M’buto and Mugaba. <br />The mistress did not even bother to address the other slaves or explain the reason for the assembly. Everyone knew what was going on, and besides, they were slaves, and had no say in the business decisions of the plantation. It was a useful disciplinary tool, however, for them to witness their fellow slaves being selected for sale.<br />The first slave was a dark haired woman of about thirty. She had a ten year old boy who had been born to her before her capture about two years earlier, and had been lucky enough to have been sold with him. She also had another child, a girl of about six months. M’buto took a notebook from his pocket.<br />“This girl poor breeder. She had to be artificially inseminated with younger whelp. Now she still not pregnant six months after dropping. Male slaves say she hard to mount and she sometimes turn them down when approached. Sometimes she fight. Also she been insolent to Tabu.”<br />“Please mistress,” begged the woman. “Please, I won’t be insolent… I will try harder, I…”<br />“Sell the ‘pica,’” said the black woman.<br />The naked little boy began crying and clinging to his mother, and the woman wailed with desolation. “Please mistress. Don’t take my child… Oh please, I will conceive, I swear, oh please mistress… Mistress…”<br />“Yes, you will get pregnant, and soon,” said Dominika. “Or we’ll sell the little whelp as well.”<br />Mugabu pulled the boy from his sobbing mother, and handed him to another overseer. This man picked up the child and carried him to a waiting truck.<br />They moved to the next slave. This woman had three children, a three-year-old, a two-year-old, and a suckling baby.<br />“This woman slacker,” said M’buto. “Always do less than other slaves. Have to be watched all the time. She stand and talk with other slaves, work slow, even though she warned many times.”<br />“Sell the two picas,” said the mistress.<br />“But… but mistress,” she pleaded. “I’m pregnant again. I breed lots of babies. I produce well for you… please mistress, have mercy.”<br />But Mugabu was pulling the squealing, frightened children from her grasp. She too collapsed sobbing onto the dirt.<br />“This woman late in becoming pregnant after second child,” said M’buto, after they had moved to the next slave. She was a petite and comely girl who looked no older than eighteen. She clutched and rocked a toddler and a baby about six months old, sobbing uncontrollably.<br />“Sell the older whelp,” said the mistress.<br />The girl wailed and held the children tighter. She looked up at the black woman, her big brown eyes pleading, overflowing with tears.<br />It was M’buto who spoke. “She good breeder ma’am, and good paddy worker. This girl been sick and M’buto think that keep her from taking. M’buto think she deserve another chance, if mistress say all right.”<br />“Very well, M’buto,” said Dominika. “We’ll let her keep the whelps if she’s pregnant after her next cycle.” <br />“Thank you… thank you mistress.”<br />“Thank M’buto,” chuckled the black woman. The girl crawled to him and took his hand, kissing it and wetting it with her tears. “Thank you sir,” she whimpered, clutching her babies to her breast with one arm and holing his hand to her face with the other. “Thank you, thank you… oh thank you…” Her miracle had occurred.<br />On down the line they continued, but none of the women received any mercy except for the one M’buto had spoken for. When they were done, there were nearly thirty naked, crying white children caged in the heavy farm truck, awaiting transport to the slave market. Their mothers wailed and sobbed disconsolately in the dirt, some of them still pleading abjectly for the mistress to relent. <br />Dominika strode over to the truck with the two overseers to inspect the consignment.<br />“This very good yield of picas ma’am,” said Mugabu.<br />The mistress smiled. It was indeed a fine group, top quality. All of them healthy and bright eyed. Prices for slaves were very high at the moment, and it was a particularly good seller’s market for picas. She figured this lot would easily bring in enough cash to pay for some much needed repairs to equipment, purchase two or three more breeding females and provide a nice profit besides.<br />Perhaps a short vacation was in order. She could spend a couple of weeks down at one of the posh resorts at the Cape. It would be nice to spend some time on the beaches, away from the farm.<br />Someone would need to attend the auction of these slaves, but she could send M’buto to do that. There was also the seminar on slave pacification and breeding techniques that she wanted him to attend. Yes, it was time she rewarded him with something extra for his hard work.<br /><br />Andrea lay on the reed mat in little mud hut, watching the lightening course through the darkened sky. It had been a nice relaxing day with no real work. The kind of day slaves usually get only on Friday, the Moslem holy day. It had rained hard since morning, and even the repairs to the little hovels had to be put off.<br />Her baby, Shanna was gurgling contentedly; cooing softly at the taste of the little bits of rice and meat her mother was chewing for her. Andrea had stopped breast feeding a little over a month before in order to increase her fertility. She had passed her wet nurse duties on to the next new mother, who was breast feeding Shanna and returning her to sleep with Andrea.<br />Mama gazed lovingly into her daughter’s pristine little face, wondering once more who the father might be. Was it Jordy? The timing was correct, she had conceived her second month on the farm. She also had Jordy’s hair, as did many of the other Caucasian infants spawned in the paddies. But she could also be Jamie’s, or a half dozen others. <br />Andrea looked down at herself, still illuminated in the fading twilight. Despite the fact that she had borne a child, she was even more beautiful and trim than before she had been captured. She was tan now from head to toe, even under her wrap which was always off when she fucked in the sunlight in the little glade. Her breasts were slightly larger, having attained their matronly fullness. And her nipples were still elongated teats, gorged red. In her old life, she would have thought them ugly and coarse, but she rather liked them now. The condition was probably permanent in any case and M’buto loved them, suckling and pulling them playfully.<br />“M’buto,” she sighed. How she wished she was in his bed right now! She longed to feel his firm, powerful body pounding on hers. To be taken, swept away by his strength and will. Filled! With his potent essence gushing forth into her receptive womb. She thought about him day and night now and knew it was an obsession. But she couldn’t help it. She was in love. And his very racial superiority and “unobtainableness” seemed to add fuel to the fire of her passion. <br />It was so odd, thought Andrea, but also so natural and so female. Most of the white women, including Andrea, would not have given the big overseer a second thought in their previous lives. But now, here, he was the dream of every female slave. The female always chose the most powerful and virile male, for a variety of reasons. In their states as slaves each woman knew the black males were dominant, and their tastes and standards of physical attractiveness had instinctively evolved with the new order. Negroid features were handsome and irresistible, filling every slave girl’s secret thoughts.<br />Yet M’buto was somehow different. It was not just his commanding physical presence or this stunning good looks. He was a just and equitable overseer, even at times almost tender and kind. This combination of power and substance in a man drove Andrea’s libido into paroxysms.<br />It was true; he had told her he would let her have his baby. But had he said that just to enhance her enthusiasm and performance while he fucked her? It was possible, but Andrea felt he would not tell her that if she had no chance for a relationship. She trusted him.<br />Andrea watched the last rays of the sun, set in a rapidly clearing sky. In two days she would be red bellied again, but thoughts of M’buto would not leave her mind. She loved little Shanna dearly, but she wanted a child that would have a future beyond the rice paddies and the breeding hovels. She wanted a black baby by M’buto- but she knew she had a lot of white female competition.<br /><br /><br />Chapter 9<br /> <br />“She looks as if she’ll pop any day now,” laughed the fat woman as she shoveled more grapes into her mouth. The other black ladies twittered with amusement as the naked, and very pregnant white girl scurried about, serving them.<br />“Actually, she still has a month to go,” said Bruna. Then to the slave, “turn again, slowly. Show off your belly.”<br />Dana stood before her mistress and the three well dressed guests. She set the tray of fruit she had been serving on the table and obediently raised her arms and arched her back forward, displaying her prominent maternal swell. She turned slowly in place so that every angle of her form was viewable.<br />The white girl had done this before, moments ago, as she served them from the tray of tea and cakes. Bruna had ordered her to drop her wrap, raise her arms and parade about the table to amuse her guests. Dana had obeyed, keeping her eyes down and her face impassive. Now she had to do it all over again. The women seemed delighted, almost mesmerized by her huge abdomen and it’s implications.<br />“I simply must get Omar to buy me a surrogate,” said another of the women. “We should have already started a family.”<br />“These new medical procedures are amazing, aren’t they?” asked the third black lady.<br />“Yes, it’s wonderful,” said Bruna. “There’s no need to go through the discomfort of pregnancy and child birth anymore.”<br />Dana was still turning, afraid to stop lest her mistress become angry. Bruna was especially sensitive in the presence of her friends to any hint of defiance on the slave girl’s part. Dana knew she would feel the cane for even the slightest error after Bruna’s guests were gone. But even with all she had been though there were still traces of modesty in the white girl, and she flushed as she felt their hot, gloating eyes on her delicate skin.<br />There was a fresh eruption of feminine laughter as Bruna pointed out the slave girl’s swollen nipples and puffy labia.<br />“She’s such a little whore/sow,” said Bruna. “My father uses her every night and he says she’s the most venial little slut he’s ever taken. She has this innocent exterior, but show her the whip and she’s fucking like a monkey in heat before you put it down.”<br />“Bruna!” said one of the guests with mock propriety. “You should have more respect for you father’s privacy.”<br />“That’s nothing,” said Bruna laughing. “I’ve seen how he likes to take her now. She rides him while puts his hands on her round belly. He likes to feel my little angels kick her slave womb from the inside while she ruts on his shank.” There were more giggles and hands over mouths.<br />“Well,” said another of the guests. “By the Prophet he deserves it. He waited all his life to see the restoration of the true man. He fought these creatures when they had control of our land. If it gives him pleasure to use a Cauc female then I’m glad of it.”<br />The other women nodded their assent.<br />“But she’s so big, Bruna,” continued the fat woman. “Do you really think she’ll make it nine months?”<br />“We thought about a cesarean, and that’s still an option. But the doctor says she is doing fine. Besides, Halie and I would like this Cauc to deliver in the normal way, so my father can watch and enjoy.”<br />“Did you know,” continued Bruna, “that in her former life, this Cauc was part of a very powerful family. That’s right. Her father was one of the principle leaders of Zimbabwe after the Caucs seized power there for a while. He was a very evil man and had many of our people executed.”<br />Dana winced despite herself. What her mistress was saying was untrue and the pregnant white slave girl knew it. Her father had done his best to stop the killings. That was all in the past now but Dana couldn’t help shedding a tear as she thought of him.<br />“Imagine if her father could see his daughter now, swollen like a seed pod with my black babies!”<br />In retrospect, Dana never knew what got into her at that exact moment. Perhaps it was the fading memory of her father, or her unnaturally raging hormones. But she gasped with indignation, blurting, “YOUR BABIES?”<br />There was stunned silence, as none of the women, (including Dana) could believe what they had just heard.<br />Bruna’s face slowly passed from astonishment to murderous rage. Dana quailed but could see hate on her mistress’ face unlike anything she had ever encountered.<br />“Yesss,” hissed Bruna. “YOU IMPERTINENT CAUC! Yes, MY children. The babies you carry are mine and my husband’s, implanted into you! You’re nothing but a husk! You haven’t been told this because you don’t need to know, slave. You think my father or my husband knocked you up. Well, now is a good time to enlighten you. You’ve been artificially inseminated with our children, Halie and I.”<br />“Yes, that’s right,” said the mistress in response to Dana’s look of dawning horror. “You’re just a surrogate, an animal, a womb with arms and legs. And now I’m going to make you sorry you even exist!” <br /> The slave girl was shaking now. She knew what her mistress was capable of. She had received many agonizing punishments for misdeeds far less serious as the one she had just committed.<br /> Suddenly the black woman screamed. “Stand still… You little sow!”<br />Dana froze with fear. Too afraid even to whimper or cry.<br />“You piece of Cauc filth! You think because you’re in a maternal condition that I can’t use the cane on you? Go fetch it.”<br />Now almost insane with terror and weeping pathetically, Dana ran from the room. She returned seconds later, her breasts and belly bouncing with her hurried steps. The color had drained from her face as she knelt and offered the object of punishment to her mistress.<br />“Please cor… correct my be… behavior mistress,” whimpered the slave girl.<br />“Bend over, legs apart… all the way over!”<br />The white girl tried to obey, but her expectant middle made it difficult to bend over and keep her balance.<br />“Please mistress, I… I can’t…”<br />“Palms and soles on the floor, sow,” she yelled, delivering a savage blow to Dana’s upper buttocks.<br />“Aaaaggghhhhh, please mistress. I’m… too biiigggg!” she wailed.<br />“Spread your legs wider. DO IT!”<br />AAAAAAGGGIIIIIGGGGHH. Bruna punctuated her demand with another lash.<br />“Please, mistress… Don’t hurt my babies!” said Dana, unthinking in her blind pain that the phrase “my babies” would make her mistress even more enraged.<br />“YOUR BABIES! SHUT YOU MOUTH, YOU WHITE FILTH! Get into the position or I’ll flay the flesh from your lazy Cauc ass!”<br />With the utmost strain, Dana complied. Her huge abdomen hung low, heavy with her owner’s offspring. Finally as she looked up, legs straight, hands and feet flat on the cold floor, the air in the dining room seemed electric.<br />Even the other black women were looking at each other with uncertainty. The cane was a powerful instrument and none of them wanted to witness a miscarriage right there on the floor. Everyone held their breath as Bruna reared back with the lacquered rod for a tremendous blow- but stopped in mid swing.<br />“Bruna,” said Halie forcefully. He had entered the room just in time. “May I speak with you please?”<br />Through her legs looking upside down Dana could see her mistress’ face roiling with fury. But she lowered the cane and walked over to her husband. He closed the door but everyone could hear muffled argument. Finally Bruna returned calm, a strained smile on her face. Dana was sent to finish the laundry in the basement while her mistress continued with her tea party.<br />It was horrible waiting. Dana knew that her mistress’ anger was not abated and that there was going to be some terrible consequence for her outburst. When the door to the basement opened, Dana swallowed hard and went to her knees.<br />Bruna was calm, but the white girl could tell that her temper was barely under control.<br />“How dare you question me in that tone before my guests!”<br />“Please mistress, forgive me. I don’t know why… Why I…”<br />“Silence, vermin! My husband doesn’t want to risk our children by caning you right now, and he’s right. But as soon as you’ve given birth I’m going to give you fifty lashes. Then when I can get another slave to wet nurse I’m going to sell you to a brothel. The cheapest and busiest one I can find. Then we’ll see how special you feel servicing ten men a day to make your owner some pocket change!”<br /><br />That night Dana’s contractions started and she was taken to a hospital. Adding to the pain and stress of childbirth was the knowledge that once she had borne the infants she was carrying, her mistress would take them and cruelly cast her aside.<br />The infants were indeed unnaturally large for the petite white girl. She heaved and grunted, crying out as her labor pains surged and she pushed and pushed. Finally the babies slid down her birth canal and oozed out, one after the other. They were caught by the doctor and attended to by the nursing staff. Dana, exhausted, turned her head to see them, both beautiful chocolate brown boys.<br />Dana cried as the nurse cleaned them and took them over to their proud parents, Halie and Bruna. Belatedly, the doctor cleaned Dana’s stretched vulva and gave her something to drink. She was wheeled to a dark anteroom and allowed to rest for a few moments. Then N’doma arrived to take her back to her master’s house.<br /> <br /> The very next day, Dana was thrashed from one end of the house to the other for two solid hours. No amount of whimpering, pleading or groveling seemed to quell the lust for vengeance that boiled in the black woman’s heart. She screamed at Dana, making the hapless girl assume the punishment position time and again, raining savage blows with the cane until she was almost unconscious. Then she would toss cold water onto the girl’s face and chase her about again with the whip. It went on and on and the black woman’s anger was not sated even when she herself began to tire. The emotionally unbalanced Bruna was literally foaming at the mouth with fury that seemed to build relentlessly as she landed the blow after agonizing blow. At last the black woman was played out. Dana, weakened by her recent childbirth and utterly beaten, lay inert and sweaty on the floor. She cried weakly, twitching, her entire body covered with ugly, red, raised welts.<br /> Panting, Bruna seized her slave’s hair and wrenched her head up painfully, looking directly into Dana’s face. A hot glow of flint hard hatred radiated from the black woman’s eyes and reached into the depths of Dana’s prostrate psyche.<br /> “You filthy she-Cauc, beast. A brothel’s too good for you. Enjoy your last night here because I’m selling you to research center in the morning. In a few days there won’t be anything left of you but pieces.”<br /> Too emotionally spent even to even to cringe or plead anymore, Dana closed her eyes and sobbed. She knew about the research centers. They harvested organs like lungs, heart, liver and kidneys from live whites for transplants into rich black masters. They used white slave bodies for hideous experiments and killed the subject outright when finished. The thought that she would end up there, an empty corpse with her vital organs removed was too much for the girl. She was overwhelmed with trepidation and retched on the floor, babbling hysterically, her very soul devastated with terror and despair.<br /> Dana spent a sleepless night on the old mattress in the basement. Pulling herself into a ball and weeping, she pondered the bitter fate her mistress had sentenced her to.<br />In the morning she started when she heard a key opening the cellar door. She began to cry immediately, thinking the end was near; they were taking her to the research center now.<br />But it was not Bruna who walked through the door. It was N’doma. <br /> “Get up,” he said tersely. “Come with me, quickly.”<br /> He led her out to a waiting vehicle and made her crawl into the trunk. She was fearful and apprehensive. Was she being disposed of now? Was she being driven to facility to have her organs removed? The pretty young white woman shivered, trying to fight the terror within her own mind.<br /> After a long ride the car stopped and Dana was released from the trunk. A chain was attached to her collar and N’doma pulled her to low building on what looked like an old military base.<br /> Dana began pulling on the chain, sniveling pathetically as the far stronger black man pulled her along.<br /> “Please, master… Please, please… Oh please, master, I don’t want to die! Oh please, not like this!” she wailed.<br /> “Come along,” said N’doma, exasperated. “Don’t be silly!”<br /> “But I don’t want to die,” cried Dana, finally collapsing with heaving sobs.<br /> “You aren’t going to die. This is your new home,” he said.<br /> “I… I don’t understand, master…” said Dana, plaintively. “Please, I’m frightened… I haven’t done anything I should die for, master!”<br /> “I don’t want to see you sold to the research center,” said N’doma. “Neither does Halie. He believes you’re too valuable to be cut apart for transplant organs.”<br />Dana saw a ray of hope and her eyes brightened. But an instant later she whimpered, wondering if she was being cruelly played with.<br />“But… Mistress… Mistress said I was to be… to be…”<br />N’doma smiled, his face softening. “You’re a good little she-Cauc. You’ve got a warm, clasping cunt and a submissive nature. You should be pleasing Adamic men for years to come. That’s where you belong. We’ve decided to bring you to this post; my old unit, where you can serve the heroic veterans of the wars.”<br />Now the white girl’s heart leapt. It was true. She was to be spared! At first she simply lay there, naked and sobbing, but now with tears of relief. Then she rose, unable to keep from embracing the older black man.<br />“Thank you, master!” she gasped. “Thank you… Oh thank you!”<br />N’doma looked about him, embarrassed. He did not want anyone to think that he, of all people had gone soft on Caucs. He spoke in a harsh voice now.<br />“You are being sold as a barrack whore. You must remember to keep your place and do your best to please the officers and soldiers of the Prophet.” <br />“I’ll be good for them,” said Dana in her clear, sincere voice. “I’ll fuck them all so good, master.” She was crying now with joy. She was going to live! Of course she would be working as a whore, but that didn’t seem so bad. At least she would be alive.<br />Dana felt a momentary flash of guilt. This destiny would make her a willing race traitor. She would be using her body daily to give comfort and enjoyment to the very soldiers who had subjugated her enclave, her family, her people. She would be fucking the men who were most directly responsible for killing white males. But her training had taken hold. She no longer lived in the white world. It was gone forever. Now the black man ruled, and if she had to serve the conquerors as a fuck slave to stay alive, then that was what she would do.<br />She followed N’doma now as he led her by the chain to the regimental headquarters, ordering her to sit on the atrium floor while he went in to converse with an old friend, the commanding officer.<br />Dana obeyed. The cool tile floor felt good against her bare skin, and Dana saw the commander’s aide staring at her from behind a desk.<br />Reacting to his hungry stare, she at first looked away and cringed, intimidated by such a large, uniformed man. But then she remembered her new identity and decided to start out right. She smiled at him shyly and straightened her back to accentuate her breasts. The man also smiled, took mental notes and returned reluctantly to the work on his desk.<br />N’doma and the commander emerged from the office about an hour later, and walked over to inspect Dana.<br />“Get up,” said N’doma. “Display yourself.”<br />Dana stood at attention and laced her hands behind her head, thrusting out her chest.<br />“Yes, I think the men will enjoy her,” said the commander, appraising her with pleased laughter. “That is, once I’ve had a taste. We never seem to get enough of the young, attractive ones.”<br />“As I said, she’s just given birth a few days ago,” noted N’doma. “I suggest you keep her cunt off limits for a month or so to let her love canal shrink back to normal size.”<br />“Certainly,” said the commander. “She’s got other holes. And we can work her as a scullery for thirty days. How are her mouth skills?”<br />“Very good. Almost as nice as that tight little cunt. I recommend you have her exercise her snatch on a dildo to make sure the birth doesn’t effect it.”<br />“Excellent,” said the commander. “But don’t you think she should be given a little fucking right away? By a big, gentle army commander? Just to help her retain vaginal tone of course.”<br />“You old lecher,” chuckled N’doma. “Yes, I imagine that would be fine.”<br />“You’re being donated to this unit, Cauc,” said N’doma, to Dana with military sharpness. “You belong to the 54th regiment of the Prophet’s Homeland African Army, now. You are very lucky to be owned by the best soldiers on the planet.”<br />Dana cried with happiness, nodding with humility. She was surprised that N’doma would offer her this kindness, at such a great expense and sacrifice for his family. She looked up to him, her brown eyes shinning in gratitude. She was determined to make him proud and become the best whore the unit had ever seen. She would dedicate herself to it, to honor the man she felt so indebted to. N’doma, her savior.<br />“Yes… She has a luscious little cunt,” said N’doma, stroking Dana’s soft brown hair. “I should like to visit her from time to time, when I’m on the base.”<br />“Not a problem,” said the commander, laughing. “There’ll always be a warm bed and a wet pussy here for you.”<br /><br /><br />Chapter 10<br /><br />It was the next day that Andrea received the news. Tabu told her that she was to be sent to the city with M'buto. Andrea was stunned. She had thought that Dominika had already decided on which slaves she wanted to sell. Tabu was grinning broadly, but she did not realize it was because he had just watched a particularly lubricious performance by Elsbeth in the grove. The woman M'buto had spoken for in line was absolutely desperate to please the overseers, and become pregnant. Andrea assumed the cruel smile on his face was because she herself was going to be sold.<br />The slave girl was devastated. Why was the mistress selling her? She was a hard worker and a fertile breeder. She did not deserve to lose her baby, her friends, and her lover, M’buto. Life was so unfair!<br />The rest of the day she worked in misery. It was the darkest day she had known since coming to the plantation.<br />She slept fitfully that night. The next morning preparations were being completed for M’buto’s trip to the city. Andrea was told not to go to the paddy, but to soap, shower, and also wash her wrap. She continued to be depressed and confused about her upcoming sale, holding her baby close and crying.<br />At noon she was told to give the baby to one of the other slaves, and get in the back of the pick up. She finally broke down, kneeling abjectly before M'buto, crying and begging. "Please sir. I don't know what I did wrong… I'll be good… I'll get pregnant again my next cycle, I swear. Please tell the mistress I'll be good… Please speak for me… let me stay sir, please."<br />The overseer looked at her quizzically, as if puzzled by her behavior. Then he began laughing.<br />“Silly slave girl,” said M’buto. You not to be sold. M’buto only taking you with him to the city to carry bags and warm bed. M’buto meeting with group of growers, and about purchasing two more female breeders. Also see seminar on insemination techniques. Mistress too busy to go herself.”<br />Andrea's mouth dropped open. She went suddenly from the depths of despair to the heights of ecstasy. A chance to get off the farm and see the city, and several days alone with M’buto. It seemed too good to be true!<br />“But, will mistress approve?” asked Andrea.<br />“Mistress very happy with last sale of slaves. She want to reward M’buto. Also, no rice paddy work for few days, so farm not busy. Farm survive without one slave girl for few days,” M'buto laughed.<br />Andrea giggled too, unable to keep the relief and joy contained. M’buto reached under her wrap and gave her clit the familiar little flick. He told her to fetch his bags from the bungalow and she obeyed, with a little spring in her step. Moments later she emerged from the house with his light luggage and padded over to the truck. Then she loaded his bags and climbed in the bed, where M’buto chained her down.<br />After they had left the plantation and were several miles down the highway, M’buto pulled over to the side of the road. He unlocked an astonished Andrea’s collar chain, and told her to get into the truck cab.<br />“Long drive ahead,” he said. “M’buto not want to fall asleep at wheel. We talk.”<br />Andrea could scarcely believe she was being allowed to ride in the front of the truck. Clad only in her wrap, she had been dreading the long, windy ride, but figured it was well worth it. Now it looked as if she would spared the wind and weather.<br />They talked about the countryside, and the little towns. M’buto told her more about the trip. They would be gone for several nights and stay in a hotel in Hakeem City. He would conduct his business and then they would return to the plantation.<br />She was interested to discover that another reason Mistress Dominika had sent M’buto was his mastery of Zulu, the high tongue. His English was broken and stilted. But English was the common tongue, considered a profane language. Government and big business were conducted in Zulu, and his eloquence in it was a real asset to the mistress.<br />They drove on and Andrea noticed the traffic. Everything was bustling and booming, from the road construction to new factories and housing. Even the billboards were interesting. There were ads for everything under the sun, including slaves. There was one sign advertising a major racetrack.<br />“Come to see the action,” it read. “Thoroughbreds. Greyhounds. Caucs. Racing at its finest.”<br />The sign featured a colorful composite of horses, dogs, and whites, all racing in harness, in successive events.<br />M’buto told her that whites were called “Caucs” in the city.<br />Several hours later, they arrived at their destination, the great, grand and thoroughly African metropolis of Hakeem City, Capital of the Islamic African Empire and now the greatest city in the world.<br />The city’s skyline was most impressive, especially since the vast majority of Hakeem city had been built within the last ten to fifteen years. As such it was a planned city, with broad, grid-like streets and open vistas. Green parks graced the metropolis with regularity and the car traffic was heavy, but not snarled.<br />They left the modern elevated highway and turned into the city proper. Here Andrea could see more of the people.<br />They appeared to be in a financial or business district. Many black men dressed in suits traveled the streets. Andrea thought they must be executives or high level functionaries. Their dress suits had a kind of flair to them, making them appear to be distinctly African. Business attire here seemed to be an amalgamation of Western style coat and tie, and traditional African garb. And all the colors were bright, yet distinguished.<br />Some of the men were accompanied by impeccably dressed black women, who were obviously colleagues or secretaries. Many more however were followed, (always respectfully, two or three steps behind) by beautiful, well-groomed white women. Always the black women were conservatively but colorfully dressed, the necks of their blouses open but high. They all seemed dignified and demure, even, Andrea thought, a bit haughty at times. Always the white women wore an inexpensive looking skirt, and bare breasted. In terms of the whites, it was almost like a uniform, as if a universally agreed upon slave fashion.<br />M’buto parked the truck and they walked to a bank he needed to visit. The large, modern office buildings and the public works impressed Andrea. The city seemed cleaner and better ordered than any city that she remembered, in stark contrast to the image she had always had of black African cities as places of squalor on filth.<br />As they waited on a street corner for a traffic light, Andrea saw a black woman and young girl of perhaps twelve walking with a white male slave following them. He appeared to be thirty-five, or perhaps a little older, and wore a little pleated skirt just like the white women she had seen. Aside from that, he was totally naked except for a collar. Laden with bags, he stumbled as they passed, spilling one of them. Enraged, the young girl turned, and ordered the man to kneel. The fully-grown white man cringed, but went to his knees on the sidewalk, obediently.<br />“Punishment position!” shouted the girl. The order sounded audacious directed at an adult white man and coming from a little black girl.<br />Without resistance the man spread his legs and pulled his skirt over his back to expose his buttocks. He put his face and hands on the ground. Then the girl proceeded to lash between his legs with a leather whip, the stinging blows landing perfectly on his testicles. Andrea could see the searing pain on the man’s face as he begged for mercy, crying like a little boy. The girl coldly continued while her mother looked on approvingly.<br />Only when the man was screaming, his balls red and swollen did she relent.<br />“Next time you will be more careful, Cauc boy,” said the girl. “Or I’ll give you some of the rod.”<br />“Yes mistress… yes mistress…” he cried, kneeling in front of the little black girl and rubbing his balls pathetically.<br />At the bank, M’buto chained Andrea outside in an area, provided for slaves.<br />“M’buto be here for two hours, maybe more. Send you food later. He patted her on the head and reached under her wrap to flick her clitoris affectionately. “You be a good girl,” he smiled, and Andrea smiled back. Then he picked up the leather briefcase she had been carrying and headed into the bank.<br />Andrea sat down to wait. She continued to marvel at the activity, beauty, and luxury of the city. Automobiles went whizzing by, most of them sleek, later models. Pedestrians walked along the gleaming sidewalks, hurrying to conduct their commerce. All the black people were dressed smartly in silks and the African business suits. The atmosphere was very much like a great city in America or Europe before the great war. She noticed though, that while the styles were varied, black people seemed much fonder of bright, vibrant colors and flowing garments than white people would have been. Indeed, it was the white slaves that were clad in drab brown or gray, or like herself, in plain white.<br />Even the slaves though, appeared to be neatly dressed, certainly better than their counterparts on the plantations. Sitting idly, Andrea had a chance to observe them more closely as well. They were, as she had already seen, nearly all females, though from time to time a curiously androgynous male walked by, usually trailing a black woman. The males wore the same outfit as the white women, a pleated skirt-like garment that started just above their pubic hair and extended to just above their knees. Everyone, even the slaves, appeared impeccably clean, and their clothing in good repair.<br />Andrea saw her reflection in the gleaming glass exteriors of the bank. She looked pathetic and ragamuffin in her ragged, threadbare wrap, but she was too bedazzled by the sights to care much. She loved watching the people go by.<br />The place where M’buto had tethered her featured a steel rod that ran the length of the wide concrete walkway. It was obviously designed as a convenient location where masters or mistresses could keep their slaves while they were in the bank, conducting business. There was even a foam mat that ran along the line of the rod, for the slaves sit or lay on.<br />Andrea looked at the concrete wall behind her, and noticed for the first time, the facilities provided for her. There were water faucets recessed in the wall. Not ball spigots but real drinking fountains! There was a toilet. A real portable toilet enclosed so she could sit in private! And all of it was within easy reach of the tethered slaves. Andrea could not resist, though she really was not thirsty nor did she need to go, the white girl rose and padded over to the fountains, her long tether sliding along the rod on a ring. The fountain was marked with the words, “slave,” and the universal symbol of a white figure kneeling. She looked around nervously, still not able to believe that such luxury was for her, but the fountain opened automatically as she bent to drink, and the cool, clear water tasted magnificent on this warm day. Next she tried the toilet, gasping with delight as the door closed, and allowed her to urinate in private. She had not been able to do that in over a year! There was even a small slit in the door to allow it to close over her tether. There was real toilet paper, with which to wipe herself. Andrea was in heaven.<br />When she emerged form the toilet, (having spent several more minutes inside than she needed to, reveling in its luxury, despite the smell), there was another slave, a woman of about twenty-five, chained to the wall. Unlike Andrea, she was tethered to a loop in the wall, just above her head. She had none of the freedom of movement that that Andrea had, and she was forced to stand. Additionally, she was naked, and her arms were tied behind her back, her elbows linked closely together.<br />Andrea tried to say something to the girl, but she turned with a frightened expression and whispered, “please, I’m being punished. I can’t talk.”<br />When the girl turned, Andrea noticed that someone had scrawled the word “primper” in black marker, on her belly.<br />A few moments later, Andrea watched with astonishment as a black man stopped in front the girl, slapped her in the face, and proceeded to pull roughly at her nipples. The girl gasped, then managed an anguished “thank you, sir.”<br />Over the next hour, the process continued as every black male, regardless of age stopped, slapped her, and fondled or pulled at her breast. And each time the girl choked “thank you, sir” to her abuser. It was as if they were performing some ritual.<br />Once a robed Imam of the Faith happened by. He not only slapped the girl and twisted her nipples, but berated her for several minutes, shaking a finger at her as though she were an errant child.<br />Andrea wondered what the girl had done, and sat quietly lest she accidentally commit a similar offense. After about an hour, the girl’s master emerged from the bank, released her from the tether, and led her off.<br />Andrea was fed by another female slave who appeared with a paper plate heaped with steaming sudsa. She tried to speak with the girl but the slave ignored her and returned to the bank building.<br />It was shortly afterward that M’buto emerged from the bank. He unlocked her tether and they walked to the truck. She got in the back of course, not wanting to embarrass him in the city.<br />When M’buto entered a restaurant later in the day, he had to leave Andrea tied to the truck, since the only slaves allowed were owned by the business itself.<br />While waiting she saw another white woman tethered to a pole a few feet away. Her arms were also bound behind her and she was being subjected to the same abuse. On her belly was scrawled more writing, beside the word “primper,” in bold black ink.<br />“Can you talk?” asked Andrea.<br />“Yes,” said the girl. “As long as no one else is around.”<br />Andrea smiled. At least this girl seemed to be willing to explain what was happening.<br />“But why are they slapping you? What does it mean, primping?”<br />“Primping is when a white girl attempts to hide or shield her breasts from view,” said the other girl. “Either with her hands or hair, or by turning away. The black men consider it to be an insult to them.”<br />“Why is that?” asked Andrea.<br />“White women must be bare breasted. It’s a demonstration of how we are different from and inferior to their women. Also it’s symbolic of the white female as property of the black man. You know, open and vulnerable to their eyes and their hands. That’s what my master says, anyway. It’s all in the Hakeem Koran.” The girl looked down on the Koranic reference on her abdomen below the word primper. “Words of the New Prophet: Chapter 61.”<br />“What does the reference say?” asked Andrea curiously.<br />“I don’t know. I’ve never been allowed to read from it, but it talks about the white race, and gives rules for how we’re to be treated.”<br />“I saw another girl being slapped yesterday,” said Andrea.<br />“Yes,” said the girl. “It is the traditional punishment, quite common.”<br />“How long does it last?”<br />“Only about a week, or until your master thinks he’s broken you of it. My master is not a cruel man, but it is an embarrassment to a master to own a slave girl who primps. He’s warned me several times, but it is so hard to learn not to cover your chest when you’ve grown up in the old white society, as a free woman. It’s much easier for me now than at first. Right after I was trained and sold they put me out on the street like this. I was crying and red-faced all the time. I even tried to steal a shawl to wear when my master was not around. An imam told him about it and it brought shame on him and his family. He caned me. Twenty strokes on the public sidewalk. The first time in my life I’ve felt really agonizing pain. For days after that he made me follow him on the streets whenever he went out. I had to keep my fingers laced behind my neck and elbows back, thrusting out my naked chest. Whenever an imam walked by he would make me kind of shake, so my tits would bounce and jiggle.”<br />Andrea listened as she learned yet another thing about African society. She had thought that the slaves were provided with such meager clothing because Mistress Dominika and the other plantation owners wanted to save money. She had not known until her trip to the city that it was some kind of social mandate.<br />“I’ve never tried to wear anything above my hips again,” said the girl. “But still when I get nervous, my hands go to my nipples. The younger white girls are lucky. It’s easier if you grow up here, bare breasted.”<br />She was right, realized Andrea. The next generation of white girls, the ones being bred in captivity like her own daughter, would know nothing else. For them it would be totally normal for a white female to be topless. <br />“How long have you been a slave?” asked Andrea.<br />“I was captured over six months ago. Since then I’ve been trained in his household… shhh, my master is returning.”<br />That was the last Andrea spoke with the girl. A minute later her black owner released her from the pole, and led her away.<br />When M’buto emerged from the restaurant, it was time to find a hotel. There were many in the district they were in. Along the streets slave girls scurried carrying bags or running errands.<br />But there were also other girls who looked and acted differently than the slaves Andrea had hitherto seen on the streets. They were naked, except for shinny brass cuffs on their ankles and wrists. Each band, including their brass collars, held several small bells that tinkled when they moved. They were very animated and Andrea could see they were in fierce competition to approach each black man as he walked down the sidewalk.<br />“Who are these girls?” whispered Andrea.<br />“Those women whores,” said M’buto. “They slaves of hotel owners. They go outside sometimes to find men, and bring them back to hotel to fuck. Then Hotel charge customer.”<br />Andrea was at once fascinated and repelled by these women. She knew that practically every white woman she had seen today had a black master or mistress who used her carnally. She herself of course, was very sexually active at the plantation. But this seemed different. It was so blatantly whorish. These women weren’t engaging in sex for procreation, or as the “personal assistant” of one man. They were selling it outright on the streets, purely to fill their master’s coffers!<br />M’buto headed to one of the nicer hotels, and Andrea who was carrying his bags traipsed along behind him. There were several of the hotel prostitutes, a particularly eager lot of them working this section of the street.<br />They strutted provocatively, swiveling their hips and making their bare breasts bounce. They seemed utterly contemptuous of normal female modesty and every movement was a lewd invitation for men to slake their lust in their ripe white bodies.<br />But there was something familiar about one of them. As they moved closer, Andrea sensed something in the sound of her voice or the way she held herself.<br />It took Andrea a few moments before she could place it. The girl was turned away and Andrea could see nothing of her face. But then the bejangled harlot looked at them, and made eye contact for an instant. Andrea realized, with the shock of her life- this particular whore was her sister, Cecelia!<br /><br /><br />Chapter 11<br /><br />M’buto stopped in front of the hotel and Cecelia ran up to him and was immediately touching him, kissing him, attempting to rub her naked body against his in the most salacious manner. “Would you like to fuck me at the Shaka Hotel, master? Please take me inside and fuck me, please!”<br />“How much?” asked M’buto.<br />“One hundred Hakeems per fucking night for the room, master,” she cooed, licking his ear. “Fucking me is free.”<br />“Cece?” asked Andrea, unable to believe the foulmouthed, naked whore was the chaste, sheltered sister she had once known.<br />The girl turned, puzzled by the strangely familiar voice. Then her face lit up with recognition.<br />“Fucking Andrea?” She asked.<br />“Is it really you, Cece?”<br />“Andrea,” Cecelia gushed. “It’s so fucking good to see you!”<br />The two sisters embraced for the first time in over a year. They hugged and giggled.<br />“What happened to you after we were separated?” Andrea asked.<br />Her sister told her quickly about the cattle car and the training center. “When I was fucking displayed before the auction, the owner of this hotel saw me. He was looking for innocent fucking virgins like me, to train. He says he likes to train virgins because they don’t have to unlearn any bad fucking habits. I wasn’t a virgin very fucking long after that,” she giggled.<br />An angry black man appeared. He was apparently the proprietor of the hotel.<br />“What are you doing dawdling with this slave?” he demanded, pulling Cecelia cruelly by the hair. “There are still vacancies for tonight and if you don’t fill one of them, the cane is ready! I should take it to you now for…”<br />M’buto spoke up in Zulu, “No need to trouble yourself with that sir, I have already agreed to use the whore at your establishment tonight.”<br />The hotel owner looked M’buto up and down. He brightened immediately. This was a well-dressed young man who was obviously cultured and articulate in the high tongue. Perhaps he was the scion of an aristocratic family, or one of the new super rich young entrepreneurs.<br />“Ah, wonderful sir. My name is N’gato Rasheed, owner and manager of the Royal Shaka.”<br />“M’buto Mohammed. Yes, your slave was very persuasive. She practically ripped my pants off, obviously a well trained white female.”<br />The hotel owner smiled with satisfaction. “Thank you, we do train them to please.”<br />“It seems your slave and mine are related,” said M’buto.<br />“Really?”<br />“Yes, sisters or some such, though who knows what that means among these creatures.”<br />“Interesting,” said the proprietor, guiding M’buto into the hotel. “Would you like your luggage taken to your room now, sir,” he asked, moving behind the front desk.<br />“Yes, that would be fine, thank you.”<br />“Fuckcelia, take the gentleman’s bags to suite 512.”<br />“Fuck yes, master,” said the young woman. She picked up the luggage from where Andrea had set it down and scurried to the elevator, her bells jingling.<br />“Would you like to keep your slave in the hotel’s kennel sir?” the owner asked. “It’s a free service and she’ll be fed.”<br />“No I’ll require her services in the room tonight.”<br />The registration took a few minutes and soon the younger sister returned, kneeling beside M’buto.<br />The hotel owner looked down at her. “This gentleman’s slave is your sister?” he asked.<br />“Fuck yes, master.”<br />He nodded with amusement, and said in English, “Tell your sister how many men you’ve fucked, Cauc!”<br />“I’ve been fucked 1592 times, by 1073 men different men.”<br />“You know exactly how many?” Andrea asked, surprised that she had the impudence to speak, but shocked by her sister’s revelation.<br />“They make me keep a fucking exact account,” she replied. “If I’m off I get the fucking cane.”<br />M’buto proceeded to the room with the two slaves in tow. Once there he reverted to English. “You both unpack M’buto’s clothes. Wait in bedroom ‘til he get back.”<br />When they were alone, both girls hugged again.<br />“Oh Cece,” said Andrea crying. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”<br />The younger girl was crying too. “I’ve missed you so fucking much, Andrea.”<br />They unpacked M’buto’s things and talked. Andrea looked closely at her sister. All she wore were the cuffs with the little brass bells on her wrists and ankles, and a collar. The collar was a beautiful thing. It looked like polished ivory, though it was probably really plastic. Etched in it however were the most artfully delicate, but obscene images of classic saturnalia. Couples engaged in sexual intercourse, in every conceivable position.<br />The brass bands were also intricately engraved. They looked Indian, and had a particularly exotic effect on the girl’s white flesh. The tiny brass bells chimed melodically with every move she made. Andrea found her sister’s nudity and sluttish adornments to be totally alien to her memories of the girl. Yet in the oddest way, they seemed to fit her now, as if they were both partly cause and effect of her mutation into her present identity.<br />Indeed, Cecelia herself was even lovelier now than before they were captured. Her breasts were filling out and her lithe body was even more curved and feminine. Her hair was clean and well kept and there were no blemishes on her skin. Whatever else had been done to her, her nutrition had been good and she had been well taken care of physically.<br />Andrea told her about the farm and about her baby. “You’re an aunt now Cece,” she said with pride.<br />The younger girl giggled with excitement, but a second later became serious. “My master changed my fucking name. I’m Fuckcelia now. Please don’t use my old fucking name when anyone’s around or I could get in trouble.”<br />“What’s happened to you Cece? I mean, the way you talk…”<br />“I have to use the word fuck in every sentence,” she said. “If I don’t, and someone hears, I could get fucking caned.<br />“Why do they make you do that?” asked Andrea.<br />“I think it’s like a fucking trademark of the hotel,” said Fuckcelia. “All the girls are required to fucking talk like this. To show it’s always on our fucking minds. It’s been so conditioned into me it’s just fucking second nature for me now.”<br />“And you’re… you’re a…”<br />“I’m a fucking whore,” said the younger girl, evenly and with conviction.<br />Andrea nodded, a little embarrassed. “How… what did they do to you…?”<br />“The fucking training,” said Fuckcelia. "It was fucking horrible at first."<br />“What… happened?” asked Andrea.<br />“My master, the owner of this hotel fucking bought five of us at auction. We were all fucking virgins. He wanted girls as fucking innocent and well brought up possible. Anyway, he had this fucking promotional competition for the hotel, even advertised it on the radio.”<br />“He hosted five fucking companies of men from the Prophets armies who were coming from the front. He put them up in the fucking hotel with food and drinks, like a party.”<br />“They fucking split us up, five white virgins in five rooms, one company assigned to each. The contest was to see how many fucking men could cum in one of our holes in 24 hours.”<br />“I fucking won, Andrea,” she said, her voice oddly hollow sounding, as if the desolation of that night still haunted her. “They fucked my cunt, ass, and mouth 219 times. They took the fucking sheets with our virgin blood back to the barracks as trophies. It was my first fucking night with a man, Andrea. 96 fucking men.”<br />“Oh Cece, I’m so sorry,” said Andrea. She was sorry for her sister, but in truth she also felt a salacious tingle in her own loins when she thought of her prudish, virginal sister deflowered in that manner.<br />“How… how could you survive it with so many…” asked Andrea.<br />The younger girl smiled faintly. “A woman can take a lot of fucking Andrea, certainly more than most people think. The lieutenant wanted to win the fucking bet, so he made a deal with me. He said that if I fucked at least four men an hour and got them off, he would lube up my pussy and ass and make sure the men entered me slow so as not to tear me. I fucking agreed, but I hated myself. Even though I was terribly afraid, I couldn’t believe I had sold myself for a bottle of fuck lubricant.”<br />“Of course after the first couple of hours there was so much fucking spunk in me he hardly needed the lube anymore. But I found I couldn’t fucking stop myself. After the first few men I started to fucking like it. By the time the fucking contest ended the next day I was so exhausted I literally couldn’t fucking move. But I was having almost continuous fucking orgasms when the men were inside me.”<br />“That’s how they fucking started us out,” said Fuckcelia. “We spent a month in the fucking brothels near the military base as we learned our trade. It was very fucking hard at first. I was always tired from fucking several men day and night, day after night, night after day. They did some incredible fucking things to us.”<br />“Then they bought us back here and put us on the fucking sidewalk in front of the hotel. The owner said the four of us who brought in the most fucking customers would stay. The bottom girl would be sold back to the fucking brothel. We all brought in and fucked as many customers as possible because we didn’t want to go back to the brothel. We made it, Fuckleen, Fucklissa, Fucklizabeth, and me. The girl they sent to the fucking barracks is still there,” she said with pity. “They say she still fucking begs to come back to the hotel.”<br />Andrea shook her head with disbelief. Even the things she'd seen at the training center and the plantation had not prepared her this story. It was sickening and nasty- and stimulating.<br />"They fucking broke me, Andrea. Fucking Completely. I tried to fight for awhile, but you can't fucking win. Sooner or later they will bend you, change you into what they want with the fucking whips and canes and rods. Finally, you come to fucking love it as much as you hated it before. You want to be a fucking whore. I'm not a fucking psychologist but it's true. They've got it fucking figured out."<br />“I’m sorry I was so shocked, Cece. It’s just that you’ve changed so much…”<br />“Let me show you something else they used to train us. Take a look.”<br />The younger girl lay back on the bed and spread her legs obscenely. “Right here,” she said, pointing to the top of her quim. Andrea looked closely and gasped. She could see a shinny ring pierced through her sister’s clitoral hood. A tiny black ball hung from the ring and rested directly on the girl’s pleasure bud. Andrea could see that every time the girl moved it would bounce on her clit and stimulate her.<br />“It’s like having someone stroke you lightly on your fucking clit all the time,” said the younger girl. “You get so you can’t fucking think of anything but being sex. You just can’t keep your fingers from going down and fucking playing with it. And all the diddling of the little ball makes you even more frantic for something to fuck you deep… deep up inside you. It makes you feel like you’re on the edge of cuming all fucking day long.”<br />Andrea shook her head in mute disbelief. No wonder her sister was changed after all she had been through.<br />“Well, that’s the fucking story,” said Fuckcelia, her face brightening up. "We live in the hotel and get the fucking cane whenever a someone complains, or we don’t bring in enough customers. But I’m fucking well trained now and I rarely get punished. Because I’m the hottest fucking slut on this street,” she said proudly.<br />Andrea’s head spun. When she’d seen her sister last, she was a virgin, a borderline prude in her manner of dress and very demure and picky about whom she dated. Now she was a whore. With bitter irony Andrea remembered the day they had been captured. That day she had taken a beating and prostituted herself to protect this girl’s chastity! <br />When M'buto returned he was greeted at the door by a woman almost maniacal in her determination to please him.<br />"Would you like a fucking beer, master? Or fucking wine perhaps?" asked Fuckcelia.<br />"M’buto bathe now," said M'buto. Andrea and her sister drew the bath water in the enormous sunken tub. It had water jets and seats. The younger girl undressed M’buto and Andrea applied some bath salts to the water.<br />The big black man stepped into the bath, and ordered the girls in as well. They jumped into the water and sat next to him, rubbing their bodies against his and kissing him. The girls worked the soap into his dark skin, giggled like ten-year-olds as they frolicked happily.<br />Andrea reached for M’buto’s massive manhood, only to find her sister’s hand already there.<br />Fuckcelia put her arms on his shoulders and straddled him, wiggling under the water. Andrea could tell by M’buto’s face that the younger girl had captured his prick expertly with her snatch, without touching it with her hands.<br />“Ohhhhh, masterrrrr,” she breathed. “You are soooo fucking big. I’ve had lots of hot black cocks, but yours is fucking best!”<br />Andrea frowned, and M’buto laughed.<br />The young whore was moving now, fucking him under the water. Her internal muscles were massaging the length of his shaft and her pussy lips seemed to bite greedily. She was certainly a skilled fuck slave. He had to tell her to stop so he wouldn’t cum right then.<br />They soaked in the hot water for nearly an hour, an unbelievable luxury to Andrea. When M’buto wanted out, Fuckcelia pressed a button on the tub control, and a shower of warm fresh water came on to rinse them.<br />The younger white girl was still impaled on M’buto’s stiff member and she clung to him as he rose from the tub and carried her to the bed. She wrapped her legs and arms about him and he was so strong that holding her appeared to be effortless.<br />Andrea toweled them both dry and M'buto told her to kneel on a corner of the king sized bed so she could watch and learn. The paddy slave obeyed, seething with jealousy as her sister, an expert whore, practiced her trade.<br /> Unlike Andrea, her sister's body was mostly unchanged by her year of slavery. Her skin was still pale and flawless while Andrea's was darkly tanned. Her breasts were slightly fuller than before, but the nipples were still normal sized and pink. Andrea’s teats were elongated and dark red from her service as a milk nurse.<br />M’buto lay on his back and the girl seemed to melt onto him, pressing her soft whiteness into his black form. Andrea watched with mesmerized fascination as her sister lay over him, gently caressing with all four of her limbs and licking his neck and ear with wet profusion. They exchanged soft whispers and the whore rose on her hands and knees over him. With a deft hand she guided his throbbing penis to her sex, then slid onto it with practiced ease. She began to move salaciously, and the young man gasped as her internal muscles began work again.<br />The spectacle was searingly hot. Andrea had never seen a woman so wildly enthusiastic about the sexual act. She acted as though her very existence depended on him receiving the best fuck of his life. But it was not the jerky, uncoordinated motions of an inexperienced schoolgirl. The seventeen year old blond moved with such incredible grace and fluidity that her sister was struck by the sheer beauty of the act, as well as its conjuring lewdness. The girl’s back arched as she rode him, rocking her loins with each thrust. She bounced on his cock, her bells ringing wildly and the bedsprings singing. She was caressing and stroking him constantly, in any place that might excite him, with not only her hands and fingers, but her feet and toes as well.<br />For a half-hour or more she worked his cock in and out, never seeming to tire. Finally M’buto growled, and held her fast by the hips. He shot his bolt into her and she hung there vibrating while staring into his eyes, her breasts shaking as she felt the spurts of his essence splashing against her cervix.<br />Fuckcelia sighed, and turned to Andrea. "What would father fucking think about me now!" she asked with a grin.<br />Even M’buto was not superhuman. It took him about a half-hour to recharge. Fuckcelia and Andrea helped him, licking his face, neck, and shoulders, then moving to his chest. Soon he was gloriously stiff again and he pushed the white whore on her back, spearing her with one thrust.<br />Andrea watched them from the foot of the bed. She saw the black meat flying up and down, the huge balls slapping the girl’s pink anus. All the while Fuckcelia kept a quick beat with her own hips, as they moved to capture the piston of his phallus in and out, along its full nine inch length.<br />At last he came in her once more. Andrea saw his balls jerk rhythmically, and knew her beloved overseer was spewing his semen into her sister again. He held himself there for a moment, his manhood soaking in their mingled cum. Andrea could see the yang leaking from the girl’s labia, her belly a bubbling cauldron of fresh, wicked lust. <br />He lay on his back, exhausted, but Fuckcelia did not stop. She lay on his chest and writhed slowly, dragging her nipples through his chest hair.<br />Even from where she was, Andrea could smell her sister. It was the heady odor of raw, consummated sex wafting from her well-used vagina. <br />It took another hour and an expert blowjob by Fuckcelia. But M'buto was up again. He pushed the whore roughly against the wall, fucking her from behind as she screamed and bucked with passion.<br />Andrea looked on, franticly stroking her clit. And though she cursed her sister for taking what she craved, she had to admit that the girl was an expert in her craft- the very embodiment of whoredom.<br /><br /><br />Chapter 12<br /><br />The next day, Andrea awoke on the floor. The carpet was warm and comfortable compared with the reed mats she was used to sleeping on, but she wished she had spent the night in M’buto’s bed.<br />Her sister was awake, but Andrea could see she lay quiet and still while the big black man was still asleep.<br />Precisely at 8 AM Fuckcelia wriggled on top of him and began to fondle and touch him. Andrea remembered that M’buto had told her he wanted to be wakened at that hour. It was another of the young whore’s roles, alarm clock.<br />“Master,” she whispered, licking below his chin. “Eight fucking o’clock master, wake up.”<br />M’buto opened his eyes.<br />The white girl was kissing his face and humping her already wet crotch against his thigh. “Would you like to fuck me again this morning, a little quickie?” she asked. “Or shall I fucking have breakfast sent up?”<br />He shook his head. “M’buto need to get to seminar.”<br />Both girls helped him dress. He told Andrea she was to stay in the suite, as he would be in an area strictly off limits to slaves. She could watch TV if she liked and sit on the couch, so long as the maids didn’t see her. He didn’t want the manager to think he was soft on his Caucs.<br />Fuckcelia left soon after he did, telling Andrea she had to work the street and bring in a “fucking” day customer or two. She kissed her sister and left.<br />Andrea watched the TV, but there wasn’t much on to interest her. There was religious programming, featuring a portentous, robed imam extolling the masses to the veneration of the Prophet Hakeem. He had brought prosperity and unity, eradicated AIDS and several other major diseases, (though these cures had really been found in American and European vaults and databases.) healed black African society and brought them back to worship of Allah. He was God’s viceroy on earth and his teachings were truth. Andrea had heard all this before at the training center. She turned the channel. <br />There were several soap operaish dramas, some game shows, and more religious programming. She watched a war movie depicting one of the glorious victories of the Prophet’s righteous warriors over “Yacab’s hoards;” the treacherous, evil, sadistic forces of the Cauc.<br />Even on daytime TV there were the commercials for slaves, brothels, bathhouses and sex clubs. Though the explicit sexual content of the ads was more subdued.<br />She watched it for about three hours, then started to get bored. She turned off the set and begun to tidy up the room. It wasn’t necessary, as the maid would do it, but she felt like she was doing it for M’buto and it made her feel good.<br />While making the bed, she discovered a copy of the Hakeem Koran in the nightstand. She was immediately curious, remembering the reference she had seen written on the girl’s abdomen. She thought a bit and tried to remember the reference. Looking through the black, leather-bound book she found it, and turned to Words of the Prophet, chapter 61.<br /><br />1 Sons of Allah, Hear the Words of the Prophet concerning the Cauc, whom Allah has given to serve you:<br />2 You shall not suffer the Cauc female to live among you with her breasts covered. This is an insult to the Adamic man and an abomination to the faith.<br />3 You shall not treat her as one of your women, but rather as an object for profane use. The pure flower of the black woman, you shall hold in high regard, for she is descended of Allah, and the nourisher of the true human race.<br />4 She should dress modestly and carry a proud bearing, in a manner worthy of her position as Allah’s chosen. <br />4 You shall slake your lusts and illicit desires on the body of the white female for she is the Cauc, provided by Allah for such use.<br />5 Your young men will practice and hone their skills with her. Your married men will enjoy her so as not to stray among the wives of other black men. Your older men will warm their beds with her and rejoice that they have seen the day of Allah’s deliverance from the white devil.<br />6 You shall use the flesh of the female Cauc so that your young women may marry as virgins. The black woman is the star of the heavens and the delight of the Adamic Black Man, descended from Allah.<br />7 Your Black women shall dress with seemly raiment and with decorum. She shall adorn herself with rich colors and jewelry of stones and precious metals. As befits the royal mother of Africa, daughter of Allah.<br />8 The Cauc female is as the dust of the earth and the beasts of the forest. For from her loins has sprung the race of the oppressor and at her breast she has suckled the viper, the white man/animal who Allah had allowed to hold sway over the African for 2000 years.<br />9 But now Allah has delivered you, and given the enslaver into your hand as a slave. And you shall honor the prophet by using the white female.<br />10 You shall keep her uncovered above the navel. You shall not allow her to hide her breasts, or upper body, for she is not to be treated as your women.<br />11 Compel her to dress her in rags and simple garments around the waist, and she shall serve your women as handmaids and sculleries.<br />12 You shall keep her barefoot, in order to teach her humility as she walks on African soil. You shall work her as a menial in the fields, the paddies, and the workhouses.<br />13 The black woman you shall treat with regard, respectful of her modesty in mind and body.<br />14 Not so the Cauc female. She will suckle her infant openly before you in the streets and the squares. You will behold as she feeds her progeny.<br />15 For once she nourished the oppressor from her teats, hiding in shadows and behind a veil of pride and calling it privacy.<br />16 Now, she must suckle her whelp publicly, as a reminder that both she and her infant exist as your livestock.<br />17 As she trods the dust barefoot, she will feel of your rod and whip. She will teach humility to all generations of Caucs, which issue from her womb and nurse from her teats.<br />18 Remember well the days when you were slaves and the Cauc female lorded it over your women. For now the She-Cauc has been given over to you as slave, the daughter of dust.<br />19 This is Allah’s law regarding females of all kinds. For both are Allah’s gift, the black woman as your wife, glory and consort, the Cauc female as your whore, footstool and slave.<br />20 The male Cauc you shall debase. For as the black man is the Adamic Son of Allah, so the white male is the spawn of the accursed Yacab.<br />21 The Black man is the soul of Africa and the morning sunlight. The delight of his women and the Champion of the Faith.<br />22 You shall honor Allah and the Prophet Hakeem in the body of the black man.<br />23 The Black Man is above all else of Allah’s creation, for he is the pinnacle of life. He shall adorn himself with fine fabrics and robes of honor. As befits the father of Africa, the son of Allah.<br />24 You shall cleanse the land of the male Cauc and use him in the mines and the deserts. You shall keep his numbers few among you for he is a poisonous viper!<br />25 He shall dress in wraps about the loins, barefoot and ragged. For you shall regard him not as man, but beast and forest denizen.<br />26 He shall kneel before your women and children. You shall teach him humility before them with the whip and the cane.<br />27 You shall not allow him free access to the white female, for the Cauc is given to you. You will control the breeding of the Cauc by your will and for your needs.<br />28 You shall select the females he mates with and the times he lays with them. You shall oversee his rut, so that only by your bidding are generations of Caucs issued from his testicles. <br />29 Remember well the days when you were slaves and the male Cauc lorded it over your men. Now Allah has given him over to you as slave. Place your boot on his neck!<br />30 This is the law of Allah concerning Males of all kinds, for both are sustained by Allah. The Black man as Husband, Champion and Master. The male Cauc as breeder, burden beast and slave.<br /><br />Andrea read through other parts. The Hakeem Koran seemed to be totally the work of Hakeem himself, and bore only a passing resemblance to the original Koran. There were books on dietary laws, history, and the divine life and immaculate conception of Hakeem himself.<br />There were more books on the organization of the religion, and on the glorious black race. Hakeem had made other changes to Islam. Alcohol was now permitted, and women were not required to wear veils over their faces. Black women were however, enjoined to be modest and dignified. The rights of black women to work and own property on their own were upheld.<br />There was also a section on the Asian race. They were considered Adamic (descended from Allah and hence truly human) superior to the whites. But Allah had created them inferior to the Black race. They were not to be allowed to own property or move about without permission in Africa.<br />It was amazing. The writing was disjointed, poorly organized and frequently hard to follow. But she was sure that none, white or black would dare to critique it, for every black accepted it as Allah’s sacred writ. At least they said they did. Even those with doubts were compelled to keep them quiet in order to avoid severe punishment. Andrea realized this book was the blueprint for an entire society, and a new religion, with Hakeem as semi-divine prophet. It was now the dominant institution on the planet, for no one, white slave or free black dared to speak against it.<br />Andrea heard the key in the door to the suite, and quickly put the book back on the stand. She scrambled over to a corner of the bedroom and knelt.<br />The cleaning slave entered. She was a white woman, about forty-five perhaps. She was dressed in an old wrap with the hotel’s logo on one side. She might have been startlingly beautiful once, but now her breasts sagged a little and there were thin facial wrinkles. Still she was far from ugly and hotel patrons in the less expensive rooms used her body frequently.<br />The woman saw Andrea but ignored her. She seemed to have a forlorn look in her eyes, as if all hope for a better life had been extinguished. Andrea wondered if this would be her fate in twenty-five or thirty years, after she was no longer fertile and attractive? The thought made her shudder.<br />Early in the evening, M’buto returned with Fuckcelia clinging to him like a drunk to a bottle. “Ohhh fuck, master,” she said, licking his ears and thrusting her genitals against his thigh. “I’m so fucking wet for you, master. Pleeease take me in the bedroom and fuck your little white slut’s brains out!”<br />The black man did just that, and for the next hours Andrea watched from her knees, seething with jealousy while M’buto took the younger girl from behind. She was kneeling on the bed howling with lust and exertion as the black nine-inch cock plunged in and out savagely.<br />M’buto was gasping and Andrea could tell her whore sister was once again using the incredibly skilled muscles in her vagina to massage the length of his shaft.<br />“Ahhhhggggg,” he gasped as he sent what felt like gallons of splooge up into her. She laughed and tossed her blond hair playfully as she felt it surge into her guts.<br />“How you do that… with… with your cunt?” he asked the girl as he lay trying to catch his breath. <br /> “Lots of fucking practice, master,” she giggled.<br />The bath was the same as the night before, with the young whore fucking him underwater and Andrea dutifully washing him.<br />In the bedroom M’buto told Andrea to climb onto the bed and lie on her back. Delighted she was going to participate instead of merely observing this time, Andrea eagerly slid on the bed and smiled, awaiting M’buto. She was disappointed.<br />M’buto told Fuckcelia to lay on the bed opposite Andrea and the younger girl immediately knew what he wanted. She kissed Andrea fully and passionately on the lips, then whispered excitedly into her ear, “Lick my fucking cunt. Suck your man’s jizz from my fucking pussy, sister!”<br />Andrea was shocked. She had never considered putting her mouth on another woman’s genitals, let alone her sister’s! But it was obviously what M’buto wanted, and Fuckcelia was already positioning her face to her sex. As the whore straddled her sister’s shoulders, and pressed her own glistening vulva to her lips, Andrea could already feel Fuckcelia’s rough tongue as it laved up and down her sex. Then she gasped when it grazed her clit, swirled around the clitoral hood and returned to dig deeply into her vagina.<br />Andrea tentatively licked her sister’s vulva with her own tongue, then pushed a little deeper, sensing the familiar taste of M’buto’s seed. It excited her, and she moved her mouth to cover her sister’s labia, imitating her.<br />Fuckcelia was moaning, bucking her mound against Andrea’s face. It was apparent to Andrea that her sibling was no novice at this form of love making either. There seemed to no limits to the sexual expertise of the formerly innocent girl. Yet she was still only seventeen. Andrea wondered what her sister would be like when she reached the peak of female sexual prowess in ten years or so.<br />Andrea’s inhibition dissolved on the hot, foaming mouth of her younger sister. In turn she worked her jaw over the whore’s semen gorged pussy slab, suctioning the viscous seed deposited earlier by M’buto, and other males unknown. When, to the black man’s delight they both came at the same time, they drank each other’s juices and sucked each other’s clits. Andrea was especially fascinated with her sister’s clit ring, licking it with her tongue and causing a gasp of pleasure from the girl each time.<br />Then M’buto told Andrea to sit on a corner of the bed.<br />“Watch while your sister massage M’buto. You watch and learn.”<br />Gasping for breath, the paddy slave obeyed.<br />M’buto lay on his stomach and Fuckcelia took a small bottle of oil from the nightstand and spread the fragrant liquid on her hands. She straddled his legs and sat atop his buttocks, dropping a tiny pool of the oil into the small of his ebony back. <br />“Take your fucking hands and work the oil into his skin,” said Fuckcelia, speaking in low tones to Andrea. “Use your fucking thumbs and the ball of your palms to kneed his back muscles. Don’t be afraid to push hard and hold it fucking tight. Just like when you’re using your fucking cunt,” she giggled.<br />The talented whore worked his shoulders and neck for twenty minutes, then she returned her hands to his lower back. She got up and turned to face his feet, sitting astraddle across his upper thighs. Fuckcelia took more of the oil and pressed it into the flesh of his feet, ankles, and legs, moving slowly all the way up to his buttocks. Andrea could tell the key to servicing a man this way was not to hurry. Fuckcelia took another twenty minutes to massage M’buto’s lower body, always moving languidly slow. “When you’re massaging a man, Andrea,” said Fuckcelia, “you must remember three fucking things above all. He is the only man in the world, you have forever to make him feel good, and his comfort is your only fucking thought. Banish everything else from your fucking mind except your master’s body.”<br />Fuckcelia dismounted him and M’buto flipped over on his back. Then the young white whore straddled him again. She sat with his massive cock lying along the length of her slit. But she not buck or squirm on it. Indeed, she made no erotic moves at all and simply concentrated on the mechanics of the massage.<br />“When you’re facing him,” said Fuckcelia, “always keep his penis lodged in the folds of your fucking sex, that way you are connected, physically and spiritually. But remember; don’t take it inside you because you’re not fucking him yet. You want him to fucking enjoy what you are doing to him with your hands.<br />The hyper-experienced seventeen year-old whore began to kneed his shoulder muscles and his neck. She watched his face intently, gauging his reaction to every touch as she worked her way down to his pectoral muscles, smoothing, pushing them with her fingers, thumbs and palms. All the way down to his navel she went, her face a mask of intense concentration. Her smoky eyes moving back and forth between his face and his body. She turned around and worked the front of his legs, massaging his knees and working the oil all the way to his feet. When she got up off the bed she had already spent more than an hour working his muscles.<br />She knelt on the floor at the foot of the bed, her bottom on her bare heels and her legs spread. M’buto sat on the edge of the bed and placed a foot in her lap.<br />“His feet are where the muscular massage stops and the fucking erotic massage begins,” whispered Fuckcelia. “Foot massage is very fucking sensual and symbolic.”<br />“We always start with the sole of our master’s foot, here on our fucking breasts.” She lifted his foot placing the heel above her navel, the flare of the toes between her breasts. “It is our rightful fucking place Andrea, beneath the foot of a black man.”<br />Fuckcelia looked up at M’buto, asking softly, “Have I pleased you with the work of my fucking hands, master?”<br />“Yes.”<br />“May I begin the work of my fucking sex?”<br />“Yes.”<br />She smiled and took another bottle of oil, anointing his foot and working it into the skin. Then she locked her eyes onto his and brought the bottom of his foot to her lips. She kissed the ball of his foot lightly, then pushed her tongue out to swirl on the sole from his heel to his toes. The white girl took each of them into her mouth, sucking and licking, all the while looking into his eyes with passion, in order to assess his needs.<br />She licked the hollow of his foot and continued past his ankle and up his calf and thigh. Higher, higher she went, kissing and laving, sucking, blowing and even gently biting, all the way to crotch. There she did not touch his manhood, but pressed her lingual digit into the little hollow space between his scrotum and leg.<br />What struck Andrea the most, as she watched with rapt attention, was the patience and care her sister put into every second of the act; every tiny action of her lips, teeth and tongue. It was as if each movement were of supernatural carnality, choreographed and ordained by some goddess of whores. A dance of mouth and flesh so intricate that it could only be mastered after months or even years of daily practice. Fuckcelia was indeed an advanced harlot.<br />The young prostitute/slave started again on M’buto’s other foot, sucking his toes and laving the sensitive hollows between them. Once again she licked, kissed and nibbled her way to his lower belly, then up to his navel. She poured more of scented, edible oil into his belly button, playfully swirling her tongue wildly around his abdomen. Her attentions always centered on his navel, licking outwards and back like the spokes of a wheel then returning to blow cool air into its dark hole.<br />Fuckcelia looked up to his face again. Andrea could tell that she was studying his reaction. The younger girl smiled and brought her mouth to the pool of oil at his solar plexus. She used her tongue now to spread the oil across his chest, then worked it lightly with her hands. She paid special attention to his nipples, kissing, licking and biting very gently. She rooted her nose into his underarm, swirling her tongue into the musky hollow. Then she continued onto his neck and face, to supplicate his lust with a passionate French kiss that seemed to linger for an eternity.<br />At last she moved away slightly, whispering into his open mouth.<br />“Turn over master, let me fucking worship you.”<br /> M’buto moved onto his belly once again, and the slave girl changed positions as well; this time kneeling prone between his legs. With more of the oil she massaged his ass cheeks, kneading them like black dough in her hands. She spread his buttocks with her fingers and poured a dollop of the sweet scented embrocation directly into his ass crack. Her thumbs lovingly stroked the dark, puckered area around the hole and worked the oil right to his anus, stroking ever so slowly while M’buto moaned with sensation.<br />Fuckcelia bent her face down to his cheeks and M’buto spread his massive legs to give her the greatest access. She reached to his clean, oiled brown ass hole with her tongue, and pressed right at the opening. M’buto’s frame seemed to quiver and a moan escaped his lips as the whore drew her tongue ardently over the center of his bung hole, moving her head back and forth as she swirled her lingual digit with servile fervor. She pressed her face between the cheeks and fixed her open mouth firmly over his anus, using her teeth to nip, ever so gently around the hole. She moved the tip of her nose up and down slowly, sliding along the valley of his crack.<br />Andrea held her breath, overwhelmed by the sheer eroticism of the moment. The room was silent, save for the soft metallic ringing of her sister’s wrist and ankle bells as she moved.<br />It went on for some time; a deep, profound homage paid by the white woman to body and person of her black master. At length her cheeks hollowed and her jaw began working. She was sucking, licking, moaning as if indulging in a feverish French kiss. M’buto was groaning now, and grunted with a buck. Andrea knew her lover was on the edge of cuming.<br />Then Fuckcelia released her mouth and moved away, kissing and licking along the surface of his skin with a final tribute.<br /> “Where do you fucking wish to cum, master?” asked the whore. “In my mouth, ass, or my fucking cunt?”<br />“M’buto cum in your pussy,” he sighed.<br />He rolled to his back and the white girl mounted him. But Andrea saw that coitus, culminating the erotic massage, required a unique position for the slave. Andrea guessed the act was a somewhat common ritual between whores and masters, since they both, without speaking knew what to do. Instead of kneeling over him, her sister squatted, her pubis directly over his shaft. She lowered herself onto it, placing her hands on his shoulders. He took her hips in his powerful hands and lifted, balancing her weight.<br />Then Fuckcelia began to massage him again, caressing and pushing with her hands, drawing them over his chest and flanks. Even her feet were instruments to be used to caress him, her toes flexing, heels pushing the muscles of his thighs in parody to what her hands were doing.<br />All this time she was rutting on his member, sliding him in and out his full length with wet, fervid joy.<br />At last came fulfillment, and a slave whore’s reward, the fiery liquid essence of her potent black god.<br />Andrea watched, her face resplendent with awe.<br /><br /><br />Chapter 13<br /><br />In the morning, M’buto informed the girls that he would need take a side trip for the day. To Andrea’s delight, she was told she would be going with him on a short one-hour train journey. She would finally have some time alone with M’buto.<br />He produced a small, red pastel cotton cloth and gave it to her. He had bought it the day before and laid it aside with his things. It was one of the stylish short wraps the other slave girls had been wearing, neatly pleated with a little leather tie at the top to adjust it.<br />Andrea was overwhelmed. She changed into it immediately, looking at herself in the bedroom mirror and turning proudly. It was very bright and festive for a white girl, and Andrea knew intuitively that it told the world she was a valued and cherished slave. She fancied herself next to him in the streets and the markets, walking with pride beside the strong, handsome man she loved. Suddenly Andrea realized how happy she was to be his woman, and how much she longed to be his slave in truth- to call him master. She looked at her overseer, unable to speak.<br />M’buto smiled but said nothing. In the hotel lobby, he paused at the front desk to make a payment on his bill.<br />Andrea saw her sister already hanging on the arm of a graying, but obviously affluent black man, kissing and fondling him generously. They were headed for the hotel’s sumptuous bathhouse on the first floor. From where she was, Andrea could see inside to the magnificent pool, where other white whores were already bathing wealthy black patrons. Beyond the pool were the small but comfortable cubicles where the white women serviced their customers in semi-privacy. This was where Fuckcelia worked during her busy day of prostitution. The hotel rooms were for overnight guests.<br />M’buto finished with the clerk and Andrea followed dutifully, headed onto the street, out to the depot shuttle. She was obliged to sit on the floor at the rear of the bus, with two other slaves.<br />She felt like a little girl with a new dress and she smiled happily as she watched the magnificent city speed by the shuttle window. The other two white women stared back with hollow eyes. They were young enough to be pretty; old enough to remember a time when whites rode on seats. Andrea didn’t care. She was too excited about the novelty of the city.<br />Andrea could see M’buto in the passenger section relaxing in a comfortable seat. She felt a twinge of jealousy seeing him talking to a couple of fashionably dressed and attractive young black women.<br />Soon they arrived at the train station. Andrea carried his case, following him a few steps behind. He sat on a bench and reviewed the train schedule, while Andrea sat quietly on the ground beside him, cross-legged.<br />Having checked the timetable, M’buto was off again, with Andrea in tow. They descended a moving staircase and crossed over to a gleaming express train, waiting a few tracks over.<br />First class cars were black only. Even on a short trip these were luxurious, with excellent food and appointments. In the second class were Africans of lesser means, and Asians. These were still comfortable and clean. All slaves were relegated to the last car, an older stock marked with the universal servile emblem of a kneeling white in profile. Even this car however, was vastly superior to the cattle container Andrea had been shipped in after her capture. There were wooden seats, windows, and even a lavatory.<br />The slaves were boarded first and locked in. Andrea wistfully watched through the window as her beloved overseer walked to the first class cars. She took a seat on one of the low, un-upholstered benches beside three other white women.<br />When the train began moving a few moments later, Andrea struck up a conversation with the others. They were very friendly and were soon bantering with Andrea as if they were all old friends. They talked mostly about their masters, and their master’s families. All three of them had been married with children of their own in old the South Africa. But that had been several years ago. They were now totally devoted to their black masters and thought little about their past.<br />Andrea also watched the countryside through the window, seeing farm after farm glide by. There was agriculture of every kind. Maize on the dryer land, rice near the river, cassava, plantains, beans, millet, and a host of other crops. All tended intensively by countless white Caucasian slaves.<br />On vast acreages of pastureland she could see flocks of goats and sheep, tended by solitary and nearly naked young white boys who lounged on the grass beneath shade trees. They were some of the few slaves who were allowed to be lazy during the day. Andrea was a little envious of them, though she knew the isolation must be hell.<br />At last the train slowed as it pulled into its destination. The door was unlocked and M’buto was there to claim her. Unlike the terminal in Hakeem City, this station was much smaller and overcrowded. As she ran to keep up with M’buto, Andrea was jostled and pushed by other travelers and slaves. Carrying his large briefcase was rather awkward and she was having a difficult time. Disaster struck when they rounded a corridor, and met a large black woman running in the opposite direction. Andrea was moving too fast and was too heavily loaded down to avoid her. They collided, knocking the older black woman down and sending her sprawling onto the floor. Several white slaves who apparently belonged to the woman gasped and stood frozen with fear.<br />“You stupid, Cauc,” yelled the woman’s husband. “Where is your master. You should be caned right here!”<br />Andrea looked helplessly at M’buto. She knew he had been put in a difficult situation. From the way the woman was dressed and the number of slaves she was with, it was obvious she was at least rich and possible very important as well.<br />“I am very sorry,” said M’buto in Bantu, helping the woman to her feet. “Please accept my apology for the clumsiness of my slave.”<br />“I will teach her not to soil the person of my wife,” scowled the man, snapping his fingers and taking a long, wicked looking rod from one of his slaves. <br />“No,” said M’buto firmly. “I will discipline my own slave!”<br />“Please… I’m sorry sir…” said Andrea. She could tell that M’buto was reluctant to whip her, but there was propriety to be served. He pulled the whip that hung from his belt.<br />“Bend over and touch toes,” he ordered Andrea, in English.<br />Andrea complied quickly, wanting to show she was contrite.<br />M’buto did not waste time. He lifted the young woman’s wrap and delivered three very painful lashes right on her bare buttocks. Andrea squealed and yelped with the sting. But she knew she deserved it. She also knew her big black overseer had not whipped her as hard as he could have. She suspected he had only done it so that the man would not insist on caning her. And he did not want anyone to think he was indulgent with his female slaves.<br />“You very foolish girl,” he said harshly, for the benefit of those present. “From now on you watch where you go or you get punishment rod up you foolish slave girl’s ass for several minutes.”<br />Andrea was crying now. “I’m sorry, sir. Please forgive me,” she sputtered.<br />“Kiss lady’s feet,” said M’buto. “Show her you sorry.”<br />Andrea obeyed, crawling to the woman in the midst of the busy train station and planting a kiss on each toe. To Andrea’s relief, the black man and women were both smiling with satisfaction. At least they were appeased.<br />M’buto took the slave girl by the upper arm and led her away down the crowded corridor. Then her turned to scold her. “We no time for this nonsense,” he said. “We need make purchase of new slave equipment today so can be shipped back to Mistress’ farm tomorrow.” He turned around and headed across the station floor while Andrea was still rubbing her smarting buttocks.<br />The slave girl followed as quickly as she could. She was desperately trying to avoid anymore accidents. But a train had just arrived and was disgorging its passengers onto the concourse they were taking. Before she knew it, M’buto was far ahead of her and she was trapped by the density of the crowd. She saw him exit the station onto the street outside, and followed as soon as she was able. Once on the street however, her overseer was nowhere to be seen. Frantically, she searched and called as she ran along the street in the direction she thought he had gone.<br />Several minutes later, there was still no sign of him. She was winded and decided to rest for a moment in an alley adjacent to the station. As she caught her breath, icy fingers of fear gripped Andrea’s spine. She was alone in a strange city, lost without her protector.<br />“What have we here?” growled a voice behind her.<br />Andrea whirled to see two uniformed men, brandishing batons and cutting off her way back to the station.<br />“I… I’m looking for my… my overseer… I was separated…”<br />“Look at the back of her legs. Been recently whipped. She’s a runaway all right,” said the second man. “Probably stole that case. Kneel, love and put your hands over your head. That’s a good Cauc.”<br />“Please, my overseer is around here. I…”<br />They continued to move toward her menacingly. Andrea suddenly realized these men were private bounty hunters, opportunists who roamed the streets looking for escaped slaves, recapturing them and returning them to their masters for a fee.<br />Most bounty hunters were marginal operators looking for easy money. And many masters considered them little better than thieves. Every white slave lived in terror of these organizations. In panic, Andrea dropped M’buto’s briefcase and bolted, fleeing down the ally away from them. She got only a few steps when something hit her from behind and seemed to wrap about her. It was a net, launched from one of the men’s batons, and it swept her off her feet, immobilizing her. She tried desperately to throw it off, but it seemed to cling to her. In seconds she was trapped, on the ground, hopelessly entangled.<br />“Stop struggling, you sow,” shouted one of them as he pressed her terrified form onto the street with his boot. He spoke into his radio and seconds later a van appeared.<br />“Please… oh please… I’m not a runaway… I’m with my overseer.”<br />“Shut up, slut. You’re an escaped slave and you’re being claimed by Boswego Slave Recovery Company. He seized her by the hair and bared her neck, reading off her slave identification number to the other man. Then she was lifted into the van.<br />Andrea continued to plead pathetically as they drove off, so one of the men muzzled her. They drove for about twenty minutes before the van finally turned into walled complex near the edge of town. <br />When they pulled her roughly from the vehicle, they attached a long control rod to her collar. Then she was taken into the building.<br />Andrea noticed that this place was nothing like the clean, professional slave training facility she had been taken to after her capture. This looked like a small-time operation. The entire complex seemed to be in a state of serious disrepair.<br />Andrea whimpered and trembled, unable to keep the soft little female whines of fear from leak through her lips. Terrible things were said to happen to slaves in places like this, and she wondered if they were going to perform some hideous medical experimentation on her. But most agonizing and paralyzing of all was the realization that she might never see M’buto again.<br />At that moment, she knew in her heart how much she depended on him for strength and protection, how much she would miss his discipline- how much she loved him. She howled with despair and nearly fainted at the prospect of losing him, but the sharp lash of the whip on her back brought her mind to reality.<br />“Move Cauc… In you go.”<br />They dragged her into a dilapidated structure, which housed the slave kennels. What Andrea saw when she entered the building was as close to hell as anything she had yet encountered. Just as the poet had said, she abandoned all hope.<br /><br />“Ah yes,” said the agent with a sly smile. “We still have her. Our men picked her up near the train station.”<br />“Yes, that’s where I lost her,” said M’buto. He had been looking for Andrea for three days, extending his trip to check with the police and private recovery services. Fortunately, Dominika had not returned from her vacation yet and was unconcerned about him having to spend a couple of extra days. She would be most displeased about one of her slaves trying to escape. It looked now however, as if he could sweep this little episode under the rug.<br />“Is she in good shape?” asked M’buto. “Oh yes,” said the agent. “She’s only been here a couple of days. Heated little minx, that one. A good choice if you’re breeding.”<br />“M’buto nodded. “She’s a breeder slave on rice plantation. When faced with any uncertainty or stress she’s conditioned to start fucking.”<br />They stopped in front of a steel door, locked fast by a thick chain and padlock.<br />“This building is the main kennel,” said the agent. “That was the company’s primary business. Now it’s a sideline. They bred guard dogs here originally, then diversified into breeding Caucs after the liberation. Later we got into the business of slave recovery.”<br />“The company’s fallen on hard times in recent months, I’m afraid,” said the agent apologetically. “Filed for bankruptcy… but still operating.”<br />Even M’buto drew a deep breath when they entered, and the lights came on.<br />There were dozens of caged stalls packed tightly along two narrow walkways. Each held at least one filthy, naked white woman and a large dog. All appeared to be starving. Some of the women covered their eyes and cowered in the corner at the unaccustomed light. Others appeared too far gone to move or care.<br />The stench of excrement and rotting flesh was absolutely overpowering and it was apparent the cages had not been cleaned for some time. The straw was moldy and damp. Carcasses and body parts of several dogs, and at least two humans, were strewn about the cages, covered with flies and maggots.<br />M’buto stopped in front of the first cage. A red haired girl was crouched on the floor, gnawing on an old bone. She looked up and snarled at them, as if she feared they would steal it from her. He tried to smile reassuringly, but the girl grimaced. The expression on her face was one of pure feral hunger and fear, as if all dignity and bearing, indeed all humanity itself had been driven from her, leaving naught else but the physical animal. She sat in the corner, eyeing them suspiciously.<br />In the next cubicle there was a commotion as two women fought with desperate fury over the last rancid scraps of a carcass. M’buto was slightly relieved to see that it was a dead dog… Not a human body. He shuddered and nearly vomited. He would have left right then but for the fact that Andrea was there and he needed to recover her.<br />The agent could see M’buto’s face and it made him nervous. This man was obviously articulate and intelligent. Fortunately they didn’t get many do-gooders come through. Most of their customers were simply anxious to get their valuable slave back, so they could whip him or her half to death. Still, conditions were worrisome. They were in violation of several servile treatment and containment regulations. Anyone who wanted to blow the whistle could cost the company dearly in fines.<br />“The firm’s bankrupt and there’s no money for food, let alone vets,” volunteered the agent. “Trouble is, there’s a legal battle going on for control of what’s left of the company. None of the owners want to commit any capital until it’s resolved.”<br />M’buto shook his head, making the agent even more nervous. He knew he should have brought the slave out to the man without showing him the facility. But he was under orders by the firm’s executors to show the company’s stock in case there were interested buyers.<br />M’buto slowly walked the aisles between the kennels, searching for Andrea. The floor was slick and putrid with urine, pooling above excrement clogged drains. There were waste buckets in the cages. All were overflowing.<br />The most curious thing was the silence. He could hear the wails of several hungry babies, but the women said nothing. They simply stared back at the visitors with vacant eyes, seemingly devoid of human consciousness.<br />“Are these normal Caucs?” asked M’buto.<br />“They won’t talk…” said the agent. “They’re forbidden to use speech. The collars they’re wearing deliver an excruciating shock if vibrations are detected in their throats.”<br />M’buto nodded. He had heard of such control devises at seminars. Their use was rejected by most farms for a variety of reasons, but many factories and breeding farms used them. <br />He continued to look for Andrea- and find new horrors. In one cell, on the filthy straw lay afterbirth, and the body of a still born fetus. The woman had pushed it into a corner and was curled up in the opposite corner of the small kennel. In a couple of other cages the women, reduced to madness by the darkness, starvation and boredom were having sex with male dogs.<br />Finally, near the rear of the building, M’buto walked down the length of the last narrow corridor between the cages. It was here that he found Andrea. She and a rather large, ugly white male were fucking artlessly on the straw covered floor, grunting and gasping like swine. They had been asleep, but knew a black person was in the building because the lights were on. That was the signal to put on a mating show to impress a potential buyer. They quickly assumed a position and began copulating, lest the whip’s bite find their naked flesh.<br />“In here we have the male,” said the agent. “We put her in here because we weren’t sure how long she’d be here, and if we’d have to re-sell her. She’s worth a little more pregnant.”<br />M’buto watched as the naked, balding white male pounded into Andrea with mindless fury. She was on her back with her eyes closed, rutting mechanically, but not looking at him.<br />“That male’s been in this cell for three years,” said the agent. “They never let him out. Every whelp in his building is his. He does nothing but eat, shit and fuck.”<br />The whites continued to hump enthusiastically on the straw. They gave no indication that they were aware of the two visitors and their faces were oddly expressionless. They were like biological machines that had simply been turned on and programmed to mate.<br />The agent laughed. “These two know what they’re here for. You might have one more slave than you thought you had, now.”<br /> M’buto let them finish. In a few minutes the male was gasping and spewing himself into Andrea’s depths. M’buto could see she wanted it by the way she crossed her ankles and drove her heels into his ass cheeks. She always did that when she came.<br /> M’buto waited until the two were still, plaint with post orgasmic bliss. Then he spoke. “I’m glad to see she’s been properly treated.”<br /> Andrea’s eyes flew open. M’BUTO! Could it really be his voice? She pushed the white man off of her and sat up on her haunches. IT WAS M'BUTO! She had almost lost hope. She threw herself to the chain link, weeping. “Please sir. Oh please take me back. Please sir, don’t leave me here.”<br /> “That’ll be four hundred Hakes to cover detention and recovery,” said the agent. “I can take a check.”<br /> M’buto was stone faced, but Andrea could tell he was thinking, as the shrewd negotiator her was. He spoke to the man in Zulu. “I count twenty Cauc females still alive here. Plus five infants and the one adult male. I will pay you 30,000 Hakeems for all of them.”<br /> “Wha… Be serious,” said the agent. “Those slaves are worth 200,000 Hakeems, minimum.”<br /> “No.” said M’buto. “They’re not. Most of them are nearly dead from malnutrition. I think we will have to put at least one or two down, but I’ll talk to our vet. Just getting veterinary treatment for all these Caucs will cost me at least 10,000 Hakeems.”<br /> The agent frowned, but M’buto continued.<br /> “If you don’t sell these slaves soon, or feed them, they won’t bring anything but a few Hakeems for fertilizer. Besides, the Ministry of Servile Control will levee large fines in a case like this. These conditions are inhumane and violate regulations.”<br /> “It’s not my fault,” said the agent. “The owners of this company walked off with a million Hakeems in debt. No one’s been by to feed these animals. I’m just an employee. My only interest and responsibility is to sell whatever I can for the highest price.”<br /> M’buto shrugged. “35,000 Hakeems. It’s a good offer. My final offer. But if I leave here without a deal I’m reporting this to the authorities. Those Caucs are too valuable to starve to death.”<br /> The agent looked unsure. He was obviously weighing his options. Finally he nodded. “All right, it’s a deal.”<br /> M’buto pulled a sales contract from his brief case and had the agent sign it. Then he gave the man a check for 35,000 Hakeems. A vet was called in to examine the whites and a trough of food was ordered.<br /> As soon as the whites smelled the food they raced desperately to the chain link walls of their cells, whimpering pathetically. Not wanting to take the time to feed them in their kennels, M’buto had them released into the open, exercise area. They rushed the food as their doors were opened, fighting and struggling to the troughs where they dug into the sudsa with their hands without ceremony, stuffing their mouths like the starving animals they were. Andrea was among them, eating ravenously. Yet still, not a one of them spoke. The only sounds came from the squalling, hungry babies many of the women carried.<br />Chapter 14<br /> <br />M’buto made arrangements for the slaves to be shipped directly to Dominika’s rice plantation. He had used most of the money earmarked for new equipment, but he knew the mistress would be pleased with the incredible bargain he had made.<br /> Andrea, he took back with him on the train. She was not pregnant by the white stud slave. The vet confirmed that she was just now coming into fertility.<br />Though he did not tell her, he felt responsible for her getting lost. She had clung to his legs before they had left the kennels, crying and professing eternal loyalty. He had patted her affectionately on the head, telling her that everything was going to be all right. <br /> That night Andrea curled up on the floor next to the bed after M’buto had fucked the teenage hotel whore raw. As M’buto turned off the lights, Andrea thought about how lucky she and her sister were, that such a man as M’buto would condescend to use their bodies. <br /> When the last morning arrived, Andrea and Fuckcelia awoke early, and went into the main room of the suite so they could talk a little without disturbing M’buto.<br />They shared a few more things. Andrea confided about her experience with the bounty hunters, and her fixation on M’buto. Now even stronger after he had rescued her, the obsession had developed into a desperate need to have his baby.<br />“I could fucking tell all along, Andrea,” she laughed. “Deep inside you’ve fucking wanted that for a long time. Your face was so insanely jealous when I was fucking him. And the way you fucking look at him, like you worship the fucking contents of his balls.”<br />Fuckcelia giggled and their eyes met. For a moment, she seemed so much like the innocent virgin in the Salisbury Enclave, demurely turning down dates from heartbroken white boys.<br />Andrea smiled. “I didn’t know it was that obvious,” she said.<br />“You fucking love him. I can see it a fucking mile away. But maybe it’s just because we’re fucking sisters.”<br />The younger girl looked at the clock. “It’s almost fucking time. Master wants to be fucking awakened at eight.<br />They went back to the bedroom and Fuckcelia gently crawled onto the bed. She put her face to his crotch and began licking the sleeping man’s scrotum.<br />“Eight fucking O’clock master,” she said, looking up at him when his eyes opened. He smiled, and let her continue to serve him. She continued laving his balls and shaft until he opened his eyes and sat up in the bed.<br />“What’s your pleasure this fucking morning, master?” she asked, her face enthusiastic and bright.<br />“Would you like to fuck me in my ass, or my cunt again?” She rubbed her pubic mound on his kneecap lewdly. “You can fuck me any way you want, master. Or…” she said, knowingly, “maybe you’d like to fuck Andrea?”<br />Andrea’s heart leapt, and her sex began to water. She looked at M’buto with the prettiest pout she could manage, batting her eyes and cocking her head.<br />“You know what she fucking told me, master?” said Fuckcelia, laughing, as though the idea was incredibly quaint and unsophisticated. “She wants you to make her pregnant. She’s obsessed with the need to have your baby!” both M’buto and her sister grinned at Andrea and laughed at her surprised expression.<br />Andrea was appalled that her sister would betray her confidence in such a way. She had told the girl a secret of her heart, as they often did before their capture. Such intimate talk between them had never been shared with others, particularly with such casual flippancy.<br />She had of course, discussed her passion with M’buto in the secret hours of the night, entertwined intimately with him physically and emotionally. But that was different than talking about in the glare of morning, with her sister present. It was too personal a thing to air lightly in a three-way conversation. And yet, it gave her a hot flutter in her loins to stand in front of him naked, as Fuckcelia told him the little secret craving she had carried so long.<br />M’buto chuckled with amusement and sat on the edge of the bed. Andrea automatically knelt in front of him, thinking he might want his cock sucked. She had lowered her eyes and was surprised to feel his big, strong hand reach down to caress her under the chin. He tipped her head up and she looked into his coal black eyes.<br />“Tell M’buto what you want,” he said, softly.<br />Andrea swallowed. It was not, as would have been supposed so easy a thing to ask. She had always envisioned that he would take her as every other male had, with no discussion or input on her part. It would actually have been much easier on her to simply and passively submit to his will, to spread her legs and let him have his way- to receive seed, his child, the way a slave girl should. But her masterful overseer wanted something more from her that she had not anticipated having to give.<br />“Tell M’buto what you want,” he repeated. The room seemed electric with anticipation.<br />“I… I want your baby, sir,” she breathed, the words gushing out that she could no longer contain. “I’m in season right now and… I want you to… to make me pregnant. Please… I know I’m not worthy… I… oh please sir!”<br />She had said it, bared her deepest longing and expressed the desire that had consumed her with a growing passion for months. She stared into his eyes, her breathing ragged with emotion. She was offering her very soul.<br />He took her head in his hands, holding firmly, possessively. She could feel the strength in his grasp, almost painful, with all the potency and virility of life itself coursing through his palms. She felt her loins surge with the need engendered by her own delicious helplessness, overwrought almost to the point of swooning. And he was only holding her head with his hands!<br />He smiled with the leering, superior grin she that now found so endearing. “Get on bed,” he said. And with those words, Andrea’s broken universe became whole.<br />She instantly complied, scrambling onto the sheets.<br />“On back,” said M’buto. “Show me how bad you want.”<br />She showed him; with her flushed face, her rock hard nipples, and most of all with the wide spreading her legs. To make sure he understood she reached down, parting her labia with her fingers, to reveal the dripping wetness within and looked up at him with pleading hazel eyes.<br />He was between her legs then, bringing his rampant nine inches to the doorway of life. He ran his black hand over the flesh of her belly, below the navel and smiled down on her meaningfully. She could feel the spongy head of his glans as it twitched and swelled, nestled between her sex lips.<br />“You put in,” he said.<br />A soft moan of mixed lust and contentment escaped Andrea’s lips as she guided the object of her desire, tucking it into the folds and pulling it forward into her core. And she could not suppress the coarse panting in her throat as she waited for his movements, his indulgence.<br />He pushed, slowly, unstopping, unrelenting into her. There was no familiar short thrust and outstroke. He simple pushed forward slowly, deliciously stretching her vaginal walls, invading like an irresistible force into the intimate depths of her being.<br />Finally, he was home. He bottomed out, his penal head nudging into her cervix with the kiss of a conqueror.<br />Andrea received him, enveloping his body with entwining arms and legs. Opening her mouth to receive his agile tongue, she felt the stirrings of his rut as his coital movements began, driving his hard black phallus in and out slowly.<br />Andrea whimpered, unable to silence her grateful sighs of joy. M’buto… M’buto… M’buto was fucking her!<br />He gained speed, pumping her like a smoothly greased machine and pushing his flat muscular chest to hers and feeling her fat, engorged nipples rake through his chest hair. She writhed under him, her helplessness an irresistible aphrodisiac. They rode together in a timeless dance, the black man taking his homage and due, the white girl striving to fit over him snuggly. The perfect receptacle for his cock. <br />He fucked Andrea hard, pounding her into the bed with long, lunging strokes. Fuckcelia lay beside them, caressing them both, offering lewd encouragement.<br />"Yessss fuck her, master. Fuck her like that... see how she wants it."<br />Andrea knew that for M'buto, this was just one more sexual episode. But even that knowledge inflamed her. She was only a slave, longing through a naive female fantasy to be his wife and co-flesh. She cursed her fallen race and the fate she had been handed as a Cauc. She could never be a wife to a black man- but she could be a whore. And that she accepted, for at least it meant belonging to him.<br />Suddenly Andrea felt the pucker of her anus being probed. A large, blunt object, slick with lubricant was pushing gently but insistently in, even as M’buto continued to thrust into her. She looked down. It was Fuckcelia working a hard ebony dildo at her bunghole. Her sister was slowly inserting the object.<br />“Move with him Andrea,” she whispered intensely. “If you want his baby, show him. Work for it!”<br />Andrea began to hump with even more alacrity. She felt the rod in her ass rubbing, thrusting in sympathetic rhythm with her man’s lunges. It was clear now what Fuckcelia was doing. She was showing her sister some tricks, directing her where to contract her muscles for M’buto’s maximum pleasure.<br />“Uuugggghhh… Unnnnggghh,” grunted Andrea as the blunt tip of the dildo ground against inside of her rectum, massaging the underside of M’buto’s cock from inside her anus. <br />“Squeeze him, sister. Use these muscles. If you want what’s in his balls you’ve got to coax it out. Tighten your cunt around him!”<br />Fuckcelia was demonstrating some twists with the dildo, but for Andrea there was no art or finesse, no fancy professional slut moves in this coupling. It was just the sheer joy of a slave girl rutting on her master's manhood. The joy she had been denied so many nights before while she watched her sister perform.<br />"Fuck her, master," said Fuckcelia. "Fuck her like her white boy husband never did."<br />It did not last long. It did not need to. Andrea was simply a white whore slave being used by a black man for casual, morning sex. But she loved him, and was determined to make even this little interlude a delightful moment for him. Indeed the thought thrilled her to the very core. The simple fact he would indulge her deepest wish for his baby in such a cursory way. She had been a slave and had been taken countless times, yet he had found a way to make her feel like a virgin, joyously and wonderfully raped. He did not fuck her as he had taken Fuckcelia, whom he had taken as a prostitute, with respect for her profession and skills. He took Andrea as an object to lovingly defile. It underscored like never before the depth of her subjugation to him. She was not even given the dignity of a whore. She was something baser. A Cauc female to be impregnated on a whim.<br />In that moment her heart was set in stone. She loved him, and would never love another. He was not giving her his baby. He was her black man. He was raping his child into her. The way it should be.<br />AND SHE LOVED HIM FOR IT!<br />M’buto flexed his buttocks and crushed Andrea with his entire weight- impaling her on his shaft and then pulling almost completely out before slamming himself back in to the hilt. He squeezed her like a vise in his powerful arms, allowing only her arms and legs to cling with servile acceptance around him. She was helpless and immobile, starring up at her lover with wide, worshipful eyes.<br />“Take it,” he hissed, his eyes flashing with passion. He was thrusting into her savagely now. Fuckcelia removed the dildo from her ass to clear the way for M’buto’s final thrusts.<br />He responded, hammering his black phallus into Andrea’s defenseless white love canal with all the physical power that made him such a god. With each pounding lunge his great, brimming testicles bounced onto her now gaping anal hole.<br />“M’buto fill you with his seed!” he shouted. “You take in womb… You swell with M’buto child… For all Cauc females to see!”<br />Andrea pushed at his chest, wriggling in a mock attempt to escape. He squeezed her breasts cruelly and bore down into her with thrusts of enormous wickedness and might. The feeling of utter helplessness enveloped her and she rocketed into orgasm, screaming and squirming and clinging, drenching his ebony rod with the servile offering of her cum.<br />“Yes… Oh yes,” screamed Andrea. “So good. So fucking good to be your slave…” she sobbed.<br />Yet he continued unabated.<br />“Yes, fucking fill her, master,” Andrea heard Fuckcelia breathe excitedly. "Bloat her fucking belly with your black baby! It’s what she fucking wants more than anything!"<br />The younger girl crawled between the powerful black man’s legs and nuzzled her face up to their joined organs. She flicked her tongue where the thick shaft was tightly and lovingly embraced by her sister’s stretched nether lips then swirled the lingual digit cunningly over his scrotum.<br />Andrea’s second orgasm was fast on the heels of her first.<br />“Oh… darling, fuck me,” screamed Andrea. “Fill me with your love. Fill me… with your child… aaannnhhh… Oh, fill me… SO FULL! NOW!”<br />M’buto’s balls bounced lubriciously against Andrea’s anus, wet with her cum- and Fuckcelia’s saliva. Andrea’s whore sister administered the coup d gras, her rough tongue laving his bunghole. <br />Then he was cuming, sending great heaving floods of his male essence pouring into her. Conquering her race once again! Andrea shuddered and squirmed, then exploded into another massive orgasm.<br />He’s cuming in me, she thought, with ecstatic masochistic joy. He’s filling my womb with a baby right now and there’s nothing I can do about it!<br />She felt the torrent within her and convulsed as the climax reverberated through her mind and body, screaming, shrieking, “M’BUTOOOOOO FILLLLLLL MEEEEEEEE!”<br />He her held her fast until he had drained his balls of the last drop of live sperm. Fuckcelia breathed with euphoric excitement, still watching from inches away what she fervently hoped was her beloved sister’s desperately craved moment of Negroid fecundation.<br />An exhausted black overseer collapsed on the sheets and Fuckcelia slithered onto the bed. M'buto settled onto the bed between the girls, his penis deflating but still inches deep inside Andrea. The two white sisters turned to him, caressing, licking, kissing and whispering little endearments. At last the now flaccid black organ slipped out, its mission complete.<br />Fuckcelia giggled with amusement when her sister rose to her knees, back sloping down in the insemination position. Andrea’s face was intense as she concentrated on working her muscles to draw the semen in. She smiled, radiating intense happiness as she felt the fluid run up inside, right into her welcoming womb.<br />"Ohhhh fuck, master," cooed Fuckcelia, her eyes sparkling. She squeezed her sister's drenched labia closed so as not to lose a drop and massaged her belly below the navel. "You dropped a huge fucking load in her. Andrea's going to be filled with you for the next nine fucking months!”<br /><br />It was checkout time. Andrea and Fuckcelia packed M'buto's bags while he went out to conduct some last minute business. He returned and settled the bill in the hotel lobby. Then it was time to go.<br />The two sisters were alone for a minute and embraced each other tearfully. Andrea heard the familiar tinkling of the slave whore's bells as she moved.<br />“Oh Andrea, I fucking love you,” said Fuckcelia.<br />“Cece,” whispered Andrea. “Why did you tell M’buto about my trying to have his baby. That was just between us.”<br />The younger girl looked sincerely confused. Then she smiled. “I thought it fucking needed to be told. Besides, it got you fucked didn’t it?”<br />Andrea thought for a moment and then she smiled too. Her sister was right.<br />Fuckcelia giggled, and patted her sister on her soft, bare belly. “You’ll fucking thank me later.” Then her face clouded again, as she realized that this really was goodbye, with no guarantee they would ever meet again. She embraced Andrea once more, holding tight.<br />The older girl read her thoughts. "We'll see each other again," said Andrea, stroking her sister's hair. "I know we will."<br />But the younger girl could not totally quell her crying. “Oh Andrea, It’s so hard to say goodbye.”<br />“I know, I…” Andrea smiled. “Hey, you didn’t use the word fuck in that last sentence.”<br />Fuckcelia’s face clouded with a frown and Andrea could see the genuine fear in her sister’s eyes. She looked about her nervously to see if anyone had heard.<br />“Oh god, you’re fucking right," she whispered. "Don’t fucking tell anyone, please!”<br />Andrea laughed. She deeply loved her sibling still, but there was no mistaking the sadistic thrill that tingled in her loins when she thought about what had been done to the girl and what they'd turned her into. The fact that her younger sister had been totally broken and now seemed happy and well adjusted to her new life only added to the delicious pleasure.<br />She couldn't resist reaching between the little whore's legs and flicking heavy little ball onto her clit.<br />“I won’t say a fucking word… Fuckcelia.”<br /> <br /><br /><br /><br />Epilogue <br /><br /><br />The drive back to the plantation was uneventful. They talked about life, and love, and the ice cream M’buto bought her from a roadside vendor. She gazed at the green African countryside and the incredible natural beauty of the land, as she had often longed to. Then she lay back and enjoyed the padded luxury of the truck seat. It was paradise, she thought. She was alone with the man she loved.<br />For Andrea, it had been an adventurous trip. But it had been far more than just a glorious week with M’buto in the city. She had learned the deepest truths about herself, and had finally come to grips with who she was.<br />She was a slave. She knew that was her destiny and the destiny of her race. She had changed much since that fateful day when she’d kissed Jeff goodbye. Goodbye forever. She would never see him again. Indeed she would not return to him even if she had the chance. There was no future for white males like him, and she wanted a future. She was no longer Andrea Forester; she was just slave Andrea.<br />She served a black man, she thought with pride. The greatest thing a white woman can hope for.<br />The truck sped up the long dirt road to the plantation. It was good to be back, with her paddy, her friends, her baby. It was good to be home.<br />When they finally arrived, it was after dark. The plantation house was radiant and aglow on the hilltop. Mistress Dominika was entertaining for her cultured and sophisticated black guests.<br />From the bungalow, she could hear the rustling and soft cries from the little slave hovels. The whites were entertaining as well in their earthy, servile way, copulating as enthusiastically as they always did. The new slaves that M’buto had bought had arrived a few days before and many of the females had recovered quickly from their poor treatment. The plantation was paradise compared with where they had been, and they wanted desperately to please their new owner. There were lots of new couplings taking place as they worked hard to increase their mistress’ wealth of white slaves.<br />Andrea took M’buto’s bags from the truck and followed him into the house. She sighed as she felt her bare feet on the familiar, muddy dirt of the farm.<br /> It was straight to the shower. M’buto wanted to cleanup after the long trip. As he allowed her to bath him, he told her he had some news.<br />“Mistress so happy with sale of slaves and purchase I make, she give you to me. You still work in paddies, but now you live with M’buto. Make him happy.” <br />Andrea almost fainted with joy. Her most fervent wish had come true. She was his! She looked at his face, crying, daring not to speak lest it be a dream.<br />He laughed, reading her thoughts.<br />“Yes,” he said. “You call me master now.”<br /><br />She was kneeling naked at the foot of his bed, watching, waiting, anticipating. She reached down idly to feel her belly, and realized she was just starting to show. M’buto’s baby! And how she relished the thought. <br />He lay back on the bed and read a magazine as she knelt quietly, her mind ablaze with masochistic delirium.<br />Her eyes were closed and she brought her hand up to her collar, caressing it lovingly. She brought her other hand down to her clitoris, rubbing it in tiny circles and stroking along her vulva. Her sex lips were fuller now, puffy and bloated as a result of her pregnancy. So much better suited to gripping tightly, subserviently around his big cock. <br />I’m his, she thought. I’m really his! Oh M’buto, my black god. How I need to worship you!<br />He looked down at her and smiled, then he snapped his fingers and pointed to his lap.<br />She climbed into bed quickly, slithering up his muscular frame, then rising to straddle his massive thighs. Andrea humped her pussy against his hairy leg, unable to hide her overpowering need. She felt as if she had been waiting for this moment her entire life. But she always felt that way in his bed, now.<br />Fuck you father, she thought. Your pure, chaste daughters, whom you wouldn’t even allow to date white men, are whores for Negro masters now! Slaves who worship a black phallus. It serves you right you white supremacist bastard.<br />Fuck you Jeff. Do you play with your little white, four-inch cock every night? Do you think of me and wonder if I’ve been faithful? If you could only see me when I wrap my legs around M’buto, the black master I love far more than I ever loved you. Do you cum in your hands as you try to remember my face? If only you knew, oh former husband, that every night my womb is drenched with the potent seed of my dark lover, and my belly grows ripe and swollen with my black master’s child. I hope you rot in that mine. I only wish you could see how thoroughly the woman who was once your wife has been debauched, defiled and enslaved- and how much she loves it!<br />Slave Andrea fell onto M’buto’s chest, pressing her erect nipples onto his black flesh. Then she grasped his heroic manhood and felt it spring to rock hard life as he flipped her roughly onto her back and pushed her legs apart. She licked his earlobe as he moved to mount her, and whispered hotly the words she had been aching to say all day. The words which gushed forth from her very soul.<br />“Fuck meeee, master!”<br /><br /> <br />EndMy Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-45014205870565311732007-09-30T14:06:00.000-07:002007-09-30T14:14:26.924-07:00THE TEMPLE WHORESThe Temple Whores<br /><br /><br />By<br /><br /><br />Gordon KerrCopyright resides with authorDownloaded from bdsmbooks.com<br /><br /><br /> Kaghli is a god of rape, the supernatural ravisher of women. Ever his avatar searches earth for women to possess and violate. Yet in his possession do all his women become willing servants, enthralled to his lust and potency. And so must his hunger be eternally unsated.<br /> -Ancient Sanskrit fragment<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 1<br /><br /> The hideous stone idol grinned down, its features illuminated by flickering torchlight. All around the chants of worshipers reverberated within the walls of the ancient temple, the sound rhythmic, hypnotic. Incense, thick and choking hung in the air as hundreds of men knelt abjectly before the god, watching, waiting- Waiting for Kaghli to show his approval of the offering and take the beautiful, naked young woman impaled on his stone phallus.<br />It was an ancient ritual of the Temple of Hinja Punt. A rite of worship devoted to the god Kaghli, the deity of masculine lust and voracity. The sacrifice at this ceremony was an Indian woman, with an incredibly lithe figure and perfect, light coffee skin. Her black hair hung to the small of her well-striped back as she clung to the god, pierced to the core by an eight inch rubber phallus mounted on the end of the idol’s member. The girl herself squatted awkwardly on the tip of the much larger stone erection. Her small hands and feet gripped the huge stone penis, which stood taller than a man and stuck up rigidly from the colossal statue at an angle of rampant erection. The effect was both grotesque and fantastic. A beautiful human woman ravished by a giant/god.<br /> The girl found the perch difficult and precarious and she struggled to maintain the lewd position. She looked back at the priest with an expression of pure terror and helplessness, knowing that if she fell, or allowed the god’s maleness to slip from her vagina the consequences would be horrible; a long, methodical caning that she had seen drive other dasi to the brink of insanity.<br />The priest of Kaghli, the Baugwan, stood before the worshipers and raised his hands. The chanting ceased instantly and every eye was trained expectedly as he spoke. The hapless girl also listened- and waited. He mouthed some incantations and took a long flint knife from a dais at the idol’s feet.<br />Gesturing to the woman, the Baugwan spoke and the intoning hum from the crowd of men began anew. She writhed with pain and fear on stone rod, straining to hold herself in position. She had been told that she must please Kaghli, offer her body completely, fuck the god to fulfillment. The frightened woman was more than willing to put on a good show to save her flesh from the whip or the cane, but she simply did not know how she was going to coax an orgasm from Kaghli. It was just a carved piece of stone!<br />She knew it couldn’t have real thoughts or feelings. But the whips behind her were real! If she didn’t perform well for these men they would be used on her tender skin.<br /> The Baugwan stepped up to the hapless girl, raising his hands. The worshipers stilled again.<br />“You belong to Kaghli,” he said to her, stroking the flesh of her rear cheek. “You must serve him as he demands- with your soft young body!”<br />Then he spoke louder, to the crowd of followers. “Kaghli shares his bounty with those who serve him! This woman is being infused with the potency of Kaghli, with his essence. She will be offered to all of his faithful. Use her body to worship Kaghli!”<br />The Baugwan turned, speaking once more to the girl. “Now. You will please him. You will move as you have been taught.”<br />The girl began to rut on the phallus; up and down slowly, trying to establish a convincing coital movement. She wanted to get the horrible act over with. Besides, it was easier on her strained muscles to be able to flex and pull. She closed her eyes and thrust with her back, but the thing inside her was motionless, the idol too inanimate and inert to provide a sexual focus. Her movements were both stiffly mechanical and hesitant.<br />The Baugwan made a motion and a powerful looking African man stepped forward carrying a whip. Without warning he lashed the girl’s back brutally and she screamed. But something inside her made her body hold back. She was strong willed and the thought of giving herself totally to a dead, stone god in front of a few hundred primitives touched a defiant chord within her. She did move a little more, hoping to appease the priest enough to cheat the god of her complete surrender.<br />The Baugwan was not having it however and the black man lay into her with a will, striping her back with lashes in quick succession. Each stroke brought screams of agony from the woman to punctuate the intoned, rhythmic chanting from the crowd of men. <br />Finally the girl gave in. She began fucking the idol with desperate alacrity, moaning and bucking on its smooth, hard penis as if it were a living being. She hooked her heels under the colossal rod and looked up into the snarling face adoringly. Anything to please the Baugwan and escape the blows of the whip.<br />The Baugwan allowed her to writhe and churn with enforced carnal motions for several minutes, watching her build an expectant heat inside, despite the horror she was feeling. Then he brought the knife to her face and she screamed with terror. The woman began to fuck the stone idol with frantic passion, thrashing wildly and salaciously. He waited for her to climax, hearing her gasp out with passion, not knowing or caring whether her orgasm was real or an act meant to placate him and end the torment.<br />As she screamed and bucked at her peak he laughed maniacally, then thrust the knife violently into the center of the dais just below her.<br />The Baugwan couldn’t suppress a low burst of course laughter as the woman’s eyes flew open with astonishment. She looked back at him, her face flushed with shock and revulsion. A warm, viscous fluid was flooding her vagina, running copiously down her legs. The stone god was cuming inside her!<br /><br /> The white missionary wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to concentrate on the crowd of brown faces around him. It was oppressively hot on this narrow street. The stone buildings seemed to radiate with waves of heat in the early evening and the air was still and clingy. He had put in a hard day’s work, trying to reach the people of this village and was winding down an eloquent, but useless sermon. There were no takers here for the religion he was selling; only a mixture of skepticism and outright hostility.<br />Charles McKinna was not lacking in dedication, but he was tired and discouraged. It was getting late and he finally concluded his message by asking if there was anyone in the crowd who wanted to convert. As usual, there was no one, at least not in public. They were too near the overbearing presence of Hinja Punt for any of the locals to take the risk of openly joining a foreign belief.<br />McKinna shrugged inwardly. He could scarcely blame the people. It had been his own greatest fear when he had considered preaching in this city, that he would somehow run afoul of Hinja Punt. The sect was enormously powerful and unfathomably old, its origins lost to antiquity. A complex mixture of Hinduism and Buddhism, it was in some respects profoundly different from both.<br />The fabulous wealth of Hinja Punt was its Devadasi, the temple prostitutes. For centuries they had been renown throughout the land of the Indus for their beauty and devotion to the carnal arts. It was rumored that some of the women were of European ancestry, for many had fair skin and large breasts. Countless thousands of men had come to worship Kaghli, indulging in the flesh of his subservient dasi and making offerings of gold, sliver and precious stones. Still others paid with political favors and the sect was rumored to have once held sway over all India. There were legends, (scoffed at by most) that it would one day rise again to dominate the world. <br />The motifs surrounding Kaghli himself were of strong Hindu influence, but the god and his temple were pariahs among other adherents to that faith, who nonetheless greatly feared them. Now as ever the rites of Kaghli were shrouded in secrecy and mystery- as well as peril.<br />The missionary made one last call for converts. After waiting a bit, he turned to go. At that instant, a young woman burst from the crowd and fell crying and trembling at his feet.<br /> “Please, Sahib,” she entreated desperately. “Take me with you… Take me with you. I want to convert! Oh please, Sahib…!”<br /> McKinna was used to looking for souls among the outcasts and the untouchables. This girl was neither. She was well feed and though raggedly and scantily dressed he could tell that she was no outcast. In fact, she was probably just the opposite. Someone regarded as property and jealously kept on a short chain. McKinna frowned. He could tell a genuine convert from a young girl who was simply trying to escape an indenture, or a life of slavery.<br />“What have you done girl?” asked McKinna. “If you have committed a crime I cannot help you.”<br /> “No, Sahib. I am an honest girl who will make a good convert to your faith.”<br /> “I see,” he said suspiciously. “You speak well, from a quality background. Where are your parents, your family.”<br /> “My husband and family died in the floods two years ago, Sahib. I have no one. Please take me with you. I am a good worker and I…”<br />Her voice trailed off and she cringed, holding tighter to his legs and whimpering pathetically as a huge, imposing African approached. He sneered at her menacingly then seized her, lifting her effortlessly with one massive, muscular arm. Without a word to McKinna, he reached to the girl’s head and took her by the ear lobe, pulling until the terrified girl let go of the white man. Then he tightened his grip on her upper arm and turned to lead the helpless woman off.<br /> McKinna’s sharp command halted him.<br /> “Stop. Where are you taking this girl? What has she done?”<br /> The African turned to McKinna, a look of hatred and contempt in his eyes. His voice was low and cruel as he hissed; “She is the indentured servant of the Baugwan Kareesh, Swami master of the Temple of Kalhi.”<br /> The black man again turned to go, as if the mere mention of the Baugwan’s name was enough to answer and quell all dissent. McKinna had of course heard of the Baugwan and his blood ran cold. Here in Tanjore the name was feared by people of all chastes and classes. His personal wealth was vast and he was one of the most powerful religious leaders in India. And in India, religion was often more powerful than the government.<br /> The African was a few paces away when McKinna challenged him again.<br /> “Stop.” The powerful black man turned again, this time obviously annoyed and surprised at the white man’s persistence. His bearing told McKinna that this man was not used to having his authority questioned, particularly by white skinned foreigners.<br />“What will happen to the girl?” asked McKinna, his voice as even as his pounding heart would allow.<br /> “She was supposed to be buying food for the pilgrims of Kaghli,” said the African. “I was talking to a spice dealer when she disobeyed by sneaking off. She has committed sacrilege by approaching and touching you.”<br />“Surely it cannot be a sacrilege to merely speak with me,” said McKinna.<br />“Her body is the property of the temple and she is forbidden to go near any who are not the servants of Kaghli,” said the African. “She will be severely punished.”<br /> So that was it. The girl was a temple prostitute. The vocation was technically illegal, but in this state of India the practice was widespread. He looked at the girl. She was quite beautiful with long black hair and the dusky skin of the native Indian. He felt an overwhelming pity and an instinctive urge to save her. But there was also something else, the tingle of lust in his own loins. He realized helping her would be perilous in many ways. <br /> A crowd was gathering now, drawn by the novel argument between the two men. McKinna’s stomach was doing flip flops, but he summoned his courage. “She has not committed sacrilege! She has converted just now. She is going with me.”<br /> The African scowled, his eyes flashing with rage. “She is the property of the Baugwan, Swami of Hinja Punt! You dare risk his wrath?”<br /> “No one is the property of another,” said McKinna. “Your master must know the law. I intend to purchase her freedom. She has converted and is going with me.”<br /> The African was angry enough to kill McKinna. His arm twitched as he considered flaying the man alive with his bullwhip. He was literally capable, but thought better of it. These foreign missionaries often had the ear of government administrators. If he killed the man here, in front of the crowd, there would be inquiries. He knew they could be quashed, but his master would probably be displeased should he have to trouble with it. It was better to let the Baugwan deal with this foolish Western interloper.<br /> He released the girl and shoved her toward McKinna. “Beware, badmash,” he spat venomously, “my master will demand compensation, or the return of the woman.”<br /> “You master will be disappointed, if he expects more than the woman’s indenture price,” said McKinna. “Now be off with you, before I summon the police.”<br /> The African looked about the crowd. He was seething over the loss of face in such a public place, but he knew the Baugwan’s revenge would be swift. Then he would be free to take his own. He turned and bounded off.<br /> McKinna looked down at the girl. She was still hugging his knees, having gone back there after the African had released her arm. She kept repeating a phrase in Hindi, intoning her gratitude and relief. He lifted her up.<br /> “What is your name, girl?”<br /> “My temple name is Pashu, but my family named me Swana.”<br /> McKinna was looking nervously down the narrow street. It did not appear as if the African was going to return, but it would probably be best to start moving on. The faces of people on the street showed they were none too happy about the altercation and he knew the Baugwan was profoundly feared here.<br /> Once they were back in the missionary’s truck and headed to the main road, McKinna spoke to the woman.<br /> “Well, Swana, what am I going to do with you?” he asked.<br /> “I am a convert,” she said evenly. “Your religion is my religion. Your faith is my faith.”<br /> McKinna shook his head. It wasn’t the type of heart felt conversion he was looking for. Still, he was stuck with the woman now.<br /> “Tell me about yourself, Swana.”<br /> “I cook meals for the Brahman in the temple of Kalhi. I also repair and wash their clothes.” <br /> He looked at her, startled. He could tell that she wasn’t lying. Neither was she telling the whole truth. He decided not to press her however. Perhaps she was so ashamed or traumatized by her life as a prostitute that she could not admit it, even to her rescuer. She would probably need time and privacy to come to grips with it.<br />He was sure that she would be able to deal with it. The temple of Kaghli had a reputation throughout India. It was a tough outfit, as they would have said back in the States. But anyone who could live through an indenture there and still have the resolve to escape must possess an extraordinary will.<br />“How did you end up in the temple of Kaghli?”<br /> “When my family died in the floods, I was left destitute. My husband and I were married for two years, but he was a heavy drinker and gambler. When he died his debts were more than I could pay off quickly. Our house and belongings were taken and I was forced into an indenture to pay off the rest. That was a year ago. Since then I have lived at Hinja Punt.”<br /> “They did not treat you well there?” It was as much a statement as a question. Her tattered clothing and her obvious terror of the huge black man indicated that her’s had been a harsh life, at least recently.<br /> She looked down at her bare feet. “They beat me, Sahib. The African man you talked to is named Shakaba. He is the Baugwan’s most trusted servant. I have often felt his whip.” That much was true. She had the welts on her back to prove it.<br /> It took them about four hours to make the drive back to the compound. When they neared the mission, McKinna stopped along the side of the road. He opened a case in the back of the truck and handed her a blanket he always kept for emergencies. She was a very beautiful girl and he decided he could not take her into the compound dressed as she was.<br /> On the long road back to the mission compound McKinna had continued to question the girl at length, acquiring a deep sympathy for her as she told the details of her difficult life. He was determined that the mission should help her.<br /> Finally they arrived at the compound and he took the girl to the infirmary. While the doctor examined her, Mckinna went to find his oldest daughter. She was in the mission office, typing a letter to the central missions directorate.<br /> “Caroline, I’ve brought a new convert home to the mission. Young native girl by the name of Swana. I’d like you to find her a bed and then introduce her to the staff. Then later we’ll find her some work.”<br /> “Yes father, I’ll tell Indra,” replied the girl warmly. “Oh, by the way, Brian and I would like to move up our wedding to next month and have the ceremony at the Witness to Truth Chapel, instead of the National Hall…”<br /> Her father began to protest. It was quite an honor to be extended the right to use the National Hall and he didn’t want to be seen as rejecting the generosity of the locals.<br /> “Oh, please father?” she asked, smiling. “It will mean that some of friends from his old school can attend.”<br /> McKinna looked down his nose. “That’s the reason? Are you sure there’s no other?”<br /> Caroline blushed, but laughed good-naturedly. “Of course that’s the reason, dad… and… we want to be together.”<br /> McKinna shook his head but smiled. “I thought so.”<br /> “Well?” she queried.<br /> “OK, fine,” he sighed. “It’s up to you two anyway.”<br /> “Thank you, father,” she laughed, pecking his cheek. Then she took off to find the new girl.<br /> McKinna sat at his desk, staring at the bright blue Indian sky through the window and losing himself in thought.<br />Caroline was so much a woman now. Sometime in the last couple of years she had grown from gangly teen to stunningly beautiful adult. Yet in many ways still a young girl. He understood why she and Brian would want to move up the wedding. Caroline was a virgin and the young man wanted to begin the life of holy matrimony with his lovely dark haired betrothed. She had kept herself pure for Brian and was determined that her first experience with sex would be with the one love of her life. Now it was time for her to explore the natural delights with a mate and he accepted that. But life seemed to be moving so fast!<br />Brian was a very good man. Committed to the Witnesses to Truth movement, he was an only child of a fabulously wealthy family. His parents, who had founded the sect along with McKinna, had recently been killed in a plane crash and the boy was like family. He and Caroline had been romantically involved for more than three years, but had been faithful to the girl’s commitment to virginity. McKinna knew Caroline had made a good match.<br />His youngest daughter, Elsbeth on the other hand, might be a different story. Caroline seemed to have inherited all the poise and confidence of the McKinna clan. Elsbeth seemed adrift. Perhaps it had been the loss of her mother when she was very young, or the sheltered existence at the mission, but the girl seemed to languish in isolation of her own making. The blond girl had few friends at the small school she attended for Western students and apparently no luck with boys.<br />In a selfish way, he supposed he was grateful for the fact that she was both shy and overweight. There was less of a chance that some local Indian boy would take advantage of her. In fact however, she was far from grossly obese. Most of the detachment she had from people her age, specifically boys, was simply in Elsbeth’s mind. Precariously caught between child and woman, she had the normally fragile ego of a barely sixteen year old. Her identity was still forming and the weight problem served to damage her self esteem severely enough that she had withdrawn from social contact.<br />McKinna knew that it was an extremely sensitive time for his youngest daughter. The point at which many of her attitudes would be set for life, including attitudes about sex. But there seemed to be nothing he could do for Elsbeth except let life take its course. He was sure she would find fulfillment somehow, someplace.<br />He suddenly realized how exhausted he was. He was glad the day was over and felt relieved to be back at the compound. No place in this state of southern India was truly safe for foreign religious missionaries, but the walls of the mission were thick and the staff were loyal. He went to sleep that night, totally confident that he had dodged a bullet, fired from Hinja Punt. <br /> <br /> Caroline looked in on Swana early the next morning, expecting to find the girl dressed and ready for productive work at the mission. In fact, Swana was still asleep when the white girl entered the tiny backroom she was to use as a bedroom. Caroline was roundly irritated and berated the new girl a little more harshly than was fair.<br /> It was a bad start for the two women, made worse by misunderstanding and later mutual suspicion.<br /> Caroline told Indra, the staff’s matron, to put Swana to work straight away in the laundry, then left for the office to do some of her father’s paperwork. She did not return to until near the end of the day, but was disgusted and disappointed in the Indian girl’s progress. Barely two thirds of the laundry had been washed.<br />Indra reported that the girl was simply not interested in work, and was flirting shamelessly with the male workers. Though Caroline scolded her continually, Swana’s performance as the week progressed improved but very slowly and she was continually falling behind. <br /> “Why isn’t this done?” asked Caroline crossly. “Now I have to get someone else to help you complete the job tomorrow. Really Swana, you must acquire a better work ethic.”<br /> “I work as fast as I can,” said Swana, defensively. “I don’t know the machine.” <br /> “You have to learn it and quickly, Swana. We can’t afford to have two people working the laundry.”<br /> The Indian girl sneered defiantly but returned to work. The white girl rolled her eyes. Caroline was not completely unjustified. She had done the job plenty of times herself and knew it was not easy. But she hated laziness, particularly in the natives and she had gotten an early impression that Swana was a lax worker.<br /> Even more troubling were the reports that the Indian girl was manipulating the male staff with sexual favors. The stiff and proper Indra was outraged at such conduct and reported Swana’s antics to Caroline.<br />“To think such shameful behavior could go on within these walls,” said the old Indian woman. “I have always had the greatest loyalty to my employer, whomever that may be. And I detest seeing him taken advantage of in this manner!”<br />“I’ll speak to my father,” said Caroline. “But he’s determined to give her a chance. He thinks she is a genuine convert.”<br />Indra shook her head and went about her work. <br />In two weeks the differences between Caroline and Swana had grown to an intense dislike. Swana chafed at her menial jobs and at Caroline, who always made sure she was working. Caroline tried to catch the Indian girl in one of the illicit sex acts she knew was occurring, so she could get rid of her. But Swana was cleaver enough to avoid the trap.<br />More and more McKinna’s older daughter came to regard the Indian girl as a good-for-nothing who was taking advantage of her father. Worse, she was sure that Swana was trying to get Brian alone, for reasons she knew couldn’t be Platonic. She was becoming more determined every day to expel the troublesome native girl. One day in the marketplace, she was handed some information she thought would allow her to accomplish just that.<br />Caroline had taken Swana with her to the local bazaar to shop for meat for the compound’s staff. Anytime Caroline left the mission now she brought Swana with her. This was as much to keep her away from Brian as anything else. She had sent the Indian girl to the next street to buy some produce. After she had left the shopkeeper spoke to Caroline. <br /> “I know that woman,” said the vendor. “She is a Naugth-girl.”<br />Caroline looked intently at the man. “No, it can’t be,” she said. “My father would not allow such a woman in the mission.”<br />The man shook his head. “I have seen her at Hinja Punt. She is of the Devadasi.”<br /> “You mean she’s a temple prostitute?” asked Caroline, her eyes widening.<br />“Oh yes,” replied the man, smiling. “A whore and a dancing girl in the Temple of Kaghli. I tell you she was there three months ago.”<br />“She told my father she was a cook.”<br /> The man laughed. “She may have cooked there but that was not her primary duty. My brother lives in Tanjore and I visit him often. I have seen her many times in the marketplace in the company of the dasi trainer. She has the brands and marks of the Devadasi.”<br /> Caroline nodded, smiling. She was a little shocked, but she had suspicions about the girl almost from the start. Now she thought she had the ammunition she needed to get the girl turned out and end her influence on her fiancée. She did not realize that her father had known from the beginning about the girl and had taken mercy on her. She only knew her father hated prostitutes more than anything. She herself found them loathsome creatures.<br /> No wonder the Indian girl seemed so loose and tempting around Brian. She was trained to it! The woman was obviously playing in circles far over her station and it was time someone put a stop to it.<br /> Swana however, was thinking much bigger than Caroline would have imagined. <br /> On the next street she had used her body to bribe a shopkeeper’s son for the use of a small back room. There she waited for the man she knew well, her old trainer. Now however, thought Swana, smiling, they would meet as equals.<br /> Swana’s ambition had given her steady nerves. Even so, she could barely suppress the shudder at the appearance of the ominous Shakaba. She took a moment to steal herself then motioned him into the little shop.<br />The big African shrugged his shoulders and followed her to the rear of the building. He had a rough looking, stooped Indian man with him. But Swana knew she could handle his type.<br />The hunch back man was eyeing her openly, licking his lips with lust. “Pashu has pleased Kaghli,” he said smiling. “We should take her back now. Why should we hear about any women’s plans?”<br /> Swana smiled cunningly. “You would not dare take me from here. The Bagwan’s influence in this city is not as it is in Tanjore. And I have associates.”<br />She glanced at the beaded door to see the shopkeeper watching them impassively.<br />“Quiet, you fool,” said Shakaba. “I will make the decisions. You will follow.” He turned back to Swana. “Tell me of your plan, woman.”<br />“I do know of the Bagwan’s rage at losing me to the American missionary,” said Swana. “It is whispered in the marketplaces even here. I have in mind something that will serve both our interests.” She purposely paused to irritate him. She was enjoying this moment as his equal. It almost felt like revenge for the things she had suffered at the temple. Soon, she thought with elation, I’ll have my revenge on the arrogant white girls at the mission compound.<br /> “Tell me,” said Shakaba impatiently. “But do not waste my time, woman.”<br /> “McKinna has two daughters. Perhaps the Baugwan knows this?”<br />Shakaba nodded.<br />“I can arrange to have them delivered into your hands.”<br /> The great African’s eyebrows raised. “Go on.”<br />“In exchange, the Baugwan will release any claim to me.”<br /> “Why you do this to man who helped you?” asked Shakaba.<br /> “I have reasons for wanting to remove the older McKinna girl. She is an impediment to my plans. The younger one you can have thrown into the bargain. They are both white women and the Baugwan will do very well trading them for me.”<br /> “But they are untrained,” said Shakaba.<br /> “Of course they are untrained,” said Swana. “They are white. But surely the great Shakaba is able to make a Devadasi out of any woman. Listen, I will tell you of my plan.”<br /> They conversed in low whispers for several minutes and finally, Shakaba rose.<br /> He was nervous. He did not like conspiring with a woman and thereby bringing her to his own level. He did have to admit however, that she had a very good plan, as well as a good offer for the Baugwan.<br /> “Very well, I will take your plans to the Baugwan and ask for his approval. You will speak of this to no one.”<br /> She frowned. “Do you think I would be foolish enough to talk about this?”<br /><br />Caroline was infuriated. For the third time in as many days she’d had to have someone else complete Swana’s laundry duties because the girl had walked away from the job before it was done. It was evening and a large part of the mission’s laundry still lay in a dirty pile. The Indian girl was becoming increasingly insubordinate and disrespectful to both Caroline and the rest of the staff. Things were coming to a head as far as the white girl was concerned.<br />The only good thing about it was that Caroline felt she finally had enough on the Indian girl, to induce her kind hearted father to throw her out. Caroline no longer felt the slightest sympathy for her. Moreover, she didn’t need this extra stress only a few days before her wedding.<br />The white girl was still talking to herself angrily when she turned the corner and stopped dead. Sitting together on the low wall just ahead was her fiancée and that nasty brown girl, Swana.<br />Caroline grimaced with shock and disgust. There didn’t seem to be anything overtly sexual going on between them at the moment, but the two were seated far too close for Caroline’s idea of propriety. She was of a mind to barge over and berate both of them, but something held her back; some curiosity about exactly what was happening.<br /> They were facing toward her, but it was dark and she was screened by the thick tropical shrubs. She was able to creep close enough to hear them and still keep them completely in view.<br />“It is so sad that you are to be married next week, Brian,” said Swana.<br /> “It’s… it’s not sad, Swana. Caroline is a wonderful girl. We have been going together for more than three years.”<br /> “Such a long time,” breathed Swana. “And you have had no other women in that time?”<br /> “Of… of course not… why…?”<br /> “Such a long time for a man to go without relief.”<br /> Both Brian and Caroline held their breath as they watched the Indian girl boldly retract his pants zipper and reach into his fly for his manhood. The white girl’s eyes widened, waiting for her faithful fiancée to push the nasty Swana’s hands away and go back inside the house. But Swana brought her lips to his neck and began to lick him sensuously. She closed her warm fingers around his throbbing shaft and Brian sighed with lust.<br />Caroline boiled with rage. She nearly jumped from her concealment, but at the last second, two things held her back. One was the advantage to be gained by knowing what they were doing. She could watch this ugly little encounter unfold and get some insight into her future husband’s behavior and weaknesses. She planned to make Brian more than a little uncomfortable over his passive acquiescence to the brown girl’s advances. She was also going to talk to her father in the morning and disclose what she knew about the girl’s past as a temple prostitute. She was sure her father would cast the girl out of the compound but in case he needed any other reason, she would confront him with the news of this attempted seduction of her fiancée.<br /> The second reason she held back from revealing herself was more complicated. Caroline was a virgin. She knew almost nothing about sex. The subject however, fascinated her. She realized that Swana, being a prostitute had learned more about sex in a few months than many women learned in a lifetime. In short she was just plain curious as to what the Indian girl was going to do. And there was an oddly masochistic feeling of betrayal that welled up inside her.<br /> Swana moved her face to Brian and gave him a wet, sensuous kiss. Even in the dim light, Caroline could see their mouths and tongues, hear their little breaths of passion. The brown girl broke the kiss and eased her face to Brian’s lap. At first Caroline was confused, then she became nauseated. Swana’s tongue emerged and eagerly laved the shaft of Brian’s penis, then she took the entire thing in her mouth. <br /> Caroline had never been so disgusted and she was astonished that Brian would allow the woman to practice such a filthy act on him. But his face radiated obvious enjoyment and a note of worry arose inside the white girl. Brian clearly liked what the Indian girl was doing; what if he expected his wife to perform the degrading deed after they were married. She knew she could never submit to something like that. Brian would have to control his wants and urges, it was as simple as that.<br /> Caroline watched as her fiancée began to buck his hips and hold Swana’s dark head in his hands. Moments later he gasped and went rigid as he spewed his ejaculate down her throat.<br /> “Ohhh Swa… Swana. Oh baby that’s good… Yeah…”<br /> The brown girl swallowed and licked her lips, then snuggled close to Brian’s ear.<br /> “Your fiancée can’t make you feel like that. Caroline’s too prudish and proper to suck you Brian… but I can do that for you. I can give you that and much more!”<br /> “Swana… Swana, no,” said Brian, guiltily. “I can’t walk away from Caroline. We’ve been together all along and… and I do still love her. Swana, we can’t do this anymore. I… I want to remain… I don’t want to hurt Caroline. I hope you understand.”<br /> “I do,” said Swana, stroking his face tenderly. “It’s not your fault my love. She has you under her spell. It is so sad, but I will have to hope for the best.”<br /> She turned her head and kissed his ear, sucking on the lobe.<br /> Caroline was waiting in Swana’s room when the Indian girl returned.<br /> “Where have you been?” Caroline asked coldly. “The laundry was unfinished again.”<br /> Swana sneered and ignored her, undressing for bed, as though the white girl were not there.<br />“I asked you a question, Swana. Tell me where you were.”<br />The brown girl continued to ignore her and pulled her dress off. Caroline could see the tattoos on her belly.<br />“So it is true,” said Caroline. “You are of the Devadasi.”<br />Swana’s eyes flashed with anger, but they quickly narrowed and the contemptuous smile returned.<br />“I am going to tell my father you’re a temple prostitute. He will have you put out tomorrow. I suggest you enjoy your last evening here.”<br />“Oh?” said Swana. “Your father learned about my past life at the temple the day I met him. He wants to save me,” she laughed. “Such a simple man. He doesn’t know my talents.”<br />Caroline stepped forward and slapped the Indian girl viciously in the face. “My father doesn’t know about the things you’ve done with my fiancée either- but I do.”<br />Swana was taken aback, but only for a moment. Her poise returned almost instantly. “So you saw us in the garden. Did you learn anything?”<br />“I learned what a slut you are,” said Caroline. “I learned you’re a traitorous vermin. But by tomorrow, Swana, I won’t have to deal with you anymore.”<br />The beautiful Indian girl moved to the window. A round, glorious moon shone through and seemed to make her face appear paler, almost like a white girl’s. “Yes,” she whispered. “Tomorrow I will no longer be your concern.”<br /> Caroline did not understand the comment, but she was still supremely confident. In the morning she knew she would finally be rid of the odious brown girl and her life could get back to normal. She was also going to talk some sense into Brian- after the wedding.<br /> Swana scowled at her and turned her face to the window. Caroline did not see the evil, knowing grin that crossed her face as her nemesis stared over her shoulder at the full moon.<br /><br /> At midnight, Swana made her way down to the mission wall. At the corner of the courtyard a seldom-used path led down to a corridor lined with overgrown wisteria. Concealed at the base of the wall was a massive wooden door. It was one of the rear entrances to the compound, normally chained shut and secured with a padlock.<br />Swana inserted the key and for one anxious moment was afraid the ancient padlock was rusted closed. Then with a sharp tug, it opened and she was able to pull the heavily timbered door open on its hinges. Shakaba was there outside the wall, waiting with three of his men.<br /> “Do you have my indenture paper?” whispered Swana, cautiously hanging back in the corridor.<br /> “Here,” said Shakaba, handing her the document.<br /> “This way,” said Swana. “The women sleep in a separate bungalow, near this part of the wall. The guard is asleep at the front gate. If your men are careful it will be easy to take them. No one will know they are gone until tomorrow.”<br /> Five shadowy figures proceeded, cat-like to the small hut, housing the women. Fortunately there was plenty of cover from the moonlight and the compound was dimly lit. Once at the door, Swana produced another key. She let the African and his men inside and they crept into the bedrooms, finding both girls asleep. They were briefly awakened with hands over their mouths, then chloroform soaked cotton pads were used to knock them out. Neither woman was a problem to carry. Shakaba and his men slipped through the moonlit courtyard like ghosts and in seconds they had Caroline and Elsbeth secured, unconscious in a van. They had left no traces. <br /> “You must make sure the women do not return,” said Swana. “Especially the older one. That is part of our agreement.”<br /> “Don’t worry,” said Shakaba. “They are being taken directly to Hinja Punt. They will be safely there by morning. Once inside, no woman ever escapes. They will not be allowed outside its walls, so there is no chance they will be seen by their father. And the Baugwan is all powerful in his district.”<br /> “I am free now,” said Swana.<br /> “You have the paper. The Baugwan keeps his promises,” said Shakaba. “And makes good on his revenge.”<br /> When they were finished they boarded the vehicles and drove off quietly. An elated Swana re-locked the compound door from the inside, and returned the keys to the sleeping guard.<br />She had won! She had disposed of the proud white girl and was now free to take her position and her fiancée. She was sure she could handle McKinna, and the feckless Brian was practically hers already. Now she was in control and the feeling was intoxicating.<br />She wanted to dance with joy, but it wouldn’t do to be seen at this hour and draw attention to herself just at the moment of victory. With great difficulty she managed to suppress a shout of triumph and return to the comfort of her bed.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 2<br /><br /> A little over an hour later, as the van still sped over the highway, Caroline was shaking off the effects of the chloroform.<br /> Her first conscious thoughts were pure panic. She had a terrible headache and had no idea where she was. It was obvious she was in a moving vehicle. She could hear the drone of the engine and feel the bumps in the road, but when she tried to get up she found her hands and feet were tied.<br /> For one terrifying moment, she thought she was blind. But the bonds allowed her to bring her hands to her face and she discovered the tape covering her eyes. That was when a new terror entered her mind, the realization that she was being abducted.<br /> She called out for help, but no one answered and she had to fight back the bile that was welling up in her throat. Finally, still weak and confused by the drug, she collapsed back onto the floor and waited for her head to clear.<br /> Moments later the vehicle stopped. She could hear nothing and called out again for help. Her blood ran cold with the laughter that met her ears. There was an incredible cruelty conveyed in that voice somehow and in terror she began to scream. A rough hand grasped her breast and pinched her nipple with agonizing pain.<br />“You keep your mouth shut, woman!” hissed a male voice with an Indian accent. Caroline was instantly quiet. There was no threat needed to emphasize that fact that the man could twist her nipple off if he chose to. She was too frightened to call out again.<br />They transferred her to another vehicle. Caroline heard the rear doors shut and realized she was in a van. Then they continued the journey. After what seemed like several hours later she felt some heavy jolts, as if they were traveling over a rocky road. Then the vehicle stopped and she was pulled out.<br />They released the bonds around her ankles, but her legs were asleep. When she went to pull the tape from her eyes a hand slapped her face. “When we cover your eyes don’t uncover them, woman,” said the deep, cruel voice. “Keep hands away.”<br />What must have been a very large man picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. He carried her for several minutes. The men’s voices suddenly became hushed and reverent and the sound reverberated off walls. They were obviously in a building.<br />Finally they stopped. The man lay her on a hard stone floor and cut her wrist bonds. When they pulled the tape from her eyes she found she was in a totally unfamiliar room. It was dark, lit only by torchlight and the walls appeared to be ancient and massive stone, blackened with long ages of soot. There was a large iron brazier loaded with glowing red coals, smoking in front of a raised floor hewn from solid rock. There was no furniture, only an abundance of beaded cushions and pillows, in the Eastern style.<br />She was alone except for a large black man who stood directly behind her. Before she could say anything to him another man entered the room. He was fat and ugly, but there was some underlying swagger about him, as though he felt supremely secure and confident. Caroline could almost feel his eyes as the revolting man ogled her overtly and she couldn’t suppress a shudder in his presence.<br /> “Where… where am I… who are you?” Caroline was still struggling with her confusion. She remembered retiring to her room for the night, then the van ride and the raucous voices. But nothing else, until this horrible place.<br /> “You are in Temple Hinja Punt, Miss McKinna. I am Baugwan Kareesh, Master of the temple. We serve the god Kaghli.”<br /> Caroline caught her breath. She had heard of this man and this temple. He was supposedly one of the most evil and powerful men in India, head of a sect that once controlled this entire region and had secret adherents throughout India and beyond.<br /> “What… Why have I been brought here?” she asked.<br /> He chuckled knowingly and the jowls on his cheeks shook. “To serve, Miss McKinna. You’ve been brought here to serve.”<br /> “I… I don’t understand. Tell me what this is all about!”<br /> The Baugwan stepped close to her. He reached out and took a lock of her brown hair, stroking it, feeling its softness. “You are very beautiful. Kaghli desires beautiful women. He takes them, possesses them. He bends them to his will.”<br /> She shook off his odious hands, which had begun to pet her head, but he smiled, unperturbed by her scowls of outrage.<br /> “You will serve me,” he said. “You will serve Kaghli, here, in his temple.”<br /> She gasped, still perplexed, but enraged that he would assign her any connection to the infamous Hinja Punt. “You expect a white women to participate in your temple’s rites? How… how dare you. I’m not a worshiper of your god!”<br /> “Miss McKinna,” he said with a leering smile. “We have had<br />white women before. During the great mutiny over 150 years ago, Kaghli enjoyed many of the wives and daughters of British officers. Over the centuries we have purchased fair skinned women at great price from the Arab slavers who traded along our shores. All those women were subdued. All learned to love Kaghli- and worship him. They became Devadasi, so will you.”<br /> The words hit her like a slap in the face. Devadasi! Temple prostitute! He must be insane to think she would become one of them. “I’m no harlot!” she screamed. “And I’m not going to serve in your filthy pagan temple. Release me before my father has the authorities raid this den!”<br /> The Baugwan laughed. “The reason you are here to begin with is because of your father’s foolish mistake of stealing the girl Pashu from me. I have taken compensation- you.”<br /> “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she shouted. “There must be some mistake. I am an American. We are here to…”<br /> “There is no mistake, Miss McKinna. Your father stole a woman indentured to me. A servant of this temple. You know her as Swana.”<br /> The white girl’s eyes widened. She was beginning to understand. “Yes, I know her. I’m not surprised to find she’s acquainted with someone like you. You can have the slut back for all I care.”<br /> The Baugwan laughed. “No, Miss McKinna, I think I am happy with the trade.”<br /> A very large black man seized Caroline’s arm, looking to the Baugwan as if expecting an order. He towered head and shoulders over her and she cringed away from his imposing presence.<br /> “Now we shall begin,” said the Baugwan. “Those Western clothes you are wearing are entirely inappropriate to your new status. Remove them, now.”<br /> Caroline’s heart pounded with alarm. Up until now she had felt an overwhelming anger and revulsion before this evil man. But now she could tell he was actually going to force her to disrobe. She couldn’t imagine standing before this ugly pig-like man and his black minion denuded. That would be the height of shame- or would it. Would he then demand something else? Would she be sexually assaulted or even worse? Her blood was running cold at the thought that he might be serious about forcing her to become one of the Devadasi.<br /> “I… I can’t…” He voice was cracking with fear despite her best efforts. “You don’t really expect me to… to undress… here?”<br /> “As master of the temple I expect you to obey me, instantly and without question.” Again there was that infuriatingly arrogant smile.<br />“I will not,” she spat, summoning up her anger to mask her fear. “Not in front of you or your big black lackey. I’m a virtuous woman, a Witness to Truth Christian, not one of your pathetic Devadasi.”<br />The Baugwan nodded and smiled. “Very well, Shakaba will demonstrate the penalty for disobedience.”<br /> Out of the corner of her eye Caroline saw the flash of the big African’s hand and heard the swish of leather an instant before she felt her backside erupt with pain.<br />“Aaaiieee!” She yelped and jumped forward, trying to rub the sting from her buttocks.<br /> “You will remove your clothing Miss McKinna,” said the Baugwan calmly. “Shakaba will whip you until you do.”<br /> “You can’t do this to me,” she screeched. “This is illegal!”<br /> Now both men were laughing.<br /> “The only law at Hinja Punt is the will of Kaghli,” said the Baugwan. “And I am the arbiter of that will.”<br /> “Ahhhggggh,” the whip snapped down on her ass again. This time the force was even greater, the pain more lingering. She bolted forward again to evade the African, but he had no trouble following her and delivering the next blow. Then he began to rain them down on her defenseless form, swinging his arm with a graceful, methodical rhythm.<br /> “Ahhggggghhhg, please… stop it. Ahhhgggghhhggg, stop… ahhhhgggghhhh please…” She was scurrying about the room now, pride and dignity falling by the wayside as he dealt lash after sharp lash. Each one seemed slightly more painful than the last and the sting seemed to build.<br />The blows were coming faster now. Her back, rear cheeks and legs were laced with agonizing pain. She was screaming and writhing. The African never seemed to hit the same place twice and there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop him. Wherever she shielded herself with her hands he simply lashed a different spot. The pain was becoming unbearable, but suddenly he paused on his own. She was aware the Baugwan was speaking to her.<br /> “It’s so useless to disobey,” said the Baugwan with mock kindness. “Shakaba will break you in the end. He has trained dasi his entire life. Look at him. He’s not even winded.”<br /> Caroline was sobbing now, cursing them bitterly as vile servants of an evil god. Still the white girl could not bring herself to perform the mortifying task of disrobing in front of them. The brief respite had allowed the sharp sting of her lashed backside to fade somewhat and her will to resist had momentarily solidified. She was more determined than ever not to succumb to his demands.<br />Because she refused to look at the repellent Baugwan, she did not see his grinning leer. He had motioned for Shakaba to pause, just as he sensed she could take no more. But it was not out of pity. He was playing with her as a cat torments a crippled mouse. He knew that when the pain of the short whip subsided the stubborn, modest Western woman would then decide to resist further. It was quite entertaining to see her running around the room, trying in vain to ward off the African’s lash. These first punishment sessions set the tone of training for a new whore and he wanted to prolong the psychic and physical agony of her first stripping.<br />“Why should you suffer further, Miss McKinna?” smiled the Baugwan. “Submit. Take your clothes off and Shakaba will stop hurting you. It could not be more simple.”<br />“Never!” she shouted. “You horrible fiends. Nothing can force me to become one of your whores!”<br />The Baugwan laughed again and nodded to Shakaba. He went to one of the massive stone columns and hung up the short whip. He reached behind it as the girl watched apprehensively and produced a much longer whip with several strands of leather attached to the handle. Caroline’s breath caught in her throat and her momentary confidence faded. <br /> “You were saying, Miss McKinna?” grinned the Baugwan. He was watching her expression as the black trainer slowly waved the cat. She shook her head with terror.<br /> “Please… just let me go,” begged Caroline. “I swear, I’ll see you get Swana back. Please… she’s the one who belongs here… not me.”<br /> “But I told you Miss McKinna. I am perfectly happy with the trade your father has made. Kaghli has many Indian and African dasi, but we have not had a pure blood woman of northern European extraction for many years.”<br /> “PLEASE…” she wailed. “I CAN’T DO IT!”<br /> “You must begin to embrace your fate,” said the Baugwan. “Strip. Shakaba will not stop whipping you until you do.”<br /> Then the African began the assault anew.<br />“Agghhhh… Aggggnnnhhh… Aiiiiieeeeeehhh, stop it, stop it!” Caroline’s eyes widened with panic. The whip the big black man was now using was far worse than the short one he had wielded before. Each slash administered devastating pain and the effects were cumulative. The white girl’s determination to protect her modesty crumbled in seconds.<br />“Aaaggghhhhhh, oh god, stop please!”<br />“Strip…” yelled the trainer. “Obey the Baugwan!”<br />“Aaagggghh, please… aaaahhhggg, I can’t… It’s too much… ahhhaggghhh.”<br />She had ceased running about the big room, but simply cringed on the floor now, screeching and crying as Shakaba whipped her and the Baugwan laughed. The panic was beginning to rise inside with the realization that she was nearly at the breaking point, but there was no reason why the big African couldn’t continue to whip her indefinitely.<br />“AAAAAAGGGGHHHH, STOP, OH PLEASE…! AAAAGGG… AAAAIIIIIHHHH I CAN’T STAND IT. Stop it, I’ll do it… I’ll do it!”<br />He didn’t stop. Now whimpering and broken, Caroline tried to feebly crawl away as she begged him to stay his hand, assuring the loathsome, fat Baugwan that she would obey.<br />“AAAAAAggghhhh,” I said I’ll do it. Please! AAAAAAGGGGHHHHH! I’LL TAKE OFF MY CLOTHES!”<br />At last the huge black man paused again.<br />With her mind numbed with shock and her skin screaming with agony she sat sprawled inelegantly on the stone floor. She began to pull her shoes off, then her white socks. She stood on shaky legs and unzipped her dress, desperately trying to close her mind to what she was doing and where she was. She had never felt so ashamed but she told herself there was nothing she could do to resist. She was convinced that soon the blows would begin to draw blood. <br />Shakaba held back his whip as long as she made progress denuding herself. But a couple of times she paused, erupting in tears of humiliation. He would then immediately resume the coercion.<br />“Aaaaggghhh, please… I’m doing it!”<br />“You no stop, missy,” said Shakaba. “You keep pulling those clothes off or you feel my whip.”<br />Caroline struggled out of her blouse, then she pulled the skirt down and let it drop. She moved as slow as she dared, not knowing that the hesitant pace she was taking and her obvious mortification were merely feeding the Baugwan’s sadistic avarice.<br />Finally, she skinned her slip down. She stepped out of the little pool of cloth at her feet and stood before them in nothing but her bra and panties, bright faced with shame.<br />“Aaaggghhhh… please, can’t I… can’t I keep my… Aahhhhhiiiaaaaa,” she screamed as the cat impacted her naked back.<br />“Shakaba will not stop until you are naked,” said the Baugwan. “That is how a woman presents herself to Kaghli, in Western garments.”<br />Caroline whimpered with unspeakable humiliation and reached back for the catch to her bra. She closed her eyes and with a sob, unhooked the undergarment. She could not however, will her fingers to pull it from her breast.<br />“Aaaaggghhhh, all right, all right… oh god,” she wailed. The impact of the lash on her now bare skin was even worse than when he had whipped her through her clothes. Her body could take no more and simply rebelled. Her fingers released the bra without her volition and the modest garment fell from her hands, leaving her delicate, white chest bare. She immediately crossed her arms over her breasts to shield them from the itchy eyes of the Baugwan.<br />“Ahhhhhgggghhh.”<br />“Get panties off, girl,” said Shakaba. “No more stalling!”<br />Defeated at last, Caroline closed her eyes tight and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her last covering. She pushed the cotton panties down her smooth legs and with one last agony of spirit, stepped out of them as well.<br />She stood before them naked, sobbing, her skin glistening with sweat and her back and rear cheeks striped with glowing red wheals. She vainly tried to cover her genitals and breasts as the Baugwan chuckled with triumph.<br />“See,” said the Baugwan. “Shakaba always wins. Kaghli always wins. You suffered needlessly. If you obey the trainer he will not punish, but if you resist…”<br />The great African lashed the floor near her bare feet and she jumped with fright. The deafening snap of the leather against the stone told her that the man could have whipped her much harder if he had wanted to.<br />“Now, girl,” said the Baugwan. “It is time to make your first offering to Kaghli. Gather up your clothing and put it in the brazier.”<br />She gasped. Somehow when she had stripped for him she had assumed that he just wanted to see her naked and would then let her get dressed again. If her clothes were burned she would then wear only what they wanted her to wear. Permanently. She felt like there was something of her own identity in those clothes and she clutched them to her as she picked them up.<br />“In the fire, girl,” the Baugwan repeated.<br />Caroline glanced back at Shakaba who was waving the cat playfully. She walked over to the brazier, but hesitated.<br />“Please,” she said with a final appeal. “Don’t do this! I can’t… I can’t be a Devadasi, my father… aaaahhhhhggggghhhhhh.”<br />She screamed as a new, more potent pain struck her soft buttocks. It was the hardest he had hit her yet and she nearly pitched forward into the fire. Her skin still screamed with the latent sting of the lash. But she clung to her clothes stubbornly.<br />“Please… Don’t make me… What will I wear? Aaaaahhhhgggg, stop. I caaaan’t. Aaaaahhhhhgggg, I can’t go nakeeeeeed! Aaaahhhhgggg. Aaaagggghhhh. Eeeeaaaahhhggg.”<br />It was too much. The pain exploding on her rear cheeks was simply beyond her capacity to endure. Once again her body and unconcious mind acted on impulse and she threw the clothes onto the coals. They instantly burst into flames. The whipping stopped and Caroline stepped back from the blast of heat, sobbing and rubbing her wounded bottom.<br />She had lost. In horror she saw that the cloth was consumed almost immediately and only the shoes still burned. It was as though she were watching her life being devoured in those flames. And across the fire she could see the face of the Baugwan, grinning sadistically, the red glow of the fire reflecting in his cruel, oily face.<br /><br />Elsbeth awoke with a start on the straw floor of the cell. She had been knocked out with repeated applications of the chloroform and her abused brain struggled to make sense of her new surroundings as she slowly regained consciousness. Waves of nausea broke over her splitting skull as she pulled herself into a fetal position.<br />Her first thought was that she must be very sick. The night before, she had felt fine. But since falling asleep her semi conscious mind had been assailed with the most abominable nightmares. A huge, ugly black man had held something noxious over her face and the darkness had descended. The thick, murky veil had lifted periodically, only to reveal strong, evil men who grinned luridly at her paralyzed form and pressed the choking pad back onto her face. The ordeal seemed to go on and on, like a bad dream she was unable to wake from.<br />She turned over on the straw and nearly blacked out again from the sudden movement, but at length the effect of the drug began to dissipate and her head began to clear somewhat.<br />Muscle control returned quickly and though still very dizzy, she made an attempt to get up.<br />That was when she discovered she was naked.<br />It was a sudden, horrible shock and it came at the same time she realized she was not in her own bedroom. What was happening? She never went to bed without her pajamas on.<br />She lay on her back for a moment and closed her eyes again, hoping this was a bad dream and she would open them to the familiar sights of her own room. It didn’t work. She was fully awake now and still in the stark, black chamber.<br />Elsbeth was finally able to get up. She struggled to stand and for the first time took stock of where she was.<br />The area was dimly lit. For that she was momentarily thankful due to her pounding head. A single smoky torch hung from heavy iron brackets protruding from the low ceiling. The walls were black and appeared to be solid stone. A heavy iron door barred the only exit and the room was empty save for herself, the straw and two old wooden buckets.<br />She was obviously in a rather primitive prison cell, but without the slightest idea of how or why she had been placed there.<br />Elsbeth whimpered as the walls suddenly seemed to close in about her. She was somewhat claustrophobic and she had abruptly realized that she was locked in and confined. She tried to open the iron door and found not surprisingly that it was indeed locked. There was however a small vent hole in the door, covered with a metal plate. It was hinged and when she lifted it she found she could fit her head through the hole. She could see outside the cell, into a shadowy corridor lined with the same dirty rock as her cell. It was dead silent.<br />“Hel… Hello?” she called weakly. She had hesitated to speak. Being naked she did not want to summon a stranger. But she was terrified of being alone and locked in. The fear soon won out over modesty.<br />“HELLO… IS THERE… IS ANYONE THERE?”<br />The sound of her voice seemed to echo forlornly into the gloom.<br />“Please… Where am I? Is anyone there?”<br />The plaintive sound of her call died and she pulled her head back into the cell. Bewilderment was turning to panic now, as the walls seemed to press ever closer. She held her chubby little body and sat on the floor, crying. “What’s happening… where am I,” she whispered.<br />Then she heard a bolt opening in the corridor. She sprang to her feet, suddenly conscious of her nudity once more.<br />The massive door swung open on creaky hinges and a gigantic shadow cast onto the floor. Elsbeth brought her hand to her mouth with fear, and shrieked when the biggest black man she had ever seen stood towering in the open doorway.<br />“Ple… Ple… please. What… Where am I? Don’t hurt me.”<br />He grinned sadistically, baring his white teeth. After looking her over for several seconds he strode over and, without a word, seized the terrified girl by the neck. Elsbeth gasped at the incredible strength in his arm and hand as he pulled her effortlessly from the cell and out into the corridor. She was too afraid even to struggle; hoping only that he would relax his grasp if he saw that she wouldn’t resist.<br />“Aaahhh, please… who are you…? Where am I…? Aaahhh… that hurts, please…” she babbled, as he led her naked and bent over at the waist, through the long dark passages. His steal grip on her soft white neck was almost unbearable, but he ignored her pleading and useless protests.<br />After what seemed to Elsbeth an interminable barefoot journey through a stone maze, they emerged into a great hall, lit only with flaming torches. There was a fat Indian man sitting as if in meditation on a very large cushion. The African dragged her over in front of the man.<br />“What do you want?” asked Elsbeth, trying to rise from her bent over posture. “Who are you? Please, I… aahhhh!”<br />The black man slapped her in the face brutally and squeezed her neck.<br />“Silence, little pig. You in the presence of the Baugwan, Swami master of the Temple of Kaghli. You will kneel.”<br />“I… what? Aahhh.” She protested as he kicked her legs from under her and she sprawled onto the stone floor. Once she was down he put his foot on her back and held her there, pushing her over whenever she tried to get up. She wanted to hide her breasts but the black man kept pushing her face down. She needed her hands to shield her face from being ground into the rough stone floor.<br />The obese Indian man seemed totally unperturbed and unimpressed with the naked white girl. His piggish eyes followed her as she thrashed about ineffectually before him. He did not change his posture however for several minutes, as though the girl was an errant novice to be deal with at his convenience.<br />Finally he emerged from his trance and pulled his greasy body erect. He stood in front of the helpless girl and lifted her chin with his sandaled foot.<br />“You’re McKinna’s youngest piglet,” sneered the Baugwan. “And I think you are indeed a fat little overfed sow. Just as my men have said.”<br />“Please, what do you want?” she cried. In any other setting, someone else might have laughed at such a corpulent man calling another person fat. But Elsbeth was so frightened and moreover so sensitive about her weight that she flushed with shame and looked down; wishing her naked body would melt into the cracks in the floor.<br />Shakaba’s foot pressed harder into her back and she strained to keep hold herself up from the dirty stone. Suddenly he pulled his foot away. He reached down and took a handful of her golden blond hair, wrenching her head up and forcing her to look at the smiling, flabby face of the Baugwan.<br />“You’re a virgin aren’t you piglet?” he hissed, deliberately turning the psychological knife. “No man or even boy wants a fat little pork like you, do they…?”<br />She gasped when he slapped her face. “Answer me… DO THEY?”<br />“N… No… please…”<br />Elsbeth closed her eyes. She could not bear to look at him as he mouthed the hateful words, made all the more humiliating because she herself believed them. She knew he was right. She could not find a boyfriend because she was so fat and the rejection had haunted her entire life. Now to be naked and kneeling while a loathsome man of color confirmed what she had always known was almost more than she could bear. She closed her eyes and sobbed.<br />“Don’t worry, little one,” said the Baugwan with a tone of mock kindness. “We are going to change all that.”<br />Shakaba pulled her into an upright kneeling position and stood in front of her. The Baugwan stood to the side. He was fondling her hair and stooped to bring the rich blond curls to his face. He looked her vibrant young body over. He did not like fat on a girl and had considered her almost as a throw in, with the real prize being her older sister. Now however, he could see there were definitely some possibilities as far as she was concerned. Her skin was so clear and vibrant and she had a lovely, delicate face. Moreover, it might be very amusing to explore those possibilities with such an innocent and sheltered girl.<br />“Do you know how to suck a man’s lingam little one?”<br />Elsbeth frowned. “I… I don’t know what… What that is.”<br />The Baugwan laughed and Shakaba seized her by the hair, turning her face to his crotch. He unbuttoned his pants and brought his rampant manhood into view, inches from her face.<br />“This man’s name is Shakaba. He is your trainer, piglet. He is going to begin your lessons by teaching you to suck a man’s lingam, his cock. Take it in your mouth and pleasure it.”<br />Elsbeth stared at him, her eyes round with disbelief. He wanted her to put her mouth on that filthy thing! She could hardly keep from retching just from the thought of it. Imagine putting your tongue or lips on the strange, disgusting thing a man urinated from!<br />The African gathered more of her hair in his grasp and held it fast with one hand, then he pulled a wicked looking whip from his belt. “Get it in your mouth, now,” he said simply.<br />She shook her head. Despite the terror the whip invoked within her, she could not come to grips with the idea of putting her mouth on it. She looked up at him pleadingly.<br />“Aaaaaiiiii,” she screamed when the whip descended with force on her naked back. A bright red mark appeared on her soft, white flesh.<br />“Aaaaaaeeeeiii… Please.”<br />“Get mouth on. Do it now or I whip harder!” said Shakaba.<br />To the side she could see the Baugwan standing, his belly rolling and jiggling repellently as he laughed.<br />Elsbeth was crying. It was just not in her nature to resist. She was too afraid and too timid. The whip was too painful. She parted her lips and allowed the big black man to push the glans past her teeth.<br />“Use tongue. Don’t bite or I gouge your eyes out!”<br />“Pweeese,” she moaned, around the head of his phallus. But he simply thrust the shaft even further into her throat.<br />Aaannnnnggghhfff,” she cried as he brought the whip down on her back. She had instinctive tried to pull away when she started to gag.<br />“Relax throat… Use tongue underneath,” said Shakaba. “Get hands over part you can’t get in mouth. Suck good and I give you more time.”<br />Elsbeth whimpered and nodded. She closed her fist over the shaft outside her mouth and her checks hollowed as she sucked. She knew she was a coward and was performing something unspeakably nasty, but she simply could not stand being hurt. She would do anything to avoid that whip and she knew her captors could sense it. The young white girl did not know what they had in store for her, but whatever it was, she knew in her heart she was already broken. The mere threat of pain would coerce her to do anything. She was utterly at their mercy- or lack of it.<br />The great black phallus was gliding in and out of her mouth now and she was able to control the gagging reflex. She moved instinctively over it, wanting only to please him and end the horrible act. She got nothing but humiliation from it. But she found if she concentrated she could turn her mind off, make the moment tolerable by ignoring it, yet still perform. But when she felt him begin to ejaculate, she tried to pull away, thinking he was urinating in her mouth.<br />He tightened his grip on her head and held her still, pumping spurt after viscous spurt into her throat as she wheezed and tried desperately to pull away. She had no choice but to swallow some of it and the feeling as it slid down her throat almost caused her to vomit.<br />Finally he finished and let her go. She immediately went to all fours, spitting out what she had not swallowed and sobbing with shame and degradation. Elsbeth felt as though her very soul had been drenched with filth and she was certain she would never feel clean again.<br />“So you don’t like sucking a man’s lingam little one?” asked the Baugwan. “That is unfortunate, since if will be one of your principle duties. We must alter your distaste for the male essence and turn it into a craving. We shall call you Soour- little pig. For that is what you are going to be.”<br />The girl had no idea what he was talking about. She only knew she wanted to be away from there. Gone from the evil fat man’s presence and the African’s whip. It was a blessing when Shakaba led her back to her dank cell where she could at least be alone with her shamed misery and the odd taste in her mouth.<br /><br />“Ah, doctor,” said The Baugwan, rising to meet his guest. “How are the Devadasi this month?”<br />“Very good, Swami. There are no sexual diseases and the women appear to be in excellent health overall. As usual Swami, your trainer has kept them in peak condition.”<br />“Excellent,” said the Baugwan. “But there is a matter with which I would like your opinion.”<br />“Is it about the two new white women you have acquired, Swami?” asked the doctor, his eyes sparkling.<br />“Yes,” chuckled the Baugwan. “Indeed it is. Tell me, how long can a healthy woman go without food before she is facing serious problems.”<br />“Well, it depends on the person and the conditions, Swami. Ordinarily there is no problem for at least two weeks, but after that, the subject should be closely monitored.”<br />The Baugwan nodded. “Did you have a chance to see the younger of the new white dasi?”<br />“Not really. Only from across the room.”<br />“But you could tell she is rather overweight?”<br />“Yes, of course Swami. Are you intending to starve the girl?”<br />The Baugwan laughed. “Only for a few days. I’m trying to get the flab off of her. I think she will make a delightful dasi if we can improve her appearance.”<br />“Yes, I agree,” said the doctor. “I would like to be one of the first to worship Kaghli with her body once she has been pacified.”<br />“Oh course, doctor,” laughed the Baugwan. “But I have in mind a training program for her and I want to know if my idea is feasible. We must be careful. She is of no use to me if she is not healthy.”<br />“As you know,” continued the Baugwan. “She is somewhat overweight, and has an aversion to the taste of a man’s ejaculate. I want to solve both problems at the same time. I propose to limit her died to semen, which does have nutritional value, but not enough to maintain her weight. By allowing her nothing else, she’ll be forced to at least develop a tolerance for the taste in order to ease her hunger pangs.”<br />The doctor’s brown face erupted into wide grin as he contemplated the shear lewdness of the idea. “It should be no problem. But…” he cautioned, reaching into his bag and removing a small bottle of pills. “Give her these. They’re a supplement we use to treat mal-nutrition. They contain vitamins and some trace minerals. You can dissolve it into her water. Don’t restrict the water; give her as much as she wants so she doesn’t dehydrate. When she approaches her desired weight, start giving her solid food a little at a time. Bread at first, then some fruit and nuts. Let her have a little fish when her weight stabilizes.”<br /> “So you think it will work?” asked the Baugwan.<br /> “Yes, no question. Starving her for a week or two will not hurt her. But you must watch her closely, especially after the first two weeks. Such a precipitous drop in caloric intake is bound to be a shock on her system.”<br /> “Good,” said the Baugwan. “I want to shock her body, it will open her mind. We have done this before but not with a white woman. I went to a lot of trouble to obtain her and I don’t want her damaged. I also don’t want her training delayed. The pilgrimage season is coming and I want them both ready for work by then.”<br /> The doctor nodded. “She will be fine. Just call me back in a fortnight or so. And you might sneak a little sugar into her water or give her some bread scraps if you think she needs it.”<br /> “Very well,” said the Baugwan. “Thank you, doctor.”<br /> “It is a pleasure to serve Kaghli, Swami,” said the doctor with a gleam in his eye. “Let me know when the girl is ready so I can leave my offering in her belly.”<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 3<br /><br />Imprisoned in the bowels of Hinja Punt, Caroline did not see the sun come up that morning. She merely awoke from a night, (or actually, a day) of fitful, troubled sleep, punctuated by frightful dreams.<br />It had all happened so bewilderingly fast. Only a few hours ago she had been free, with a bright, joyful future as Mrs. Brian Ironson. Now she was prisoner, trapped in a nightmare of shame and uncertainty.<br />She had watched her clothes burn to ashes like offerings in the iron brazier, while the Baugwan laughed at the anguish in her face. Then Shakaba had dragged her by the hair, down to the filthy dungeons beneath the Temple, seemingly away from light and the life she had known. It was as if she had been swallowed up by the solid living rock foundations of Hinja Punt. <br />The proud and dignified girl had wailed with impotent outrage when the great African had dragged her naked to the temple leatherworker, to be fitted with a stout collar as though she were an animal. She struggled to no avail as the two strong men had seized first her arms and then her legs; to manacle her with the unmistakable trappings of the Devadasi; the course brass wrist and ankle bands. These were riveted in place, driving home the fact that they were intended to be permanent.<br />It had taken several lashes with Shakaba’s whip to induce her to lie still as they applied the obscene tattoos of the Devadasi to the pale skin below her navel. Even so, she had to be tightly bound when the incredibly lewd and pagan images began to take shape.<br />The temple artist applied his works with superb skill and astounding speed, imparting an evocative, living picture perminantly into her skin. As hours passed agonizingly by, she watched with profound horror as her pristine flesh was emblazoned the image of the hideous god. His body was covered with gray scales and a smile of sadistic lust blanketed his face. He stood, raping a small, helpless women impaled on his massive phallus. He held the woman by the neck with his clawed hand as he gored into her. Nevertheless, she gazed back at him with beaming adoration, and there was no mistaking the eager intertwining of her legs behind his back.<br />A bandage was carefully applied to the tattooed area. Then Caroline was flipped over onto her belly and another artist began to work again.<br />The dark, scaled penis of the god was indelibly imprinted onto the skin of her lower back. From the top of her gluteal crevice, Kaghli’s impossibly long organ seemed to slither up her spine to the base of her neck, where it’s fat, reddish-gray head appeared to spit torrents of semen into her brain. At it’s base the god’s fat testicles hung heavily, tattooed onto her buttocks. Then this area too was covered with a sterile gauze.<br />It had all taken over twelve hours, and the white girl slumped in her bonds. The latent sting of the new tattoos mixed with exhaustion both physical and emotional, and she hung in a state between resignation and hysteria. <br />Finally, the powerful African had released her, and taken her to a cell even deeper below. He had forced her into a kneeling position and bound her arms above her head so that she could not smudge or spoil the tattoos. Even so, he warned her.<br />“Let marks heal,” he said roughly as she stared onto the straw floor. “You damage them, we whip you unconscious. Then we put more tattoos on you. Maybe on you face!”<br />Caroline groaned but did not try to look up. She heard the massive door bolt lock into place, the sound echoing through the corridor, mocking any determination to resist them.<br /><br />She slept, a little. Such was he trauma that now fatigue overtook her. But it was a fitful rest, filled with pain and dreams of defilement.<br />Caroline McKinna was strong and revulsion for the Devadasi was deeply ingrained. Even under the extreme duress they had subjected her to, she could no imagine being one of them.<br />“They’ll never make me a Devadasi,” she whispered to herself with conviction. Yet her voice sounded small and frightened and the very walls seemed to stifle her breath. She realized fully at that moment that she was a prisoner, totally in their power. Oddly enough, after so much abuse in the presence of the Baugwan and Shakaba, it was the quiet and loneliness of this room that really terrified her.<br />What little light there was in the room came from the torches in the corridor and streamed through bars in the door, casting a sickly, dull luminescence of lurid red on the stone walls. The captive girl thought she could hear voices in distant rooms or chambers, but on her level, silence reigned. After what seemed like a long time, she had called out, with predicable futility. There was no answer. She was alone with the chains, the stone floor, and the fading pain of the tattoos. With nothing else to do, she cried- and slept. <br />That must have been hours before. Now she heard a key in the door once more. Immediately she was fully awake and aware of her own nakedness. Her hands went instinctively to cover her charms and she discovered she was still bound. The iron door swung open to reveal Shakaba, a torch in his hand and a wicked looking whip on his belt. The firelight flickered on his face, giving him an almost demonic look as he grinned down at her.<br />“Please… You must let me go!” she whined, unsuccessfully trying to keep the plaintive pitch from her voice. “I will be missed at the mission and there will be inquires. If you let me go now I’ll…”<br />“Your lessons start today, woman. I take you to the Baugwan now. You show respect and reverence or get skin flayed.”<br />Caroline hated the African, but his physical presence was truly intimidating to a frightened, naked, young white girl. She was totally cowed. He released her from the chains and she staggered to her feet. Frowning apprehensively she got up and followed him out the cell door, still trying to hide her naked charms with her hands, but not daring to disturb the gauze bandages.<br />Several minutes later, Caroline was kneeling before the Baugwan, having been whipped into that position by the tireless hand of Shakaba. He dictated her exact posture; legs spread, hands behind head, breasts thrust forward boldly and the soles of her feet upturned. A position to demonstrate utter subjugation. Her ankle bands rattled against the stone as she sobbed softly with humiliation and outrage. She looked with loathing at the obese form of the Baugwan as she awaited his emergence from the meditative trance he was in.<br />Soon his eyes fluttered and he smiled. “Miss McKinna, how good of you to come. And I can see you’re at last properly attired and decorated to begin your new duties here.”<br /> “You’re insane,” she spat. “You think you can kidnap women with impunity. There are laws… aaahhh.”<br /> The Baugwan slapped her face viciously. “You would do well to remember that service to Kaghli is the only law which concerns you.”<br /> Caroline’s flash of defiance was over. The big black trainer had pulled his short whip from his belt and the white girl felt her courage flow like wax.<br />“Let us see how the marks have taken,” said the Baugwan.<br />Shakaba moved to her side and began to peel the bandages from Caroline’s decorated flesh. The artistry astounded them all.<br />The images were perfect, vivid and striking. Even though she had seen them the day before, Caroline gasped with horror and dismay. The marks were like a stain of deepest shame, proclaiming her new condition as temple whore indelibly on her very flesh.<br />“Excellent,” breathed the Baugwan, after several minutes of admiration. It surpasses all my hopes.”<br />Caroline hung her head and sobbed.<br />“They must be allowed to dry now,” said Shakaba. “But there is less danger of her blurring them.”<br />The Baugwan watched her closely, enjoying every second of her distress. “You see?” he snickered sadistically. “Now you can see what you are with your own eyes. The marks of a Devadasi.”<br />The young white woman stared at him through hollow, defeated eyes, crying softly with shame. Suddenly she felt the hand of the black trainer around her soft throat. <br /> “Now,” he continued, “I do not find ‘Miss McKinna’ to be an appropriate name for woman of the Devadasi. Since you are taking the place of a former dasi, you will also take her name, Pashu. To that we will add the name, Vama. From this moment you will leave your old identity behind. Your new name is Pashuvama, which means filthy beast. A base animal woman. Say it.”<br /> Caroline’s breath caught with the sheer humiliation of name, but fear gripped her as well. “Please… I… I can’t be a… A Deva… Dahhggggghhh.”<br /> Shakaba tightened his grip on the girl’s neck until she was afraid he would snap it. “Obey the Baugwan,” he demanded. “Say your new name.”<br /> “Hhhhggg… Please… Ahhhhgggh… Pashuvama… Pashuvama…” she gasped.<br /> “Very good,” smiled the Baugwan. “You will bear that name with pride, Pashuvama, sex beast and Devadasi of Kaghli.”<br /> Caroline turned away, her face a rictus of shame at the horrible prospect. An instant later she cried out with shock when the fat Baugwan slapped her across the face once more.<br /> “Look at me when I speak to you. Look into my eyes, I am your master. You will show respect or we will whip it into you. Kaghli has entrusted you to us for training and train you we shall.”<br /> Caroline wept quietly, unable now even to hide her face from the Baugwan. She hated his petulant, arrogant countenance and the mere proximity of his obese, shirtless form caused her to feel soiled. She could hardly bear the thought of his tallow-like eyes raking over her exposed body, but he sneered, as if her beauty were a trifle, a cheap trinket offered to him by a street vendor.<br /> Once again he seemed calm and sophisticated, as if he were discussing one of the temple’s business transactions. He stroked the girl idly on the head as though soothing a favorite pet.<br /> “You are a virgin then?”<br /> “Yes,” she choked.<br /> He nodded as if greatly pleased. He motioned to Shakaba who gripped her arm and lifted her onto her feet, leading her over to a stone idol. The thing was slightly larger than life and sitting on a short pedestal. It was a statue of Kaghli, sitting cross-legged, face leering and tongue protruding salaciously. It was a close replica of the great idol in the temple’s main sanctuary, made from the same dark granite and complete with a long, thick penis lancing up from between its legs at an obscene angle.<br /> “You will offer your virginity to Kaghli,” said the Baugwan, his voice intoned, almost chanting. “You are Pashuvama, Kaghli’s slave. You will come to love him. Kaghli will possess you… And you will love Kaghli!”<br /> Caroline stared at him, horrified as well as puzzled. The idea of having physical relations with a chunk of granite seemed as impossible as it was unnatural. But her eyes fixed on the carved phallus and she suddenly understood what he wanted. The very notion made her sick to her stomach.<br /> Caroline’s outrage conspired with the last of her pride to kindle the flame of resistance within her. Such humiliation and debasement could not be borne. Moreover, she had a deep-seated hatred of idols and paganism, having been indoctrinated into her monotheistic religion from an early age.<br />“Never,” she screamed. “You’ll never make me love that… That thing… I refuse to even touch it… Aaaaaaaaaaaahhgghh.” Her back erupted with pain from the impact of Shakaba’s whip.<br /> “You will speak with respect and reverence to Kaghli,” said the Baugwan. “This is his avatar. You love it. You love Kaghli.”<br /> “Your religion is sick,” shouted the girl, rage still overcoming even her paralyzing fear. “How can any woman feel anything but disgust for this… horrible idol? Aaaaaiiihhhggghh,” she screamed from another blow.<br /> “Pashuvama’s ass bleed if she not learn respect,” snarled Shakaba.<br /> “Respect and obedience,” said the Baugwan smoothly. “Now, you will fuck Kaghli. You will place his lingam inside you and lower yourself on it until your hymen splits. Then you will sit in his lap with your legs around him and arms about his neck. Rut on him and have a climax- or Shakaba will indeed whip your soft white ass bloody.”<br /> Caroline stared with open-mouthed shock. She could scarcely believe they would demand something so incredibly obscene. But the sting in her bottom and the memory of the whip from the previous day dispelled any illusions. Given time they could force her to do anything.<br /> “Please…” whimpered Caroline. “I’m a virgin. I’m going to be married soon. Please… Don’t do this to me.”<br /> The Baugwan smiled. “Kaghli loves to ravish the unbeliever’s woman. He loves to bend the woman’s heart to himself and feel her surrender to his avatar’s maleness.”<br /> “I… I can’t…” she wailed. “You can’t make be do that! AAAaaaaaaaaiii…”<br /> “Straddle him, sit in his lap… get his lingam inside you,” said Shakaba, punctuating his demand with another sharp, scorpion-like sting from the whip.<br /> “NO… NOOOO… Aaaaiiiieeeee!”<br /> “Do it now! Give yourself to Kaghli!” shouted Shakaba.<br /> “Pleee… eeeee… eeeaassse…” she broke down, sobbing. “I’m white! I’m a virgin! AAAaaaaaaaeeeeiiii.”<br /> “Yessss,” hissed the Baugwan, his eyes sparkling with lust. “And you will offer your virginity to your god/lover.”<br /> “Aaaaaiiiiieeeee… stop. I can’t stand it…”<br /> “Squat down… get yoni on Kaghli’s shaft, NOW!” yelled Shakaba.<br /> She sat on the stone idol, her feet on either side of his legs. Shakaba had to give her another slash across the back with the whip before she centered the phallus at the entrance to her vagina.<br />They had smeared some kind of lubricant on the idol’s penis and it slid past her labia without resistance.<br />“Aaaaiieegggghh,” he struck her again. Blind with pain she lowered herself further. She could feel the rigid shaft now pushing the walls of her feminine core aside as it sunk all the way to her tissue of chastity. Like many girls Caroline had masturbated with her clitoris a little but had never stuck anything up inside of herself. The object felt alien, frightening. She began to pull off of it.<br />“Aaaaaaiiiiggggh,” The black man landed the whip. The pain seared her backside. She pushed herself back onto the object, instinctively trying to escape the source of the torment.<br />“Aaaaiiiiiigggg aaagggg, please… It won’t go any deeper,” she cried.<br />“Yes it will,” said the Baugwan. “You must push it all the way in. Sacrifice your virginity to Kaghli.”<br />“NOOOOO… I can’t do it… Aaaaaaiiiiihhhhhhhhh… Aaaaaaaiiiiihhh… Aaaiiiiigggg oh god stop it… I can’t stand it. AAAAAIIIIIHHHHHHHHGGG.”<br /> Shakaba was laying into the blows with a will, snapping the leather against her back and rear cheeks with a violent crack. Caroline pressed herself forward onto the phallus, stretching her internal tissue, but there she stopped. Though the agony engulfed her back she still could not force herself to pop her own cherry. She was sobbing, screaming hysterically. But still, the idol’s lingam sunk no further. It required every scrap of concentration to hold her position, struggling through a fog of mind numbing pain, so intense she failed to notice a first that Shakaba had stopped whipping her for the moment.<br />She craned her head to see the black man. He was talking with the Baugwan.<br />“Please… Please let me go… Oh please tell me what you want.”<br />“I want you to rape yourself on Kalhi’s lingam,” said the Baugwan evenly. “The pain will not stop until you give him your maidenhood.”<br />Caroline sobbed with desolation. They were forcing her to relinquish something she had cherished, something that belonged to Brian. Now she was being compelled to proffer her physical purity to this disgusting idol and the spiritual pain was devastating. She looked past the Baugwan to Shakaba. He had discarded the whip, but her blood ran cold when she saw what he had replaced it with. He was holding a long rattan cane.<br />“NO… no no… No no… oh please no…” she breathed, her voice quivering with panic.<br />“AAAAAAIIIIIIIIHHHHHHHHH.” The white girl’s rounded ass cheeks exploded with indescribable agony as the trainer dealt the first blow. Even the whip had been nothing like this. <br /> Aiiieeeeeee…” she screamed as he began methodically caning her. He was yelling at her to hilt herself on the shaft. But even three vicious lashes from the big black man could not induce her to press her hips forward, and tear her own virgin sheath. <br /> “Do it now… rip your hymen on Kaghli!” yelled the Baugwan.<br /> “No… nooooo…” she screamed. “Ohhh pleeeease! Aaaaiiiieeee… Aaaiiee, aaaaiiieeegg, aaaiiieeeee. Oh god, nooooo!”<br /> He was raining lashes down on her, violent stripes that seared into her tortured body.<br />Caroline was sure he was ripping the flesh from her, thought there must be pools of blood beneath her. She lost control of her bladder and golden urine gushed over the phallus and trickled down her legs. She could feel the big, hard object up inside her, the head stretching her virgin tissue taut as she strained to escape the cane. Still she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t break her own chastity on the penis of that hideous stone statue!<br /> The white girl’s howls of torment echoed off the dark stone walls of the hall. With painful irony she clung to the idol she hated so, trying to borrow some of the strength from the dense stone. But the sting was becoming unbearable, as if someone had throw acid on her back. Her intellect was disintegrating, leaving a mindless, shrieking animal. <br /> Finally she could stand it no longer. Shakaba landed a particularly potent slash on her lower rear cheeks and her body surged forward of it’s own volition. She felt her treasured maidenhead rip inside her and the artificial penis burrow into her deepest recess.<br /> “AAAAAAAEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIII, it hurts… It hurts… stop it. It’s done, it’s done…” she wailed. <br /> Caroline could feel the unyielding head of the phallus graze her cervix. She cried hysterically and the muscles of her arms and legs continued to twitch and tremble, despite the fact that the trainer had ceased the striking her for the moment.<br /> The Baugwan was chuckling with delight, his fat belly quivering like a bag of gelatin.<br /> “Yeessss… Worship Kaghli. He has taken your virtue, now fuck him… Cum on him… Give Kaghli your female soul!”<br /> Caroline moaned and wept with pain and defeat- and abysmal shame.<br />“Aaaaaiiiihhhhgggg…” She had began to pull off of it but Shakaba dealt her soft globes another blow.<br />“Do not raise off,” said the trainer. “Fuck it, cum on it. You Kaghli’s Devadasi!”<br />The white girl groaned and pushed herself back down to the hilt. The stone organ felt unnaturally rigid and lifeless within her, but its surface was so highly polished that it did not chafe. Fortunately her vaginal muscles were already instinctively adjusting and flexing around its girth, as if preparing to pleasure a lover.<br />Caroline whined and bit her lip. There was a tiny ridge carved into the stone at the base of the statue’s penis. Now that she had all of it inside her the smooth lip was rubbing the hapless girl’s clitoris, giving her all kinds of bright, unanticipated- and totally unwanted feelings. The sudden onset of the little tingles made her grimace with disgust. She was sure the feelings were illicit and to acquire pleasure from this act would be the pinnacle of self-betrayal. She pulled her clit away from the stone lip and sat still, hoping they would let her off the idol now that she had ruptured her virgin tissue on it.<br /> The two men who looked on gave her a few seconds respite, then Shakaba was prodding her ass with his foot.<br /> “Fuck Kaghli. In and out, woman. Get ass moving.”<br /> Caroline groaned. Slowly, tentatively, she began to work herself on the idol’s member. Her movements were artless, mechanical. She had no sexual experience from which to draw and the stone figure offered no direction, as a real lover would have. But as the moments passed and her vagina began to adjust to the intruder, the pain faded. In its place remained an odd feeling of being stuffed, made almost surreal by the inanimacy of the thing she was impaled on.<br /> “Good,” said the Baugwan. “Very good. Feel Kaghli inside you. Feel him take you. Make love to Kaghli and show him your submission.”<br /> Caroline tried to ignore the shame invoking words. It was enough for her that the caning had stopped, at least for now. The degradation of this instant was eating her soul like acid, but she was too afraid of these men and of the pain they could inflict, to do anything but turn her mind off and continue the instinctive coital motions. But the odd, pleasurable feelings were getting stronger. She tried to descend only part way down on the shaft, but Shakaba sliced her rear cheeks with the cane a couple of times and ordered her to grind herself against the base on each thrust. Even though she still tried to avoid it, the stone lip was pressing her clitoris every time she bottomed out on the phallus, delivering surges of lust she could not suppress. <br /> Caroline began humping the idol faster, more fluidly now. She had closed her mind to the presence of the Baugwan and the trainer. It seemed the only way to survive the soul withering moment. Her only goal was to complete the act so she could escape the statue. Unfortunately she had no idea what completion of the act meant, or how long it would take. Still, the African was no longer punishing her with furious, regular strokes and that was enough. The panic subsided along with the ache in her back- and the strange, illicit feelings grew even more intense.<br /> “Aaaaaaiii.” The cane landed again on her back without warning.<br />“Move faster now,” shouted Shakaba. “Make yourself cum.”<br />“Oh please,” she whimpered, pumping her vagina over the idol’s phallus with new vigor, “I’m doing it… don’t hurt me anymore, please…”<br /> “Keep moving,” ordered Shakaba. “Get arms around him, use legs. Woman no stop till she cum.”<br /> Caroline looked up to the hated Baugwan, hoping against hope to find a tiny shred of mercy. But there was nothing but lust in his eyes and a voracity to rip away her innocence and self respect, just as he had forced her to rupture her physical hymen moments before. There was no mercy, no escape from this act except in its consummation. She groaned and closed her eyes and began to fuck the idol faster.<br />It was the last defeat. Caroline swallowed all pride and dignity, humping on the stone idol and its hard phallus with alacrity. On each downstroke now her clit would grind against the stone without resistance, sending electric shocks of potent pleasure up her spine. The feeling was continuing to build and she was beginning to lose control of her own body. It was a terribly disconcerting and new feeling to the hitherto virgin white girl.<br /> “Yess, yessss,” hissed the Baugwan. “Let it take control of you. You love Kaghli. You want to fuck Kaghli. You can not resist him. Feel him driving inside you, taking you…”<br /> Caroline tried to concentrate and deny the feelings that were starting to crest within her. But the motions they were forcing her to make were fueling the fire. If only she could stop she knew she could control them, but they wouldn’t let her stop!<br /> “Please… Ahhhhhh… Please! …Isn’t this enough?” she moaned, with disgust.<br /> “You cum on Kaghli,” said Shakaba. “White girl stay there till she does.”<br /> “Please…” she sobbed. But the motions of her hips were automatic now and her pleas to be allowed to stop were irrelevant. She was rutting on Kaghli lewdly, unconsciously trying to maximize the mind-bending pleasure.<br />“I don’t know what’s happening…” she bleated. “I can’t… Ahhh ahhhh ahhhhh… Please… I can’t stop… What’s happening! Aaahhhh aaiiee haaa haaaaa haaaaaaahh.”<br />The Baugwan and the black trainer were laughing in triumph as her body took over. She humped herself wildly on the idol, interested now only in drawing the fulfillment that the greasy, lewd feelings seemed to promise. Caroline held the god tightly, crushing her breasts and pubis to the smooth, unyielding stone.<br /> The girl’s conscious mind reeled, unable to cope. Forced to rape herself and sacrifice her own virginity on the cold, lifeless idol, the humiliation was too much, the debasement too overpowering. Yet so was the awakening of her libido. She retreated into her own mind where she could enjoy the feeling of the act, yet shut out the presence of the Baugwan and his minion. There she could forget the shame for the brief present and immerse herself in the masochistic glory of the moment.<br /> She could see herself vividly, with an uncanny detachment. Impaled on Kaghli’s lap, so naked and conquered, vulnerable and beaten. So raped.<br />Then she was gasping and shouting again as the strange orgasmic feelings gripped her and the waves of carnal tension broke for the first time. All thoughts were driven from her mind and her sole desire was to satisfy the hot wanton spasms that gripped her belly.<br />Aaahhh, aaaahhhh, aahhhh, ahhhh… Aaahhhhhhiieee, yeeesssss. Fuck me… Yeeeessss…” She was cuming, climaxing, immersed her own universe of ecstasy, swirling through space and time. Just herself- alone with the life energy of Kaghli.<br />For a brief eternity she rode the idol with non-sentient carnal instinct. But the climax peaked and as its drive subsided, Caroline was once again conscious of her physical environment. Reality and the magnitude of what she had just done imploded upon her in an instant.<br />Oh god, what shame of shames. She had given in. Surrendered her virtue, indeed she had enjoyed it. And in front of these two evil men! <br /> She groaned, feeling hollow, as of part of her soul had been ripped out. Legs weak, she pulled herself from the idol and collapsed to the floor. She wept bitterly as waves of biting humiliation crashed over her with the realization of what she’d done and who she had witnessed it. But she was not even allowed a private moment with her misery. Shakaba pulled her up by the collar and held her before the Baugwan.<br /> “You see now, Pashuvama,” said the Baugwan grinning salaciously. “You understand a little, I think. Kaghli is a god of rape. He glories in the capture, the piercing of the female on the male erection, the rut and the climax. He is taker, abuser, enslaver of women. And Kaghli loves the corruption of youth and virginity most of all. You have worshiped Kaghli by climaxing on his lingam. You belong to him forever now.”<br /> Caroline continued to cry, the tears rolling down her cheeks as she struggled internally with what had just happened. But Shakaba pulled her up by the collar again and forced her over to the pile of cushions.<br /> All Caroline wanted to do was to collapse, curl up into a ball and die, but her captors wanted to take advantage of her disoriented state to drag her down a bit further.<br /> “Lay down,” ordered the black man. “On your back, legs spread!”<br /> Hating herself, the broken girl complied, turning her anguished face to the stone wall.<br /> The huge African trainer quickly stripped, moving to mount her. She sobbed when she felt his massive manhood parting her labia and looked up to see him in the age-old position of the conquering male. The unthinkable crashed in upon her. She was about to raped again. This time by a real, breathing male.<br /> “Please,” she begged. “I can’t… take anymore. Oh please…”<br /> “You fuck Shakaba now,” he breathed. “Start training today, woman. Right now. You all wet inside, take Shakaba easy.”<br /> Caroline burst into choking sobs. She had been shamed beyond measure by the illicit encounter with the stone idol. Now she was to be forced into sex again only minutes later. Was there no end to this nightmare?<br /> The young African pushed her legs apart forcefully, sliding his hips tighter between them and bringing his pelvis up to hers. He took his erection and dragged it back and forth through her labia, which were still soaked from her encounter with the idol. When it was covered with the girl’s own natural lubricant he centered the head of his manhood at the entrance to her love canal and pushed inside.<br /> She could feel him pulling her neither lips aside with his fingers and she suddenly cried out. He was pinching them painfully.<br /> “Turn your face to me, dasi. Keep eyes on my face and watch my lingam. Shakaba want you to see him fuck you as well as feel.”<br /> Caroline whimpered and obeyed, locking her horror widened eyes on his black face. <br /> He pressed down on her now, forcing his massive nine inches further into her abused vagina. She groaned with discomfort and looked down to where the huge black rod was penetrating her most intimate flesh. Her newly deflowered vagina was still a little sore from the loss of her hymen and there were small flecks of blood in the juices that coated his organ.<br /> Fortunately for Caroline, the light in the cavernous stone hall was dim and she didn’t see the evidence of her bleeding sheath. Her body and sex primed by the interlude with the statue adjusted to his length and size quickly. The irritation of being stuffed so full again faded and Caroline felt her body now passively accepting him.<br /> “Uuunnnnnggg,” she grunted inelegantly as once again she was skewered to the hilt. He reached to her breasts and vulva and began to play with her. Most men began foreplay before penetrating the woman. Shakaba began afterward, so that she would experience the entire build up to orgasm with him inside her. He felt it gave the woman, especially if she was a recent virgin, an expectation and dependence on the feel of his lingam.<br /> The same sharp, tingling sensations that she had felt from her clit while on the god’s phallus now assailed her again. This time it was his large but nimble fingers that brought about the hot, itchy tinglings.<br /> She was adjusted to the great rod pushed up to her vitals and the pain had ceased. She felt so open, so vulnerable. And she realized with a detached confusion that the odd, masochistic joy she had known on the idol was returning with renewed potency. What puzzled her most however was how little it alarmed her. Her mind was appalled but strangely eager, even as her body responded.<br /> “Yes,” said Shakaba. “Woman ready to receive, ready to fuck. Woman stop fighting and fuck back. She be happy girl.”<br /> Caroline sighed. She was loosening up fast now and her gasps were becoming softer and less stressed. The bright angel of sexual arousal was banishing the inhibitions and mores she had possessed mere hours ago and it no longer seemed so bad to be lying helpless under this dark man while he had his way with her.<br /> At least she wasn’t being hurt at the moment.<br /> Shakaba moved his hands up her belly, caressing and massaging her milk white flesh. When they finally reached her breasts and palmed the ripe fruit, he began to slowly rut on her, moving his dark penis in and out ever so slowly. <br /> The white girl had tired of resistance. What does it matter anymore? She asked herself. It’s just them here and they’ve already raped me. Why shouldn’t I just let it happen so they don’t hurt me anymore?<br /> Caroline relaxed, trying to control herself this time by not fighting it and concentrating on passivity.<br /> The young girl quickly realized however, that this sexual encounter was not like the act with the stone idol. There, all they had extracted from her was the crude, lubricious display of a virgin raping herself. The unexpected orgasm had been spurred on by the weakness of her own flesh and the threat of the whip. Now, Shakaba was giving her feelings she had not experienced before. A kind of quickening deep inside her, an unwanted, oily pleasure that seemed to slither through her belly as the big black shaft moved in and out. <br /> It was when the exhausted girl ceased to struggle that she discovered something that was to be a constant of life at the Temple of Kaghli. The physical and emotional pain eased when she surrendered. As she lay still and pliant, she was surprised at how gentle her lover became. Even the violence of his thrusts became smoother and more graceful. As her own body relaxed and became more receptive he seemed to piston evenly in and out, plying her in a way that she could not deny was pleasant. Bright stabs of desire radiated up her spine as he ground into her clit with every downstroke. Soon her body began to respond instinctively to him, demanding, like her trainer, more than simple acquiescence. <br /> She began to move with him, tentatively at first, then with more confidence and vigor. Soon she was fucking for real, taking her female sensation with ardor, even greed. And a new shame reared in her mind. The fact that now she was cheating on Brian for real.<br /> The idol had been different. There, she could assuage her conscience with the knowledge she had been forced. Even as she had gained pleasure from it, it was still an inanimate object, a particularly revolting form of masturbation, but no more.<br /> Now she was engaged in actual sexual intercourse with a real man. A man she knew would deposit his seed in her at the last. There could be no doubt that she was having carnal relations and her last mental defense was the fact that he was making her do it. If she now began to enjoy it, and cooperate…<br /> “Uuuaaahh uuuaaah,” she gasped with surprised joy. He was accelerating his strokes, slowly building speed and power in his thrusts, and the effect on Caroline’s libido was immediate. Her mind was alert even as her senses were saturated, but she was not thinking normally. To her surprise she discovered she didn’t care about what Brian would think, he would never know. She was living only for the thinnest slice of the present, the next delicious thrust from Shakaba’s male shaft.<br /> Her will crumbled even as her intellect screamed with violation. Just as it had on the idol, Caroline’s body took over; submitting, taking, fucking. Her legs went up, then her arms. She entwined them around his hard, muscular body to spur him on. She wanted it. Needed it! That big, black, uncircumcised rod. And he was fucking her, drilling her with strength and alacrity, utterly male, utterly masterful. He brought his mouth to hers and she felt his heavy-laden testicles slapping against her anus. He seemed to drive his weight even harder into her and his huge maleness was kissing her spongy cervix with each stroke. Suddenly he broke the rhythm and held the bloated, throbbing manhood deep inside for several seconds. For the white girl, time seemed to stand still, as if there would be no outstroke and she would be skewered on his shaft forever.<br /> Caroline’s mind and body exploded. She writhed under him, thrusting and jerking, pushing her sex onto him with wicked eagerness. Her body bucked, hips pumping and breasts bouncing, as if intent on throwing him off.<br /> “Oh… Oh, oh, oh, ummmmmmhhh… Please… Shakabaaaaa…” she squealed.<br /> Amused, he remained motionless, feeling her twist and churn with carnal need. Let her learn to work for it, he thought. She needed to get used to the idea of making a man come, begging with her body for the warm, comforting contents of his balls.<br /> “Fuck it…” he yelled. “FUCK IT WHITE WOMAN! Fuck my African spear. I take you from you white man now… Fuck it, beg for my seed!” <br /> She bucked madly, raw sexual pleasure electrifying her frame. Being almost three times her weight, he held her easily, bearing down into her with even greater force.<br /> “Say it, slut,” said the big African. “Tell Shakaba what you want.”<br /> Caroline’s mind swirled in a maelstrom of lascivious need. She gurgled, emitting sharp little cries of unsuppressed ecstasy. But it was not enough for Shakaba, he wanted her to verbalize the whines of now unresisted pleasure and he pinched her nipples painfully to emphasize his point.<br /> “Beg Shakaba fuck you,” said the big African. “Beg now or he make these teats hurt bad.”<br /> “Please,” she gasped, no longer caring what she said or who heard. “Please fuck me. Fuck me Shakaba. FUCK MEEEEEE!”<br /> The huge black man obliged her, slogging her deeply with his full length, burrowing onto her cervix with each powerful thrust, feeling the woman grasp him now desperately, possessively.<br /> The Baugwan looked on keenly with a professional as well as prurient interest. He knew Shakaba’s power over the female libido was formidable and the whip persuasive, but he also sensed there was something else behind the girl’s relatively quick surrender. She had resisted no doubt. But she’d also been transformed from reluctant virgin to sperm hungry whore in scant minutes and there had to be more to it than Shakaba’s big cock. He had expected it would take days or weeks to get the girl to respond at this level. There was obviously an untapped spring of latent sexuality in her, as well as a cauldron of masochistic lust, which simmered just beneath her cool exterior. The perfect raw material with which to mold the consummate Devadasi.<br /> It was nothing volitional or conscious on her part and she would undoubtedly deny it even to herself. But he strongly suspected that within her lurked the dasi soul, the need of some women to submit and serve. That need was most profoundly met and manifested sexually and he knew the rapes could be bringing it to the surface. If so, it was an extraordinary stroke of luck. Or was it. Was this kind of corporeality common to fair skinned Western women?<br /> He wondered if the other girl would prove to have a similar hot streak and he was already thinking ahead. Perhaps other white women might prove to have the same predilections. If so…<br /> “Ahhh, ahhhh, ahhhh, yesss… Don’t stop… Fuck me… Fuck meeee,” cried Caroline. <br /> Yes indeed, thought the Baugwan, after these two are trained the addition of more Western women could prove a powerful inducement to new recruits both inside and outside of India. Kaghli’s power and wealth could grow exponentially through the supple, nubile bodies of girls like these. Men would flock from the four corners of the earth to savor what Hinja Punt could provide, black, brown and white female flesh in abundance. <br /> His thoughts were broken finally by Caroline’s orgasmic screaming as she clawed Shakaba’s back and pressed against his buttocks with her heels. She kissed him, open mouthed, dueling his tongue with hers as he crushed her pale, round breasts with his ebony torso. She could feel her nipples raking through his Negroid chest hair, bouncing salaciously with every thrust. For Caroline there was no longer anything in existence but the hard, male body rutting vigorously into her very core. Her fiancée, her religion, even the Baugwan and his ugly temple seemed meaningless. The stiff fleshy rod skewering that formerly secret hole between her legs encompassed the entire world.<br /> They tumbled over the threshold together. Shakaba stiffened and pressed his lions into hers with his massive weight. Her ankles locked tight, spurring his ass. And her hands grasped his buttocks with feral desperation, trying to drive the last measure of his length into her. Then she felt him explode. Spurt after spurt of hot, viscous jism spat copiously from his heavy balls, splashing against her spongy cervix.<br /> “AAAAAIIIGGGGGHH, ahhh, ahhhhh, aaahhhh, aaahhhhhh, aaaaaahhhhiieee. So deep. Oh god, you’re so deeeep!” she screamed. <br /> He bellowed, pouring the last of his essence into her. She was groaning, crying into his mouth as he gasped and grunted, holding her helplessly pinned beneath him. The pleasure washed over her as the powerful climax lingered and she felt his sweaty body settle onto hers. She kissed his lips and caressed his back, relishing the sensation of his thick load flowing within her.<br />Then reality came crashing back in on her. In an instant of naked totality the intoxicating pleasure was gone and she saw herself with crystal clarity.<br /> She was having sex with a black man, in a pagan temple! And she had begged for it, enjoyed it. She would gladly have exchanged death for the humiliation of that moment, but life and thought mercilessly continued. Her body went limp and she groaned with despair, lying beneath him, inert, desolate, consumed with self loathing- and sated lust.<br />Miss Caroline McKinna’s prized virginity, in all senses, was no more.<br />Shakaba finally led her wordlessly back to her cell; her weakened knees buckling, semen trickling from her swollen, red vulva.<br /> Yes, indeed, thought the Baugwan.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 4<br /><br /> “PLEASE… PLEASE… I’m hungry… I’ve got to have something to eat,” wailed Elsbeth as the big African entered her cell. She was rubbing her empty belly in a futile attempt to sooth the hunger pangs, hugging her flabby little white torso with modesty and fear. Shakaba stared at her impassively, as if studying a scientific experiment.<br /> Elsbeth, or Soour, as she was shortly to become, was in a pathetic state. She was still naked and now stank with the ancient filth of the cell and her own unwashed body. Her hair was disheveled and her skin was grimy with the soot off the walls and the old straw stuffed mattress she slept on. The bottoms of her feet were black from the carbon-darkened floor.<br />She had been left alone for five days after her initial encounter with Shakaba. No one had come except to change the water and waste buckets. She had not even seen the people who did that. They merely reached into her cell at odd hours from beyond panels in the door.<br />For a while she was glad. She was afraid they might make her perform that hideous act again, sucking that big, nasty thing that hung between a man’s legs. And she was still mortified of being naked in front of them. But now her empty stomach was finally winning out over modesty and inhibition and she was truly thankful to see anyone- even the big black man.<br /> “Please…?” she asked, intimidated by his huge presence. “I… I… Need something to eat.”<br /> “You get plenty to eat whenever you ask,” chuckled Shakaba. “Many men here eager to feed you.”<br /> “Please… don’t make me touch your… your thing.” The young girl moved back into a corner of the cell, watching him with wide, apprehensive eyes.<br /> The African laughed again, “Don’t be so frightened, little pig. This thing where life comes from. You suck life from it. Like baby suckling milk.”<br /> “Please! I can’t do that again. I can’t…”<br /> He unwrapped his tunic and sat on the stone ledge that held the mattress. He spread his legs and once again the white girl could see his massive manhood, erect and throbbing with lust. She shook her head and sniffled but the trainer was crooking his finger, gesturing at his crotch.<br /> “On your knees little Soour. Time to feed.”<br /> The hapless girl whimpered and went to her knees. But she could not bring herself to approach him until he pulled the whip from his shoulder.<br /> “Suck now,” he said simply. “Or I make pretty red stripes on piglet’s white skin.”<br /> Soour was crying now. Hunger and fear were driving her forward, yet the ingrained revulsion of putting such a thing in her mouth still held her back, filling her mind with disgust.<br /> “Aaaaiiiiieeee,” she screamed as the whip descended across her chest. That was all it took. She scrambled over to him on her knees, weeping pathetically, looking up at him with round, limpid blue eyes.<br />He was surprised to find himself touched with feelings for the girl, especially one as unattractively fat. His tastes ran to the nubile, lithe young beauties that the temple of Kaghli was famous for. But he had never seen such a lovely, innocent face. So vulnerable, so yearning for love and acceptance. He stroked her soft, golden hair with genuine affection.<br />“It not so bad to suck lingam,” he said gently. “You like the taste after a few times. We help you learn, make you pretty. You lose all that pig fat soon. Be slender little Devadasi for Shakaba’s bed.”<br />Soour began to cry again. Not from fear or shame this time, but from the remembered pain of rejection. She had always felt bloated and ugly and she couldn’t imagine being pretty. The unexpected kind words from this huge, alien black man opened the floodgates and she cried with all the accumulated loneliness of her young life.<br />He let her cry, petting her wordlessly as she knelt before him. Then he drew her forward gently but firmly.<br />“It’s all right,” he said softly. “Put mouth on. Be good girl.”<br />Soour nodded, responding to his gentle tone. She tentatively stuck out her pink tongue, just contacting the tip. She looked up at him with a guileless pout and he nodded reassuringly.<br />Her tongue extended again to lightly graze the underside of his glans. It tasted salty, the way she remembered from a few days before. Now she became a little bolder, smiling meekly and placing her lips around the tip. When he reached for her head she was afraid he would force her mouth roughly down onto his phallus the way he had the first time. Curiously, he did not, but merely stroked her hair and caressed her soft throat. She laved her tongue along the shaft, swirling it about the head.<br />The huge black man leaned back and closed his eyes. The girl was struck by how open and trusting he looked. He was smiling at what she was doing and she liked that. It gave her a sense of control after nearly a week of utter helplessness. It also yielded a feeling of security. She knew he would not hurt her while she pleased him thusly. To the traumatized young girl a few moments of safety and acceptance were golden bliss indeed.<br />She plunged her mouth onto his cock of her own accord, wanting to obey, to please him and retain his favorable demeanor. Sucking the odd flesh rod with her lips and tongue seemed a small price to pay for- dare she think it? Love?<br />The black trainer gasped as she worked her lips, teeth and tongue over his manhood with an instinctive skill that belied her sheltered innocence.<br />When he came seconds later, Elsbeth swallowed instead of spitting it out. It was so desperately wonderful to have something in her belly. Something to quell the pangs of hunger. And best of all, she was pleasing him, making him happy with her. Only when she had licked every trace did she let it fall from her mouth, whereupon she sat back on her heels and smiled awkwardly.<br />“Please… Sir…”<br />“Shakaba you master,” he said firmly, but not unkindly.<br />“Please, mas… master. Don’t hurt me…”<br />The big black dasi trainer smiled. “No one hurt you little one. You be good little whore and no one hurt you.”<br />The blond girl nodded and whimpered, jism dripping from the corner of her mouth. Her expression was so open and needful. Shakaba looked at her almost fondly, taking some of the semen from her chin and bringing it to her lips where she licked his finger clean.<br />He grasped the girl by the hair, though not as roughly as before, and led her out into the corridor and up several levels. She trailed him obediently, nervous about being naked in such strange and threatening surroundings. But even if he was not holding her head securely she would have been unwilling to leave the man she now viewed as her protector.<br />He took her first to the doctor, who examined her while the Baugwan observed. She was noticeably thinner, but still did not appear weak. She was desperately famished but the food deprivation had not affected her health as yet. The Baugwan was very pleased and talked with the doctor in Hindi so that white girl would not comprehend their plan.<br />The High Priest of Kaghli had an intuitive grasp of human psychology. He knew that the stress of being without sustenance, when she was used to abundance would have a profound effect on her psyche. Her mind was as malleable as clay and as writeable as parchment. Ripe to accept the behavior and attitude changes he wished to make. Moreover, he had a theory as to the girl’s obesity.<br />He thought it likely that she had unconsciously come to use food as an infant uses a pacifier, to gratify some inner need for love or affirmation. If he could replace her compulsion to eat with one to perform sexually, he could transform her into the most enthralled Devadasi, supplanting her corpulence with sheer carnal heat.<br />The doctor too, seemed satisfied by her overall physical state. Her body was being conditioned to burn fat and he expected the weight loss to be precipitous soon. He did advise the Baugwan however that it was time to introduce a limited diet in the form of some starches and sugars, concurring with a grin the Baugwan’s suggestion of semen.<br />“She’s likely to retain a distinct preference for whatever food you allow her now. Her body will regard it as a staple and she might even develop a craving for it.”<br />“Excellent,” laughed the Baugwan. “You know, I had thought of this fat little swine almost as chaff, being primarily interested in her sister. I took her only because I wanted McKinna’s devastation to be complete. Now though, I think she will make a first class dasi once she’s been trained. Many of the faithful will make sizeable offerings to Kaghli in order to fuck such a young and fresh faced girl.”<br />“She will also have an attractive body soon, Swami,” said the doctor, idly running his hand down Soour’s naked back.<br />“Yes,” said the Baugwan, his eyes sparkling. “One which we can all enjoy.” <br />The white girl sat quietly while the two Indian men conversed in a language totally incomprehensive to her. She was as patient as she could manage, but soon the hunger prompted her to dare speaking.<br />“Please… I’ll be good. Please give me something to eat.”<br />“Soon little one,” said the doctor, palming her budding chest. “Very soon.”<br />Shakaba came in and led the girl back to her cell. There was something new in it. A seven foot tall statue of Kaghli. This idol was cunningly made of some dark hardwood, polished smooth. It was also different from the other images in that the god was standing, legs parted. From between them hung a massive phallus, nine inches long and made of rubber. The face of the god had the same sneering leer of all the other statues of Kaghli and stared down at its own penis with an almost animate male arrogance.<br />“This you master, you god Kaghli,” said Shakaba. “Kneel before him.”<br />Soour hesitated, despite her fear. In the religion she had grown up with, she had always been taught to abhor idols and idolatry. She scowled with disgust.<br />“Aaaaiiiieeehhh.” The whip impacted her rear cheeks.<br />“Kneel now,” said the African. “Give homage to Kaghli!”<br />With a cry of defeat, the girl went to her knees in front of the avatar.<br />She noticed a small hole in the end of the god’s erect penis.<br />“Suck Kaghli’s lingam. Suck now. You feed.”<br />Fear of the whip impelled the white girl to obey. Having already twice sucked the member of a real man, the demand that she perform the act on a wooden figure was more puzzling than revolting. She closed her mouth over the phallus and began to suck, turning her eyes to Shakaba to see his face. He was the only man who had ever made her feel even slightly attractive and in truth she was as fearful of displeasing him and being rejected as she was of his whip.<br />Her cheeks hollowed as she obeyed his order to service the god and she was surprised to find she was drawing a thick liquid from it. It tasted sweet and had the consistency of a milk shake. She sucked harder, eager for the sustenance.<br />“Yes, little one,” said Shakaba. “You see, it is good to drink from Kaghli’s lingam. Fill your belly with his seed.”<br />Shakaba reached down to fondle the girl’s head and neck as she sucked voraciously from the god’s penis. She was consuming a viscous, porridge-like mixture containing sugar and flour, along with some of the doctor’s vitamins. A silver tube inside the phallus extended to a small bowl inside the idol’s abdomen. There was an access panel in the back where the bowl could be removed and replaced with a fresh one every time the dasi fed. It was a superb training tool to de-sensitize a new slave and get her accustomed to fellatio.<br />When Soour was finished, after having worked hard for the last drop, she pulled her head away and smiled faintly at her trainer, somewhat embarrassed at her unorthodox method of eating. Shakaba gestured to her. “Come.”<br />He led her once more through the maze of passages, up to the inhabited sections of the huge shrine. First they stopped at the temple smith, who fitted Soour’s neck with a leather collar and placed brass bands around her ankles and wrists. The white girl whimpered but did not resist as the huge Indian man drove the rivets into each of the bands. She looked up at Shakaba who smiled. Somehow his smile was comforting and she felt he would not hurt her as long as she obeyed. She could not help but smile back, albeit weakly.<br />It was his presence and strength that allowed her to lie unflinchingly still as she was tattooed like her sister with the lewd markings of the Devadasi. She watched as the temple artist applied the image of a large brown phallus onto her belly, holding Shakaba’s hand during the painful procedure. When it was finished she saw that the African was pleased. A sense of pride welled up in her and she smiled meekly.<br />She was ordered onto her belly, so the tattoo artist could apply the image of Kaghli onto her back. Then it was done, and like her sister she bore the permanent marks of the Devadasi.<br />“Now you thank man who give you such pretty adornment. He want lingam sucked,” said Shakaba.<br />Soour’s face clouded and she pouted ever so slightly, but she obediently went to her knees and reached under his tunic, feeling for his genitals. She looked up at the man with her soft blue eyes and slowly pulled the material of his tunic aside.<br />This man’s penis was much shorter than Shakaba’s, but with greater girth. The girl licked along the shaft. He tasted different from her master, more musty and stale. She would have vomited had she been doing this only days before, but now she only wanted to please Shakaba. And he was right. It really wasn’t so bad to suck on the strange tube that protruded from a man’s crotch, now that she’d done it a few times.<br />The young white girl was soon working her mouth up and down quickly, using her lips to gently bite the edge of his uncircumcised head. He seemed to like that and grabbed fistfuls of her soft blond hair, directing the movements of her head. She could hear the two men conversing in Hindi between the smith’s grunts of pleasure and she closed her eyes to concentrate.<br />He was moving his hips back and forth, sliding his brown cock in and out. It was definitely a pleasant feeling for the white girl to know she was pleasing the man. She felt wanted and useful and it gave her a sense of self-worth. It was her mouth that was making him feel good, her body he wanted. She was desired and needed. It made her feel better about herself than she had for a long time.<br />At length, there was a tenseness to the man’s loins and she felt a pulse and heard him gasp. Then his semen was pumping.<br />The one thing about sucking this man that was similar to Shakaba was the feel of his cum squirting in her throat. As with her black trainer she was able to control the urge to gag and swallowed dutifully, gazing up into his face as his organ throbbed.<br />“Good, little pig,” said Shakaba. “You get nice reward of man juice in your belly.”<br />The Indian smith chuckled and couldn’t resist bouncing his deflating penis onto her upturned face, splashing droplets of cum onto her pretty features. <br />“Come with me now,” said Shakaba. Soour noticed that instead of seizing her painfully by the hair, her trainer instead grabbed her wrist and led her down the ancient passageways. He took her into an area she had not been to before. There were numerous side galleries cut into the rock, partitioned from the main corridor with curtains of glass beads. She could feel the sooty sand between her toes and smell the incense wafting through the tunnels. Shakaba stopped at one chamber and pushed aside the curtain. He stepped into the shadowy room, pulling the white girl with him.<br />Inside sat three Indian men, taking turns drawing puffs from an odd looking pipe. Soour recognized the smell of the bettlenut, but not the pungent odor of the opium smoke. In seconds however, at Shakaba’s instruction, she was lying prone before one of the cross-legged men, avidly sucking his penis.<br />He was a young man, richly dressed. He stared down with pleased arrogance at the girl as she worked her mouth over his love piece with skill and determination despite her novice at the art. This time she did not look up at the man she was servicing, but simply concentrated on making him squirt the salty, sweet nectar into her mouth. When he came she swallowed the slime and was told to move onto the next man, who, after several minutes of the girl’s work also obliged her with his sperm. When the Soour had completed her task on all three men, she sat back, kneeling on her bare heels and smiling faintly to her trainer, who patted her head.<br />“Good girl,” said the black man. “See, your stomach not feel so empty now.” <br />The girl nodded timidly as traces of their pearly slime dripped from her lips and Shakaba once again picked her up by the arm. He took the compliant teen down the passageway from room to room, watching as she serviced each man with her mouth. With each passing act Soour grew more confident and less inhibited. It was nice to have something in her stomach and to know she was pleasing the big African. Somehow her shame and revulsion of oral sex with strange men seemed to diminish as she went. It was like milking a cow or a goat, she thought, giggling inanely through her nose.<br />After several hours she had swallowed the ejaculate of just over twenty men. It wasn’t enough to eat, really, but it was better than nothing. Shakaba also gave her a small crust of bread and a little wine. Then he took her back to the cell.<br />She curled up on the dirty mattress, tired and ready to sleep. It had been a traumatic day, but she was glad she had satisfied Shakaba and learned that cock sucking was not so bad. She belched and could taste the half-digested semen, but it wasn’t gross at all. It was good to have something in her stomach and the hungry young woman quickly swallowed the liquid again. The last thing she thought about as she nodded off to sleep was the smiling face of her trainer, whom she was rapidly coming to accept as her provider and master- and her love.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 5<br /><br />Caroline was kneeling beside the Baugwan, staring with terror into the open pit below them.<br />For more than a week she had been raped by her black trainer every morning in the temple’s great hall. The Baugwan watched with leering interest as she was taken in a new position each time, always brought to a screaming orgasm by her African trainer, always at the feet of the idol of Kaghli.<br />They had forced her into the most degrading and shameful acts, compelling her to play the whore in word and deed in order to purchase temporary relief from the whip. But the Baugwan knew they had not truly broken her yet. She was cowed, subdued, disoriented by the combination of extreme pain, humiliation- and intense pleasure. But her mind and heart were not fully transformed. They were making excellent progress with the younger girl, but this one was proving to be a bit of a challenge. Not that the Baugwan minded. It was incredibly stimulating see the rapid inveiglement of McKinna’s youngest daughter. But it was even more deeply gratifying to watch the proud, elder girl being dragged slowly into the slime pit, transformed with delicious languor into one of Kaghli’s most obedient and lust inciting Devadasi. It was something to savor, like the exquisite moment now at hand.<br />He looked down at Caroline. She was still naked, except for her collar and the bands on her arms and legs. A chain perhaps two feet in length connected her wrist bonds and rattled against the rough floor as she fidgeted nervously. He loved her in this state, dank and unwashed, hair disheveled, flesh fouled with the stale semen that dripped from her labia and dried on her legs. But her delicate skin remained alabaster white and her beauty untouched under the filth and soot covering it. There was preserved the air of besmirched elegance about her, as of a comely and virtuous girl defiled. It was as yet however, only superficial. She was physically and emotionally soiled, but only on the surface. She was not yet truly Devadasi and her inculcation had only begun.<br />Yet the Baugwan intended to see it through- and enjoy it to the full.<br />He wondered if it had been so delightful training the white captive women of the mutiny a century and a half before. They had provided Kaghli and his followers with years, even decades of pleasure. Some of the present dasi were descendents of those hapless girls who had spent the rest of their lives at Hinja Punt.<br />He was already considering how he could obtain more fair skinned women. He was now certain they would be a highly prized novelty among Kaghli’s disciples. The McKinna daughters were the key. He would develop methods of enslaving Western women by experimenting on the two that he had. There was much to learn, but he was sure he could break them to the same discipline as the temple’s other Devadasi. It was just a matter of conditioning, training and time. <br />That was why they were here, at the edge of a pit containing dozens of large snakes. To push the older girl a little further into the whirlpool of depravity. It was time to take her training beyond elementary sexual indoctrination and rape. The traumas and the violations of her sex, will and identity, inflicted during the past week had ripped open her psyche. Her consciousness was exposed, fertile, like a reclining woman with her legs wide spread. It was time to plant the seed, he thought with appropriate analogy. Time to cum in her mind as well as her belly and conceive within her personality of the temple whore she was fated to be.<br />“What do you think, Pashuvama?” asked the Baugwan with mock sincerity. “Isn’t this a delightful, enchanted place?”<br />“I… I’m… I don’t like snakes,” she whimpered with a shudder. The white girl was unconsciously clinging to the Baugwan’s leg and did not see her tormentor’s evil grin.<br />He had been questioning her for days, probing for weaknesses and cracks in her psyche that he could use to break her. He was delighted to find she had a snake phobia. There was, very conveniently, a perfect place within the temple to exploit such fear.<br />“This room is very old,” he continued. “These are Kaghli’s serpents, referred to in the most ancient manuscripts of the temple. You couldn’t pronounce the name for this place in Hindi, but it is loosely translated as “the Hell Hole.”<br />Caroline looked up at him, her eyes pleading. Her pride and self-confidence had been largely broken down and there was nothing left but to beg with word and action for mercy. Mercy from a man who had none.<br />“Please,” she gasped, sensing he was about to subject her to something particularly nasty. “Please… I can’t stand snakes… I…” Her voice trailed off as she gazed into the pit, grasping even more tightly to his leg.<br />“But these serpents belong to Kaghli,” he said. “They are a phallic symbol of his power. They serve him as the avatars of his lingham and you must love them. You must love all of Kaghli’s servants.”<br />“Please, master,” she cried, her voice cracking. “Let me suck you… let me please you. Take me away from here. I promise I’ll do what you want. I’ll serve you.”<br />“But you must learn to serve all the worshipers of Kaghli. They are all your masters.”<br />Down in the pit many snakes of all sizes were crawling across the sandy floor. There appeared to be several deadly King Cobras among them. Suddenly, from a door at the other end of the pit a muscular man appeared. At first glance it looked like he was wearing a kind of strange, form fitting garment. It was only when she looked carefully that Caroline realized that he was in fact, naked. There was the oddest quality to his skin. All over his arms and chest were what looked like scales, gray in color. He stepped among the snakes without a care, as if he were immune to their venomous bite. Caroline shuddered and her toes curled nervously on the dirty stone.<br />“This is Jawa’s lair,” said the Baugwan. “The snake-man. He keeps Kaghli’s serpents as Shakaba keeps the dasi.”<br />The snake man looked up and grinned. Caroline shuddered at his appearance. He did fact look like a reptile. The scales were tattooed onto his skin, but he was also coated with oil so that the effect was shinny as the skin of a snake. To the white woman’s tormented, suggestion susceptible mind, he really was part snake; a serpent in human form.<br />“Please…” she whimpered. “Take me back to the cell. Take me away… Please…”<br />“Please, master,” corrected the Baugwan.<br />“Please master, please master,” repeated Caroline quickly. “I don’t… I hate snakes… They… They’re…”<br />Suddenly the Baugwan seized her chestnut hair and pulled it around, forcing the girl to look directly at his face.<br />“Whose slave are you?” he asked her sharply.<br />Caroline hesitated. She knew the whip could be seconds away and could see Shakaba uncoiling it in the corner of her eye. But she sensed that in this instance the whip was present only for effect. The real threats were the hideous creatures, man and reptile, in the pit. She felt the panic, the unreasoning, overwhelming fear of the phobia well up inside her. She was physically shaking now.<br />“Yours,” she answered, nearly choking on the words. “Yours and… And Kaghli’s.”<br />Caroline cringed and flushed with shame. In the past week she had discovered that she could avoid the lash only with the most servile obedience to the Baugwan. That lesson was obvious. But what she had also learned about more subconsciously was her own weakness. She had been so sure of herself before her capture; her virtue, her self-confidence, her inner strength. But she knew now that it was all an illusion. Here at the edge of a snake pit, at a place called the Hell Hole, she saw at last the ugly truth about herself. She was already in truth, a whore. <br />She was indeed willing to submit to the Baugwan’s lewdest commands. Willing to engage in the practices and wear the trappings of a temple prostitute, if only she could thereby escape the whip- and worse. Formerly virtuous and proud Caroline McKinna would do or say anything to stay out of that pit.<br />She had thought herself cleaver and indomitable in having found a way to outwardly placate them, yet inwardly maintain her detachment and dignity. Even though the orgasms engendered with each sex act confirmed the premise of her captors, that her body was vulnerable and indeed receptive to their lusts, she consoled herself that it was only a corruption of her physical body. Deep inside she still clung to her identity. The real Caroline hated what they were doing to her and her resistance was unabated. They may force me to do these depraved acts, she reasoned, but my soul remains clean.<br />Yet she realized at this moment that she had underestimated the Baugwan’s capacity for mental and spiritual manipulation. The game had changed and once again the feckless girl was overmatched. They were threatening her with something she simply could not face and she knew she would sell herself, body and mind to escape it.<br />Shakaba had taken hold of a long rope that hung from a pulley on the ceiling. He looped it through her wrist chain and secured it with a simple hook. Caroline’s blood ran cold. Were they going to lower her into the pit?<br />A wave of fright welled up inside the young white woman and she felt like bolting from the room. But the chain would prevent that and she summoned the last scraps of her courage and self-control to calm herself, attempting to reason it through. It was simply not believable that they would force her into a pit with deadly snakes. If they wanted to kill her why had they not already done so? She assumed this place was intended as a new threat and it was clear what the Baugwan wanted. <br />With a fresh blush of humiliation she found herself scheming inwardly, conniving exactly as a prostitute would, to give her body in exchange for escape from the Hell Hole. She would say and do whatever he required; barter her sexual favors for less suffering. But that was nothing new. She could survive it. All she needed to do was play and placate him as she was learning to do, in the age-old manner of a harlot- and block the shame from her mind.<br />“Please master,” she begged, trying to calculate just the right plaintive tone and cocking her head invitingly. She forced an almost convincing smile onto her stressed face. “Please let Shakaba fuck me in front of Kaghli. Please… Or let me fuck the god again… Or… Or suck you again. I… I’m starting to like it, master.”<br />The Baugwan smiled. “Yes, we will indulge you later, dasi. But for now, I want you to pleasure Jawa. You must learn to submit yourself carnally to anyone I choose.”<br />Caroline’s eyes widened with disbelief and panic when the African pulled on the rope, taking up the slack and lifting her arms over her head. She was dragged toward the pit whimpering and crying, terrified of the snakes even at this distance.<br />“You don’t have to do this!” she sniveled. “Please, I’ll do what you want.”<br />“I want you to fuck Jawa in the Hell Hole,” chuckled the Baugwan. “I want you to take his cobra into your belly.”<br />The rope pulled taut and the chain was stretched. Caroline had no choice but to hold onto it to alleviate the stress on her wrists. She was lifted from her feet and swung over the space above the pit. Hysterical screams tore from her throat as Shakaba began to lower her into the hole and she tried hopelessly to free herself from the end of the rope. The loop was too long and her wristbands prevented any escape. She looked up to see the pulley turning, creaking and groaning with her weight as she descended, naked and vulnerable into the serpent-man’s lair. <br />“Please… Oh god please… I’ll do what ever you want! DON’T PUT ME DOWN THERE!” she screeched.<br />“What are you afraid of?” the Baugwan asked smoothly.<br />“THE SNAKES. OH GOD, THE SNAKES… AND… HIM!”<br />“You are a Devadasi. You must charm them as you would all of Kaghli’s worshipers.”<br />Caroline was pulling on the chain between her wrists, attempting with pathetic desperation to climb back up the rope. But she didn’t have the strength to get far and if she removed the loop from the hook there would be nothing to support her. She screamed and kicked, her bare legs flailing wildly as she strove in vain to get a toehold on the smooth, vertical walls of the pit. The dark stone of the wall however, was just out of reach and with each passing second she descended further, closer to the reptiles.<br />“PLEASE, PLEASE!” screamed the white girl in abject terror. “Oh god, please, master… They’ll bite… No… No… Let me out, master, please…”<br /> “I was not impressed with your enthusiasm when I saw you being fucked yesterday by Shakaba, Pashuvama. You didn’t seem overjoyed with performing for him. And you did not fuck Kaghli with the alacrity I would expect from one of his Devadasi.”<br /> “I… I do love them, master… I love Shakaba, I love Kaghli… I… Oh master, please. The snake’s coming closer!”<br />“You must be totally enraptured with the thought of fucking, little one. You are here to serve Kaghli and his worshipers. You must have special feelings for Shakaba. He is the one training you to be fit as Kaghli’s slave.”<br />“I’LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT. I’LL FUCK ANYONE OR ANYTHING… PLLEEEEAAASSSSEEEE… AAAAAIIIIEEEEEEE!<br />She was screaming now, her shrieks becoming ever shriller, less like human cries and more like a terrified animal. She was only a few feet from the bottom of the pit and she writhed and screeched, dancing on air, her lovely body sheened with cold sweat.<br />Fortunately the area she was being lowered to was clear, for the moment, of the big cobras. But there were several elsewhere in the room and Caroline’s phobia was now out of control. She felt as if the stone walls were closing in on her, swallowing her up with the snakes. She let out an inhuman howl of pure, mindless terror as her bare feet touched the bottom and once again she tried to scramble up the chain. It was then that the rope went slack and the loop pulled through her chain. Her arms dropped free and the little hook ascended up to the pulley, leaving her stranded in the Hell Hole. Caroline lost control of her bladder.<br />Golden streams of urine gushed down her legs, splashing onto the soot-blackened floor. Caroline however, hardly noticed. She was standing, petrified. Even her screaming had abruptly stopped. She was simply too terrified to breathe as she watched the snakes slither only a few feet away.<br />The white girl looked helplessly at the men on the rim of the pit. She was sure they meant to murder her now. She would be bitten within seconds. But even the thought of death did not frighten her as much as the almost spiritual presence of the snakes and the snake man. Phobias work strangely. At that moment, Caroline would almost have welcomed death as a release from the torment of this place. Almost- the instinct to survive was still paramount.<br />She heard little whines of fear and realized that they were coming from her own mouth. Then there was a hissing sound behind her, she turned and screamed again.<br />Her sudden appearance and frantic thrashing had startled the cobra closest to her, which reared up and hooded in the classic pre-strike position.<br />“Run, Pashuvama,” laughed the Baugwan, calling into the pit. “Run to Jawa and beg his protection. Or perhaps you wish to fuck the snake and charm it?”<br />The white girl’s volition returned and she immediately scampered to a corner devoid of snakes and collapsed, sobbing.<br />“Please, Oh please let me out of here! I’ll learn to be a Devadasi, I swear I will. Please let me out!”<br />But the Baugwan simply laughed. She moaned with relief now that she was out of striking reach of the agitated cobra, but safety was only temporary. Two of the snakes, aggressively defending their territory were beginning to slither in her direction. Once again she cast a plaintive look at the Baugwan and the trainer, hoping they would see the surrender on her face and decide to rescue her.<br />“Go to Jawa,” yelled Shakaba. “He master of snakes. He protect you.”<br />“Yes, go,” said the Baugwan. “Offer yourself to him, whore. Sell your body in exchange for protection.”<br />“I can’t,” cried the hysterical girl. “HE’S A SERPANT MAN!”<br />“Yessss,” hissed the Baugwan. “And you must charm him before he bites. Charm him with your yoni, dasi.”<br />Caroline’s mind reeled. The terror had now taken on the sexual dimension she had feared. She was expected to have intercourse with this hideous man, a mystical personification of her darkest nightmares. He was going to enter her, not merely come close or slither over her. He was going to penetrate her body through the secret passage she had intended to keep only for her loving husband. The doorway to her soul, meant for conceiving babies naturally and with love. He would crawl up inside her and… Oh god, he would spit his venom. He would plant his snake-man seed into her womb and she would become pregnant- with little snake children. She lost control and retched onto the floor. <br />They allowed her to wallow in misery for a few moments, then Shakaba called down. “Better get up, girl, Cobra coming your way.”<br />Caroline was instantly jolted back to realty. She scrambled even further back into the corner, cowering as the snake inched closer.<br />“Please… Please…” she babbled. “What do you want? Take me out of here!”<br />“Go to Jawa,” said the Baugwan. “Fuck him now. We will pull you up after you have served him.”<br />The white woman was terrified of the sinister looking man, but obeying the Baugwan appeared to be the only way out. At the moment, Caroline quite simply would have done anything to escape the slithering denizens of the pit.<br />“Yes… Yes, I’ll do it,” she cried. “But please. Tell him to keep the snake away!”<br />“Go to him,” demanded the Baugwan.<br />“I can’t,” she wailed. “There’s snakes between us! Please master, lower the rope. It’s getting closer!”<br />“Perhaps you want to let the cobra slither right up your wet yoni, Pashuvama?” snickered the Baugwan with amusement. “Go to Jawa. Beg him to fuck you.”<br />“Please… I can’t get to him. Oh god please let me out of here. Master, I swear I’ll become your Devadasi. I’ll serve Kaghli, I swear! JUST PLEASE KEEP THE SNAKES AWAY!”<br /> “Fuck Jawa,” said Shakaba. “Go to his mat and fuck him. Make him cum inside you. After he spit his seed into you we lift you from the pit.”<br /> “Please… I might be bitten before then. Oh god, please!”<br /> “Make him cum Pashuvama,” said the Baugwan. “Beg him for it. Take his serpent’s semen into you.”<br /> Caroline was frozen, unable to will herself to move past the snakes to get to Jawa’s mat. “Pleeeaaassseeee,” she sobbed.<br />“Go to Jawa,” repeated the Baugwan, without a trace of mercy. “Or let the serpent take you.”<br />Across the floor of the pit, the snake-man lay comfortably on his mat as if relaxing, calmly ignoring the frightened woman’s commotion. There were two snakes between Caroline and relative safety, but they weren’t coiled. If she was fast she might sneak by them. The approaching reptile was very close now. The terrified girl made her decision.<br />She jumped and sprinted over to Jawa, just out of reach of the intervening cobras. She literally dove onto his mat and clung to him in abject fear. Her will to live had overcome even her total revulsion for the man.<br />“Please save me… Oh sir… Jawa… Master, please keep the snakes away.”<br />“I fuck you now,” the man laughed, as if nothing was wrong and they were in no danger.<br />“Yes… yes, all right” she agreed.” You can fuck me… but please keep the snakes away!”<br />The white girl could see the tattooed snake scales up close now. They covered his arms, legs and torso. Even his face had been marked to resemble that of a cobra. She was shaking uncontrollably, utterly repelled by what she saw as the pagan ugliness of his persona, yet inexorably driven to his arms as her only refuge.<br />Caroline reached for his phallus and found that it too had been tattooed to look like a serpent, complete with slit eyes on the glans. She recoiled, dropping her hand away instantly and receiving a vicious slap on the face from the snake-man.<br />“Dasi show more respect,” said Jawa.<br />She looked up at the Baugwan helplessly, hoping against hope to find a scrap of compassion. He simply frowned.<br />“The serpent is a living phallic symbol and a favorite of Kaghli,” he said. “You will take him inside your body and be filled with his essence.”<br />Caroline’s disoriented mind could offer no resistance. She reached down to grasp Jawa’s penis, gritting her teeth and straddled his body. She noticed it was already slick with some form of lubricant, oiled like the rest of his body. She guided the head of it to the folds of her spread labia.<br />His gray tattooed hands reached up to clamp onto her hips, pulling her down onto him as his serpent phallus slithered into her, crawling with smooth, oily purpose up to her very core.<br />Caroline’s mouth fell open and her eyes glazed, taking in the sheer abomination and degradation of the event. She felt the head of his lingam bottom out against her cervix and he reached for her collar, pulling her face close to his. Suddenly she screamed anew, confronted with one more atrocious horror.<br />He flicked his tongue onto her lips. It was forked like a snake’s. “Fuck me dasi,” he hissed. He opened his mouth wide and Caroline nearly swooned with disgust. There were two large, yellow fangs hanging menacingly from his upper jaw.<br />Driven only by fear and without conscious thought, the white girl began to hump herself up and down on his manhood. “Please don’t hurt me. Don’t bite me!” she wailed. The snake between his legs slithered right to her depths and back out again, over and over. She felt him snap his loins against hers on each downstroke, massaging her clitoris and sending bolts of unwanted tingling up her spine.<br />Caroline was shocked and deeply ashamed at her own arousal. Yet she could nothing to smother or escape the now familiar spasms of lust, which were tickling her belly and brain. They seemed to creep into her with terrifying suddenness, excising volition and inhibition.<br />She heard the men on the Hell Hole’s rim chuckle with lewd appreciation at the way she pumped her hips salaciously, gliding along his length, seemly oblivious to everything but her own fear and the odd pleasure that was beginning to trickle into her loins. It was happening again, the strange masochistic heat that rippled through her in ever intensifying waves. She was astonished that she was feeling it now, in a moment of such pure corruption and humiliation, but it was back. And seemingly stronger that ever before. It fed off the fear, the outrage, the humiliation. It seemed to mock her former virtuous identity, Caroline McKinna the chaste, virginal daughter, the pristine bride to be.<br />The white girl wept with overwhelming self-revulsion. Even in this horrible place and with this hideous snake-man, her wicked libido had been kindled and brought to flame. She threw her head back, her face contorted with shame at what she knew she was becoming. But the electric waves of forbidden pleasure sparking from her clit could not be denied and the truth could not be more evident. The feeling crystallized into a word, now screaming inside her head and echoing in her mind; DASI, DASI! Devadasi- of Kaghli!<br />Gasps of soul wrenching defeat echoed in the chamber as she began to fuck him with real mindless abandon, surrendering to the hot, debasing need in her loins. Jawa reached up to seize her breasts, pinching her nipples to wordlessly demand more enthusiasm and surrender to her rut. Caroline whimpered and complied, placing her soft hands on his chest and feeling his length pulse deep inside her belly. With each stroke the spongy head of his glans kissed her cervix like a viper’s tongue. She tucked the soles of her feet under his knees for better leverage and bore down onto him, groaning and squealing, wanting and reveling. Fucking the snake man!<br />Fuck, fuck hard, FUCK MYSELF ON HIM! Spontaneous thoughts flooded into her conscious mind. Fuck his big cobra and he’ll save me! He’ll keep the snakes away.” She was a dasi, a slave. But she had no choice. She was joining, intimately and physically with that which she most detested and feared, selling her body and all that she held dear within herself in order to escape death. And that knowledge was eating her spirit like acid.<br />His passion fully aroused now, the snake man clasped Caroline’s sides tightly and flipped her over onto her back. He settled his weight between her legs, driving his massive, tattooed manhood into her. The captive girl responded instinctively, wrapping her lithe legs about his torso and rutting back up to him. She could feel his body cover hers, felt her nipples rake against his chest. He brought his mouth to hers and drove his long, forked tongue between her teeth as if trying to reach down her throat.<br />The fucking did not last long. It couldn’t. It was a coupling born of basest lust and fear, seeking fulfillment as an end to itself. It was an orgy of the flesh such as the Devadasi excel at, pure loveless sex in ritual form. <br />The rhythmic thrust of Jawa’s hips continued with lewd intensity as the snake man reached down to stroke the girl’s clit. She was turning her head from side to side but he fixed her gaze with unblinking, hypnotic eyes. Maniacally torn between the terror and the pleasure, she watched him pick up one of the largest cobras, which had slithered up to the mat. She cried with shrill, staccato gasps and tightened the grip of her labia around his shaft as he wrapped the snake about his neck, smiling down at her expression of rank fear.<br />“No… Nooooo! It will bite!” she squalled.<br />“Dasi make me cum,” hissed Jawa. “Snake man’s essence make Devadasi immune to venom. But you must hurry. Make me cum and you live.”<br />The lust intoxicated white girl instantly became a writhing, thrusting, bucking piece of fuck flesh, her entire universe converging on the cobra hovering above her and the imperative of coaxing the semen from Jawa’s balls. She believed him. He was the snake-man and his semen was the antidote to the poison. She had to have it to survive and she was eagerly, desperately begging for it. She knew in her deepest being that only the irreversible consummation of pure whoredom could save her. Defile myself or die, she thought. She did not want to die. <br /> She was fucking him madly now, unconsciously making her vaginal lips bite with servile insistence. Her body wanted his venom, wanted to feel the squirts of his fecund essence. The pleasure was intense, blinding her along with the fear. A climax was breaking far more powerful than any she had ever experienced- an impossible mixture of terror and ravenous sexual dissipation.<br /> The cobra still coiled about his neck, but was moving, dropping. It looked down at her with an almost conscious evil as she lay panting, pinned helplessly beneath him. She watched with terror as the reptile hung inches from her face, it’s tongue flicking curiously. She gazed into its lidless, silted eyes, transfixed with trepidation.<br /> “Who is your greatest love, Pashuvama?” she heard the Baugwan ask from the rim of the pit.<br /> “Kaghli… I love Kaghli, master!” she answered. She snake was right in front of her face and she scarcely dared to breathe. But she continued churn and pump on Jawa’s lingam for fear of displeasing him- and her fulfillment was very near.<br /> “Yes,” continued the Baugwan. “And you will fuck Kaghli and his worshipers. Because you love Kaghli. Soon you will serve the pilgrims of Kaghli while they are here to worship him. You must fuck them with the same zeal you are showing now.”<br /> The snake curled around Jawa’s arm and continued to glide downward. Caroline barely stifled a scream as it began crawling over her belly, rising and falling with her agitated breathing. Caroline kept up the fuck rhythm, as the bright waves of pleasure radiated out from Jawa’s fingers dancing on her clit. The snake felt cold and clammy on her flushed skin and she could sense the rhythmic movement of the scales as the creature moved. It was slithering across her chest, head raised between her breasts now.<br />The serpent flicked its tongue onto her nipple as the white girl helplessly ground herself onto the full length of Jawa’s prick. Caroline clinched herself tightly on his manhood and curled her bare heels around his buttocks. Sexual pleasure and terror convulsed and intertwined within her and her emotions bordered on insanity. Then, startled, the cobra reared back, preparing to strike. Caroline was screaming, finally nearing delirium.<br /> “Ahhhhhhh, aaaaahhh, ahhhhhhh, please…” she screamed. “Take it away! I’ll do anything. I swear I’ll do whatever you want! Please… Take it away before it bites me!”<br /> “I don’t think you sound sincere enough, Pashuvama,” said the Baugwan, still toying with her.<br /> “I swear I love Kaghli… Oh please master… It’s going to… Please!”<br /> “Are you of the Devadasi?” asked the Baugwan calmly. “Do you love his servants?”<br /> “Yes, yes, I’m Devadasi! I’ll fuck them. I love them! I’ll fuck them all… OH PLEASE TAKE IT AWAY!”<br /> Panic surged through her body, mixing with a searing orgasm. She was writhing beneath him like a banshee, screaming and humping wildly with a final obscene surrender. His long gray dong was slamming in and out beneath her, buried to her very soul.<br /> “PLEASE HURRY! CUM IN ME PLEASE…! OH GOD PLEASE SQUIRT IT IN MEEEE! CUM IN MEEEE, JAAAWAAAA!”<br /> She felt his viscous jism, spitting like venom into her deepest core. Waves of pure carnal sensation washed over her as she screamed out the simultaneous release of her orgasm and her terrified revulsion as the snake prepared to strike.<br />Then it happened. The serpent struck her creamy breast just as her orgasm peaked. Caroline screamed, as she never had before as she felt the animal work its fangs into her flesh. Then all was blackness and she knew no more.<br /><br />Caroline awoke, gasping desperately for breath. She was drowning, immersed in cold water. No. There was air. She could breath. She had fainted and they had flung water into her face. She was on the rim of the pit again.<br />“Now I see you are back with us,” said the Baugwan. “Such bad form to faint as your lover cums, Pashuvama. You must show your lovers more consideration in the future.”<br />“What… What happened? The snake bit me,” she said, trembling, the memory coming back with frightening clarity.<br />“You made Jawa cum inside you,” laughed Shakaba. “His cum antidote for snake venom. You fuck Jawa good when you in pit. You fuck like that all the time… You make fine dasi.”<br />The once proud girl hung her head and sobbed with abject relief, thankful to be out of the pit and willing to do anything to remain out of it.<br />Baugwan thought about his next move. Having now vanquished her resistance, he knew it was time to methodically strip away her personality and all traces of the virginal Western lady she had been. He needed to act quickly, while the mental trauma of her time in the Hell Hole was at its peak.<br />He had Shakaba drag her from room to room in the vast temple complex, where she was compelled to repeat her acts of servile prostitution over and over. Each lover she accepted willingly. There was no fight or pride left in her. Her only thought was to avoid being placed in the horrible pit again and she knew that the loss of all virtue and dignity were a small price to pay.<br />By evening Caroline lay gasping, her psyche and identity ravaged by the ordeal. Almost psychotic, her mind was warped by the events of the day. She was convinced she had narrowly escaped death from a fatal snakebite. Her vagina was drenched with semen, her belly having welcomed the seminal flow of the dozen or so worshipers of Kaghli she had been subjected to. Such was the price they had extracted from her for survival.<br />She did not know that the Baugwan had manipulated her yet again. The cobras in the Hell Hole had had their venom glands removed, so that they were in reality harmless pets. She knew only that she had slipped further into the whirlpool of depravity that the Temple of Kaghli was sucking her into. This day she had truly been a whore. And she would be one over and over again in the future. For the first time, she truly knew herself to be a Devadasi.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 6<br /><br />It was one A.M. when Swana finally rolled off Brian. The boy was exhausted, having been ridden hard for four hours and coaxed, or rather forced, to give up three loads of sperm. It had been so easy seducing him. He was ripe, starved for sex and saturated with hormones. The former Devadasi’s wiles had been irresistible and untiring. She had played him expertly and gone for the kill with lightening speed. Now she owned him from his cute bubble butt to the tip of his pink little five-inch wang. Her plan was well advanced. <br />Swana wriggled from his sated grasp and lay at his side, running her hands over his chest. He was sullen, lost in thought.<br />“What is it darling?” she breathed.<br />“It’s… oh nothing. I was just wondering if we should ask the police to make one more search… Maybe they missed something the first two times…”<br />“Lover, It’s time to let go,” said Swana, soothingly. “She will probably never be found. She must have gone for a walk and been abducted. The victims are usually thrown into the rivers to dispose of the body. The animals get them and there is nothing to be found.”<br />He nodded sadly. It had been three months since his former fiancée’s disappearance and he knew that Swana was right. It was the only explanation.<br />Everyone, at the mission station, staff and family was at last giving up hope. The authorities were baffled. Though McKinna suspected the involvement of Hinja Punt there was simply no evidence and no one was willing to challenge the power of the Baugwan without overwhelming proof. At any rate, searching the Temple of Kaghli was out of the question. At last, reports were heard of two white women who were seen in a river a few miles away, devoured by crocodiles without a trace. The police had told McKinna and the others at the compound that they must face the fact that the girls were certainly dead.<br />Why, thought Brian. Why had she gone for a walk outside the safety of the mission’s walls without telling anyone? And what had happened to Elsbeth? <br />“It’s so odd that Elsbeth disappeared as well,” he said.<br />“Its not so strange,” said Swana, licking his ear. “Perhaps they went for a walk together. You know how headstrong Caroline was. She probably thought it was safe with the two of them.”<br />“Yes… that must be it,” he admitted, turning his face to hers to for a tender kiss. Thank god Swana was here to help him pick up the pieces of his life. He simply did not know how he would have coped without her support, her strength, her understanding- and her incredibly good fucking.<br />He had worried about how it would look when he’d announced their engagement so soon after Caroline’s disappearance, but it seemed that everyone had at least accepted it. Even McKinna.<br />Actually, Caroline’s father had been the most supportive. He was devastated by the loss of his beloved daughters and had nearly suffered a mental breakdown. But his love for the Indian girl he had saved helped him survive. In the end, he found that he needed her just as much as she had needed him.<br />McKinna lavished his affections and favor on Swana, doting on the Indian girl as though replacing his lost daughters. He totally supported Brian’s new romance with the native girl, understanding his sense of loss and his desire to move on. He had just announced his adoption of the Indian girl and had made her his sole heir to his vast fortune as a wedding present. More than anything he wanted to see the two young people he loved the most, happy.<br />McKinna would not have approved of their premarital sex, so they had to keep their present liaison secret. But it was a simple thing for Swana to sneak up to his room after everyone had retired. What McKinna didn’t want to know wouldn’t hurt him.<br />Brian felt her hand on his penis, stroking lovingly, provocatively. She knew just how to touch him and soon his vigor returned.<br />“Darling,” said Swana as she mounted him, guiding his newly responsive manhood to her wet femaleness. “She’s gone, you must leave her in the past. I know you loved her but you have me now. Let me show you paradise. Let me ease your pain.”<br />She descended onto his loins and without a word the white boy began to buck and rut beneath her. She smiled down and seemed to mold herself onto him. Deep, deep into her belly he thrust as the girl pressed tightly, clinging to his shoulders. Her rock hard nipples bounced against his and her vagina seemed to milk his organ with wicked hunger. He was indeed being sucked into heaven and all thoughts of Caroline McKinna slipped from his mind. <br /><br />Caroline sat cross-legged on a cushion in the Baugwan’s hall. The brazier was flaming brightly and the torches flickered on the walls. A faint smile crossed her lips. She was content and at ease for the first time in weeks and her being was diffused with a warm tingle that seemed to radiate from her belly out to her limbs.<br /> Her naked body was covered with red wheals and bruises, evidence of the beatings and whippings she had been recently subjected to. But they had never sent her back to the Hell Hole. There was no need. Whenever the white girl displayed any resistance to her training Shakaba would make a casual reference to the pit. That was enough to send the novice Devadasi to her knees pleading and quaking with fear. She was always an especially enthusiastic fuck for the remainder of the day.<br /> And fuck she did, several times a day with whomever Shakaba chose for her. He was honing her skills in every facet of the carnal arts, training her body to the peak of sexual response. Her mind and soul, however, were the target of the Baugwan. And it was time for another step toward complete whoredom.<br /> The liquid they had slipped into her water was a very old concoction. Countless dasi had been trained and manipulated with it and the temple’s worshipers and trainers considered it nothing less than magic. Most knew it contained opium, but there were also Indian herbal extracts and derivatives from rare plants that few men alive could identify. Even Western science was ignorant of some of them. The exact formula was a closely kept secret, known only to the Baugwan and his most trusted acolytes. Perfected over the millennia, the drug rendered the person who ingested it pliant and serene. It suppressed the will, yet left the subject alert- and extremely open to suggestion. It was the perfect drug with which to mold a new dasi’s thought patterns and modify behaviors.<br /> “Hello, dasi,” said the Baugwan pleasantly. “How do you feel today?”<br /> “I feel fine,” she said, her face utterly without expression. There was a slight glaze to her eyes and her voice was somewhat monotone, but she was certainly conscious and aware.<br /> “Good,” said the Baugwan softly, hypnotically. “You must relax. Concentrate on everything I say. Do you understand?”<br /> “Yes.”<br /> “You are a very lovely girl. So lovely. What is your name?”<br /> “Caroline.”<br /> “No,” he said, gently but firmly. “Your name was changed. You are Pashuvama now, remember? Say it, little one. Say ‘my name is Pashuvama.’”<br /> Her eyes flickered and there was a hint of resistance, but seconds later her voice intoned clearly, “my name is Pashuvama.”<br /> “Very good.” <br /> “Do you know who I am, Pashuvama?”<br /> “You are the Baugwan.”<br /> “Yes. That’s right. You must call me master. I am your master, am I not?”<br /> “Yes… you are my master.”<br />“Now say, ’my name is Pashuvama, of the Devadasi.’”<br /> She repeated the phrase, looking into his eyes for approval. She smiled when she saw his smile.<br /> He moved behind her, seating himself on a cushion. Pressing his open, hairy chest to her back he reached around to cup her breasts, drawing a sigh of pleasure from the drugged girl.<br />“Now, you must relax totally,” he said softly. “You are not going to be hurt today, Pashuvama. Today you are going to learn about your god/master Kaghli. You love Kaghli, Pashuvama. You want to please him, say it.”<br /> “I… I love Kaghli… I want to please him…”<br /> “Very good, Pashuvama. But to please Kaghli, you must know what he craves. You see, little one. Kaghli is the ravisher, the god of rape. His eternal lust is the violation of unwilling women, the corruption of virginity and innocence. Kaghli cares nothing for a woman’s race, or social status. Her former religion does not matter, nor does her family or marriage. Kaghli’s will is all that matters.”<br />The Baugwan caressed the satin skin of her belly, slowly circling her navel with his fingertips. Then he dipped his hand downward to her swollen labia, stroking them lightly and grazing her clitoris with a feather touch. Her eyelids drooped and she groaned with arousal.<br />“You love Kaghli, Pashuvama. He is the center of your universe, your master, your god. Kaghli is your ravisher. Yet Kaghli is not evil. No indeed, he seeks to possess, not destroy. He strives to give you pleasure, as well as pain. You love Kaghli.”<br />“I love Kaghli,” she repeated as programmed. “I love you… I love you, Kaghli!”<br />The white girl gasped as the fat Baugwan dropped his hand, to fondle the insides of her thighs before returning to her sex. He rubbed her vaginal lips languidly with one hand as he continued to palm her nipples with his other. Caroline closed her eyes and shuddered.<br />“You love Kaghli, Pashuvama. You love his followers. And you love me, don’t you?”<br />“Love…” she murmured, the hot tingling of pure lust coursing through her fogged mind. “Love you all… ooohhh… love it…”<br />“Show me, Pashuvama,” he whispered. “Show me how much you love.”<br />The Baugwan now sat in a lotus position directly behind her. He gently prodded her to turn around and she obeyed. She sat in his lap facing him, preparing to fuck in the favored Eastern style. Her legs straddled his torso and she felt surrounded with and supported by his body. She entwined her arms about him naturally and he pulled her toward him, pressing her upper body tightly onto his chest.<br />His smooth oily voice seemed to seep into her inner soul, creating an irresistible urge to please him, to obey and surrender to his lust. He took her hand and guided it to his rampant manhood.<br />“Put it in, little beast. Show me your love!”<br />“Love… love you…” she mumbled. Caroline pressed his thick organ to her vaginal opening and tucked it between the lips. She felt his hands now grasping her rear cheeks, pulling her downward onto his phallus.<br />“Aaaahh,” she gasped as she felt him glide into her. “Soooo good, master…” She began to hump him with instinctive coital motions immediately, cooing and crying out softly as the drug wormed its way into her subconscious, fueling her libido like an aphrodisiac.<br />“You love me, don’t you Pashuvama,” said the Baugwan. “And you love Kaghli.”<br />“Yessss,” she hissed. “Love you all. Fuck you all… fuck meeee.”<br />She was doing the work, rutting on his stiff organ and making her breasts to bounce lewdly. She gazed into the Baugwan’s face, surrendering to the golden warmth that coursed through her veins. The feeling of well being seemed to wash over her and she gurgled with delight. She couldn’t understand why she had thought he was evil. He seemed like the kindest man she had ever known and she never realized how handsome he was. When he smiled she felt complete, fulfilled. She knew he was telling her the truth and she trusted him totally. She loved the Baugwan.<br />Caroline smiled again and wrapped her legs about his back. She was eager to make him cum and feel his sperm. And she savored every sweet inch of his strong, piercing cock within. Her love canal seemed to grasp him of its own accord, drawing greedily from his balls.<br />Everything seemed so right, so finally in place after the weeks of chaos. She saw now how silly she had been to resist him and his god Kaghli. It was perfect bliss being taken and possessed. Perfect female existence. They were hers to submit to- hers to worship.<br />The drug swept her to the brink of orgasm and left her hovering there, deliciously, agonizingly. Only when the Baugwan reached below her rear cheeks and pressed a fat finger into her anus did she tumble over into the abyss of her masochistic climax.<br />“Yes…” she squealed as he clasped the cheeks of her ass and held her fast to his hips. Then she felt the gushes of his precious semen. “Yes, give it to me! Fill meeee… Masssssterrrrrr.”<br />The room swirled as torrents of raw pleasure poured into her brain. She was freed of the need to resist and be a good religious girl. Free to become what she now deeply wanted to be. A temple whore serving her idol master and his priest. She let out an inhuman scream of pure ecstasy as her hungry sex exploded with orgasm, drenched with the liquid fire of his jism. Then the waves crested and receded.<br />The drug left her lethargic and exhausted. She was resting her head on the Baugwan’s shoulder, trying to catch her breath. But the chemical still coursed through her blood, reminding her of the exquisite joy of sexual submission, blocking out all shame and virtue. <br />“Remember,” said the Baugwan. “Your name is Pashuvama and you love Kaghli.”<br />“My name is Pashuvama and I love Kaghli,” she intoned, glassy eyed.<br />“You are of the Devadasi.”<br />“I… I am of the Devadasi.”<br />“You are happy here, serving Kaghli.”<br />“I am happy serving Kaghli,” she gushed, gazing with longing through unfocused eyes.<br />The Baugwan’s concoction was still swirling through her brain as Shakaba led a smiling Caroline back to her cell, the Baugwan’s jism leaking slowly down her legs. <br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 7<br /><br />Caroline, or now Pashuvama as she was beginning to call herself more and more, was seated, sprawled undecorously at the Baugwan’s feet, feeling his thick, brown fingers stroke idly through her hair. They had weaned her from the drug and she was totally free of its effects for the first time in nearly a month. She was able to think somewhat clearly at last, but there was an oddly alien feel to her own thoughts. In addition, she was now subjected to the jittery, reason-numbing symptoms of withdrawal.<br />Everything seemed subtly changed. There were sensations, needs, drives within her body that she had never known about before. Compulsions of such instinctive power that they were virtually irresistible. And there were strange memories, dreamlike recollections of fleshly debauchery that she had indulged in with the Baugwan and others. They seemed so real, yet she could scarcely believe she had done such things.<br />She had been swept up by the unseen, mystical power of Hinja Punt and the mind of the Baugwan. But the methods were hidden from her. She remembered only an intense whirlpool of sex; relentless continual, ever more corrupting sex. Her cognizant mind was sick, literally ill with the memory of the things she had done in the past few weeks under the relentless training of the Baugwan and his black acolyte Shakaba.<br />She had performed acts totally opposed to her nature, her upbringing and her religion. Yet most puzzling of all was the fact that she felt fine physically and emotionally. Her intellect kept telling her she should be mortified, but her body even now echoed with the remembered ecstasy of every orgasm.<br />“My god, what am I becoming,” she muttered to herself, even as a chill spread down her spine. Deep inside she knew. She was becoming a whore.<br />She had been engaging in sex with the temple’s worshipers on a daily basis and continued to undergo Shakaba’s carnal training. She was in fact living the life of a whore each day, though the Baugwan had not deemed her ready to join the women of the Devadasi just yet. He had to be sure that her mind had been so enslaved that she would not try to escape and return to the mission if she had a chance. He did have a plan for that as well but it required a little more preparation before he could set it in motion. In the meantime, there was still work to be done on McKinna’s daughters.<br />Caroline fidgeted on the cushion nervously. The Baugwan’s touch was stirring the now familiar fire between her legs. She knew she should resist; that yet another vile act of prostitution was to be required of her soon. But somehow her will and inhibitions liquefied whenever a man touched her now.<br />Though her consciousness was finally clear, she was profoundly confused about herself. She simply could not be sure of anything anymore, even her own identity and personality. The only thing she knew for certain were the amorous feelings she had for the Baugwan and the god Kaghli. The oddest thing was that she didn’t know why that should be the case. She was not even remotely attracted to the Baugwan romantically, nor did she find his primitive, heathen dress and demeanor anything but repellent. Yet she felt strangely and compulsively drawn to him. She craved his touch, his sexual attentions- even, most inexplicably, his whip. It was almost as if she were falling in love with him, accepting her new life.<br />Suddenly a lovely young white girl appeared in the great hall, running naked onto the room, her long, flowing blond hair wisping behind her. She was lithe and tan, with a kind of wild look. The girl seemed to glide and dance with graceful movements, oblivious to anyone else. Like a young girl alone in a green meadow, she giggled with mirth and whirled about as if bubbling over with the joy and freedom of nudity.<br />She turned and Caroline could see she wore a curious kind of mask that covered her entire face. It was of strong Indian motif and skillfully crafted to resemble the god Kaghli’s visage as he had been rendered in countless carvings and statues at Hinja Punt. The mask fit the girl’s face securely, hiding all hints of her identity, but it did not seem to hinder her vision or movements. She continued to dance lightly, her steps and motions emphasizing the feminine but newly pubescent curves and angle of her body. She was truly a beauty of shapely perfection, but her dance was as yet, totally non-sexual.<br />Shakaba entered the hall presently and the white dancing girl made her obeisance, falling to her knees before him and casting her eyes at his feet.<br />He was carrying a whip; a long, evil implement that the black man uncoiled and handled with consummate finesse. He snapped the leather loudly on the floor to either side of the kneeling girl, but she did not make the slightest flinch. She was either well trained or trusted him implicitly- or both.<br />The black trainer circled her slowly, trailing the ends of the whip over the smooth flesh of her back and neck, down her spine. Caroline could see that the leather implement was in fact a cat, fitted with several frayed tips of cowhide. It was designed to inflict pain, but leave only temporary surface marks on the skin.<br />Shakaba allowed the cat to trickle like water running lightly between the soft globes of her rear cheeks, then down to land on the soles of her upturned feet. The girl’s tanned skin flushed with anticipation as she groveled at Shakaba’s feet. Surrounding them all the flickering light of the torches played over the hideous idols of Kaghli, making them seem to come alive with leering expressions of lust and desire. The very air in the pagan hall tingled with anticipation, suddenly charged with energy.<br />Caroline held her breath and gazed at the black coil of leather quivering on the white girl’s back. It was shinny and hypnotic. More than an instrument of punishment, its presence was almost animate and spiritual. The girl beneath gasped and cooed softly as if reacting to the caressing hand of a lover.<br />There was a low command from Shakaba and the girl reached down and began to masturbate. Caroline could see her hand working rhythmically, the slave girl’s toes curling unconsciously as she stoked her own arousal. He allowed her to stimulate herself for a few moments, until her golden hips began to undulate with coital motions and her needful cries became urgent. Then the black man lifted the cat and cracked it again, and the girl removed her pleasuring hands with a frustrated groan.<br />The Baugwan held a cylindrical object up before Caroline’s face. As her eyes focused she could see it was the shape of a large penis. It was ornately carved from some hard, jet-black material and at its base was the ubiquitous, tongue-protruding image of Kaghli.<br />“This is Lust,” said the Baugwan. “The Fetish of Kaghli. It is very old and has power and spirit of its own.” He handed the phallus to the kneeling girl.<br />“Show this new white girl how a Devadasi dances before Kaghli,” said the Baugwan. “…with his fetish of lust in her cunt.” He turned to Caroline and whispered, “watch Kaghli’s whore. Watch and learn.”<br />“Dance,” shouted Shakaba at the blond girl. “Dance for Kaghli.”<br />The girl sprang to her feet and inserted the fetish into her vagina with one thrust. She raised her arms high, arching her chest out and displaying her breasts boldly. The Baugwan clapped his hands and musicians hidden behind a screen began to play. The lovely golden-skinned female instantly began to dance once more. This time there was no graceful artistry or classic beauty in her movements. The dance was hard and jarring, and she thrust her hips in a way that could only be described as obscene. It was as if she were making love standing up with an invisible partner. Caroline could see the girl’s every sinew, every muscle staining to the mesmerizing Indian music, but not her face. It was still concealed behind the mask. <br />Caroline and her masters watched the show for several minutes. The girl was in good physical shape and she never tired. Her movements comprised a series of ultra lewd gyrations similar to a belly dance, only centered on her sex. Her pelvis pumped back and forth on the phallus, which she held in place with her vaginal muscles alone. Something in her mask rattled like a maraca. She was gasping and breathing heavily now, but not because of the exertion of the dance. Her nipples were protruding sharply and her sex glistened with wetness. On the floor her prancing feet smeared the droplets of her sexual receptiveness as it dripped with impudent voracity from her red, swollen labia. <br />Shakaba’s whip snapped wickedly on the floor, always inches and split seconds behind the girl’s bare feet. Whenever he thought the girl was not straining for maximum effort, the whip would be brought down solidly on the girl’s flesh, causing her to scream and writhe with even greater alacrity.<br />“You will observe, Pashuvama,” said The Baugwan, stroking the dark haired girl lightly on her puckered anus. “Dancing is one of the ways a slave girl may serve Kaghli. When it is combined with a ritual whipping it is an expression of a Dasi’s most fervent devotion.”<br /> He leaned forward to whisper lubriciously into her ear. “Do you not wish it was you dancing, Pashuvama. You who were showing her submission to Kaghli?”<br /> “Aaaaagggnnnn, ahhhhnnnnn, annnnnnnnnuuuuuhhhh,” the naked dancing girl screamed with each lash of the whip. Her small breasts bounced and jiggled and her rich hair tossed to and fro.<br /> Caroline was in a daze. The dance the girl was performing was degrading, foul beyond description- and fascinating. She was astonished by the beauty and sexual license, as well as the color of the girl’s skin. That such pure, base whorishness could be displayed by a white girl was shocking of itself, even apart from the idolatry it implied. But deep inside, Caroline felt the stirrings of her own libido. It was true. Part of her really did wish she were the one who was dancing with such utter carnal freedom. But another part of her conscious mind screamed with outraged protest at the thought.<br /> “She… she’s white… like me,” Caroline sighed, brokenly.<br />“Yessss,” the Baugwan laughed. “Like you, Pashuvama. She is a Nautch Girl. A dancer of the Devadasi. This dance is called Deva Yoni- the cunt slave. The movements focus the eye of Kaghli’s male faithful onto the doorway to the female soul and announce its hunger for maleness- for Kaghli and his worshipers.”<br />They watched, as the performance seemed to build with intensity. Shakaba was whipping the girl now in time to her steps, not viciously but with a methodical cadence. Caroline realized that the trainer’s lashes were actually part of the choreography of the dance. The pink stripes on the young girl’s skin, her sharp gasps of pain and the sound of the cat striking her flesh all added to the atmosphere of Eastern decadence. The dance was an expression of the girl’s enthrallment.<br />“Haaaahhhh, ahhhhhh, aaaannnnnhhhhh!” The Naught girl’s movements became almost frenzied as she cried out loudly with each successive blow. Caroline wondered how any woman could take such punishment, yet the sounds that emerged from behind the mask were not screams of agony. They more resembled those of a woman nearing a climax.<br />“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH, NNNNAAAAAAAAAAHHHH, AAHHHH, AHH, AHH, AHHH HAAAAAGGGGH,” she shouted, seizing the end of the carved phallic object and stabbing it into her love core with maniacal fury, shamelessly frigging on it as her feet continued to jig. The lashes from Shakaba’s whip fell on her back, the crackle of the leather interspersed with her cries of orgasmic ecstasy. Finally the Baugwan clapped his hands and the music stopped. The Naught girl went to her knees, collapsing in a heap of sweat and rasping exhaustion, her hands quivering, still holding the phallus sunk to the hilt between her cloven labia.<br />“This girl brings many men to Kaghli’s temple,” said the Baugwan after allowing her several moments to grovel on the floor. “She also has other skills beside dancing.”<br />He snapped his fingers and the Nautch-girl pulled the phallus from her ravaged core with a wet pop. In a flash she scrambled over to Caroline, pushing her onto her back on the cushions and positioned her face at Caroline’s sex. She pressed her own crotch to the protesting woman’s lips as Caroline moaned with revulsion.<br />“Don’t fight it,” barked the Baugwan at Caroline. “Open your legs. Use your mouth on her. You are Devadasi as she is and you must caress her yoni/soul with your tongue.”<br />Revolted, Caroline tried to hold her face away until Shakaba landed a lash of the cat on her rear cheeks, only inches from the mystery girl’s face. The blond girl had shed her mask now but her face was buried in Caroline’s crotch. Her agile tongue was playing with knowing skill over Caroline’s clitoris, and the feeling was instantaneous and devastating. Caroline’s belly erupted with bright lust. <br />“Yessss,” said the Baugwan. “Make love, take your delight. You must keep your bodies hot for the faithful. Revel in each other’s mouths and tongues!”<br />Caroline desperately tried to close her mind to what she was doing, but the sensations were simply too overpowering to resist. Especially with the merciless conditioning she had undergone in the past weeks. The salacious goodness fairly bubbled like a hot spring in her vagina and in seconds she was bucking her hips with fervid joy, licking the other girl’s wet, musky sex.<br />The Baugwan chuckled, pleased. “Ohhh yessss. You are Kaghli’s sluts,” he hissed. “Make each other cum. Prepare each other for Kaghli’s use!”<br />Minutes went by and the great brazier flamed, throwing an undulating play of orange and red light on their wicked entangled flesh. The dancing girl writhed on Caroline’s body, gliding through their mutual sweat. Caroline still could not see the girl’s face as it rooted between her legs. She was running her hands over Caroline’s skin and rubbing her budding breasts and firm, tan flesh onto Caroline’s creamy whiteness. Their crisis was building fast and Caroline’s need, already taut as a bowstring from the Nautch-girl's performance quickly gained fever pitch. The mystery girl took Caroline’s clitoris between her teeth and bit lightly, sending explosive waves of pure pleasure into her addled brain. She convulsed with sensation, rocketing into orgasm with a shrill squeal of delight.<br />Ahh, ahhh, ahhhh. Please… Yes… Ahhhhh please… Bite me! Ahhhhhhh.”<br />The dancing girl too humped her sex against Caroline’s pleading lips and gasped with climax. Finally both girls sighed and collapsed, falling into a mound of steaming, stinking female meat. <br />Caroline could hear the two men laughing, muttering to each other. She smiled with post orgasmic bliss as the Baugwan grasped the dancing girl by the hair and pulled her around to face her lover. Caroline pursed her lips to kiss the lovely female who had given her such a satisfying climax with her mouth.<br />An instant later the horror broke with naked intensity to shatter the remnants her fragile mind.<br />“No… Noooooo… NOOOOOOOO!” she screamed.<br />“Yes,” said the Baugwan. “Look upon her. She is wholly Devadasi!”<br />Caroline was seeing the most repulsive and shame inducing sight of her life, in the expressionless visage of a familiar face.<br />She recognized this girl who had danced so expertly and so lewdly for them, the girl whose oozing sex she had pleasured with her mouth and in whose lesbian embrace she had cried out with so devastating an orgasm.<br />It was her sister Elsbeth! SHE WAS BEAUTYFUL… AND SLENDER… AND… A TOTAL SLUT!<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 8<br /><br />Soour was rewarded for her performance with her sister.<br />They moved her out of the locked cell and into a little alcove in one of the corridors. The chamber that was now her home was windowless, carved from the solid black limestone beneath Hinja Punt. Separated from the main passage only by a curtain of beads, it was where the young white girl serviced the men who had completed the rites of the temple and made their offerings. They would fuck her and use her in any manner they pleased on the old mattress and the young blond would respond with boundless energy and enthusiasm. She was totally broken.<br />Late one afternoon Shakaba came for her. He smiled and took her by the hand, leading her up the familiar stairs toward the great hall. Soour assumed she would be used carnally there as usual, as part of the evening ceremony. But he turned instead down a dark, winding passage she had never been through before, one that she had always wondered about. The smooth, worn stones were cool under her bare feet as they wound their way by flaming torchlight to a shaft and up a spiral staircase. They ascended what seemed like hundreds of steps, through chambers and floors, past gloomy, mysterious passages cut into the rock. But Shakaba seemed to know exactly where he was going.<br />The white girl could sense now how big the Temple of Kaghli really was. She had no doubt that there were literally miles of tunnels and caves, cut into the rock like a huge, three-dimensional labyrinth. She felt so small, so lost and naked. She would have been terrified without the strong, reassuring presence of her black master.<br />In many of the side rooms and galleries Soour could hear the sounds of other dasi fulfilling their duties and functions as Kaghli’s whores. There was the rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh, the gasps and sighs of passion. From some chambers the crack of the whip and the sharp female cries of pain resonated with the rape and discipline of the temple’s rituals. Kaghli’s faithful indulged themselves zealously while worshiping him.<br />Everywhere the sounds of sex echoed through the corridors as Devadasi coupled with the followers of Kaghli, in all forms of sexual expression. The harsh, guttural mouthings of male pleasure mixed with soft, feminine cries and wafted down the corridors. Soour wondered if her sister’s voice was mingled among them. She smiled and squeezed Shakaba’s hand tighter. The temple was alive with life and joy.<br />The little white dasi felt the hot, tingling warmth swelling her vulva and reached down to fondle her throbbing little clit. She stumbled and had to reluctantly stop playing with herself. Her knees were getting weak from the anticipation of Shakaba fucking her. And he had quickened his pace through the passageway.<br />At the top of the stairs a long shaft led to an opening. A blue patch of sky dazzled her eyes. For the past several weeks she had been taken outside the temple, to work the grounds of the Baugwan’s opulent palace and so allow her skin to become tawny and inviting in the Indian sun. But she had been underground for days during this, the pilgrim season and her eyes had grown accustomed to torchlight and gloom.<br />They were in the open now, outside the complex. They passed through the ancient outer walls of the temple, along a stone path overgrown with jungle vines and undergrowth. Soour stumbled on her bare feet and wondered where the great African was taking her. The path snaked up a cliff face, still covered with thick foliage. In many places the footing was treacherous and Soour fell. But her trusted master caught her and they resumed their climb.<br />They finally emerged onto level ground, in sight of a stunning waterfall, tumbling over a cliff made of the same black stone as the temple itself. Shakaba led her up another stone staircase, hidden behind the waterfall and drenched by the formation’s copious spray.<br />Here the water had flowed in ages past before cutting further into the rock overhead. It had left a shelf in the cliff behind the waterfall, a tiny cleft curtained from the bright sunlight by the water cascading from above. The floor was covered with soft, white sand and the rays of the sun filtered through the water, creating a moving kaleidoscope of flashing color on the limestone.<br />Shakaba sat cross-legged on the ground, his ebony skin in sharp contrast to the bone white sand. He beckoned her to stand before him and reached up to seize her rear cheeks, grasping handfuls of her firm, soft flesh.<br />She smiled and cooed subserviently. He wanted her to straddle his seated form. She liked doing it that way, facing his hard, dark body and looking upward into his handsome face. <br />Shakaba smiled as she wrapped her legs about him and sat. He ran his callused hands up and down the satin smoothness of her back, feeling the exquisite tension of her young, toned muscles.<br />He leaned back and bought his greedy hands to her chest. He pinched and pulled at her nipples, working them into erection. Her young breasts responded and swelled and he reveled in their glory. She was just sixteen, and the areolas were still puffy with youth, growing and blossoming with life. With a grunt of triumph her pulled her forward, crushing their firmness to his hairy chest.<br />With one hand he captured her head and forced his open mouth to hers. His tongue swirled and probed deeply, moving in and out with ravishing greed. It seemed to foreshadow what she knew he was going to do to her sex in a few moments. But there was plenty of time.<br />He pulled her golden hair back and pushed her away, just to look upon her, as if to gloat over her beauty and admire the slut he had created by his own hand. She just sat there on his lap, defenseless and nude and, feeling very vulnerable in the rugged confines of the rock cleft.<br />It was astoundingly beautiful. The stone surrounding them was dark as a womb, but color and brightness seemed to be everywhere. It was the water and the sunlight; the incandescent interplay between the two as it filtered through the opening. Soour saw the light gleaming in her master’s eyes as it reflected with urgent intensity. This little cave seemed so alive, so fertile. A perfect place for her lover to fuck her.<br />Once again his arms drew her. She brought her lips to his face and trailed them down below his chin.<br />“I… I like it here,” whispered Soour onto his black neck. “It’s so pretty…” She felt his manhood swell as it nestled between her legs. From weeks of intensive experience knew it was stiff enough to serve his need. She lifted herself slightly and reached down to guide it to her yoni, taking care to rub it on her slick labia before centering it.<br />“Ahhhh,” she gasped as he pushed in. She had never gotten used to his size. But that didn’t matter. She had to take it no matter what. She was dasi- he was male. The great ebony shaft pushed her labia aside, as if disdainful of their feeble attempt at resistance. Like a javelin aimed at her vitals it thrust upward, not stopping until it imbedded itself into her spongy cervix. Then he held her in place with his massive arms, thwarting any possible actions of her part to escape or move from his organ.<br />“Wha… what shall I do? What do you want?” she asked meekly, shyly. She had long since left behind both modesty and inhibition, but she was still overawed by the huge African himself.<br />“You,” he growled. “I take you white girl’s soul.” <br />Soour suddenly knew what Shakaba meant. And why she was here. She was being brought to the mystical apex of her destiny, the white-hot center of religious prostitution. There to be forever confirmed as Kaghli’s whore. That very fact made her libido race. She would please him, but he would show her precisely how. She would submit, but it would still be him taking, conquering- as Kaghli himself.<br />Somehow, in this beautiful, exotic place, being a sex slave seemed natural, even proper. She sensed that this rock was a special place to her trainer and that she was not to give herself here. She was to exist, helpless and female, a lovely body to be raped. Here they would share souls in a communion deeper than mere voluntary sexual surrender.<br />But this physical place was merely a setting, a matrix for an event that would take place in her mind and spirit. These were the things her trainer wanted to possess. <br />Now, impaled on his rampant shaft the white girl felt his hands clasping her pelvis. With his massive arms he raised her almost off his manhood, only to bring her slowly back down. She sucked in her breath with excitement. She had sex daily with many men, but it was never as good or stimulating as when Shakaba himself took her. She felt utterly helpless as he began pumping her up and down, probing her guts and setting a rhythm. She joined the action, taking care to move her hips with the exact beat he demanded.<br />He watched her through narrowed, smoky eyes as she worked herself up and down. Each little wiggle slid her naked chest against his deliciously. He stuck his tongue out and she captured it like a nipple in her mouth, suckling like an infant.<br />“Mmmmmuuuuuggggh,” she grunted. “Maaaasthh… Masthhhhhteerrr, pweeeese…Take me. Want your, uuuuuggggghhhh… Want your cock…”<br />Soour placed her hands on his shoulders to gain more leverage for her downward thrusts. Each time their bodies met with a fleshy slap she thrilled to the feel of his wiry pubic hair rasping on her clit. The jerking of his hips grew sharper, more insistent and she sensed he wanted to cum in her quickly. He had more planned for the evening and this little interlude was just to set the tone. She smiled and dug her heels into his buttocks. <br />Now the energy of their rut was unrestrained. He was moving in and out of her, thrusting deeply with all the power and sinew of his powerful frame. She felt and looked utterly helpless on his lap, yet her body bucked and wriggled as she hurled herself back to him with abandon. They rushed quickly toward fulfillment and the wave broke with cosmic violence.<br />“AAAGGHHH, white dasi… Shakaba fuck you living soul… Shakaba you god!” he shouted.<br />Soour went rigid, pressing herself to him with all her strength. Though she would rather have savored their coupling with orgasm after orgasm she knew the magic of the moment was not in its length. She was performing a religious act of spiritual whoredom and her master’s needs and wishes were paramount.<br />The rainbow of colors filtering through the waterfall swirled around her and time seemed frozen. She lived an eternity as his slut, sitting belly to belly, impaled on his maleness. Semen gushed in an endless torrent from the head of phallus and all temporal existence surged into her welcoming womb. <br />Then it stopped.<br />Soour struggled to catch her breath as she returned to reality. But the bright little rainbows were still dancing about them and she became aware of the pounding roar of the waterfall. <br />He held her closely, with genuine tenderness as they sat. She rested her head against his collarbone, running her hands affectionately over his hairy black chest. They remained joined by his manhood, now flaccid and still in her liquid depths.<br />Soour reached down idly to stroke their mated organs, delving her fingers into her leaking vagina and coating them with his sperm. She brought them to her lips and licked them clean. The big black man grinned.<br />“You like man-juice. That very good for you. You like Shakaba fuck you here?”<br />She nodded with a shy smile.<br />“This place special,” he said, gesturing to the cave about them. “Called Kaghli’s eye. Shakaba bring you here because you special. You Shakaba’s little white dasi whore.”<br />The white girl smiled. She understood. The shape of the cleft and the sunlight through the water really made it seem like being inside an eyeball. She cuddled closer to Shakaba, tucking her cheek under his chin. She held him, smelling the musk of his skin. She stuck out her tongue and licked some of the drops of sweat beading on his neck.<br />“Master, what will happen to my sister?”<br />Shakaba sighed. “She very stubborn girl. She have soul of Devadasi like you. But she fight it. Her training be harder for her, but we still win. She be good whore soon, you see.”<br />Soour sighed. She felt sorry for her sister. If only she could see. To survive at Hinja Punt a woman could neither resist nor passively acquiesce. She must transform into a living harlot of the stone god, to be taken and violated ceaselessly even as she worshiped her ravisher. <br />Soour clung to Shakaba and they sat for a time, listening to the water rush over the falls. Long moments of blissful, wordless communion passed and they breathed in unison, still joined as one.<br />In time she felt her lover’s phallus twitch, watched the light playing on his face and the reflections of the water sparkling in his eyes. She had never known a more handsome and desirable man and she knew the secret at last. He was maleness. He was Kaghli, the embodiment of the god’s avatar in physical form. From him she drew the sustenance of her fragile life. Her very existence issued in viscous, creamy jets from his potent balls. And she was greedy for more.<br />“Master,” she breathed into his ear with desperate urgency. “Please fuck me again. Please… Rape me!”<br /> <br />The sun had fallen by the time they were sated. The waterfall was dark and the hollow of rock about them was smothered in an inky blackness. Soour would have been afraid except for the presence of Shakaba. They slept and the girl could smell the damp, musty atmosphere of the cave, mingled with the scent of their raw, consummated sex. They lay intertwined until a round, pregnant moon rose, casting its iron-hued light into the cave.<br />Shakaba finally got up and clasped her hand. They left Kaghli’s eye, but they did not head back down the stair as she expected. They traveled up, into the jungle through tangled paths the black trainer seemed to know with precision.<br />In a clearing they came upon a huge enclosure and oversized pole buildings made from the native teak.<br />There were elephants here, kept by the temple and used to do the heavy work of harvesting timber on the sect’s extensive lands. A small hut, lit with the feeble rays of a few shadeless light bulbs housed the overseer and Shakaba spoke to him. He grinned and ogled the white girl openly and she fidgeted coyly on her tan, bare legs.<br />After some brief consultation, Soour was compelled to service the man with her mouth, after which the overseer brought one of the elephants to Shakaba and bowed.<br />The elephant knelt and the big African climbed onto its back. He ordered Soour up, reaching down to help her climb aboard the great beast and laughing at her awkwardness as she scrambled naked up its side. On its back was a padded platform, secured to the animal with massive leather belts. Shakaba motioned the girl to lie down flat on her back, positioning her directly over the animal’s massive spine. She was comfortable, but her pelvis was hunched up as though he had put a pillow under her rear. Then he took a soft, stout strip of leather and wound it once around the young, white Devadasi at her upper abdomen. The ends were tied off to rings in the platform. Her arms and legs were quite free, but she was stuck fast to the elephant’s back.<br />The girl was slightly puzzled. She felt sure he was going to use her carnally, but why did he have to tie her down. He knew she would give herself willingly, even eagerly. She did not need restraint or coercion. But then she remembered. She was not for her to yield, her sexual favors were not hers to give. She was to writhe and fuck back helplessly while he ravished- while he took!<br />“Haaaupppt,” shouted Shakaba and the huge beast began walking at a leisurely pace through a wide path in the moonlit jungle.<br />The white girl quickly discovered why she was tied in the exact position she was in. When the elephant walked, the enormous energy of his hind legs was transferred to a gentle but firm jolt to his backbone. She was tied, open and vulnerable. With every step he took, Soour’s belly and crotch were thrust upward, in an exact parody of the motions of sex. She smiled at her trainer/lover’s cleverness.<br />Shakaba removed his belt and loincloth and mounted her straight away.<br />The young white girl spread her legs and placed her bare feet on the elephant’s rough hide. She took Shakaba’s manhood and placed it at the entrance to her vagina, where the motions of the animal’s spine soon worked it into her already wet love canal.<br />He descended on her slowly, deliciously; giving her a little more with each step the elephant took. In seconds she was once more filled with him and felt the kiss of his huge balls on her upturned anus.<br />There was an odd cadence and rhythm to the thrusts, just a bit slower than she would have set. It was so bizarre, like being strapped to a fucking machine. Yet it was not mechanical at all. The fluidity of the animal’s movements and the slight variance to its gait meant that the thrusts were slightly offbeat, the rhythm syncopated. The subtlety of it was driving her to distraction and priming her libido.<br />Shakaba held himself rigidly still for the moment and Soour’s head swam. They were both rutting prodigiously yet neither of them was working. She felt like a puppet, thrusting her hips without volition or will, as if a wicked, unseen hand were irresistibly controlling her loins. The tiredness that slowly built during the exertion of intercourse, limiting a normal act of fleshly union was absent. She was free of the bonds of fatigue. Tied to the back of this animal she could be fucked mercilessly for hours. But paradoxically this knowledge rushed her climax. <br />Soour lifted her slender legs and wrapped them around her lover’s back as the elephant trotted on into the night. She gasped and gazed up at him, but could not see his face. His body was indistinct, like a phantom in the darkness, a black void against the moon and stars overhead. But she could feel the corporeal strength in his arms and her soft hands clung to the rock solid muscles of his shoulders. Soon the girl was screaming insanely as wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure washed over her, cuming like an animal whore.<br />But her abject surrender ended nothing. Still the elephant strode on, still the huge black manhood pistoned in and out of her sex with relentless audacity. Proving again that her resistance or capitulation was irrelevant. She was a female body to be raped and defiled.<br />Her mind foundered inert for the moment, her passion spent. But as he continued to fuck her and her body continued to thrust back, it imparted an incredible feeling of helplessness that dragged her consciousness back to her body. It was an aphrodisiac and stimulant of astonishing strength.<br />She heard Shakaba’s knowing laugh and he issued a sharp command to the animal. As its gait quickened, her lust returned with renewed intensity. She was thrust up to him even faster now, fucking him back with intense speed and energy. Yet still she did not need to work her hips. She could concentrate on massaging him with her internal muscles and caressing his back with her hands and heels.<br />Her black man turned his face to the moonlight and trumpeted his lust into the night. She could now see his features and looked into his handsome, Negroid face. She had never been roused to such love, such pure, sexual worship.<br />Without having to exhaust themselves, the incredible sex act was limited only by Shakaba’s control and the animal’s stamina, both of which were considerable. The elephant never tired from the brisk gait and the African held out for over an hour. The bound girl built up and screamed out several orgasms, each more intense than the last.<br />Finally, he grasped her tighter and shouted another command to the beast. It picked up the pace even faster. The two lovers were intertwined now, the white girl oblivious to everything but the thrusting of his huge lingam and the massive rouge orgasm building within her. At last she head him gasp and shout, felt him push his great organ up tight against her cervix and hold it there. Her clitoris was pressed tightly against the base of his manhood and Soour literally tumbled into delirium with sensation.<br />“Take it, sow,” he breathed. “Take it now in white belly!”<br />“Mas… ter… Love… You… Cum in… Meeeeee…!”<br />Then time and space exploded. Gush after torrential gush of semen erupted like a fountain inside her. She knew his fecund seed was flowing into her receptive womb and relished the possibility that he was pumping his baby into her. But most exciting and rapturous of all was the fact that she had absolutely no control, no place in the decision. It made the masochistic orgasm that tore through her belly and brain even more profound, pushing her over the edge, into the abyss of a final, mind-rending climax. <br />Soour actually swooned. When she regained her senses, the animal was walking towards the temple a short distance away. Shakaba’s huge manhood was still lodged inside her, still deep and powerful, but deflated now. She groaned and held him inside, not wanting to give up the wonderful object between her legs. It was soothing and comforting to be in his arms, the feeling alloyed with the delicious knowledge of her utter helplessness. She pressed her warm, naked body to his and sighed onto his shoulder in perfect happiness.<br />She was just a small, very young, delicate white girl, naked and impaled on the massive lingam of a huge African. Bound to the back of the huge elephant. She felt powerless and weak, but surrounded by strength and potency.<br />When he finally pulled out of her, that potency oozed from her swollen labia and glistened in the pale moonlight, shouting her whorish status with fetid glee.<br />Soour had found paradise.<br />Shakaba smiled and released her from the belt, helping her from the animal’s back. Soour held to her black god/lover with trembling arms as he led her back to her chamber. <br />It was so good!<br />So good to be alive and young and beautiful, she thought. So good to be possessed by a man of such strength and ardor and masterful will. So good to be vulnerable and captured and the object of his irresistible lust. And so very, very good to be a temple whore.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 9<br /><br />Caroline was curled into a ball on the floor of her cell, brooding with the memory of how she had acted with her sister. There seemed to be no bottom to the dark hole she was she was plunging into, nor any way out. And the most humiliating thing of all was the servile way her body had surrendered and enjoyed it.<br />In the iniquitous ambiance of the great hall it had been all too easy. Simply submit and avoid the sting of the trainer’s whip. It was like an equation. But here, alone with her own thoughts, she knew that such calculations were the essence of prostitution.<br />She realized that the Baugwan was continuing to work on her. The ultimate goal of all she had been subjected to was the breaking of her deepest self, to so completely mortify and desensitize her as to mutate her into a willing slave. And he had unlimited time to accomplish his objective.<br />Still however, something within Caroline resisted. The training had effected deep changes in her psyche and mind. She was obedient now to the discipline of the temple and it’s demands on her flesh, but she was not truly devoted yet.<br />For some weeks her sanity had hung by a thread as her training progressed and the Baugwan employed his tricks and wiles to break her. He had not been able to do so. For the captive white woman had discovered an effective mental ploy which she clung to like someone dangling from the edge of a cliff.<br /> It was utter psychological simplicity. She finally admitted to herself that she was in fact, a whore. Like a ruse this fugue of the mind had allowed her accept and justify the debauchery in which she partook and yet cling to the last thinly stretched lifeline to Caroline McKinna and her own soul. But it came with a terrible price.<br />As week after interminable week passed, it was always the same. In order to avoid the whip, or the Hell Hole, she would fuck each man they sent to her with enthusiasm and alacrity. Turning off her mind and letting her body to hump and wriggle like a nymphomaniac. She frequently achieved a real orgasm and had little trouble faking the odd time when a man did not distil her lust. After the act she would smile and towel him off and perhaps caress him as he dressed. Then she kissed him goodbye, with an entreaty to return and make new offerings to Kalhi.<br /> Between men was the worst. As she prepared herself and the room for her next lover she had time to think and reflect. As she lay on the bed, the smoldering embers of her libido would die and she would be sitting there alone, semen leaking from her labia, her hair disheveled, eyes staring blankly. Often she would break down and sob, drowning in a sea of self-pity and degradation. Revulsion for what she was doing and what she had become washing over her like a tidal wave.<br /> Always though, she survived, body, soul and mind, thanks to her ruse. She was a whore and a woman of base sexual needs. She could live with that.<br /> The Baugwan knew he could not trust her, as he could the younger girl, to walk naked in the streets of Tanjore and surrounding villages with the other Devadasi, inviting men to Hinja Punt. There was still a chance she would rebel or run. He was a keen judge of women and was sure she needed one more turn of the screw to bind her mind completely, one more push into the abyss. <br /> “Prepare yourself dasi,” shouted Shakaba through the bead curtain and startling her out of her reverie.<br />The Baugwan insisted that she keep herself clean and groomed as a Western woman. Her hair was to be combed and her body fresh for each new man. She hurried down the hall to bathe and douche, then back to the room to apply a few daubs of scent. Though she was naked and banded, she was to appear to the worshipers as newly captured, an unspoiled trophy of their god.<br />Caroline finished her ablution and returned to the room. She met the pilgrim on her knees. He was a younger man, though somewhat scrawny and bug-eyed.<br />“Welcome master,” she said with a radiant smile. “I am Kaghli’s dasi. How may I serve you?”<br />“Undress me,” he said simply.<br />She rose and obeyed, carefully folding and placing his garments on a chair.<br />“On your back,” he said. “You will pleasure me first.”<br />The white girl reclined on the bed and spread her legs.<br />The man mounted her without the slightest foreplay and after he had inserted his manhood and began the act, he pushed his face to her ear.<br />“Are you Caroline McKinna?” he whispered.<br />Caroline was so startled she gasped with astonishment and nearly stopped humping. But she managed a quick, “Ye… Yes… unnngh.”<br />“I am with the police. I’m here to ascertain your whereabouts in the temple. Is this the normal place you are kept?”<br />“Yes… oh, you’re so deep.”<br />“We are going to get you and your sister out of here soon,” he continued. “Be prepared. For now we must consummate this interlude to avoid attracting suspicion. Make me cum, then I will whip you.”<br />Caroline began to move against him with incredible lewdness, the thrilling prospect of freedom manifesting itself in the need to bring him to climax. Even the conscious knowledge that she was practicing pure harlotry did not disturb her in the least. She was a whore and this was simply one more act of prostration.<br /> <br />Caroline sighed as the long, thick penis of the fat stranger who was fucking her moved in and out slowly. She smiled up at him and cooed, to make him think she was enjoying it. She tried to relax. This man was a regular and he liked to set his own pace and shag her for a long time. That was fine because she was finding hard to concentrate.<br />It had been several days since her encounter with the man who had said he was with the police. She was beginning to wonder if her tormented mind had imagined the event, or if it were simply another game being played by the Baugwan. If it was his work it had been effective. The sudden hope of rescue and return to her old life had caused unexpected inner turmoil and kept her on edge emotionally. There was something that troubled her about it.<br /> It was days before she realized the stunning truth. She was terrified of going back. How could she explain to her father what she had done to survive- what she had become? She thought with bitter irony how far she had fallen. It seemed centuries since she’d been Caroline McKinna, a young virgin about to be married. Once she had thought of rape as a fate worse than death. Now she would willingly, eagerly spread her legs to fuck any man if it meant escape from the lash or heavy labor. She had dreaded the thought of the brown men touching her and longed for escape from the temple. Now her secret fear was that she would be rescued and find that the girl she had been, the independent, virtuous, modest Caroline no longer existed.<br /> When the man had tired, he ordered her to straddle him and do the work. She was fucking the man as he reclined on his back, her feet flat on the mattress and squatting on his loins. Her breasts were bouncing with salacious boldness and she was humping with frenzied enthusiasm when three uniformed men entered the room. She nearly fainted with surprise and shame, pulling off the man just as he spent gushes of pearly semen onto her belly and breasts.<br />They stared at her blankly as she sat beside the mattress, attempting in vain to cover herself with her arms, jism cooling on her skin. Shakaba followed the officers into the cell moments later and pointed. “That her,” he said, sullenly.<br /> <br /> The police had said curiously little to the McKinna girls as they were driven back their father’s mission. They were given blankets to wear but Caroline wished in vain for decent clothes and begged them to cut the brass bands of the Devadasi from their limbs. The officer had told her pleasantly to keep quiet and enjoy the ride. Elsbeth sat beside her sister, staring out the window and never uttering a word.<br /> They were taken straight back to the compound and although Caroline flushed with the idea of meeting her father while still smelling of dried semen, she was overjoyed when they arrived.<br /> All during the trip back she had pondered the future. Wearing clothing and behaving like a respectable Western girl once again would take some getting used to. And she knew deep down that the odd, forbidden urges and feelings in her sex and brain could never be fully excised. She would need time and understanding to heal. But would Brian give that to her?<br /> They were summarily pulled from the car and left in front of the office without a word from the police. Then the car left and the gate clanged shut behind them. They were home. But where was their father?<br /> In moments the office door opened and the girls smiled to see a familiar face. It was Indra, the old matron.<br />For some reason though, the Indian woman would not meet their eyes. She seemed to look over them and there was a strange and inexplicable air of superiority in her expression.<br />“Indra, where’s father?” asked Caroline.<br />“Your father is dead,” said Indra coldly. “So is Brian.”<br />Both girls were stunned to silence. With all they had gone through this latest tragedy hung in the air, uncomprehended while they simply stared with horrified expressions.<br />The old Indian woman continued, a cruel hardness to her voice. “Three months ago he and your father were working on a satellite mission near Tanjore when they were attacked by bandits. The bodies were found days latter.”<br />The McKinna girls looked at each other. There was nothing to say. Even if there had been they would have been interrupted rudely. The Indian matron was pushing them into the office insistently, ignoring their shocked grief.<br />“Inside both of you… hurry.”<br />They entered the office and Indra told them to stand and wait.<br />“The mistress will be about shortly,” she said.<br />“The mistress?” asked Caroline, puzzled. “Who are you talking about?”<br />“Brian and Memsaib Swana were married soon after you disappeared,” said Indra. “And Master McKinna named her his heir. She owns everything your father and Brian once owned.”<br />“And I own you as well.”<br />The girls turned. Entering the door behind them was Swana and a huge Indian man.<br />Caroline’s mouth gaped. She barely recognized the obnoxious young Indian girl. Swana was well fed and very well dressed. There was a palpable quality of pride and confidence about her.<br />The big man circled quickly around the white girls as they stood gazing with amazement at Swana. He seized the blankets they had wrapped about them and ripped them away. Instantly they were both as they were in the temple; naked, save for their brass bands and lewd tattoos.<br />“So,” laughed Swana. “You are both of the Devadasi. A very old and noble vocation…”<br />“It wasn’t by choice,” said Caroline. “We were kidnapped… forced to become dasi. We don’t… aaaggghhhh…”<br />The big Indian had seized her by the throat and was now squeezing with a vise-like hand. “Whore not interrupt her mistress,” he hissed. “She get sore neck.”<br />“I know all about your abduction,” said Swana. “I arraigned it.”<br />“You arra…” gasped Caroline. “But… Why… How?”<br />“To get rid of you of course and take your fiancée. You father’s estate was just a bonus, but he was stupid and easy enough to handle. As to how, I simply let the Baugwan’s men into the compound the night you were taken and led them to your room.” She grinned at Caroline’s expression of humiliation and horror. “Yes, dasi-slut. I made you what you are today.” <br />“What… what do you want from us?” asked Caroline.<br />“You are going to work for me now, in my thriving business.”<br />“Doing what?” asked Caroline apprehensively.<br />Swana gestured to the building surrounding them, “This really is a fine facility,” she said. “Very well suited for a religious compound- or a house of pleasure.”<br />Caroline frowned for a moment, then she grimaced with disgust. “You… you turned my father’s mission into a… A brothel?”<br />“Yes,” said Swana, beaming with triumph. “And now you two are among my whores.” <br />“We’re… we’re not going to work for you…” spat Caroline. “I’ll go to the police.”<br />Swana laughed, she reached out to fondle Caroline’s breast, and pinched her nipple. “I own the police in this district. They brought you here and if you try to escape, they’ll bring you back. And let me show you what will happen if you run off.”<br />Swana clapped her hands and a young Indian girl appeared. She too was naked and she bowed low to her mistress.<br />“Lay back on the desk. Spread your legs,” commanded Swana.<br />The girl obeyed. Taking both hands, Swana pulled the girl’s labia apart and showed the white girls a sight that made them cry out with horror. At the top of her vagina, where her little pleasure bud should have been, there was an empty hole and the nub of a scar. Someone had removed her clitoris.<br />“Female circumcision,” said Swana. “Painful yes. And once done, you’ll never have those delightful little feelings again. It does not effect your ability to please a man, but you’ll be half a woman, dead between your legs. It will be done to either of you if you try to escape or fail to please my customers.” <br />Both Caroline and Elsbeth were shaking their heads, moved almost to tears. They could not imagine anything more horrid or grotesque.<br />“You will obey Indra, and my man Guka, here,” said Swana. “They will punish you for any failures.” <br />The McKinna girls were separated and led up to the rooms that had once been theirs. Caroline’s bore little resemblance to the elegant, classy bedroom it had been before she had been taken.<br /> Now gaudy and draped with Eastern décor, the beds were clothed with blood red sheets and cases. There were chains and manacles attached to each of the bedposts and a wide assortment of whips and canes hung from hooks in the ceiling.<br />Lewd pictures adorned the walls, depicting every sort of sex act and orgy imaginable. Each was titled in Sanskrit and English. There was incest and at least half a dozen forms of bestiality and pedophilia, even implied necrophilia.<br /> Caroline shuddered. She had thought she would never find herself in a place more degrading than Hinja Punt. But after her first hour in Swana’s brothel she realized she had been wrong.<br /> <br /> “AAAAAIIIEEEE… I tried! Oh Please…” screamed Caroline. “I tried to please him. I just couldn’t do that!”<br />She was bent over the foot of the bed, being caned mercilessly for refusing the demand of a customer. She had fucked six other men that day and they had left with empty balls. But the last man had wanted something bizarre and disgusting and the girl had been unable to force herself to comply. The man had complained loudly and Swana had ordered Caroline punished.<br />With amazing strength and accuracy old Indra slashed at Caroline’s rear checks, landing the cane with an agonizing pop.<br /> “AAAAAIIIIEEEEAAA… oh god… Indra, please stop… Please, help me…” cried Caroline. “What has Swana done to turn you against us?”<br />“Memsahib is the owner of this compound now,” said Indra. “I have always given total loyalty to my employer. She has said you are going to work in this brothel and that is exactly what you and your sister are going to do. You will not shirk your duties while I’m the matron here, or you’ll feel this cane on your lazy backside.”<br /> “AAAAAHHHHHHIIIII… I beg you… Please… I can’t take it… Please Indra, that man… He wanted me to drink his urine and eat his… his excrement… I can’t…”<br /> “You will obey mistress Swana. Or you’ll get the cane. You know better.”<br /> “AAAAAGGGGHHHH… Oh please, Indra, please… I can’t stand this pain!”<br /> “Then obey mistress and customers and you won’t feel the cane. Do as you’re told without question.”<br /> “AAAAAAiiiee… AHH, AAHHH, AAAAAHHHHEEEEE… Have mercy… Please; I’ll go mad! Ohmyyyyygoooooooood... Innnnnndddrrrraaaaa!”<br /> “YOU’RE A WHORE!” shouted the old woman. “You will work and act as a whore. Consuming men’s filth is part of your life!”<br /> “AAAAAGGGGG… AAAAAAIIIIIIIHHH… Alright… I’ll do it… I swear I’ll do it! Please stop… Stop before I die!”<br /> “Only five this time,” said Indra. “Ten strokes next time you refuse a guest.”<br /> Hours blurred into days and days into weeks. Time seemed to stand still and life became an endless cycle of desolation. Caroline knew her sister was going through the same thing with one difference. The younger girl was pining for her lost lover, her black sex god Shakaba. She rarely spoke to Caroline when they were together during their meals. The girl constantly masturbated, muttering the African’s name and repeatedly bursting into sobs. Caroline was afraid she was becoming suicidal.<br /> Meanwhile, Swana was subjecting them to more and more. Ten men a day, then fifteen. Caroline’s vulva was sore and swollen and her vagina constantly leaking sperm. Her back and rear cheeks were bruised from the many whippings and canings she received both from the men and from Indra.<br />Swana also managed to slip a little cruel irony into her vengeance. She had not forgotten how Caroline had made her work in the laundry. In addition to serving over a dozen men the white girl was forced to wash everyone else’s clothes and was punished brutally when she was unable to finish the job. Her sanity was at the edge of a precipice and she did not think that she or her sister could last much longer. Then one day, Swana called them to her office. <br /> Both Caroline and Elsbeth went to their knees when Swana entered, as they were required to do whenever they were in her presence.<br />“I do not feel that either of you have lived up to your duties as Devadasi. You are lazy and conceited. Also, I have not extracted my full revenge on you, bitch,” said Swana, pulling the kneeling Caroline’s hair painfully.<br /> I’m taking you to Tanjore tomorrow,” said Swana. “You will walk the streets as I had to, as the Devadasi of Kaghli. You will persuade men to fuck you, but not to please your lover/god. You will do it to make money for me. You will prostitute yourselves with any man who will pay and you will each return with 10,000 rupee, or I will have your clits removed the day after tomorrow. Guka will go with you.”<br /> Caroline gasped. There was no way they could make 10,000 rupee. She and Elsbeth would have to compete with the Temple’s Devadasi and fuck at least 100 men. She broke down and sobbed, holding her hands to her sex instinctively.<br /> “Please mistress… Please don’t do that to us… Don’t cut it off…” Caroline pleaded abjectly. “Please, we’ll fuck them… We’ll fuck them all… Please, we can’t make that much!” <br />“10,000 rupee or I will have you circumcised,” said Swana firmly.<br /> She strode from the room leaving the two white girls crying in naked, pathetic heaps, begging their mistress to relent.<br /> <br /> They started early in Tanjore. Caroline and Elsbeth literally ran down the streets, speeding desperately from shop to shop. They begged men to fuck them, consummating the acts in alleys or back rooms, what ever was close and quick. They solicited every male they passed for sex, oral, vaginal or anal. Whatever the customer wanted they provided, bringing him off with energy and enthusiasm, then moving on for more. The pace was panicked and relentless from the start, but despite their best efforts both girls were falling off the average by mid day.<br />After a brief lunch to regain their strength they received a stroke of luck. A shopkeeper allowed them to use his back room as their bordello. They would rush out to streets, find a willing male and return to couple with him on one of the little cots the shopkeeper that had provided.<br />“Hello, handsome man,” said Caroline to a strange male on the narrow street. She shook her naked breasts provocatively and wriggled, smiling with wide, sincere eyes. “Let’s go to a room I have down the street. We can make love there! Please, lover!”<br />Many a male would succumb to her wiles and accompany her to the shop. She would fuck or suck him; bringing him off quickly and guiding him gently back out to the street. Immediately she was looking for her next customer to lead to the obscene confines of the back room. There to coax his sperm to join the growing pool inside her already drenched belly.<br />The white girl did not even have time douche or clean herself off. Semen was dripping from her overflowing vagina and she knew, inundating her womb with the seed of countless and sundry men.<br /> By 6 PM the panic was setting in. She and her sister each had had sex with over 35 men and had accumulated about 6,500 rupee. But time was running out and they were not going to make it.<br /> Ironically, Caroline wondered if the frantic, loveless sex she was doing on this degrading day were the last she would feel as a complete woman. But nothing mattered now. At last she was sitting with Elsbeth in the gutter, naked, filthy, sweaty and lathered with semen on her face, belly and legs. She cared nothing for the shame of it. She was a whore and she knew it in her deepest soul. She only grieved for her poor little pleasure bud.<br /> Then against all odds, a ray of hope shone through.<br /> Elsbeth was jumping to her dirty, bare feet, pointing into the crowd excitedly. “He’s there! Pashuvama, he’s there!”<br /> “Who’s there?” asked Caroline.<br /> “My master… My man! Oh Pashuvama, it’s Shakaba!”<br /> Indeed, Caroline could see the big African standing at a corner, talking to a shop owner. She looked over to see Guka occupied for the moment, purchasing some bettlenut. It was their only chance. <br /> Like a frightened dove seeking safety, Soour flushed, racing over to her black lover. On impulse Caroline followed before Swana’s man could react.<br /> Both women fell prostrate before the huge black man, entwining their arms around his muscular bare legs and pleading for mercy.<br /> “Please master, save us. Take us back to the temple!”<br /> The great African acted surprised, but looked down at the younger girl and stroked her hair. The he spoke to the older white girl cringing at his feet. “What you name?” he asked, sharply.<br /> “Caroline McKin…”<br /> He delivered a vicious slap across her face. “Say you name… or go back to Swana woman’s stinking fuck-house.”<br /> The white girl made her choice in an instant. “Pashuvama… my name is Pashuvama, master. Kaghli’s whore! Please,” she begged, “We want to go back to the temple. Take us back… I… we know we belong there now.”<br /> “We want to convert,” said Soour. “We belong to Kaghli… And you.”<br /> Guka was now standing before them, enraged but seemingly intimidated by Shakaba.<br /> “These whores belong to Swana Ironson. She will be very angry at their flight.”<br /> “They have converted of their own free wills,” said Shakaba with a triumphant smile. “That is the law. They belong to Kaghli now.”<br /> The man scowled, but was obviously afraid of Shakaba. He uttered an idle threat and left. <br /> Pashuvama suddenly felt an indescribable elation wash over her. She was going back to the temple where she belonged. Safe, as a grateful and enthusiastic temple whore. There would be no more resistance, no more mental games. She would serve the temple as a slave slut. She would submit to her god/lover who would take her body and soul. She would be raped continually- forever. And that knowledge filled her with happiness.<br /> Swana and the Baugwan smiled at each other from behind the shop door where they had been concealed.<br /> “Excellent,” he laughed. “Their conditioning is finally complete. It took some effort, but I think they’ll be worth it.”<br /> Soour and Pashuvama clung to Shakaba, both girls literally crying with joy. They would be the first white women- of many, many more. <br /> Efforts were already underway to obtain fair-skinned girls from America and Europe to serve in the local temples they planned to build all over India. Once established, the cult of Kaghli could spread internationally, using the Witness to Truth organization Swana now controlled. She of course would receive her share of compensation from Kaghli’s bounty and in time would be one of the richest and most powerful women in India.<br /> Yes, thought the Baugwan. The relationship between Hinja Punt and Swana’s organization was going to be highly advantageous for both of them.<br /> Swana left and got into her limousine, heading back to her life of luxury and privilege, but the Baugwan lingered a bit. He watched as the two white women were led away, willing accepting the chains on their wrists, and he thought about McKinna. The fool who had challenged him had paid such a high price. Even though he was dead, the Baugwan still hated him and was still seeking ways to defile the man’s living flesh and blood, his young daughters.<br /> Tonight he would take the whip to both daughters, then anal fuck them mercilessly in front of each other. It promised to be a stimulating evening.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Epilogue<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The Great Hall of Hinja Punt was brilliantly lit with scores of torches and the air was fairly choked with incense as a lonely female figure was led to the foot of the huge idol.<br /> A ripple of excitement went through the hundreds of kneeling worshipers when they saw her pale skin. It was the dasi they had heard about!<br />Many had already fucked her; many more were on the waiting list. She was said to be a true nymphomaniac. A Devadasi who combined stunning physical beauty with a hyper-energetic rut and an obscene imagination. The white girl who fucked like no other and concealed behind an innocent, sincere smile a heart of the wickedest harlot. Hinja Punt’s creamy-skinned, blue-eyed, white whore.<br />She knelt before the dais, prostrating herself before the stone god. Above her stood the fat, self-indulgent Baugwan, Kaghli’s chief priest.<br /> He issued several incantations while the faithful hummed, intoning their mantras while he spoke. He took a vessel of oil and poured in over the woman. She rose and spread it over her body so that her naked flesh gleamed in the firelight.<br /> At his harsh command she bowed low before the god, still dripping with the unction. She scrambled to mount the idol’s huge phallus, awkwardly climbing the shaft until she could squat on the head. She centered the smaller stone penis on her vulva and descended, impaling herself with one motion and a base, guttural cry.<br />The worshipers behind her erupted with monotone chanting, which seemed to goad her on. She began to rut on the god’s lingam, using her hands and feet to support herself and moving with incredible lubricity.<br /> The chanting grew louder and clouds of intoxicating incense wafted through the hall. All who were present looked on riveted, as the white woman threw herself into the ritual of final dedication to Kaghli.<br /> The Baugwan himself began whipping her, lashing her back and rear cheeks to drive her to even greater intensity.<br /> It was literally religious, the zeal which surged through her brain. At last, she was where she belonged. At last!<br />She loved Kaghli. He was so real, so alive, so potent!<br />For weeks she had been falling deeply and irrationally in love with the stone god. He had become a tangible reality to her ravaged mind. She thought of him incessantly, dreamed of him, lusted for him. When she was fucked by the faithful she thought of his phallus. When she was whipped she felt his hand. Even the idol’s petulant, gloating, bestial face before her now seemed so handsome and so very desirable.<br /> Clinging tightly to the phallus and trashing her impaled body with vociferous carnality, she humped on the stone organ with obscene abandon. She gazed up at him, pure adoration radiant on her face. She truly loved Kaghli- Her master, her rapist, her god.<br /> “You see,” shouted the Baugwan to the worshipers, who looked on with raging lust and astonishment. “Kaghli will eventually break any woman. Those who resist the most become his most devoted slaves. Behold Kaghli’s Devadasi. His temple’s whore!”<br /> Inside the huge idol, in a tiny hollow behind the god’s belly, Shakaba and Soour lay fucking avidly. They could see the older girl writhing on Kaghli’s shaft through a hole in the navel. They could hear her voice and the moans of the worshipers.<br /> In the days since Shakaba had rescued them the young white girl and her lover had rarely been separated. The Baugwan noticed, but he was of a mind to reward Shakaba and the temple had centered its interest on the older girl for the time being. There was ample opportunity for the African to slake his lust and to be honest the Baugwan couldn’t blame him. <br />The product of careful training, the younger girl exuded that elusive and lech inspiring quality of recently besmirched innocence. Some of Kaghli’s pilgrims were already paying double to delve into her charms. She was after all, a previously sheltered white virgin now captured and kept nearly naked; strenuously practiced in the erotic arts. And her meek little smile was irresistible.<br />But there was still a faint blush to her apple cheeks when she walked among the men to display herself. She was in love with one man and fate and desire had enslaved her to crave his touch above all others.<br />It was a fate she never could have imagined while in her father’s house; miserable, fat, ugly and unwanted. Now she was a religious object, a sacred/profane vessel for the essence of the faithful. She was Kaghli’s willing whore, but Shakaba’s woman.<br />Soour clasped him tightly between her welcoming legs, feeling him delve into the deepest recesses of her feminine core. His gloriously beautiful, Negroid face hovered inches above hers as he thrust into her with long, slow, powerful lunges. She allowed her mind to wander.<br />Often in her old life she had dreamed of marriage, of meeting some nice young white boy and having a family. Now the idea repulsed her. She was Devadasi, love slave of the temple. And Shakaba was her priest. She was utterly dependent on him for protection and sustenance. He was, in fact, though not in name, her real husband. The honest realization of this fact sent an odd shiver of excitement through her.<br /> She could not imagine going back to her grim, desolate life at the mission, even if that were possible. And she certainly did not want to be a sex beast in Swana’s brothel, living only to enrich the cruel Indian woman. To her, Hinja Punt was paradise. She had learned about life and love at the temple and they had given her beauty. Most of all she had the only man she wanted, Shakaba. She was sixteen years old, still in her tender years, and he was old enough to be her father. Indeed she still needed such an authority figure; a new black father who would discipline her with a whip, and his huge black cock. And unlike most girls, she would never leave her daddy.<br />Best of all, she had a lifetime of subservient sex ahead of her, a life to devote to Hinja Punt and Shakaba’s training. There could be no more fulfilling future.<br />Their mating took her to celestial heights of passion, as sex always did. But there was something extra to be found in Shakaba’s lingam. It had the ability to fold the bright center of the universe in on itself and drive it lunging into her belly. When he came the once innocent girl felt faint with ecstasy and awe, wondering at once what kind of child he would force into her- and whether she was worthy as it’s receptacle.<br />Even as Shakaba grunted and emptied the contents of his balls into her receptive belly, she thought about how lucky she was to be the black trainer’s favorite. Tiny masochistic tingles danced from her sex to her brain as she pictured herself pinned under his weight, captured and conquered- fucked!<br />Her own climax surged, a gentle but overwhelming wave that carried her transfixed through space and time. She caught her breath as temporal existence spun and vibrated, finally coming to rest on the buried head of his lingam. She met his lips and gave him a long soul kiss.<br />They reclined in each other’s arms, communing in post orgasmic peace for several minutes, listening to the sounds of the ceremony. Soour caressed his hard, ebony muscles, sighing with contented bliss as she felt his warm liquid essence trickling in her womb.<br />As she lay helpless beneath her lover, breathing with him, Soour could hear her sister moaning and gasping. Looking through the hole, she saw Pashuvama impaled on the great stone phallus of the god. She was churning and rutting with utter abandon, tossing her head this way and that. The gaudy brass bands on her ankles and wrists clanked against the stone as lust overpowered her. She was rushing to orgasm on Kaghli’s maleness, sweeping the assembled faithful along with her. <br /> “That white girl best whore this temple have in a hundred years,” whispered the big black man into Soour’s ear. “The Baugwan say she bring in thousands of new converts. They come just to fuck her. And watch her fuck Kaghli.”<br />The energy of Pashuvama’s performance was making the African’s manhood stiff again. He pressed the pliant girl onto her back on the smooth stone surface and her legs parted on their own. She smiled up at him with open invitation and placed her soft, white hands on his black shoulders.<br />He was surprised by his own response, so avid for her flesh that his cock was already throbbing with lust.<br /> “Well,” said Soour, guiding Shakaba’s love piece back to her drenched yoni. “My sister has her lover- and I have mine.” The young white girl dug her bare heels into the warm, damp flesh of Shakaba’s buttocks as his stiff, comforting rod augured once more into her depths. <br /> They fucked slowly, deliciously and watched as the Devadasi, a piece of female flesh once a young woman known as Caroline McKinna convulsed wildly, her greedy womanhood impaled to the hilt on the huge carved phallus of the idol. The gray snake/penis of Kaghli, tattooed on her back seemed to undulate and slither up her spine as she moved. The oily flesh behind her neck glinted like semen gushing into her brain. Pashuvama, the sex beast, raped in every sense by her pagan god.<br />The kneeling, bowing worshipers howled with delight as the Baugwan at last drove the knife into the dais and Kaghli’s ejaculate gushed forth, flooding the woman’s vagina and cascading down her legs.<br />The white temple whore, looked up onto the leering stone face with an expression of pure worship and eternal devotion, screaming and crying with exploding, feral ecstasy; “I love you… I love you. I love you, Kaghli… Oh darling… Oh yes… Yessssss…! Take me, Kaghli… Fill meeeee… FILL MEEEEEEEEEEE…! I’M CUMMMMMMMMING!”<br /><br />endMy Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-35632497292465618642007-09-30T14:05:00.000-07:002007-09-30T14:06:29.235-07:00BLACKBOSS SLAVE FARMPart one<br />BERND<br /><br />Dedicated to my good old fellow Jeremy Richards †<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />© 2007 by Bernd, the rights resides with the author.<br />Available from bdsmbooks.com<br />Readers, please note: If you find a mistake of spelling or applicable expression, be aware that the author’s native language is NOT English. So excuse some deficiency.<br /><br /><br />Key-Words: Partly MaleDom., partly FemDom., brutal slavery, pony-play, tort.,deep humil., interrac. Hetero + gay Sex, dirty, WS., body-modific., breeding.<br /><br /><br />Summary: After WW-II, the “Black Power Movement” in the South of the States started to strengthen and increase its physical power all over the USA. Up to then, coloured citizens in the US were treated by members of the white population like slaves as their ancestors did 150 years ago. The obsolete US-System of Justice mostly condemned the innocent Blacks due to their race and exonerated the white criminals. So injustice and hate grew. Formerly the Whites exercised Lynch-Justice without a trial, now the humiliated but aggressive Blacks helped themselves by kidnapping and abduction of snooty Whites of both genders into real slavery in foreign countries of dictatorship and states of corruption the Black-Power criminals held secret connections with. So some members of the Black-“Power-Movement-Organisation” kidnapped female “supplies” for the “farm-ranch”, others the male victims.<br />Thus Paul Sheehan was sentenced to ten years of forced work that meant slavery under black overseers. Humiliation, nasty acts, anal rape and abuse as work horses, urinals and sex-toys were his and the other convicts’ daily routine.<br />But not only men were victims on that strange Ranch, kidnapped girls as well were abused as breeding sows and had to endure a fate worse than any normal breeding stock.<br />Chapter 1 The Acquisition of the Sows to be<br /><br />For several weeks the agents had supervised the young and very attractive three girls acting as cheerleaders displaying their muscular bodies with their slim legs and full bosoms almost bursting out of the tight bikini-tops. And when the unsuspecting girls made up their mind to participate in a cheerleaders’ contest in Miami/Florida during their spring-break from school the agents alarmed their clients to use the opportunity.<br />So Margaret, Nancy and Wendy decided to drive to Florida for Spring Break. Nancy’s dad was an old car buff and had restored a 1970-Cadillac Convertible for her. It was huge and the three of us could sit in the front seat easily. They decided it would be fun to tease the truckers on the way down who could easily see into the open car from above, so they wore their tiniest micro-skirts and T-shirts cut off just below the American Football-logo, so they could flash their full boobs. They thought that would be good practice for the wet T-shirt contests they planned to enter.<br />They all had great bodies from practising their cheerleader routines and they were sure at least one them would win and even if they didn’t, they would be able to pick and choose among the boys for dates. White boys only, of course.<br />They had a great time going down. Wendy’s brother had bought them a case of beer which they stuffed into coolers of ice and they were laughing and chugging the beer enjoying the stares and erratic driving of the truckers when they pulled up their skirts to show the tiny panties or jerked up the t-shirts.<br />They almost made it. When they stopped for snacks in Georgia, Wendy noticed a secondary road that seemed to be a shortcut in the map. None of them became aware of a plain car following them at a distance. Since Wendy had been designated as navigator they tried it. It was a just two lane blacktop with very few cars. They missed not being able to shake up the truckers any more, but found a new diversion. They began throwing the empty beer cans at mail boxes while Nancy bombed along about 70 MPH in the 55 MPH limit zone.<br />All of a sudden they were shocked by a loud siren behind them. Nancy said, "Oh shit! This is goin’ cost me a bit!" Little did she know ….<br />She pulled over and Wendy suggested she wrap a fifty dollar bill around her license since she had heard the hick-cops often accepted bribes. Nancy slid forward in her seat to pull her skirt right up to the crotch, and when this black, fat cop in a faded uniform came to the door she said innocently, "Hi Officer! Did I do something wrong?" and handed him her license with the fifty dollar bill wrapped around it.<br />The coloured cop stared at her thighs, then looked at the license, saying, "What is the fifty for?" ‘He is not well educated,’ Margaret thought, ‘he doesn’t know the correct grammar of his own native language. What ARE the fifty for, he is to say …’ What else to expect of a hick ..<br />Nancy smiled sheepishly and said, "I thought I would pay the fine instantly to save time. We are in a hurry to get to Florida, SIR!" Better to address this black “bull” as ‘Sir’, she thought.<br />He said gruffly, "Girlie, this won’t even come close to your fines. I have you for speeding, destroying private property by hitting the mail boxes, open containers, and I think you are all drunk and under age. Get out of the car! All of you! Get in the back of my patrol car. Immediately!"<br />Nancy said, "What about my car? Am not going to let some idiot drive it. My dad spent a lot of time and money restoring it."<br />He pulled his gun: "Girlie, don’t argue. Your car will be towed. You aren’t going to drive it one more foot until you have had a breath-analysis."<br />They felt sick. The vacation would be ruined. They had cash and plastic money, so the fines would be no problem, but if Nancy’s license was taken, her dad would shit. Wendy and Maggie’s folks would shit if they found out they had been arrested.<br />Obviously they weren’t going to take the risk this idiot may shoot them so they got out of the car and into the backseat of his which had no door handles and a screen between the front and back seat.<br />It was bad enough to be frightened by an arrest but he made it worse by ranting on about how he hated these rich kids that thought they owned the world and that they should be ashamed of being such sluts and that he may add indecent exposure to their “crimes”.<br />He made a right turn into another little road that led into the woods until they came to a scruffy town. It looked like a ghost town! There was a big factory building with broken windows and obviously vacant and all the businesses except a little convenience store had the windows and doors boarded up.<br />He drove up to a concrete building with just a sign saying "JAIL" over the door and led the girls in to put them in individual cells while saying, "You can wait here while I get the judge." The cells were terrible. Just a big iron bed and a five gallon bucket obviously to be used as a toilet. As bad as Margaret had to pee after all the beer, she resolved she would rather die before squatting over it with no privacy.<br />Once they were securely locked up he just stood and stared at them for a minute. Margaret wished she was wearing overalls and she was sure the other girls felt the same way.<br />Then Nancy said: "For Christ sakes. Go, get the judge. We are in a hurry." He just smiled evilly and said, "There ain’t no judge. I am judge, jury and executioner all in one. The only people in town are my sister, brother and me since the fucking factory closed to move down to Mexico for the cheap spick labour. They wouldn’t be here either if I had not come up with this scheme."<br />Nancy said: "You mean you can make a living off of traffic tickets?"<br />"Hell no! There is more to it than that. You girls are worth money!"<br />Nancy said: "Oh shit, girls! We have been kidnapped. How much ransom are you going to want? Our folks have most of their money tied up in investments."<br />He just grinned again and said, "Do you think I am that stupid? How could we collect ransom? FBI would be crawling all over any place we had your folks put it. No, once you are trained you are worth a mint in the slave market. Also my brother will pick up your car and we will make a phoney bill of sale to sell it at a good price in the Caribbean where it can’t be traced."<br />They all three began crying. How could this terrible thing happen to them?<br />He went into Nancy’s cell and said, "Okay girlie. Let’s see if you look as good as I think. Get those clothes off. Everything! Even the shoes and socks!"<br />"Fuck you! You prick! Dad will be calling our motel in a few hours to make sure we got there alright and if we aren’t there, he will call the real cops. You had better turn us loose now or you will rot in jail forever!" yelled Nancy.<br />Margaret and Wendy knew that was a lie. Nancy’s folks were on a cruise with Margaret’s folks and Wendy’s and they hadn’t been able to find a motel with a vacancy. They had hoped they might bunk with some of the other girls from school. Margaret had to admire the lie and hoped it would scare him.<br />He just walked over her and said, "Bullshit! The cops won’t take a missing report until you have been gone 24 hours. By then there will be no trace of you. Now get those clothes off!"<br />Nancy put an arm over her breasts and the other over her crotch as she shrilled, "No! No!" He went closer to her and yelled, "No? You will NEVER use that word again!"<br />He punched her in the stomach! Hard! She fell to the floor gagging and trying to breathe. While she was still trying to get her breath he picked her up and laid her over the 2 inch pipes of the footboard of the “bed” and jerked her arms over to handcuffs at the sides of the bed springs. Then Margaret noticed more cuffs at the legs of the foot board which he quickly snapped over her ankles. He walked out leaving her there with her skirt up to her waist in that horribly bound position.<br />Nancy got back her breath and began struggling to get loose, but all that did was push her T-shirt up until her cute round boobs were rubbing on the dirty mattress. She gave up and slumped to the mattress just as he returned. He was carrying a riding crop! Margaret was familiar with it. They were so evil she wouldn’t use one on her horse, but Nancy had already used it to her mount. I was sure she would know now how the horse had felt.<br />He went over to her and said, "A ‘NO’ is worth twenty lashes and twenty more anytime I hear it again."<br />The quirt dug deep into the roundest part of Nancy’s thinly clad butt and by the tenth the panties were ripped and Nancy screamed, "No! No more! I will take off my clothes. Damn you!"<br />He growled, "Stupid bitch. That is two more ‘NO’s’."<br />She screamed and screamed as he slammed the sixty lashes into her, until her panties were in tatters and her voice went hoarse. Finally her body just jerked at each lash as she became too exhausted to struggle, then she fainted.<br />He left her cell and walked into Wendy’s. He stared at her trembling body a moment, then said: "Are you going to refuse to strip?"<br />She started to say "No", but caught herself changing it to "Eeeeh. I will strip for you. Please don’t hurt me. I will do anything you want."<br />"Good. Do it nice and slow! I want to see your naked skin a little at a time."<br />Margaret knew that Wendy normally loved to strip in front of boys, but this was totally different. There was no pop-music or excited boys. Just this ugly black man with his 3-day old scruffy beard and beer belly staring at her malevolently.<br />She slowly slid her T-shirt up and over her head to show her 38D -boobs she was normally proud of, but this time it just made her blush and tremble. She slowly unzipped the skirt to slide it down and let it puddle at her feet then paused by only her nearly transparent panties until he said: "Those too!"<br />She made a little moan then slid down the panties slowly revealing her sparse-haired, bikini waxed pussy-lips which hid nothing.<br />He went over to her and grabbed both her breasts, squeezing them until his fingers grabbed deep into them and then pinching and pulling on the nipples as she gasped and trembled obviously fighting her impulse to push him away or grab his hands.<br />As he did it he said: "I hope you do something wrong. I will love to see these boobs bouncing under my quirt."<br />She blanched at the thought and moaned: "Please. Please! Have mercy! I will be good."<br />"Good. Now kneel down and unzip my pants to give me a great blow job!"<br />The idea horrified her so much, she forgot and whined, "N0. Please. That will make me sick and maybe I have to throw up!"<br />He smiled evilly and said, "That is a ‘N0’ again. Go over and lean back against the wall!"<br />She whined "Oh God! Pleases. Please!" but she slowly backed up to the wall as he moved toward her.<br />When her butt hit the wall he said, "Put your hands on your head. If you take them down I will start all over." She sobbed and tears rolled down her cheeks as she put her hands on her head. The two other girls couldn’t help but admire how beautiful her boobs looked as they rose to eliminate any sag.<br />The Negro started beating her poor tits with the quirt! She screamed at the top of her lungs and almost ripped out her hair in the effort to keep her hands in place, as her boobs jumped and quivered under the quirt. By the time he finished they were a maroon colour and had swollen up, and she was crying hysterically.<br />He smiled and put his hand on his crotch to move the huge lump into a more comfortable position, then left to lock her cell-door and come to Margaret’s cell. He came in and said: "Have you learned a lesson? Are you ready to strip?<br />She had determined not to use the word "NO", no matter what he would want, and she said in a trembling voice: "Yes. I will try to make you happy."<br />Margaret began the slow strip dreading the panty part knowing her pussy was completely hairless. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine if it was not this brute but her tender boyfriend she was stripping for, but he would not allow that fantasy by yelling: "Open your eyes! Look at me!"<br />Shame and humiliation returned as she looked at his ugly leering face, but she knew she had to continue. Margaret slid down the panties and stood at attention with her legs apart as he ordered. She swore she could feel his eyes covering every inch of her body, as tears dripped off her chin to splash on her full breasts.<br />By then, Nancy was awake, and she and Wendy were staring at Margaret’s ordeal. She wished they had the decency to look away, as that just added to her humiliation as they stood there wondering what else the girl would have to suffer. His next statement made Margaret realize even her complete submission would not allow her to escape pain.<br />The black fake-cop grinned at her like a kid with a new toy and said, "You mind very well, but you should at least have a taste of pain to make sure you continue to be good. Come over here and slide my belt out of my pants!"<br />The trembling girl knew the belt would be used on her and whined, avoiding the "N0" –word: "Please. Do I have to? I have done what you asked."<br />"Yes, and if you dare to argue, you will be punished more. Now do it!"<br />She went to him, now sobbing, and slid out the belt and let it hang from her hand. Her only consolation was that a belt seemed much less severe than that terrible quirt he had used on Nancy’s bosom to bruise her so terribly.<br />"Good. Give it to me and say: ‘Please give me five spanks on my butt.’ Bend over and hold on to your knees for it!"<br />God, this would be the ultimate humiliation to actually ask for pain! Margaret wished she could be brave like Nancy, but knew that would be foolish since it would just be worse.<br />She sobbed: "Please give me five spanks on my butt, er -- Sir!", then turned and bent over to grip her knees tightly to brace for the pain.<br />It was weird hearing the "whirr" of the belt and the "Splat!!" before she felt the sharp sting on her taught butt. She had never been spanked before and was actually relieved it was not as bad as she had feared. He had told her to ask for the spanks by counting the next number, and at >two< he hit lower at the bottom of her butt which stung even more, but was still bearable. Margaret was able to continue to hold on to her knees and keep her response to gasps and shudders until “five” which landed on a previously spanked place that stung enough to make her scream uncontrollably.<br />He said: "Good girl! Now turn around and stand up!"<br />She knew it sounds weird, but his "Good Girl" pleased her and she felt a little proud of being able to do as he asked. Unfortunately it was not over. He said: "Put your hands on your head and push out your tits, then ask me to give you four spanks on your breasts!"<br />Margaret was shocked! Even the thought was horrifying! She whimpered "Please don’t do this! I have been good!"<br />"Would you rather argue and get twenty?”<br />"Oh no sir!! Please give me four spanks on my boobies!"<br />At one he hit the side of her left breast to make a horrible sting that seemed to sink in deeply and made it slap into her right breast. It took all her nerves to say: "Two"<br />He hit the outside of the right breast to make another sting and make it slap into her left breast. Her breath paused for a moment, feeling the terrible stings seem to sink into her whole body, before saying: "Three." The tip hit into her cleavage to jerk the breast toward her armpit and drag over her nipple. She had to scream and shuddered a moment before saying: "Four." He then did the same to her other breast.<br />Margaret stood there sobbing with tears running down her cheeks as she felt the stings radiate from her poor boobies which were beginning to throb with each heartbeat. Desperately she caressed them trying to soothe them as he watched in glee.<br />He said: "Okay, last bit. Open your legs and ask for three onto your snatch!"<br />In total horror, she moaned: "Oh, how can you be so mean! You cannot imagine how that will hurt, Sir!”<br />He had no sympathy saying: "Yet, I can imagine! Are you arguing?"<br />She sighed: "Oh Jesus!" and slowly opened her legs a little, but he kept saying "Wider!!" until she felt the sex-lips open and a strain to her inner thighs."<br />When he was satisfied she said: "One." He brought his belt up from the floor to sting the right side of her crotch. To her surprise the sting was not worse than the ones onto her butt and much less than the ones to her breasts.<br />She said "Two", and he hit the other side. The stings radiated into her tummy and around the clitoris. It was weird! As the stings radiated she felt an excitement much like masturbation. That feeling was stopped when she said: "Three." He brought the belt up the centre to sink just into her open slit and rip at her tender inner lips and clitoris. She let out a scream at the pain that seemed to go deep into her guts and the shock made her legs slap together to stand there sobbing and caressing her crimson pussy in the hope it may help.<br />He misinterpreted that completely, as he watched the sobbing girl rubbing her pussy, and he said: "Shit! Watching you jerking off has made me rock hard. Come over here and undo my pants to give me a great blow-job!"<br />Margaret looked over at Nancy and Wendy who were staring wide-eyed, and she said, "Oh God! Sir, couldn’t I do it somewhere else? This is terribly humiliating to have Nancy and Wendy watching." She realized asking for this concession only implied her willingness to do it.<br />He would not even allow that. He said: "No! I want them to watch so they will know how I like it done. Now get on your knees and take down my pants!"<br />Margaret had gone down on her boyfriend once after his urgent begging for months, and she remembered it was not too bad.<br />So she knelt down and opened his pants to let them fall to the floor revealing two surprisingly skinny, but hairy legs so out of proportion in relation to his fat gut. He was not wearing shorts. Margaret looked up to his dick.<br />It was not like her boyfriend’s at all. It was huge, fat, and almost of a coal-black colour with big ugly veins looking like worms. She carefully took it in her hand noting her fingers barely made it around its width, and brought the purple head of it to her mouth. As she breathed in she smelled this vile odour and knew he had not washed it for weeks.<br />She gagged just as he said: "No. Don’t put it in your mouth yet! First lick every inch of my balls! Be gentle! If you hurt me I will quirt your pussy until it bleeds."<br />It was so gross! Poor Margaret had to gag several times at the taste of old sweat and possibly cum on his hairy ball-sac, but she I tried to be as gentle as possible. He had her lick the shaft of his dick which was just as bad, then put the purplish head into her tiny mouth being careful not to touch it with her front-teeth, since that had made her boy-friend scream then.<br />Her boy-friend had wanted her to suck gently and lovingly, but this creep didn’t want so. He just grabbed her hair and began jerking the head back and forth causing the girl to gag as it hit the back of her throat. She dreaded the moment his vile spunk would flood her mouth, but he wanted to humiliate her more.<br />He pulled back and shot his sperm in her face and eyes. He must have not been laid for a long time because there was a lot of it, and when he had squeezed out the last drop Margaret knelt there sobbing at the terribly degrading treatment.<br />He said: "Nice Blowjob. You could make a good living doing that. I have to go check on my brother. Be back soon. Don’t any of you put on clothes!"<br />Margaret continued to sob as she grabbed the rough wool blanket from the bed to wipe off his fishy cum. When she calmed a little, she sat on the bed and whined: "Jesus! I could never have imagined anything happening to me that was so bad."<br />To Margaret’s surprise Nancy answered angrily: "What the fuck are you talking about? Your skin is just red. Look at us! We will have bruises for weeks. You are such a whiner! You could have easily grabbed his gun when you took off his belt or blew him and shot the bastard. But no! You just did what he wanted like some S&M -whore."<br />That was so unfair! Margaret answered angrily, "Are you fuckin’ crazy? I couldn’t shoot a cop! I would be boiled in oil. I couldn’t kill anyone anyway. At least I am smarter than you. Look at you! Your ass-flesh is hamburger, and you know that finally you will be sucking cock too."<br />"Maybe, but not without a fight. I have some dignity! You are just a coward. Isn’t that right, Wendy?" Nancy barked.<br />Margaret felt better when Wendy said: "My tits hurt awful! I am not going through that again if I can help it. Besides, what makes you so damn brave, Nancy? You were tied down. I think Margaret and I were the brave ones to take our terrible punishment without being tied up. I would have rather been tied. It was really hard not to bring my arms down to protect my poor boobs."<br />Margaret agreed: "Yeah! You have no idea of the nerve it took Wendy and me to take that kind of punishment. I’ll bet you could not do it!"<br />Nancy shouted: "I will never know, because there is no way I am going to humiliate myself by just standing there and be beaten. I will fight back!"<br />Margaret answered: "My God, Nancy! That may be a bad mistake. You know that by my cooperating I was not hurt nearly as bad as you."<br />"Yeah, but now you have no pride! I am not about to have this black nigger turn me into a coward!"<br />There was no sense arguing the point. Fear returned as the girls wondered what he may do next.<br />Wendy said: "Shit girls! We shouldn’t be fighting among ourselves. Let’s better try to find a way out of this hell here!"<br />Nancy said: "Right! Now damn it! Next time he gets close to you, grab his gun and shoot the bastard! No jury in the world would blame you or us." She had a point but Margaret hoped one of them would get the opportunity first because she was afraid she would screw it up in fear and might be killed."<br />Nancy had a plan. "Look. When he comes back, offer to give him another blowjob. When you undo his pants, you will be able to grab his gun out of the holster."<br />Margaret said, "It is YOUR plan. YOU offer. That is really gross!"<br />"Oh okay, you pussy! I thought I would be the only one who had the wits to get us out of this mess."<br />He came back and went into Nancy’s cell to slap her butt, now badly bruised with scabs on part of it to make her gasp. So Wendy said: "We have had some time to think over. So we decided to going to be good girls now."<br />Margaret swore, if this had been a movie, Nancy would have received the academy award as best actress! She declared seriously: "Oh yes, Sir! We’ll be good. Please, don’t hurt us anymore! May I please suck your cock to let you know I will do anything to please you?"<br />He smiled broadly and said, "That is more like it. Let me get you loose."<br />He took off her bonds and Margaret was amazed that Nancy could actually smile at him as she put her hands at the sides of his chest and began sliding down to kneel in front of him. As soon as her hand got close to his gun, she grabbed it and pointed it right at his crotch yelling: "Okay, you bastard! Turn around so I can handcuff you or I will blow your fat nuts off!"<br />He laughed at her loudly! "You stupid bitch! Did you really think I was dumb enough to bring a loaded gun in with prisoners? Go on! Pull the trigger!"<br />Nancy jerked on the trigger as fast as she could, but there was only six "Clicks"! Her face showed panic just as he hit her in the face as hard as he could with his fist. She dropped as if hit by a bomb, totally unconscious.<br />The Negro dragged her nude body over to the wall and pulled up her wrists to handcuff them to the bars of the window face out, then pulled her right ankle over to lock it to the bars of Wendy’s cell, then the left to the bed. He had to strain to pull her legs so far apart, and we other two knew, when she woke up her hips would be killing her.<br />He looked over at us and said, "You bitches are to pay attention. It will be a lesson to you to never try again to fight back!"<br />He left and came back carrying a long black stick. Margaret recognized it! It was a cattle prod that was used on cattle on her parent’s ranch. Once one of the ranch-hands had playfully touched her butt with one and even through her jeans and panties it hurt so bad her Dad fired the hand on the spot. This one was even longer than the one that had been used then on her, and Margaret knew it had more batteries inside to make an even worse shock. Then she noticed something else about it. Normally the rods coming out of the end were blunt, but this one had been sharpened into evil looking nails.<br />He set it on the bed then threw a bucket of water on the drowsy Nancy. The other two saw ice cubes bouncing off her face! She came to sputtering from the water that had gone into her mouth and nose.<br />He said, "Awake now, white bitch?"<br />Nancy just moaned: “Oh God! Let me down. My hip joints are killing me!"<br />"Don’t worry! You won’t notice that in a minute. I see I am going to have to get tougher to tame you."<br />Without warning he jammed the nails of the prodder into her left breast on each side of her nipples as deep as they would go. While she was still screaming from that pain he began pushing and releasing a button which made screech this shrill that her shrieks hurt the girls’ ears, as Nancy’s breasts jumped from the electric shocks going deep inside her poor boob.<br />He pulled out the nails and blood began rolling down her boob to drip onto her lower stomach while she sobbed her heart out.<br />He pressed the sharp point of one nail against her right nipple and as she screamed "No! No! No!" he slowly drove it into the hilt then pressed the button again in pulses that made the muscles of her boob contract to make it jump as if being hit. Her keening wails were terrifying.<br />He pulled the nails out slowly, and now both breasts were dripping blood, but even that was not enough for him. He carefully aimed the nails on both sides of her clitoris and began pushing the button in pulses that made her hips buck as if she was fucking it until her screams faded, as she went into another faint.<br />He was mad at her for fainting! He said angrily: "Shit! Now I have to get more water." He left, and Wendy and Margaret looked at her friend, utterly terrified. Blood was slowly dripping now from both breasts and her pussy and her body had gone limp to pull her into even more of a split position that left her pussy slit gaping open.<br />The brute returned with another bucket of water, but it did not revive her as much, so he added to it by jamming smelling salts under her nose until she was waving her head madly to avoid it.<br />She pulled against her wrist-cuffs desperately trying to remove some of the pain at her hips, but could only hold for a few seconds before her arms gave out and her legs returned to the bowed, painful position.<br />She began moaning, "Please, Sir, let me down. I’ll be good! I promise! Please. Please!"<br />He just grinned at her obviously enjoying her pain and said: "In a little while, but I seem to remember three >N0’s< coming out of your mouth."<br />She panicked and managed to pull herself up to the point her neck was at her wrists as she wailed: "Oh God! Jesus help me!!"<br />Margaret knew she was desperate because she had said in former days it was stupid to believe in God, and the Bible was just a collection of fables. Now she cried for God’s help!<br />He just grinned more and said: "I will give you a break. Just five lashes per one >N0<."<br />Margaret thought he was finally feeling some compassion until he reached to his belt to get the whip that had been hidden by his leg. Margaret and Wendy gasped when they saw it. It looked like a short club, but the end sprouted a length of barbed wire about two feet long.<br />He swung it against the upper swell of her breasts to make her scream, but he wasn’t satisfied to just let the points dig in to her poor boobs. He dragged the whip as it hit to tear furrows in the skin.<br />He gave her four more on her breasts nearly ripping off a nipple on one breast, then five more to her soft underbelly and finally five more that crossed her vagina over and over until blood was running out of it.<br />One could no longer see skin for the blood, then he said, "This solution of salt and alum will stop the bleeding."<br />He splashed a bucket over the front of her body. Nancy’s mouth opened like a fish on dry land and her eyes bugged at what must have been a terrible burn but she was too hoarse to make a loud sound. Just a strangling noise.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 2 The future becomes obvious<br />The screams must have been heard because a skinny guy in overalls and a woman in a dirty housedress walked in. The arriving guy was even blacker than the other, whilst the woman’s skin was lighter albeit more a dirty kind of brown colour.<br />She took one look at poor Nancy and said, "Goddammit, Bruce! You have scarred her. You know that lowers her price at selling! You dumb shit! Some of those cuts need to be sewed up. Go get my sewing kit! Now!"<br />Bruce looked sheepish and said, "Okay but let me introduce you! The bitch hanging is Nancy, the girl with the purple boobs is Wendy and the red one is Margaret. Girls, meet Basil and Kitty."<br />Nancy of course did not respond. The two girls didn’t think her mind could handle any more than the pain. Margaret just stared, but Wendy evidentially after years of being polite said sweetly, "Glad to meet you Kitty. You too, Basil."<br />Margaret could hardly believe it! She stared at Wendy in amazement.<br />Kitty said grudgingly, "We’ll see at least one of them is polite."<br />Bruce said: "Yeah, Wendy and Margaret are okay, but Nancy is going to need a lot of training.”<br />Kitty snarled, "Any more ‘training’ from you, and she will be dead. Help Basil get her down and lay her out on the bed and go get my sewing kit."<br />Nancy was limp as they put her on the bed and manacled her wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed. Margaret was amazed to see the salt and alum had worked. Now only the worst gashes continued to ooze blood.<br />Bruce ran off and returned with a wicker sewing basket. Kitty reached in to bring out a curved upholstery needle which she threaded. She went to Nancy and began sewing up her wounds. Nancy must have been in so much pain anyway, she hardly seemed to notice the needle going through her skin in tiny stitches.<br />It took a long time, but Nancy only moaned until she began sewing up her ripped nipple. This hurt enough to make her give out little squeals as the needle went through the skin and the thread was tightened.<br />Finally Kitty was done and stepped back. The girls had to admire her skill. The skin that had been so horribly ripped was now just tight lines, but it frightened them realizing that she must have learned to do it through a lot of experience. Bruce smiled and said, "Great job, Sis! I can always count on you to fix them up when I get carried away."<br />"Dammit! You aren’t going to get carried away again. These are good looking girls and I want them in good shape for the inspection. I am locking up that damn cattle prod and the barbed wire whip. You are going to have to get along with just canes, switches and leather whips!"<br />He pouted like a kid who had lost his favourite doll and said: "Aw, come on, Sis, you know some bitches are hard to train."<br />"Bullshit! Enough simple whippings will bring them around, and I won’t have to sew them up. Now put on the iodine and then let her sleep."<br />Bruce grinned and Margaret knew this must involve more pain. He took out a bottle of iodine and soaked a cotton ball. It must have burned awful. Every time he dabbed at a wound with the ball, Nancy would squeal and squirm. He saved her nipple and pussy for last and that brought screams and then another faint.<br />Kitty said, "Okay Bruce. Now go out in the woods and cut some fresh switches. As punishment for getting carried away I am not going to let you watch me test the other girls."<br />Margaret and Wendy were amazed at her power over this asshole. He whined, "Aw, sis! You know I love to watch that."<br />When she said: "Go get them!" he walked away grumbling. The two girls were glad someone sensible could control him, not knowing she was as evil as him.<br />She walked over to Wendy and squeezed her poor purple boobs as she said, "Are these sore?”<br />Wendy whimpered, "Oh God, yes!"<br />"Nice big tits. I can see why he couldn’t resist hitting them. I bet they bounced and jumped like crazy, didn’t they?"<br />Tears began rolling down Wendy’s cheeks as she remembered the ordeal and whimpered, "Yes. I thought he was going to rip them off. They are still throbbing and hurting like hell."<br />"Good! Are you going to be good now?"<br />"Yes! Just don’t hurt me any more. Please!"<br />"We’ll see," was Kitty’s only comment.<br />She pulled her dress up and over her head revealing an ugly flabby body of brown colour. Her massive tits hung like partially deflated balloons, and she had the hairiest crotch the girls had ever seen! The hair reached almost up to her navel. Margaret could hardly believe she would nonchalantly strip naked like that in front of her own brother.<br />But he didn’t even look at her. Maybe he was used to it He just stared at Wendy with a grin on his face obviously knowing what was coming.<br />Kitty said evilly, "Okay Wendy. Get on your knees. I want to see how good you are at pussy licking."<br />Wendy’s eyes grew big, and she looked at her in revulsion and said, "Do I have to? I am NOT a lesbian!"<br />"Me either, Bitch, but it still feels good. Besides, it will be a good start for you to get accustomed to such kind of service that will happen to you very often when you will live as a sow on the ranch. Now do it! I want a lot of tongue action."<br />Wendy whimpered and looked at her mate. Margaret knew it made it worse for her to know she was watching the weird act. Wendy got on her knees, and Kitty walked to her and pulled her head into that mass of curly, black, unkempt hair.<br />Wendy whimpered, "Oh God! It smells awful!" Immediately as if having expected her reluctance, Basil jumped aside and hit Wendy a stroke with a cane over her buttocks.<br />Kitty just laughed and said, "Yeah. Maybe I should have douched after the fucking with Basil and Bruce yesterday, but you are here to clean me out. Do it!!"<br />From nowhere – it seemed – Basil produced a cane and “encouraged” the hesitating girl into a quicker action.<br />Wendy pressed into the Negro slut’s groin, gagging and spitting as loose hairs went into her mouth. Kitty grabbed her head by its hair with a look of pure bliss on her face as she moaned "Deeper in! Make your tongue move faster and deeper in my canal!" Again a stroke met Wendy’s buns. Her cries gurgled into Kitty’s massive groin.<br />It seemed to take forever to get Kitty off, but finally she pushed Wendy away and said, "Nice head! You are gonna do fine for the moment. Some more experience, and you will become a satisfying cunt-lapper! "<br />Wendy got on her hands and knees and began gagging. It had been so long since they had food, so there was nothing to throw up. Kitty just grinned at her convulsing body then left to come to Margaret’s cell.<br />"Okay Margaret. You know the drill. Get on with it."<br />The poor girl now knew it was fruitless to argue and knelt in front of her to spread the hair with the hands and attentively lick her clitoris. Obviously, it wasn’t good enough! Kitty snarled: "Get that tongue in deeper and don’t forget my putrid asshole, ha – ha!"<br />Thankfully, Wendy had cleaned her enough to take away some of the smell and taste, but when Margaret ran her tongue over her anus the taste of her shit made her gag. She swore the Negro slut didn’t even try to wipe her ass after a shit. She just giggled as she watched the girl’s body convulse with her gagging. Margaret wet back to her clit, licking furiously in the effort to get her off quickly, and it worked! Kitty made a long moan and jerked away the blonde’s head to make her fall back to sprawl on the floor.<br />She stood there a moment rubbing the tongue’s spit and her cunt’s juices around on her slit, then said thoughtfully, "Do you girls like each other?"<br />Margaret answered: "Yes. We are best friends. Why are you asking?"<br />"Good, you may not hurt each other too much. Basil bring Wendy in here with a couple of switches. One little -- one big."<br />Basil dragged Wendy in and handed Kitty the willow switches. She held them up in front of Margaret. "Okay! Wendy is going to give you ten lashes of your choice: The little one on your tits and pussy, or the long one on your ass."<br />The girl gasped. This was diabolical! She would have to choose her punishment! It was a hell of a choice to make. The little switch was only about two feet long and about a half inch wide at the base narrowing to a point. The big one was over five feet long and much thicker. Even the end was about a quarter inch wide.<br />Margaret debated with herself. The short one was light enough to just sting without bruising badly, but it would be on her most sensitive places. The long one would definitely bruise badly as the weight dug deep into the flesh.<br />Kitty became impatient saying: "Come on! Lets go! You girls have worn me out. I want to get to bed."<br />Margaret finally murmured: "The little one, I guess."<br />"Good choice. It shouldn’t cut you. Wendy, I want you to give her six to her tits and four to her pussy. I want to see crimson lines! Any pink ones will get you another ten in the same place, got it?"<br />Wendy said: "Oh please, I don’t want to hurt her. Can’t YOU do it?"<br />"No, bitch! I want you to do it! Margaret, put your hands on your head and open your legs and keep holding still!"<br />Kitty was not satisfied until the girl’s legs were open about three feet apart. Margaret whimpered knowing every inch of her pussy was now vulnerable and worse -- the slit had opened.<br />Kitty handed the switch to Wendy. Wendy said: "Sorry, Margaret," and brought it back over her shoulder.<br />The victim braced herself, but was not prepared for the sting as it came down to hit the upper well of her boob and rip at the nipple. She screamed, and it was all she could do to keep her hands on her head since she wanted to caress the sting so bad.<br />Wendy hit the other breast in the same place, and Margaret screamed again as it ripped into the nipple, and she bent over to sob.<br />Kitty screamed, "Get back in position! Now!"<br />The crying girl straightened up, but the slut was not satisfied, until Margaret pushed out her boobs for the rest of the strokes. Thankfully Wendy did the next two fast and missed the nipples, but it obviously still hurt awful.<br />Kitty said: "Okay. Her pussy now. I want two red ‘X’es across the lips."<br />It was awful. It took longer, because Wendy had to move to the right side to make the switch whistle as it went down diagonally to rip at the sex-lips. As the sting radiated she went to the other side to bring it down for the first X. Margaret hated Wendy for it! She forgot the threat Wendy was under, but nevertheless hated her for hitting so terribly hard.<br />The stings radiated deep inside the sex as Wendy changed position to make the other X.<br />It hurt so bad, Margaret dropped to her knees and bawled like a baby as she caressed her tits and pussy, trying to lessen the sting.<br />Kitty grinned and said: "Good job, Wendy. Now it is your turn. Which switch?"<br />Wendy looked surprised. She had not realized she would have her turn.<br />She didn’t answer, only sobbing until Kitty yelled: "Dammit. Go on! Which switch?"<br />"Oh God!. My boobies are still sore. The ..the long one, I think."<br />Kitty said: "Okay. Bend over and hold on to the foot of the bed. Don’t let go! If you do, I will have her start all over."<br />"Margaret! I want to see deep red stripes a couple of inches apart, starting at the top of her ass and ending at the top of her thighs. They had better be good and scarlet!"<br />Now Margaret had no problem with that as she was hating Wendy not realizing until much later, this was a diabolical plan to make them hate each other.<br />She swung the switch as hard as she could, ignoring Wendy’s screams as Margaret watched her ass flatten and jiggle under the switch as deep red lines appeared. Obviously the juncture of her thighs and butt was especially sensitive since it brought the loudest screams.<br />Wendy collapsed on the bed with her ass in the air and began rubbing her ass with both hands like mad.<br />Basil yelled, "God, that makes me hot! Leave her there for me!"<br />He unsnapped the shoulder straps of his overalls to let them fall to his ankles and jammed his erect dick into Wendy’s pussy from behind to bring a loud squeal as it ripped into her dry slit. After a few pumps there, he pulled out and grabbed his long gnarly dick to aim it at her little puckered anus. He just jammed it in, causing Wendy to make an agonized howl. Kitty stood besides and encouraging her fucking brother by words like “Year, give it to her! Show her who is boss!” she stared with eager eyes on her brother fat prick pumping in and out of the howling girl’s belly. There was not a trace of compassion between females to each other.<br />He pumped furiously then jerked out to shoot his sperm onto Wendy’s poor, red ass. He dragged her back to her cell. They locked the victims in and left laughing.<br />Wendy laid on her bed, sobbing for awhile, then said accusingly: "You really hurt me bad, Margaret. It made it worse when I was butt-fucked."<br />"Don’t blame me, Girl! You hurt me bad too, Wendy."<br />"I know. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t take the chance of having my boobs hurt again."<br />"I understand. Go to sleep! It has been an awful day and I am more than exhausted."<br />"Oh God! What do you think they will do to us tomorrow?"<br />"I don’t want to think about it. Go to sleep." Margaret sighed with foreboding.<br />Neither of the girls could sleep for awhile because they could not help but think of other terrible things the perverts might do to them. Finally the exhaustion from all their pain allowed escape in sleep.<br />With dawn Margaret awoke, being not sure where she was, but the itchy wool blanket rather than the satin sheets made it plain she was not home. She kicked the blanket off as she opened her eyes, and the bars she saw brought back reality fast.<br />Wendy was already up and sitting on the edge of her bed caressing her breasts and sniffling. They looked awful! Solid black and blue.<br />When she saw her mate was awake, she said: "Oh Margaret. Look at my poor boobs. Do you think they will ever look good and attractive again?"<br />"Sure, Wendy! The bruises will fade in time. Do they still hurt a lot?"<br />"Not really. They are swollen and kind of throb though."<br />"That should go away soon. How is poor Nancy?<br />"I don’t know. She is still asleep."<br />Margaret got up to look at her. No-one had bothered to put a blanket on her and she was shivering in the morning chill, but was not yet awake. Margaret knew the ordeal yesterday must have exhausted her completely. Her body looked awful although she was no longer bleeding.<br />A short time later, Basil banged on the bars with a nightstick and yelled: "Breakfast. After that it is exercise time. Come and get it!"<br />He pushed trays under the doors with cups of coffee and bowls of mush. That woke Nancy, but she didn’t get up. She just weakly raised her head and moaned, "Oh no. It isn’t only a nightmare."<br />Basil yelled, "You got ten minutes to eat before I come back. Any flakes of mush left gets you a lash each!"<br />The coffee, sure as hell, wasn’t ‘Starbucks’, and the mush was nearly tasteless with just a little milk and no sugar, but they wolfed it down and even licked the bowl to make sure there was not the tiniest flake.<br />Margaret looked over at Nancy who was still in bed, moaning. Her mate yelled: "Nancy! Get up and eat! If that bowl is full when they get back they will lash all the skin off you!"<br />That scared her and she swung her legs off the bed, but when she tried to stand up, she screamed and fell. "Oh God! The brute dislocated my hips. I can’t walk!"<br />"Well, then crawl over to the bowl. You have to eat it anyway!"<br />She crawled over to it, but then she looked at the grey mass and sobbed: "I can’t eat. I feel sick."<br />"Then push it over to Wendy! They will eat it for you."<br />She did, and she and Margaret shared it although neither of them wanted more of this nauseating pig-swill.. Nancy rolled over on her belly and sipped the ‘coffee’ while feebly moving her legs trying to get rid of the cramp from her hips.<br />All three of these tormentors came in the jail a few minutes later, and Basil said, "Exercise Time!"<br />Bruce came in to Margaret’s cell and she froze. Sure, she was in for more pain, but he just put a dog-collar around her neck with a rope attached to it. Basil did the same with Wendy, and Kitty put on Nancy’s while she was on hands and knees.<br />They started to lead the girls out of the cells, but Nancy whined: "Help me! I can’t walk! He dislocated my hips!"<br />Kitty showed no compassion: "Crawl then! Bitches walk on four legs anyway."<br />Margaret and Wendy felt so sorry for Nancy. She made little squeals at each step, as Kitty jerked at her leash viciously, though she knew the rough cement floor had to hurt her knees badly.<br />They pulled the prisoners out to a dirty courtyard with three poles stuck in the ground and tied the ropes to them.<br />Kitty said: "Get up on your feet, Nancy!"<br />Nancy moaned: "I can’t. It hurts too much."<br />Kitty said: "Help her up, Bruce."<br />He grinned and said: "Sure!"<br />He went over to her where she was sitting in the dirt, sobbing from the pain of the long crawl, and reached down to grab her tits in each hand to squeeze them cruelly and lift her by the nipples so high that her toes were off the ground while she made agonized screams.<br />He let her down to lean against the post while tears rolled down her cheeks to splash on her poor bruised breasts.<br />Kitty finally showed some compassion. "Okay, Nancy, since you are so sore you don’t have to do the exercises today. Just walk around the post until the rope is tight then reverse until it is tight again!"<br />Nancy began limping around, but every time she stopped for a moment, Basil would pop her on the butt with the knot at the end of a long buggy whip to make her squeal and move ahead.<br />Kitty wearing some ugly flowered shorts and a T-shirt, moved in front of them and led the two other girls in exercises. Well, not really led them. She was too out of shape for that. She would just do a few to get the girls started and then counted. Any time either of them would stumble or get out of time, she would hit the girl with another buggy whip to leave a red splotch that stung like hell.<br />The sun was really hot, and soon Wendy and Margaret were dripping sweat as they did the aerobics. Having always worn shorts when exercising, both girls had not thought about how obscene the exercises were when done naked. Basil and Bruce loved watching the naked bodies. Without shame they rubbed their crotches as they laughed and made comments about how much those boobs jumped in jumping jacks and the way their pussies opened up in the stretching split-exercise. Wendy and Margaret never stopped blushing throughout the long hour.<br />By the end of the hour, Nancy was able to walk with only a little limp, but the damn exercises had excited the men. They made Wendy and Margaret suck their dicks, but they were lucky nevertheless, as the straining sports were over. Nancy however had to pull down Kitty’s shorts and lick that hairy stinking pussy anew. Margaret knew Nancy’s pride had been completely broken, when she did it with no visible sign of protest.<br />The negroes made the three girls stand in the hot sun until their cum had dried on their faces and then led them back to the cells to wonder what indignity or pain they would come up with next.<br />As soon as they were locked in their cells, they rushed to the bucket of drinking water in each cell first to drink some gulps, and then to scrub off the dried smelly cum with the corners of the wool blankets.<br />Bruce chuckled: "Hey, ain't it nice to have such clean little girls?"<br />Basil said, "Yep! Clean and pretty. That South American Rancher should pay a mint for them."<br />As soon as they left Margaret said to her mates: "Did you hear what they said?! They plan to sell us to a South-American rancher. Those people are human-despising. They have no compassion with their stable- or field-hands!”<br />Wendy knew Nancy had lost all her will to fight when she whimpered: "Oh God. Margaret. Don’t do anything to make them mad! When Bruce was holding me up by my boobs, he said,>Sweet tits! Maybe I will fry them and eat them.< He sure would do!” Nancy broke into hysterical sobbing just at the thought.<br />Wendy agreed, saying: "I don’t believe ranchers of Latin-America could be worse than these brutes here. I think they will just want us for sex. Don’t do anything! Please, Margaret?"<br />In spite of their begging Margaret went through every plan she could think of to try to escape, but none seemed workable.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 3 The curtain opens up<br /><br />The next morning, Basil said as he pushed the mush in: "Your girls are in luck. Bruce and Kitty went to town to go through junkyards to find some stuff to make a third sulky for racing. Up to now we have only two. Kitty said, I should let you rest up to collect your strength for the racing tomorrow. They will be gone all day."<br />Margaret said, "Racing? You have horses?"<br />"No, baby! You girls are going to be the horses. You will race, and the losers will be whipped by the winner. Pray you don’t get Bruce. He weighs about 260 pounds."<br />Basil laughed as he left. Nancy began bawling, and between sobs she said: "Oh God! I know Bruce will want ME. I will die for sure!"<br />Margaret said: "Now will you eventually help me come up with a plan to escape?"<br />They tried hard, but they couldn’t come up with anything workable either. They were still talking softly when Basil returned, saying: "I think I will give you a taste of sulky racing. Nancy’s legs are still weak, so Margaret and Wendy can cut cards. Low card is the horse. the rest of you can watch."<br />There was new hope: Maybe the three of them would get a chance to gang up on him. They cut cards and Wendy lost. Margaret felt sorry for her, but was silently happy. She had won, and Wendy had to function as Basil’s “mare”.<br />But they did not get a chance to gang up. He took the stark naked girls out one by one to handcuff each one to telephone-poles in front of the jail. Then he brought out Wendy with her hands cuffed behind her back.<br />He led her over to a strange contraption: It was like a rickshaw, but much cruder with iron pipes running from an axle with go-cart wheels. The iron shafts bend to fit a girl’s waist, and an old iron tractor-seat on a springy piece of steel was welded to the axle. He led Wendy between the shafts and buckled a wide leather strap from the pipes to her waist.<br />The next part was horrifying: He reached into a sack and brought out two huge fish-hooks with nylon line tied to them and drove the sharp points clear through poor Wendy’s nipples, ignoring her screams.<br />He reached down to the ground to get a long leather whip, then got into the tractor-seat, putting the handle of the whip into a holder.<br />He announced: "When I pull back like this -- means >stop<." And he jerked on both reins to jerk Wendy’s tits into her armpits, while she let out a shrill scream. "When I pull on this one -- turn right!” He jerked on the right rein to pull her tit back and stretched the nipple horribly to bring another scream. He ignored it and said: "When I pull on this -- turn left!" He jerked on her left nipple so hard Margaret thought the hook may tear out as Wendy screamed and turned as far as she could.<br />"Okay. We are ready. Get ready to run!" He took both reins in one hand and brought out the whip. He swung it around her arms to make it >S P L A T< into both boobs, and Wendy bent over in pain and began running as fast as she could.<br />The sulky bounced at each pothole to make him jerk on the reins, and he never stopped whipping her until the end of the street, when he had to put the whip back into the holder to jerk on her left nipple to make her turn to come back. Watching the poor running, terrified, panting and sweating girl being whipped like a hack-mare was sheer hell!<br />As soon as she was headed straight, Basil brought out the whip to flog her some more until she got to the horrified girls waiting, where he jerked back on both reins to make Wendy scream as her poor nipples were stretched to the maximum. She hurriedly stopped.<br />She stood there panting as sweat poured down over the nasty red stripes covering her boobs and tummy. Thankfully, the shafts had prevented the whip had reached her mound and pussy.<br />He grinned and said: "You got the idea of the racing, I hope. Surely Wendy has got it. She is fast and will give her future owner a lot of pleasure!"<br />He tied the reins to a post, then led Nancy first and Margaret second into their cells before returning for Wendy.<br />After she was in too and lay on her bed sobbing, he came into Margaret’s cell and said: "That got me rock hard. Take down my overalls and suck me off."<br />It was horrible. Margaret like her mate would never get used to the shame. As usual he made it as humiliating as possible by shooting his cum all over the girl’s face.<br />He began pulling up his overalls as he said, "Not a bad blowjob. I will be back later to work up another hard-on by whipping those nice tits."<br />Meanwhile Kitty and Bruce had returned from their errands. The had found the stuff to construct a third kind of a sulky, as primitive and simple as the type of yesterday, but this one more stabile due the extraordinary weight of Bruce. The day-time was too late for another sulky-race, so the prisoners were put into their cells to recover for the tomorrow race.<br />With horror, Margaret and her mates looked forward to the coming ordeal. They were fed the tasteless swill and then led outside into the court’s yard. The girls' wrists were lashed together, and tied to the back of her collar; so the stood slightly bend forward leaving the buttocks exposed to the whip when standing between the shafts.<br />Margaret could hardly believe what was happening. So she stood mute, squeezing her thighs together, trying to deny the pain, when the fish-hooks were pierced through her nipples. She heard her mates yell as well.<br />‘Back mare!’ Bruce said. Then she guided Margaret backwards, between the aluminium tube shafts of the new two-wheeled trotting-sulky.<br />Shivering in the cool evening air, trembling with shame and degradation, the three naked girls stood mute, as Kitty and the men clipped the ends of the aluminium arm-stretchers to the ends of the shafts. Then Kitty stood back, nodding with satisfaction, as she looked at their victims, now being servile harnessed pony-slaves.<br />Margaret stifled a sob of shame, as she realised again, these two black brutes and even Kitty really did consider her to be a beast, rather than human. And she had bad luck: The heavy fat-bellied Bruce mounted the sulky behind her, whilst Nancy had to pull Kitty and Wendy was driven by Basil.<br />Nancy was shaking now, knowing what was soon to come. She and her helpless comrades were going to be whipped into a gallop, to run as fast as they could, to pull the gig flying across the uneven track. The pony-girls also knew, if the gig turned over, harnessed as they were, the unfortunate “pony” would go with it, and could suffer serious injury. The prospect frightened them, and it was not only the cold which was making them tremble.<br />Margaret groaned to herself and her heart sank even lower, as she realized the weight of her dark skinned driver who sat shifting his fat body in the tractor-seat to find the most comfortable position. Why had the fate determined just him as her driver? He had a wicked horse-whip in his right hand. Margaret knew this race was going to be murder!<br />Trembling and nervously awaiting the “Giddy-up”-command Margaret heard Kitty scolding at Nancy: “Stop spitting onto the reins, mare!” she said. ‘”I don’t want these things slipping out half-way through the race.’ He slashed the whip into her body, making her squeal with shock and pain. “And you had better win or I’ll shred your ass.”<br />Basil stepped up, laughing. ‘She won’t win Kitty! But I’m sure you’ll make her try hard enough!’<br />“You bet,” Kitty snarled back, swung her whip over her shoulder and shouted: “Go! Set off! Move your legs, girls!”<br />Nancy felt her insides curl with pain, as the stinging whip lashed down. She began to pull the heavy load behind her, answering to each tug of the reins as Kitty guided her around the former parade ring that served now as race-ground. Every few seconds, The whip snapped beside her ears, slapping on her back, hips, or flicked her exposed buttocks, to keep her at speed and to remind her of her position.<br />Running as fast as they could, Margaret was alone in her misery, for there were two other girls ahead of her, because her driver was the heaviest. Harnessed in the same way, all three tried to keep in step, their breasts and buttocks jiggling, erotically for the drivers in their seats, as they galloped around the yard, displaying their maximum effort. None of them realised what they would look just as erotic a sight, as they ran ahead, feeling her own breasts and buttocks, bouncing about, in time with her enforced, exaggerated gait, wincing each the driver’s whip cracked on their sweating skins.<br />Bruce whipped his “mare” incessantly, without any mercy, the fat Black was roaring at her, slapping the reins, slashing at vulnerable hide with the whip, urging her on. ‘Run Mare! Run!’ Savagely, Bruce hauled on the reins, causing the nipples to be torn into her arm-pits however of course Kitty’s “Pony” won. Basil with Wendy were second and with two seconds retardation Margaret stumbled through the finish-line.<br />Panting and puffing the exhausted girl broke down between the shafts, sobbing as she fell to her knees in the mud. But the whipping continued. ‘On your feet you mare!’ Bruce roared at her. ‘You might be last, but you’ll damn will walk into the cell by yourself!”<br />The mistreated girls were rather dragged than walked into there cells and let recover. In the evening, basil entered the cell with a long fire-hose in his hand and without regard of the welts and bruises he sprayed the naked girls off. There was the forecast of an important visitor.<br />Before he entered the Jail, Bruce and Basil led the girls out of their cells and prepared them by oiling the bruised Skin with liniment. A long table served as an inspection deckchair, which the girls had to lie down belly up. Bruce and Basil bound the wrists and ankles to prepared rings. Kitty came along with a shaver and removed the stubble of hairs on the girls’ sex-mounds. Without decency the private parts were displayed to any visitor.<br />And the visitor entered the old jail. He was an imposing Negro, 6 feet 9 inches tall and broad-shouldered. His face looked intelligent and well educated. His manicured hands proved his elegance and kind of noblesse. The three jailers treated him with utmost respect, calling him “Sir”.<br />“Please, enter and come nearer, Mr. Samson. Here they are prepared for your inspection, Sir. Feel free to test their attributes in every respect, Sir.” Kitty invited this black man.<br />He bowed his head down to the staring faces of the girls. All he was interested in were the colour of their eyes and the teeth in their mouths. The girls felt like horses on the market and dared not move or speak.<br />After that the elegant Negro stroked the nipples and kneaded the breasts. When he seemed to be content, he ran his hand down to their bellies and mounds, muttering: “Nice to see your sex-parts perfectly depilated, this will save us much effort. How old are these objects?” And when he pulled the pubic lips far apart and saw each vagina deflowered, he asked: “Did any of them they have foaled?”<br />“No, Sir,” answered Kitty who was the smartest of the three jailers, “Nancy is 21 years old, Wendy is nineteen and Margaret here is eighteen. They were Cheerleaders of their hometown’s football-team.”<br />Mr. Samson, as Margaret had overheard Kitty addressing this black giant, seemed particularly interested in the sex-organs of the girls. He smiled and nodded his head: “Good to hear they are still young, so each of them can have up to twenty progenies until they are worn-out.” The girls’ eyes grew wide in horror, but they kept silent with shock.<br />“Under condition they are as healthy as they look from outside, I offer you fifteen thousand.”<br />“Fifteen thousand only? Sir, they are cheerleaders and well build figures. We thought twenty thousand minimum!” confirmed Kitty.<br />“Sure, they are pretty and well bred, but I cannot but notice the many welts on their shoulders and thighs in spite of laying on their backs which seem to bear more weal than the visible parts. Are they obstinate?”<br />“No,” hurried Bruce to make sure, “they were a bit lazy and have needed some training, Sir!”<br />“Seems they’re not as fit as we thought, isn’t it?!’ Samson shrugged. ‘Not to worry. We’ll soon alter that on our ranch! Okay, I give you eighteen thousand. My last offer!”<br />Kitty and her brother looked nodding to each other and agreed. While Basil untied the shocked girls, the black visitor gave the black kidnappers a pack of Dollar bills outside in the “sheriff’s office”<br />Bruce and Basil led the almost numbed girl outdoors of the rotten jail building where a Van with deeply dark tinted windows was parked. Unceremoniously they threw the bundle of whipped girls inside the van’s load-room and banged the doors shut. Inside it was pitch dark and the girls were this scared that they neither yelled nor struggled against their shackles. They could but sob quietly.<br />Their destination was reached at midnight by aircraft to Colombia and later by helicopter to a secret, private airfield in the jungle.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 4: The secret Court<br />The trial in the dusty little court room had been a farce from the beginning.<br />The charges were ludicrous, the defence a shame, and the judge blatantly biased. Since the beginning of the trial, Paul had not been allowed to say one word in his own defence or say one word of protest about the way he had been kidnapped on his way home from a convention, bundled into a truck and driven over a hundred miles to be shut up in an airless cell with a dozen other young men and women, all unknown to him.<br />He had soon realized that all the captors were black and all the victims were white or of mixed race. Paul could only guess that this was some kind of racist act of revenge. The prisoners had not been allowed to exchange a word with each other and had been guarded day and night, so they had no idea who the other prisoners were, what they were accused of or even if there was any link between them. On the few occasions they were not blindfolded, he had noticed among them one very attractive young blonde girl of about his own age.<br />His captors all wore a type of army uniform, reminiscent of the uniforms worn by the “National Liberation Army” of the early sixties. Paul had always thought such racist movements a joke, and he would have thought so now, if it weren’t for the guns and grenades which the guards waved around as if they were under the influence of drugs. They also wielded a variety of whips and truncheons, which they used unmercifully at the slightest sign of resistance or hesitation on the part of the prisoners. It was clear that nearly all the prisoners, especially the girls, had already been terrorised into submission. Paul himself had already received enough blows with their truncheons and lashes from their whips to decide that any kind of resistance was pointless.<br />* *<br /> “The Court will rise!” said the black usher.<br />All stood, as the three judges returned to take their seats behind the bare table. Two guards gripped Paul firmly by his arms to keep him standing. The middle judge looked him full in the face:<br />“Paul Sheehan. You have been charged with several crimes against the Black People of the Unites states, and you have been found guilty on all charges by the >First People’s Tribunal<. You are hereby sentenced to ten years imprisonment with hard labour, or a longer term, should your behaviour in prison merit it. Take him away!”<br />The guards seized Paul even more firmly and frogmarched him back to his cell. When they reached the cell, they unlocked the door and pushed him viciously inside.<br />“What the hell …,” Paul began, but one of the guards smote him hard across the cheek with his big black hand: “Condemned prisoners are forbidden to speak at all times!”<br />Over the next few hours, the other white prisoners were returned to the cell with equal brutality. Some of the girls had equally been weeping. They were too closely guarded to exchange even the briefest of information.<br />That night the prisoners were all chained to a ring low down in the wall, so that they could only lie on the floor like animals, and they were let off the ring only once each to use the bucket in the corner of the cell.<br />By morning, Paul felt exhausted and filthy. For supper they had been given a chunk of hard bread and a tin bowl of tepid water. Paul could not wait to get to the prison, wherever it was. It could not be worse than this. He was still completely baffled as to what crimes he had committed.<br />Still, no doubt, his sister would soon find out what had happened to him and set the law in process to get him away from these people, whose legal status was clearly farcical. He had vague rumours of an illegal Black Army, but he had no idea they actually existed and were so well organised and equipped. He wished he could speak to some of the other prisoners to find out what sort of things they were supposed to have done wrong. As far as he was concerned, it must surely be a case of mistaken identity.<br />Paul was able to snatch only a few moments of sleep, lying on the hard floor of the cell. He could tell from the wetness of the floor and the smell that some of the others had wet themselves during the night.<br />As his watch had been taken away when he was arrested, he had no idea of the time, but before it was light, he heard the door being unlocked. Four guards burst into the cell, and with a mixture of blows and curses got the prisoners to their feet. These guards did not believe in communicating, and Paul found himself twisted round, while his hands were cuffed tight behind his back. A blindfold was fitted over his eyes and a gag round his mouth. He felt a steel neck-collar being fastened round his neck and a chain from the collar attached to a longer chain, which held all the prisoners close together.<br />Then without a word of command the prisoners were prodded out of the cell into the open air. Paul breathed the fresh air with a sigh of relief.<br />They were roughly pushed up some steps into a large van, and immediately the van drove off. Still no word had been spoken. Paul could hear some of the girls sobbing, and in the van there was a stench of human fear. At least their blindfolds were removed, but there were no windows in the van, so Paul could not see where they were. He did find himself near the pretty girl, however, and during the journey she smiled at him several times with an expression that implied that she was not going to let these bastards defeat her.<br />After an hour’s journey through the darkness the van stopped, and the prisoners were bundled down some steps into what looked like an aircraft hangar, and once inside they were lined up against a wall. Almost immediately, the guards grabbed the arms of each of the prisoners in turn, and one of the guards gave them each an injection in the upper arm.<br />Paul vaguely remembered one of the guards unchaining his collar from the neck chain then slumping down onto the floor. In a state of almost complete stupor he remembered being pushed across some grass and up some steps into an aeroplane, he remembered flopping down into a seat and hearing some engines starting, then his mind went blank …<br /><br /><br />Chapter 5: Welcome to the Ranch<br /><br /> The next thing Paul remembered was being woken up and blindfolded again. He was still in the aircraft, but soon he was been hauled to his feet and pushed and prodded out of the aircraft down the steps into yet another van. Now fully awake, he wanted to protest, but the sound of whips and truncheons reminded him once more of his helplessness. He could feel the sun hot overhead and the air smelt of grass and trees, as though they were a long way from civilisation. Paul had no idea if they were even in the United States still. Apparently not, for this region surely was a tropical part of the world.<br />Once in the van, his collar was attached to the neck-chain again, and the van set off, each bump and lurch causing the heavy metal chain to pull at his neck.<br />After what seemed an interminable ride, the van stopped. The doors were opened, and Paul heard a new set of voices ordering the prisoners to get out. Their blindfolds were removed, but with their arms manacled behind their backs and their necks still attached to the heavy neck-chain, it was difficult and painful. The girls were ordered to stay in the truck, and as soon all male prisoners had descended, the truck drove off with the girls only.<br />Paul had a quick look round. They were obviously on some kind of ranch. They were standing in a large corral type of enclosure, surrounded on three sides by a tall brick wall. On the forth side was a high stone wall, which probably formed one wall of a stable yard. There was a wide gate in this wall, and Paul could see a large yard and some stables through the gateway.<br />In the enclosure were several hitching posts and some low hurdles, obviously for jumping, and also a variety of low wooden platforms whose purpose he could not imagine. Various items of farm machinery like plows and harrow lay scattered round the yard.<br />Anyway, he didn’t have much time to study his surroundings, because one of the new guards yelled at the prisoners to stand in line and not talk. There seemed to be four new guards, and Paul realised that those who had been with them in the truck had gone off with the female prisoners. Once again he noticed that all the guards were black dressed in riding breeches of various colours, and all wore black or brown boots, most of which were covered in mud or dust. They all had whips dangling from their wide belts, and all carried riding crops or truncheons in their hands. They seemed as well-build and tough as those who had guarded them in the truck.<br />Paul stood in a line with a young boy on his left and an older man on his right. Beyond this man were a Mexican and the other three Americans whose name he had not yet discovered. The sun merciless was beating down from a cloudless sky, and Paul had an intense urge both to pee and to find something to drink. It had been several hours since they had either drunk or eaten. There was no sign of a tap anywhere, but there were several horse- troughs in the corral. Looking down at his feet, Paul noticed the large amount of horse manure on the ground. This was obviously an active and busy ranch. Oh well, he thought, if he had to be a prisoner, there could be worse places than a ranch.<br />“Keep your eyes to the front, number two!” yelled a guard, and Paul felt a sharp tap across his back from a riding crop. He realised that however innocent he might think himself, these Negroes were behaving as though he had been already tried and sentenced though for what crime, God only knows!<br />They were lined up facing the gate, and after about ten minutes waiting in the blazing sun, a Negro appeared through the gate riding a large and beautifully groomed chestnut horse, and trotted easily towards them. He too was dressed in black breeches and riding boots and a black leather shirt almost completely open down to his waist. His chest was pretty hairy. The Negro, being more about six inches tall in Paul’s opinion, was not as tall as the other guards, but he was solidly build and his tightly curled hair already showed streaks of grey. At first glance his face, set on a thick bull-neck, seemed lined and evil. In his right hand he carried an enormous bull whip, which he swung with relish. Behind him at the same pace, and wearing the same riding costume, trotted four other sturdy Negroes. These last four placed themselves at four corners of an imaginary square round the prisoners, and sat motionless and expressionless on their horses. The riding crops in their hands, and the glistening spurs on the heels of their well-polished boots, all added to the overwhelming feeling of the menace. There were now nine guards and only seven prisoners.<br />The leader dismounted and tethered his horse to one of the hitching rails. The horse promptly shat over the ground not far from where Paul was standing. It gave Paul an overwhelming urge to shit too. He had not been for about sixteen hours.<br />The man came up to Paul’s young neighbour and shove his face right into the white boy’s.<br />“Name?” he barked.<br />“Harris,” Alex replied trying to draw his face away from the sweating Negro. “Alex Harris!”<br />“Age?”<br />“Eightenn,” said Alex.<br />The Negro drew back his left hand and gave Alex a vicious swipe across his right cheek: “SIR! You scum!! You address all Blacks here as >Sir<! Got it?”<br />“Eighteen, SIR!” said Alex blushing profusely. He was relieved when the man moved on to Paul.<br />“Name?”<br />“Sheehan, Paul Sheehan, Sir!” said Paul firmly.<br />“Age?”<br />“Twenty-two, SIR!”<br />The Negro had the coarse features and grizzled appearance of an aging baboon, his teeth like most black men’s were perfect, but everything about him reeked of pure animal strength and probably animal mentality too, Paul thought, as he tried hard to control his natural urge to be rebellious. Never before had he had to address a black man as >Sir<!!<br />The man moved on to Paul’s neighbour, the blonde, suntanned Texan, whom Paul still only knew as Mr. Conroy.<br />Mr. Conroy, a picture of physical fitness with rippling muscles and a face, which exuded authority, towered above his black opponent.<br />“Name?”<br />“Conroy, .. and I’m forty-two!”<br />“Full name?”<br />“MISTER Conroy to you nigger!”<br />Jones pulled back his left arm and smashed his hand across Conroy’s cheek, so that the tall Texan toppled to one side.<br />“Full name, you honkie scum! And call me Sir, when you speak to me!”<br />“James Conroy. And I never address niggers as Sir, especially as I have not done anything wrong, and you have no right to bring me to here or hold me against my will!”<br />“You will regret your attitude, sooner than you might suppose, Conroy, more than I can say, but I’ll leave it to my boss to explain the consequences to you.”<br />And with that he passed on to the other four young white prisoners, who answered promptly and respectfully to avoid having their faces smashed by the Negro’s huge fist.<br />As the black man finished the inspection, Paul saw a horse trot smartly through the gate. The horse was large and white in colour and excellently well groomed. Its harness glistened in the sun. On its back sat a slim and elegant Negro. Unlike the other Negroes, whose costume all bore signs of dust and heat, this man was beautifully dressed in skin tight white riding breeches and highly polished black riding boots which came up to just below his knee. He wore a wide black silk skirt, through which his muscular black body seemed to be bursting, and round his waist he wore a wide black shiny belt, from which dangled a short snaky brown whip. On his heels he had cruel spiked spurs, which also glistened in the sun. He looked very young , and Paul realized with a catch in his throat that he was one of the most handsome men he had ever seen. He seemed to be more than six and a half inches tall.<br />The elegant man rode straight up to the hefty Negro and asked him in a quite authoritative voice: “Are the prisoners ready, Mr. Jones?”<br />“All present, and ready for your inspection, Sir. One is proving difficult, Sir!”<br />“Oh, I see, it’s Mr. Conroy without doubt! Don’t worry, Jones, we’ll soon sort him out.”<br />And with that, he rode up and down the line of prisoners, using the tip of his riding crop to raise the chins of each of them and gave them a hard look. It was the first time Paul had ever stood with his hands bound behind him and had been examined by a man on horseback. He realized what a psychological advantage a man on a horse had over a man on foot. No doubt, that was the reason why mounted police were so effective against demonstrators. Everything that had happened to Paul in the last few days seemed to have sapped him of his will to resist. As the horse passed Mr. Conroy, it trod on the white mans bare foot, and Conroy gave a sharp cry of pain. Paul realized the black rider had done it deliberately.<br />The man then turned his horse, retreat a few paces and turned to face his captive audience. He ordered: “Unchain the prisoners from the neck chain!”<br />The four guards and Jones hastened to carry out his order. At least the removal of the long neck-chain gave Paul the freedom to move and ease some of the stiffness in his neck.<br />“Now,” said the black man, and Paul noticed the guards close in towards them and tighten their hands on their whips as he spoke: “I would like to welcome you to the >Eldorado Ranch<. You may have no idea where you are. I will merely tell you that you are somewhere in South America.” You have all been found guilty of crimes against black men or women in your in your home-states and have been sentenced to serve a minimum of ten years imprisonment with hard labour. The country where we are has a black government, who are totally in agreement with our policies, and I can assure you that you have no chance of escape from this ranch, and that if you succeed to escape you would be caught at once by the local police and be returned to here. The penalty for attempting to escape is death by slaughtering alive after a rigorous fattening scheme. Also I can assure you that you have no hope of being traced by your own family and friends. They have already been told that you perished in some kind of accident. Now, my name is Samson, Mister Samson to you. The director of this ranch is a lady, whom you will hardly ever see personally. I am the head overseer of the men’s section of this prison-ranch, and Senorita Lopez is the head overseer of the women’s section. Men and women prisoners rarely meet and are strictly forbidden to speak to each other or communicated with each other in any way. This is a working cattle ranch and has a large farm and a cotton plantation. All the labour here is done by prisoners. There are virtually no motor-vehicles or tractors, and all the motive force is provided by horses or prisoners. For the length of your stay here you are in effect slaves, and you will regard you as such. You will regard all the overseers as your masters and mistresses, and treat them with the respect they deserve from a slave. Slaves may never speak unless spoken to. Slaves will always kneel when a master passes them or speaks to them. Slaves will obey any order a master gives them instantly. Failure to obey a master’s order will lead to severe punishment. I have unlimited power to extent a prisoner’s sentence, especially for disobedience. However, if you work hard and show the utmost respect for your superiors, I also have unlimited power to remit part of your sentence. Now I’m going to dismount and tell you individually what crimes you have been found guilty and what your sentence is.”<br />Mr. Samson dismounted and threw his horse’s reins to one of the overseers. Paul could see that all the overseers treated Samson with awe.<br /><br /><br />Samson, accompanied by Jones, went up to Alex and looked him up and down. Alex blushed and hung his head. He was not used to being examined in the nude. Suddenly Jones’ huge fist rose and smashed Alex across his right cheek.<br />“Didn’t you hear what the master said about slaves kneeling when a master approaches them?”<br />Alex dropped instantly to his knees and bowed his head right down.<br />“Get up, slave!” Samson said coolly.<br />Alex rose and stood miserably as Samson ran his gloved hand over his youthful body, saying: “Mr. Harris. Only son of a Pittsburgh steel magnate. Yes, Mr. Harris, your father has been found guilty of ill-treating his black workers. We are unable to capture him personally, so it was decided, to take you instead. Still, his punishment will be to spend the next ten years thinking that his son is dead. Your parents haven been told you were lost at sea. Your father meanwhile has been warned about his treatment of black workers. If he treats them better and pays a large ransom, you will be released in due course. Meanwhile, you will learn to treat black people with respect, won’t you?”<br />“Yes,” mumbled Alex. Jones smashed his cheek again.<br />“It is >Yes, MASTER<!” shouted Jones.<br />“Yes, Master,” said Alex louder, tears running down his reddened cheek. Samson moved on to Paul and started to look him up and down. Jones prepared himself to raise his fist, and Paul immediately dropped to his knees.<br />“Get up, slave!” said Samson calmly. Paul rose and looked Samson straight in the eyes.<br />“Mr. Sheehan from Arkansas, I see.”<br />“Yes, Master!”<br />“And you were a lawyer with a thriving practice?”<br />“Yes, Master.”<br />“Your parents are dead, but you have a married sister, living in Little Rock?”<br />“Yes, Master.”<br />“And you were a member of the local >Klu-Klux-Klan<?”<br />“Yes, Master.”<br />“Why?”<br />“Because my sister was gang-raped by some black youth when she was fifteen. I have hated all black men ever since.”<br />“Most regrettable, I agree, but knowing these white American girls with their short skirts and low-cut blouses … I am sure she asked or provoked it!”<br />“No, she didn’t!”<br />Jones fist smashed into Paul’s face. He tumbled into Conroy on his right.<br />“Don’t speak, slave, unless the master asks you a question!” Jones shouted harshly.<br />“All right, Jones, Mr. Sheehan is not yet used to showing respect to black men. But he will soon learn. Well, Mr. Sheehan, your sentence is twenty years!”<br />“But I thought it was ten years?” Paul protested. Jones again got prepared to smash him.<br />“Work hard, and it could be,” Samson said softly. He ran his hands approvingly over Paul’s virile body. “Meanwhile your sister believes you were killed in a climbing accident in the Andes.” The rapid change in Samson’s tone surprised Paul.<br />And with that, Samson moved on to Conroy who stood his ground and looked defiantly at Samson with disgust. Jones brought down his whip hard across Conroy’s shoulders.<br />“Lower your eyes before a master, you scum!” yelled Jones.<br />Conroy did not move, but continued to look defiantly at Samson, Jones hit him again.<br />“Stop it, Mr. Jones. He will soon learn to show his new masters the proper respect. I have the ideal treatment in mind to make him learn who his betters are.”<br />Samson ran the tip of his riding crop up and down Conroy’s naked body and then, pushing his face into Conroy’s face, snarled:<br />“You, Conroy, owned an oil-company and a large ranch in Dallas?”<br />“I did indeed!” snapped Conroy.<br />“And you employed several black servants?”<br />“I did! There is nothing illegal in that! And I paid them well!”<br />“Yes, you did. You were also in the habit of raping your black maids and then dismissing them when they were pregnant, is that true?”<br />“Yes,” said Conroy quietly, but uncertainly, showing the first crack in his self-confidence.<br />“ … and some of them ended up as prostitutes in Dallas?”<br />“Maybe …”<br />“I know that your company also indirectly controlled prostitution in Dallas and Houston?”<br />“I don’t know about this.” He muttered.<br />“And you have been using only black prostitutes?”<br />“Probably ..”<br />“Well, Mr. Conroy, your crimes are by far the greatest of all slaves here. You will serve a minimum of thirty years hard labour. If you behave, it might be reduced.”<br />“But you can’t do that. I will never get away with it! I have powerful friends!” His timid voice betrayed his fear.<br />“You had, Mr. Conroy, you had them. They all think you’re dead. They are already splitting your company between them, your mercenary friends!”<br />Samson let him alone in his confusion and moved on to the interview of the other four prisoners, but Paul could hardly hear what they said to Samson. Anyway, he was too busy thinking about what Samson had just said to him. If these crazy men meant what they said, he would be at least thirty-two years old when he was released. Oh God!!!<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 6: A demonstration of power<br /><br />Samson returned to his horse, and Paul noticed that one of the overseers immediately knelt in the mire and made a back for his boss to mount. Looking more powerful and sinister than ever, Samson swung his horse round and snapped at Jones: “Carry on, Mr, Jones!”<br />Jones stepped to the front of the line and, brandishing his whip menacingly, shouted: “Now, slaves, the first thing you learn is that whenever a black master or mistress approaches you, you immediately kneel with your forehead pressed into the ground and your nose rubbing the earth, anyway if dry dust or slimy mud. This is called >grovelling<. You will also grovel instantly whenever a master flick his fingers and points at the ground or says the word >Down!<.”<br />Paul could hardly believe his ears, but all these things Samson and Jones said seemed to be in deadly earnest.<br />“You will now spend a short time learning to grovel. How long depends on you, but you will not leave this spot until the Master is satisfied of your instant obedience. DOWN!!”<br />Any hesitation Paul or the others felt was soon dispelled by a torrent of blows from the overseers’ whips and riding crops. As he fell to his knees, a whiplash of one of the black overseers cut across his back. Oh, how this blow hurt! He dug his forehead into the ground and rubbed his nose in the dirt. Even at that distance from the stables the earth smelt strongly of manure, though Paul could not make out whether it was horse-manure or cow-manure. The complete hopelessness and humiliation of his position overwhelmed him.<br />Here he was, probably thousand of miles from home, stark naked, his arm pinioned behind him, dying of thirst, and he was being forced to grovel before a gang of black thugs who seemed to have escaped from a lunatic asylum. He heard a sob beside him and, glancing to his left, he saw that tears were trickling down the rosy cheeks of the good looking boy kneeling beside him.<br />Suddenly Paul heard the noise of running feet and he became aware that several pairs of black boots were standing not far from his face. Uuughhh! How menacing boots seem, when you are grovelling before them. Especially when they are adorned with vicious looking spurs! There was a sound of flailing whips, and Paul heard Jones shout: “Down! Conroy! When I say >Down<, you get on your knees Boy!”<br />Calling a more than forty years old businessman as >Boy< was an insult in itself. So Conroy snapped back furiously: “Go to hell, Nigger!”<br />“Okay! I will beat the shit out of you, you honkie scum!”<br />“I have never knelt to anyone, let alone a nigger! You have no right to make me kneel, and when I get out of here, I will make certain you will pay dearly for all this!”<br />“All right, Jones,” Samson laughed, “leave him be! He is too stubborn to strive with him will soon regret his attitude. Tell the others to get up!”<br />“UP!” yelled Jones. With difficulty Paul scrambled to his feet, what was not so easy with his hands chained behind his back.<br />Once the prisoners were standing in line again, Samson pulled a Walkie-Talkie out of his pocket. He spoke into it audibly enough for the prisoners to overhear: “Eh Benson, get over to the corral at once and bring Mr. Percy to here and a complete set of gear!”<br />Paul could hear Samson’s order being acknowledged, when Samson turned his horse back to face the overseers and prisoners.<br />“Mister Conroy,” he said in an icy voice, “I am giving you one final chance. When I say >Down!<, you will immediately grovel and crawl to Mr. Jones’ boots and lick them clean!”<br />“Never!” affirmed Conroy defiantly, his face red with anger.<br />“D O W N !!” shouted Samson.<br />Conroy chose that moment to break away from his captors and escape towards the gate of the corral. What he hoped to achieve against such odds, only he could know, but it was the last flying of a desperate man. Samson seemed to be expecting some such manoeuvre, because he merely turned his horse, unlashed a lasso from his waist and, with one deft flick of his wrist, sent the noose curling over Conroy’s head so that it dropped down and pinioned him around his chest.<br />Conroy fell into the dust, cursing abuse. Whereupon Samson set his horse off on a gentle trot round the corral, dragging his victim roughly behind him over the dirt . To Paul it seemed like a scene out of a Western.<br />After several minutes Samson returned and ordered his men to release Conroy from the lasso and tie him to one of the six low platforms in the corral. Bleeding and filthy, Conroy’s will to resist had been broken. He allowed himself to be stretched over one of the platforms and have he hands and legs bound to the four legs, so that he was, in effect, in a kneeling position, his fat and densely hair-covered buttocks raised high. Paul assumed that Conroy was about to be whipped, but he was wrong.<br />At that moment, Paul saw a new overseer strolling towards him. He was tall, broad and grizzled. He had arm and legs like tree trunks. Behind him, there was a figure struggling against a heavy chain lead attached to a sturdy ring in his nose-septum. At first, Paul thought it was the largest and most obscene pig he had ever seen. But when the overseer dragged the “animal” nearer to Paul, he saw with shocked astonishment that the ugly beast was a man! A huge, grossly fattened man crawling on his hands and feet; his legs looked like short but relatively much to thick barrels. He hardly was able to march due to his excessive weight, not only flabby fat, but masses of muscles.<br />The most shocking sight however was the genital equipment of this man, or better to speak of a boar! Huge balls dragged his scrotum deeply down almost to the knees and under his tummy stood a prick not excessively long, bat fat like a bottle of wine. His skin was pretty hairy and shaggy between his groin and thighs.<br />Samson took a few paces towards the bound figure of Conroy and brought his riding crop viciously down across Conroy’s unprotected buttocks. Even Conroy who was clearly a man of steel, was forced to give a loud yell.<br />“Well, Mr. Conroy, I gave you’re your final chance, but you chose to reject my offer. That I know is typical of your arrogant white philosophy. You refused an order to grovel before a black master. You can imagine what would have happened to a black slave who showed such disobedience in the old plantations run by your ancestors. Well, I will tell you, because it happened to one of my ancestors, He would have been boiled in hot oil! You then refused a perfectly reasonable order to lick a master’s boots. Well, now are about to discover how misguided you were. Apply the grease, Benson!”<br /><br />The “Boar” Mr.Percy<br /><br />Benson, still holding the “pig’s” leash on Mr. Percy nose-ring, walked up to Conroy and, with a little pot of grease, smeared the anal sphincter of Conroy’s hairy ass with it. Mr. Percy seeing that, immediately became agitated, and Benson had some trouble holding him still. The prick stiffened and swelled to threatening proportions. Paul shuddered noticing the enormously obscene tool under the “boars” belly.<br />“Now, Mr. Conroy, you have been prepared with a grease to make it easier for you to let the mighty intruder of this breeding slave into your rectum. Be honoured, he is one of our best breeder in our sow-stables, and your slimy ass-hole is an invitation to him as to every hog in the stables. On one moment I have changed you, not only into a dirty pig, but even into a sow married to this magnificent, potent boar. A sow you have become, and a sow you will remain for the next ten years. You will serve the first ten years of your sentence in our pigsty with our five breeding boars and our about two hundred slave-girls, called breeding sows. Your future life is restricted to a miserable existence in the pigsty.” Samson grinned gloatingly.<br />“You devilish bastard!” Conroy screamed in utter desperation.<br />“Sow and boars as well can’t speak, they can only snort and grunt. And if you refuse this advice as well as the order to grovel I will make you made your vocal cords cut out. In every case, if you are willing or not, by the time Mr. Benson has finished with you, you will be snorting and grunting just like Mr. Percy here.”<br />Hearing his name spoken, Mr Percy showed signs of sexual rampage and dragged violently at his nose chain to gain his victims ass-hole. Benson quickly removed a cattle-prodder from his belt and touched with its tip the fat scrotum of his “boar”. The wild beast shrugged back and grovelled.<br />“It will be interesting watching you in your new role as a pig. You will never walk on two legs and you will never speak again. You will never have the opportunity for real work like the other slaves here. In ten years I will review your position. If you have been a obedient, good breeding hog and have been a hard-working inseminator of our to get pregnant sows, I may release you to a better life of an work-horse. But I have to warn you, Conroy: All the other slaves who had rebelled against me and therefore have finished up in the pigsty, have become so adapted to their life in the sty, that when the time has come to release them, it proved impossible to adapt them back to normal life. They all begged and grovelled to be allowed to stay with their new ‘brothers and sisters’ or should I say husbands and wives they had bred so many times. That is why they are still snuffling and snorting happily in the mire. I fear that could happen to you as well, Conroy. So you have given yourself a life sentence.”<br />“You must be mad!” shouted Conroy.<br />“Mr. Jones, gag him! He is got to learn that sows can’t speak!”<br />Jones stepped up to Conroy’s head and swiftly put a gag in Conroy’s mouth and tied it behind his neck.<br />“Now the fun can begin. All right, Benson, let Mr. Percy off his leash!” And with that Benson slipped the leash from Mr. Percy’s nose-ring, and the force-fed “boar” hurled onto the back of the gagged, knelling and immobile tethered Texan and, snorting with pleasure buggered him with might in front of the disbelieving prisoners and grinning overseers who had – no doubt – seen this scene played out many times before. This animalistic man really was de-humanized, he was a demented beast, longing only for brutally fucking someone.<br />Conroy almost collapsed under Mr. Percy’s overweight. Desperately he wriggled his bottom to try to free himself of the monstrous “pig’s” penis, but his struggling only seemed to excite Mr. Percy more and he started to bite Conroy’s neck.<br />“Keep still, you sow, and let your new >husband< have his way with you!” shouted Benson, slashing Conroy across his shoulder with his whip.<br />Eventually Mr. Percy was finished and dropped to the ground and started to lick with his large tongue along the contaminated ass-crack of his new mate in the sty. He shoved his over-fat, ugly face deep into Conroy’s ass-cleft. Finally Benson reattached Mr. Percy leash to his scrotum-ring and heftily hauled the fat man off.<br />“There, Mr. Conroy, you see, at this ranch we mean every word we say. You are now a fully qualified sow. You are now like Mr. Percy’s ‘wife’ and in future you will no longer be known as Mr. Conroy, but Mr. Percy’s mate. Like him you will have a lot of ‘wives’ or better to say breeding sows. And Benson will see to it that you perform a frequent impregnating of your assigned breeding partners. Surely Mr. Percy will often make use of your ass-hole as you have a beautiful bottom he will not neglect. But if you fail to perform your daily rate, I may decide to have you castrated – then you will truly become Missis Percy indeed. Do not forget that warning, Missis Percy!!! Still another advice: Beware of the dogs of our ranch here. We have many dozens here on the ranch, and although the sty is caged off to keep the dogs out, some Rottweilers yet find a way in and might succeed buggering you.”<br />Samson reached in the pocket of his breeches and took out a whistle and blew it. Immediately half a dozen Rottweilers came running up. The went straight up ton Conroy on the platform, mounted him and fucked him, one after the other keeping the man on hands and knees as another animal of their kind. Then they slunk off.<br />Meanwhile Mr. Percy still on his leash grunted and fought against Bensons leash to escape Benson’s hold, Apparently he was unwilling to be returned into the pig-sty where his impregnating duties awaited him.<br />“Oh besides, Conroy, I almost forgot to inform you that your company has gone down with your sudden death made public, your shares collapsed, and your beautiful house in Dallas had to be sold. However, my colleagues in the States have arranged for your former wife, Mrs. Conroy, to spend the rest of her life as a domestic maid in the household of one of our black leaders. I am sure she will enjoy to being personal maid to a big, fat, black momma or serving to the needs of a sturdy, lazy and demanding black master. My friends in Texas also have arranged for your pampered son and pitch-nosed daughter to be kidnapped and sold to an perverted sadist in Arabia as slaves. There is a raising market for upper class white girls in the harems of the Middle-East, and handsome white boys fetch a high price in the brothels of the orient. Be sure, there are no slip-ups in your organisation.”<br />The thick-headed man almost broke into tears and desperately tried to break free of his bonds.<br />“Hold on, you impatient boar, I am handing you over to Mr. Benson, you future master. He is the pig head-master of the ranch. Any order, how strange or perverted in your eyes it might be, that he gives you, is to obeyed by you at once. Mr. Benson, led your new breeding boar on to the blacksmith to get the boar pierced and his nose and scrotum ringed. Then make him work hard so he will get used to his duties!”<br />Conroy was released from his bond to the platform. Mr. Jones neared to him and stood towering over the kneeling figure and spoke to him: “When you were a human, you refused to grovel in front of a black man. Now you are only a sow on the deepest stage. I would not soil my cock by letting you touch it, but you are so filthy now, so I do you the honour of cleaning you.”<br />With that he unbuttoned his black breeches, took out his long prick and aimed a steady stream of hot piss all over the kneeling Conroy. The overseers grinned gloatingly.<br />“Open your snout, Sow, and drink your master’s piss! ” he ordered and aimed the stream into Conroy’s face; the broken slave obeyed and caught the piss with his mouth.<br />With hefty whip lashes Benson drove a broken Conroy off to the blacksmith’ hut. There the smith took a glowing hot piercing iron out of a coal-basin and pierced a hole through Conroy’s nose-septum and inserted a sturdy brass-ring like the one in Mr. Percy’s nose. Conroy screams were so loud that the prisoners could here it from distance. The yells grew even louder, when the smith pulled Conroy’s scrotum off from his groin and wielded a metal ring with an eyelet tightly around the base of the fat ball-sac. From the far the prisoners could watch Mr. Conroy being dragged back to where Samson sat on his horse-back by a leash at his new nose-ring.<br />Paul could imagine what horrendous pain the tugging of the leash on Conroy’s new nose-ring was causing, because the “sow” truly jumped to follow Benson. He halted him at the legs of Mr. Samson’s horse.<br />“Well pig, one last thing before Benson will bring you to your sty and chain you in. Pigs are never allowed to speak! Some Minutes ago you have uttered your last human words. Pigs may only grunt. Always remember the rule: ONE grunt for >YES<, TWO grunts for >NO< , THREE grunts for >PLEASE<>THANK YOU<. On each occasion you will add one grunt for >master<. So ‘yes, master’ is TWO grunts. It’s easy, isn’t it? Even a sow could understand. Do you understand, sow?!”<br />Conroy gave two heart-rending grunts.<br />“Now grunt ‘thank you, Master’ Thank you for turning me into a breeding boar!” Benson held his whip high over Conroy’s back and brought it down furiously. At the same time he gave a vicious tug on the nose-ring leash. Hastily Conroy gave a series of five agonised grunts. Paul would not have believed that it was possible for a strong and healthy man to be so completely destroyed within just one hour if he hadn’t witnessed on his own eyes!<br />“Good, well done, pig! Now, Benson take your new ‘inseminator’ for our sows in its sty and fit it with a pretty little pig’s tail and a clear brand on one of his fat buttocks. Here your sentence starts, pig. See you in ten years at the earliest.”<br />All the overseers broke into a peal of laughter. Benson took hold of Conroy’s leash and marched him on hands and knees off. Poor Conroy!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 7: Life as an animal<br /><br />Samson turned his horse back to face the remaining six frightened, disbelieving prisoners. They felt so naked, so vulnerable, so surrendered to merciless brutes.<br />“There, gentleman! I am sure we will not have any more little disagreements. Now that nasty little episode is behind us, I hope we can establish a more cordial relationship between us. After all, we are going to be together for a very long time indeed. Just carry out the clear instructions which I and my assistants give you, and you will have no reason to worry. Well, I am sure you are all hungry and thirsty. You will be given food and drink before long, but we still have one or two more things to show you, so please, be patient. I am sure you are also tired, so we are going to give you a short break while we prepare a couple of demonstrations for your benefit. They will give you a better idea of what sort of ranch this is. We are going to leave you now. When I order you to grovel, you will drop into the >down<-position and stay there. Do not speak and do not look around, use it as an opportunity to rest. Sleep if you wish and can do it in the grovelling position. DOWN!”<br />Paul dropped to his knees dug his forehead into the earth, pleased to be able to relax even in this extraordinary place and these bizarre circumstances. He did not even notice Samson and his guard depart. Within seconds he had fallen into a slight slumber. In his tiredness and his bewilderment, all sorts of strange images flashed around his mind. His dead parents, his sister Jenny and her children, the college football team, his girlfriend Sally, the one girls he had ever loved, blond cool and remote.<br />He woke up suddenly. What on earth would Sally think? Would she wait for him? Would she believe he was dead and would marry someone else? All was so bewildering.<br />He dreamt of Klu Klux Klan meetings, the excitement, the burning crosses, the thrill of putting on the white robes and the hoods, and the burning desire to take revenge on all blacks for what they had done to Jenny. Yet, he didn’t hate all blacks. In fact, he found some of them strangely attractive. And his old black nanny had been a real friend. But now his dreams were peopled by new strange black faces.<br />He did not know how long he “slept”. When he woke up, the sun was still burning overhead, and he had fallen over one on side, his knees still bent. He hastened to resume the correct grovelling position and hoped, none of the overseers had seen him. His colleagues were still kneeling rigidly in a row, their noses pressed tight to the ground. Paul peeked around. They were totally unguarded, staring obediently at the ground. He could have removed their handcuffs, and they would still have stayed dutifully in the grovelling position.<br />Before long he heard the sound of hooves, and through the side of his eyes he could see the guards coming back. Once again, he felt totally debased at being subject to men on horseback.<br />“Kneel up and listen, slaves!” Said Samson, riding up and resuming his former position in front of the row of prisoners, while his underlings, on horseback and on foot, spread themselves around with easy whipping distance. Samson’s voice showed that he knew he had already established complete control over them.<br />“You were wise not to move. Had you taken one pace, those dogs would have had you by the legs within seconds. If you even get approached by one of the dogs on the ranch, when you have no master near you, drop to the grovelling position at once and keep absolutely still, and they wouldn’t hurt you. They are well trained here, I’ll show you. You, Mendoza, run over to that post there!”<br />One of the other slaves whose name Paul had not heard before, leapt to his feet and started to run towards the post, which was about fifty metres away. Samson gave a short command: “Fetch, Bronco!” and one of the Rottweilers raced after him. “Mendoza, down! Get down now!” Samson yelled.<br />Mendoza dropped to his knees immediately and knelt motionless. The dog went up to him, sniffed him, arrogantly raised a leg against him and urinated on him. Then it withdrew and crouched at the poor slaves heels.<br />[passage censored]<br /> “Back, Bronco!” yelled Samson, and Bronco sprinted back to its original position.<br />“Back, Mendoza!” and the unfortunate slave ran back to his place, trembling and looking shocked and terrified.<br />“Now, slaves, I tell you something about the daily routine at this ranch, tell you what jobs you will be doing, and then Jones and the others will lay on some demonstrations, which I hope you will find helpful. I will start by explaining that slaves at this ranch are clearly divided into two groups. The first group are the domestic slaves – household servants, houseboys maids, cooks etc.. The second group are the outdoor slaves – for general labouring work on the plantation, on the ranch or in the stables. I have to tell you that the domestic slaves have an easier time of it, especially the girls. They are usually here for lesser offences. Each of the overseers has his own cabin and his own domestic servants. The outdoor slaves work either in a chain gang or under the strict supervision of an overseer. We try to recreate as closely as possible the conditions which existed on the plantations of old. Only now, the blacks are the masters, and the whites are the slaves! The black masters and mistresses have total authority over all slaves, not only their own! Any order given by a master or mistress to any slave must be obeyed instantly. All masters and mistresses have unlimited permission to use their whips on any slave they see slacking or misbehaving. As I have told you, it is absolutely forbidden for a slave to speak without permission. Should a master or mistress wish to use you for any personal duty, you will of course obey without hesitation and afterwards kiss their boots and thank them for the privilege of serving them. Here, Suarez, run and kneel at the feet of Mr. Dixon here, and he will demonstrate what I mean!”<br />Suarez jumped to his feet and ran and knelt at the feet of the big, black overseer Sampson indicated with his whip, Paul had already realized that Dixon was the overseer who most enjoyed wielding his whip.<br />Dixon unbuttoned his breeches and took out his enormous black tool.<br />“Have you ever kissed a black tool before, boy?” he drawled.<br />“No, Master.”<br />“Well, now you are going to show these nice white gentlemen here, what you Spaniards really think of black people. Get kissing, boy!”<br />Suarez began to kiss the enormous black object, but he was far too timid, and Dixon pulled back his large black hand and smashed him across the face:<br />“When I say ‘kiss your master’s tool, slave!’ I MEAN kiss! Go on, kiss it good and lick it all over! If you are lucky, I may give you the privilege of sucking it!”<br />Suarez began to kiss and lick Dixon’s tool for all he was worth. Dixon spread his legs, pushed his tool forward and seized Suarez’s head and pulled it hard against his groin. Paul felt a shudder. Was there to be no end in these humiliations? And they had been here only a couple of hours!<br />Eventually Dixon pushed Suarez away from him and swivelled round, exposing his bare pretty hairy arse. He stuck it in Suarez’s face and shouted:<br />“Lick my black arsehole clean, boy! I had a shit just before you got here.” Suarez first tried to back away, but then quickly did hastily what he was told, and finally Dixon turned around and pushed the slave’s head down to lick his boots.<br />“Don’t forget to thank me, slave!” jeered Dixon.<br />“Thank you, Master!” said Suarez almost inaudibly.<br />“Thank you – for what, slave?”<br />“Er – thank you for allowing to kiss your cock and er – for licking your arse, Master!”<br />“Good, you are learning fast, boy. Now, back!” Suarez turned to his place and Dixon did up his breeches.<br />“Right, Mr. Mason,” said Simpson. “What would you like Harris to do? It is not often we get such a pretty boy to train …”<br />Mason stepped forward. “Listen good, pretty boy! See that pile of fresh dung there?” he said pointing at a steaming pile of manure recently deposited by one of the overseers’ horses.<br />“Yes, Master!” Alex said, terrified of what was to come.<br />“Well pretty boy! I’m going to walk in it, and then you are going to lick my boots so clean you can see your face in them!” He walked over to the horseshit, buried the bulk of his boots in it, used one boot to smear it all over the other, then leant back against the tethering rail and lassoed Alex by the neck. He dragged him down towards his boots and said firmly: “Lick them clean, boy!”<br />Alex bent his beautiful head over the revolting boots and, smothering an intense desire to vomit, did his best to lick them until there were no traces of the repulsive shit left. Mason looked down on the slave-boy, and his eyes gleamed with lust.<br />After he had been told to thank Mason for the privilege of licking his boots clean, Alex was sent back to his kneeling position.<br />“Now,” said Samson triumphantly, “the moment you have all been waiting for is here at least. I am going to tell you which group of slaves you will be attached to, and what your jobs will be. When I give you your new jobs, I do not wish to see any signs of discontent. Slaves have no say in their job assignment, and no change to my decision is possible, especially as we are now without Mr. Conroy and you will have to do his work as well. I will allocate you each your job, and you will serve in it for at least your first ten years. After ten years, if you work well, your position will be re-considered. I omitted to tell you that there is a third group of slaves at this ranch – the most sought after group on the ranch: >animals<! You are very privileged, gentlemen! All six of you have been selected to become animals. And I mean ANIMALS in the original sense of the word! Inside the animal-group you may be moved from one species to another. You will start in the top species of animal and only move down, like Mr. Conroy, if you fail to make the grade in your own species. You will become animals and be trained as horses. We have real horses here with four legs of course, so we call ex-human horses like you for distinction >ponies<. In future you will always referred as >ponies<!”<br />Paul fell forward and started to sob. Samson saw him and rode over to him. He bent down from his horse and tapped Paul’s head with his whip.<br />“Kneel up, boy! I said I wanted no protest, and I meant it!”<br />Paul looked up, but his eyes were filled with tears, and his mouth sagged uncontrollably. He had a blinding urge to rum away. He had an overwhelming desire to feel Sally’s arms around him. He wanted to die.<br />Samson jumped down off his horse and took Paul’s head in his hands and stroked his hair. “There is no way back, boy! You are no longer a man. You are now a pony. Ponies have only one thought: How to please their master. You belong to me now, pony. You must learn to please me. You will serve me, obey me and worship me. I will train you to be the smartest and most obedient pony on the ranch. Did you have a wife or a girlfriend in your previous existence?”<br />Paul nodded his head and sobbed.<br />“Forget her! You will never see her again. Better learn to love me! Now, kiss my hand!”<br />Samson took off his leather glove and held out a perfectly formed black hand for Paul to kiss. Paul leant forward and, overwhelmed by Samson’s softened attitude, bent forward and pressed his lips against it. It smelt of an exotic oriental perfume, it felt soft and warm at the same time. The skin was smooth, black and flawless, and the gold watch and gold bangles merely seemed to heighten the feeling of power it exuded.<br />“Thank you, Master!” Paul stammered, overwhelmingly grateful for the first kind word he had received for days.<br />“Okay, slave! But don’t you dare disobey me again!” and Samson remounted his horse and rode back to his position. The horse’s tail caught Paul across the face and Paul could smell on his lips the strange mixture of human and horse scent he was soon to grow so used to.<br />“Now, ponies, your training as ponies is about to begin. When we have finished these short demonstrations, you will be taken to your stables and handed over to your new grooms. Inside the stables they will be in full charge of you. They will groom you, feed you and harness you. Outside the stables you will be trained by the overseers here, because you will be carrying out many jobs as ponies. We call you ponies to distinguish you from the full size horses whose stables and jobs you will be sharing. Now stand up all of you, and stick out your arseholes! The grooms are going to stick a suppository up your rectums.”<br />The six ponies stood up and, intensely embarrassed, stuck out their arses. A black overseer went up to them and jammed a large suppository up each of their arses.<br />“The suppositories will take a few minutes to work. It is essential that we clear all human food out of your stomachs once and for all. From now on you will be on a horse’s diet, specially designed for human ponies by our vet. It is as near a horse’s diet as we can achieve. You will never eat human food again. In a short time, human food will be indeed become bad for you, and the grooms are under strict orders not to let you have it. Just as you will never, under any circumstances, wear human clothes again, speak human speech again or enter a human dwelling again. You will live in stables with all the others animals, and the punishment for daring to enter a human dwelling of any kind is death! Accept the fact that you are now animals, and life will be much easier for you. Act like animals, walk like animals and think like animals! We are humans, you are animals. Never forget the huge gulf which now divides you from me. Ponies exist to be broken and to obey. If they obey blindly and without hesitation, they may earn their masters’ affection. D O W N !!”<br />Six “ponies” immediately dropped into the grovelling position.<br />“U P !!” Samson growled “That was not quick enough! D O W N !!”<br />They dropped to their knees instantly, but Dixon was not satisfied. He gave each of them a couple of lashes across their buttocks and then lifted his boot and, going to each of them in turn, pressed their heads into the dirt.<br />“You are animals, the master said! Get your noses right into the shit!”<br />Paul rubbed his nose into the stinking manure, but Dixon was determined to extract every once of humiliation out of the situation. He squatted down and crushed Paul’s head into the ground beneath his muscular bottom.<br />“Up!” Samson shouted and continued: “It is my intention, as we shall demonstrate in a moment, to teach you to believe that you are a pony, that you were born to be a pony, and that your human life up till now has been a mistake. You will learn to trot like a pony, snort like a pony, whiney like a pony, muzzle our hands and feet like a pony, and as far as possible be groomed and harnessed to look as much like a pony as possible. Soon you will accept it. Now, while the suppositories are working, I want you to piss where you are staying. I know most of you are dying to piss anyway, and now is a good chance to loose your inhibitions and realize that you are expected to behave like animals at every minute of the day. One advantage of being an animal is that you may piss and shit when and where you like. You will be sharing your stalls with real horses and cows, who piss and shit all the time, so you will soon accept the non-stop flow of piss and manure as a vital part of stable life. This is the last time I shall need to mention this subject, which we humans find distasteful. It is in fact one of the biggest areas where our existence and yours will in future differ. Now push your pricks out like good ponies and piss as hard as you can!”<br />Paul felt an overwhelming sense of relief as he felt his stream leave his body. The fact that it splattered round his naked feet did not bother him. It was remarkable how quickly relieving himself in the open and unashamed seemed to be the natural thing to do. His first step into animal-hood had happened without his realizing it. Of course, Samson had it all planned. Then suddenly, Paul felt his bowels open; there was nothing to do but let it happen. The torrent of shit fell in a big pile behind his feet and splashed up his calves. One by one the other “ponies” followed suit. Almost immediately, each of then released a second dose and then, some of them, a third one. Poor Suarez just went on and on. Paul’s acute embarrassment was equalled only by his sense of relieve.<br />“Good,” said Samson, watching their degradation with obvious satisfaction, “you are already losing your human inhibitions, ponies! You have just carried out your first act as an animal. Be proud of yourselves! Don’t worry about the smell! We think nothing of it on a ranch, and it is only a small amount compared with all the horse and cow manure lying around. Now, I want you to walk round in it and tread it into the ground. Get used to the feel of it on your feet and legs. You will be wearing horse-shoes after today, but you will never be able to avoid treading in muck and manure, so, the sooner you get used to it the better! We are treading in shit all the time, and we don’t give it a thought. Anyway, cleaning our boots gives the domestic slaves a taste of the farmyard!”<br />As Paul trampled around in his own muck, he suddenly realized that there was no question of toilet paper. He felt his buttocks squelch against each other.<br />How quickly a man could sink to animal-status! He caught a glimpse of Alex’ buttocks, as a red-faced Alex stepped gingerly in his own droppings, stray bits of shit dangling from his arsehole and down the backs of his thighs. Christ! Alex was a beautiful boy! How could anyone want to turn him into an animal?<br />Bur better to be turned into a Pony than into a pig, a boar, a breeding beast like poor Conroy. Paul wondered how this man was felling now with a nose-ring, a scrotum-ring and maybe he was already branded?<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 8 A human draught-horse<br /><br />Suddenly, there was the sound of hooves and of a horse-drawn cart. The ponies were ordered back into line, and Paul saw a farm-cart approaching and, to his amazement, realized that harnessed like a horse between the shafts was a huge white man – a real giant of a stark naked man! In the driving seat sat Jones, cursing and harshly whipping the toiling man between the shafts with an enormous bullwhip. Behind them came another supervisor on horseback pulling a real horse behind him, heavily build like a cart horse with huge hooves. Apparently a field-nag.<br />“Whoa!” shouted Jones, and the cart and human horse came to an abrupt halt between Samson and the line of slaves. Jones dismounted and stood by the harnessed man’s head, firmly holding his bridle. Samson rode over to the cart and pointed at the man panting between the shafts.<br />“Ponies! Let me introduce you to one of your stable-mates: This is HECTOR! All our ponies receive classical names You too will be given classical names to remind you how far you have fallen – from being Greek Gods to base animals. Hector has been here several years and is now well trained to do all the jobs round the farm which an ordinary horse can do, just as you will be over the next ten years. Hector is hard-working and very obedient – just as you will learn to be. As you will see later this afternoon, it is possible to earn promotion, even as a pony, and Hector is hoping desperately to earn promotion by dedication and hard work. Now, for your benefit, Mr. Jones, has fitted Hector with full working harness, so that you can see at a glance what you will be wearing as from tomorrow. Starting with Hector’s head you will see he has a bridle fitted round his head and over the top of his head. Attached to the bridle is an everyday working bit which you will be obliged to wear whenever you are between the shaft. There are several types of bits for different jobs on the farm. They are specially designed to fit human mouths without seriously damaging them. But obviously, stricter training requires harder bits, and for fractious ponies we have devised a few severe punishment-bits, which usually bring about the required improvement in rapid time. You will see Hector is wearing a heavy horse-brass on his forehead which all ponies wear when serving as cart-horses. We have virtually no cars and lorries or trucks on the ranch, and nearly all the heavy work is done by horse-power or pony-power or a combination of both. Jones will show you in a moment how we sometimes harness a horse and a pony together. Hector has his head shaved, except for a strip down the middle, Mohican style, which we call his >mane<. It is the duty of the groom to keep this mane stiff and erect. Moving down his body, you will notice a collection of slave-bangles round Hector’s arms. These serve a totally different purpose, and I will ignore them for the moment and explain their purpose later.”<br />Paul had long since ceased to believe what was happening to him, but he stared fascinated at the heavy harness and the gleaming brass which almost covered Hector’s enormous muscular body. Was he too really going to be wearing harness like this tomorrow? It reminded him of the gear worn by some of the leather boys back home. He had never had the chance as an eminent lawyer to follow their example, but he had to admit that he sometimes found their belts and straps and boots fascinating.<br />“Now, round Hector’s body you can see the obvious straps which any pony will need: chest girth, stomach girth, shoulder straps and a heavy crotch strap. Hector is wearing rings in both nipples. This is simply for the purpose of tethering him. You will spend much of your time here being tethered, usually by your bridle or halter, but when you are un-harnessed, the nipple-rings provide an easy tethering point. Now look at Hector’s crotch strap. He, like all our white creatures, unfortunately has a fat, but ugly pink tool hanging loose. Ponies usually work naked, with their penises down, but just occasionally, when there are black ladies present, the slaves’ penises are covered to save offending their black mistresses’ delicate feelings. This can easily be done by fixing a leather cod-piece over the offending organ. Hector can obviously not turn around while hitched in the shafts, but if he could, you would see that the crotch straps come up tautly behind his buttocks so as to make them protrude. Whites do not have nicely rounded buttocks like us blacks, but the crotch straps do make the buttocks more shapely and rounded and most important, they are better accessible to the driver’s whip! In addition, a long tail to match the colour of his hair is fitted by another belt just above his arse-hole. I must warn you that, when you shit, you may find it difficult not to get your tail dirty, and it will take practice and concentration to avoid it. But it is possible not to dirty your tail, and your grooms will soon show their displeasure, if you do. You may shit wherever and whenever you wish, but remember to flick your tail out of the way. A pony’s arms are kept firmly behind his waist all the times. They may only be untied briefly to help circulation. They are obviously tied in such a way as to leave the back exposed to the driver’s whip. On Hector’s feet you will see that he is wearing heavy clogs with high build-up heels. They are so designed as to make your legs longer as usual and tapered like a colt’s. Underneath are fitted the normal working horseshoes. These boots are removable and may be interchanged for other types of boot, but obviously you may only have your boots removed when your groom removes them. From Hector’s waist girth the traces lead to the shafts of whatever cart or farm instrument he is pulling. Similar attachments are used to hitch ponies to carriages, of which we have several varieties on the ranch. Carriages are used to pull your masters and mistresses and their friends. We have single-, double-, and quadruple carriages. Carriage ponies wear more elegant harness and wear pretty head-plumes. A double carriage will be arriving shortly to demonstrate. Unfortunately, hard as Hector tries, he is too clumsy for carriages pulling, which is why he is still trying for promotion. Incidentally, I told you that it is my intention that you should eventually come to think you really are horses. Hector is a good example of the success of our methods. He can understand what I am saying about him, and he might be hurt by my words, but he is not attentively listening, because he really has come to regard himself as an animal, and like most animals only understands about a dozen words of command and regards all other human speech as above him. He is not spoken a word from many years, so I do not know if he still can speak, though I doubt it. But he can of course whiney. Hector is completely convinced that he is a horse. Each day the head overseer is given a work rota for all the horses and ponies in the stables, but until you are fully broken-in, you will find that most of your time is spent either in the training yard, where you are standing now, or pulling the most basic farm vehicles like the milk cart or a dung cart. There are many horses, cows, ponies and pigs, chickens, geese and so on, so the dung cart is always in need of filling and emptying. Usually it get so heavy that one of the work horses like Ben here is hitched to the cart to help the ponies to take the strain. But just for the moment, Jones has had the dung cart only half-filled, so it can be pulled by Hector alone or two trained ponies without the help of a real horse. Hector will now demonstrate how a cart-pony has to respond to orders. Mr. Jones! Please give us a demonstration of an obedient pony pulling the cart!”<br />Jones started to mount the driver’s seat.<br />“Still, Hector!” he shouted as he lifted his boot towards the step.<br />“The order >still!< should not be necessary,” explained Samson, “as all ponies must stand motionless between the shafts all times when the are not being driven, but here it is given as a precaution. You will notice that all the time Hector has been standing here totally immobile, he has kept his head lowered and his eyes fixed firmly on Jones’s boots. This is the normal respectful position demanded of a pony while not been driven. At the same time, he is not allowed to move a single muscle, even a fraction of an inch. To do so will incur severe punishment: Both a whipping on the spot and being put on stable report in the evening what may lead to further punishment. You will find out about that later. But a pony may flick his tail occasionally to dislodge the numerous flies we have in this hot area. Now, Mr. Jones is seated comfortably in his seat. Remember that the comfort and pleasure of the master driving you has to be your only concern! You must give him as smooth a ride as possible. Mr. Jones picks up his whip now in his right hand and shake out the thongs and he will take the reins in his left. He will give one click of his tongue, and Hector will immediately tense his body, raise his head and look straight ahead. At the same time he will stick out his rump, ready to receive the whip.”<br />Jones clicked his tongue once, and Paul was amazed by the instant reaction of Hector, who had almost seemed to be asleep. He tensed his huge body, so the muscles ripped, he raised his head, so his mane stood up in the air, he looked fixedly ahead of him, and he stuck his well shaped rump arching his tail gracefully, and he tensed his muscular buttocks as if expecting the whip.<br />“Now Mr. Jones will either click his tongue again once or else give the order >Gee-up< . He may use either command, and a pony should is to learn to expect either.”<br />Jones clicked his tongue once and delivered a sharp lash with the lip on Hector’s right buttock. The cart set off at a steady walk round the corral, but it was clearly heavy, and Hector obviously was needing to use all his giant strength to keep the heavy wagon rolling. Jones was forced to apply several strokes of the whip and to shout several curses before a panting and puffing Hector arrived back at the point where they had started.<br />“Well,” said Samson, obviously pleased with the way the demonstration had gone, and satisfied by the terrified looks of the new “ponies” who proved that they were beginning to understand what was going to happen to them. “Now Mr. Jones will take Hector away and harness him to a plough in harness with Ben, his stable-mate. Watch carefully, ponies, as you will spend many hours ploughing, both in harness with Ben or one of the other carthorses, or by yourself alone. It is vital that you learn to do it correctly.”<br />Jones took Hector to one side of the yard and unhitched him from the dung-cart. Then he led him by his nose-ring over to where a plough was lying in the dirt. He backed Hector on to the shafts of the plough and hitched the bulky “bull” of a man to the handle. Paul could see that the long curving handle of the plough tapered to a sharp point which almost touched Hector’s buttocks. Parallel to the handle, about a metre and a half apart were two much longer handles, which between Jones now backed Ben, the cart-horse, also to the shafts so that Ben’s vast rump was almost touching Hector’s face. Rough bits were inserted into the mouths of both working-horses. Jones went and took up a position behind the plough, holding both sets of reins in his left hand and a long curling bull-whip in his right. With a sharp shout of >Gee-up<, horses and plough were whipped into motion. They came forward nearing the front of the prisoners. “Whoa!”, said Jones and both horses stopped, hung their heads and remained motionless.<br />“You will see,” said Samson that we always hitch the horse in front of the human pony. This is so that he pony is forced to realize, all the time that he is working, that he now belongs to the horse world. Not only has the pony to concentrate on the task in hand, in this case ploughing, but he must learn to place his hooves in the exact spot where the horse’s rear hooves have just trod. Otherwise he is in danger of having his own hooves trodden on and in addition upsetting the rhythm. It will take you many month of practice to get this right, but time is something we are not short here. Of course it would be possible for the pony to let the horse alone do all the hard work, but the tension-strap between the pony’s crotch and the plough will go slack if a pony is not pulling his weight. Don’t be wrong! The driver will spot this at once and use his whip. Also the handle ends in a sharp point which will give the pony’s rump a nasty jab if he fails to maintain his rhythm. Next, Jones is to demonstrate how a perfect pair should work in unison, and how a good ploughman will have such control of his pair that will plough in a dead-straight line.”<br />While the bewildered prisoners looked on, Jones whipped his pair into a long steady march from one end of the yard to the other and back, ploughing two perfect furrows. Paul could see the effort on Hector’s face as he strove to pull the heavy iron plough and avoid being jabbed by the spike behind him. He could notice the care with which he put his hooves down exactly where Ben’s had been. The rhythm was perfect. Paul realized to his horror, that he was having a preview of what would soon be happening to him.<br />When they had returned to the watching group, Ben and Hector were unhitched and had their steaming flanks patted. Then a panting Hector was unceremoniously hitched to a smaller lightweight plough.<br />Samson resumed his commentary: “Single ponies can pull only a lightweight plough and find it harder when in single harness to keep a straight line. Jones will now make Hector plough two furrows as straight as he can.”<br />Jones set off, and the startled spectators had to observe that single ploughing was much harder work for a pony even for a giant like Hector. Jones had to use his voice and his whip permanently to keep his toiling pony absolutely straight, but Hector had been ploughing for many years, so the result was very impressive. Nevertheless, when Hector’s naked rump came into Paul’s view, he could see that the human pony’s enormous ball-sac showed several crimson weals like his buttocks. Jones had not saved the most sensitive area of an man with his whip!<br />When he had finished, Hectors body was glistening with sweat. Samson cantered over to Hector, patted his head, said “Well done, pony!” and held out a lump of sugar in his gloved hand which a grateful Hector snuffled into his cruelly bitted mouth. To the watching ponies’ amazement, Hector then gave five short, but loud whinnies. Paul realized to his horror, that ponies used the same whinnying code as the “pigs” had to use for grunting. Five whinnies meant >Thank you, master<.<br />“Right, Mr. Jones! Unhitch Hector and let him have a drink and a rest. Meanwhile, Mr. Dixon go and fetch a double carriage, please!” ordered Samson.<br />Dixon cantered off, and Jones led Hector over to one of the troughs and removed his bit. The big white man knelt down and buried his mouth in the trough and slurped up the stale water greedily. When he had drunk, he stood up and remained motionless while Jones put his bit back which pulled his mouth-corners fiercely back so that it looked like a dog baring his teeth in aggression. Then he led Hector over to a hitching rail and tethered him by his nose-ring. Paul could see that Hector, once tethered, lowered his head and remained motionless.<br />Almost immediately, the sound of flying hooves and racing wheels could be heard. And through the gate came a beautiful black coloured gig, embellished with silver fittings. In the driver’s seat was Dixon, wielding a long snaking coach-whip. Between the shafts, heads and head-plumes erect, legs and knees rising in perfect unison, horse-shoes making a muffled clip-clop on the earth surface, were harnessed a matching pair of young white human ponies. Paul felt overwhelmed by the significance of what he was seeing. In his stomach he had the most terrible feelings of foreboding. He realized that they really meant what they said about men turning into “horses”. In his heart he had to admit to himself that it was one of the most imposing sights he had ever seen!<br />The carriage did one complete circle of the corral in a cantering speed before approaching the line of glaring prisoners from the front. With a loud “Whoa!” and pulling the reins back hard, the carriage came to a sudden halt, facing the amazed prisoners. One of the ponies halted almost in front of Paul, and he was able to study the complete equipage with a mixture of astonishment and wonder.<br />The moment they halted, the ponies set their hooves a few inches apart and lowered their heads. Their head-plumes, white and gold and made of long arching feathers, wafted gracefully in front of them. The tip of the plume of the pony in front almost tickled Paul’s chest. The ponies stood absolutely motionless, their eyes lowered to the ground in front of them, their muscles relaxed and their tails curving up from their welt-covered buttocks and dropping in an arch behind their well muscled thighs. Paul could see that the pony in front of him had its head shaved, shiny like a billiard ball, except for a brush-like strip of blond hair which ran from its forehead to the nape of its neck. What amazed Paul most was the way in which the two ponies acted absolutely in unison. Even their breathing seemed to be in perfect harmony.<br />The two ponies were breathing heavily, and there were beads of sweat on the chests and foreheads, but they did not seem to be distressed, and Paul realized that what he was seeing war the result of long hours of hard training. At no stage did the pony look at Paul, and he noticed, as it lowered its gaze, that their eyes were clear and bright, and its complexion ruddy and healthy. Dixon jumped down from the driving seat and went up to Samson who was still sitting on his horse.<br />“Carriage and pair reporting, Sir!”<br />“Thanks you, Mr. Dixon. They do you credit!”<br />Samson turned to the prisoners: “In front of you, slaves, you see the perfect example of what hard training and considerate treatment can achieve. Romulus and Remus are twins. As twins they are able to achieve such perfect symmetry between the shafts, that they earned rapid promotion. They have been here only five years, and already they are fulfilling all our hopes of them. Now raise your heads, ponies, so that your new friends can examine your beautiful harness!”<br />Romulus and Remus raised their heads instantly and looked straight ahead.<br />“Ponies are not allowed to look around at any time. They must look straight ahead, so that their eyes merely study that part of the road or track wide enough to accommodate the cart or carriage. Apart from that, they must rely entirely on instructions from the driver. Any pony which looks around is promptly put in blinkers, and if that fails to correct it, it is put in a mask which blindfolds it completely, and it then has to learn to rely completely on the driver’s reins. Romulus and Remus have long since learnt to look straight ahead and just await pressure on their bits. Open your jaws, ponies, so that we can see how well your bits are fitted!”<br />The two ponies parted their lips to show a solid rubber-coated bit of steel, settled tightly fitting in gaps where the last molar of each upper and lower side had been extracted. Otherwise they both had perfect teeth, just as they had perfect bodies, and Paul could see that they must have been a very handsome couple of youths before they were transformed into ponies. Or had they been at all humans formerly? Or maybe they had been bred for on special purpose alone: to become a perfect team of ponies? But Paul dared not ask.<br />Even now, in their lowly animal status, they seemed to be proud of their magnificent appearance. Indeed, their bodies showed pure muscle without a trace of redundant fat.<br />“As you can see,” Samson went on, “their harness is of much higher quality than that one worn by cart-horses like Hector. You will all have to work extremely hard if you are to earn the privilege of wearing such beautiful harness. All harness is kept clean by the harness-slaves. Cleaning carriage harness such as you can see here is an art, only learnt by many years of slavery. The overseers should be able to see their faces in every bit of silver and brass, otherwise the harness-slaves are whipped. Romulus and Remus each have four sets of carriage harness. While one is being worn, the other three are being cleaned by a harness-slave. There are of course also slaves for cleaning the carriages. What with trainers, grooms and stable slaves, it takes quite a big group to keep all the carriages on the road. That is why only the very best ponies qualify for such favoured treatment. Unhitch Romulus, Mr. Dixon, and show him to the new ponies!”<br />Dixon did so and held him firmly by the bridle just in front of Paul.<br />“Down!” he ordered, and Romulus immediately dropped into the standard grovelling position with his forehead an inch from Dixon’s boots. Dixon looked proudly down at the muscular, harnessed body grovelling before him.<br />“Show respect to your master, Romulus!” snapped Dixon, giving Romulus a sharp thwack across his back with his crop. Romulus immediately knelt forward and licked Dixon’s boots clean, making sure that he reached round the back and licked Dixon’s heels and spurs as well. Romulus then leaned back on his haunches, gave five quick, but clear whinnies and resumed the grovelling position.<br />“Up!” shouted Dixon, and Romulus jumped up instantly and stood motionless, facing the prisoners. Dixon seized his bridle and walked him up and down the row. Dixon was very tall and he towered over his “pony”, and the feeling of complete power of the big black man over the white hulk of muscles could almost be smelt. The overseer’s great black fist held the pony’s bridle on a very short rein, so that the pony’s head was held high, and mouth almost contorted by the pain on his severely tensed bit. At the same time, the pony’s back war firmly arched, and at each pace the pony lifted its knee almost chest-high and pointed his lower leg down and forward, so that it exaggerated the colt-like beauty of his high-heeled ankle-boot and hoof. Yet, in spite of the overwhelming feeling of power, Dixon gave out from every muscle in his black body and from every inch of his leather clothing, the pony seemed to be totally in tune with his master. Instead of being terrified and humiliated, Paul felt that Romulus was proud of his role and proud to be showing off his pony attributes to the new recruits.<br />When Dixon had returned Romulus to his position between the shafts and re-hitched him, Romulus again stood motionless with his head respectfully lowered, but suddenly without warning, he half-erected his tool and pissed all over Paul’s legs and feet. Paul was so surprised that he gasped and took an involuntary step backwards.<br />Immediately Jones sprang forward and lashed Paul several times across the chest. He shouted: “Ponies must remain motionless unless told to move. Get instantly back in line!”<br />Paul was already back in line, and the pain in his chest could not hide the discomfort he felt at feeling Romulus’s urine trickling down his legs.<br />“Down, Sheehan!” yelled Samson who had naturally witnessed the whole incident.<br />Paul immediately grovelled and felt his nose pressed into a puddle of Romulus’s urine. “Sheehan! You have much to learn about your new role at this ranch. You are at the bottom of the animal ladder, and every other person and animal here, except the new boar Conroy and his fellow pigs, is above you. You are a cart-pony, and if a cart-pony is pissed on a carriage-pony, it will regard it as an honour. Now get your tongue out and lick up Romulus’s piss!”<br />Humiliated, Paul licked at the stinking wet earth with desperation.<br />“Enough! Now lick Romulus’s hooves clean!”<br />Romulus held out his right hoof to be licked, then his left one. Paul was able to study the pony-boots at close hand. They were made of delicate pale tan leather on a clog base and fitted Romulus’s feet like a glove. The front had been build up with polished wood to resemble a hoof, and the heel build up almost to the level of a woman’s high heels, so that the pony stood in them on his toes and further up with its buttocks thrown out and its legs extended. From the knee down it seemed o have the legs of a real colt, graceful and elegant. And on its soles were beautifully shaped silver horse-shoes, just wide enough to give the pony’s foot the rounded appearance of a real hoof.<br />As he licked the elegant hooves, Paul realized to his horror that Romulus had urinated on him at purpose. He could virtually “feel” the carriage-pony’s triumph flowing down its legs and through its hooves to his lips.<br />“Right,” said Samson, “get up Sheehan and show in future more respect to your superiors, or you’ll feel my whip!”<br />Shaken and embarrassed, Paul scrambled to his feet and took his place in the line. He was already aware that quite unintentionally, he seemed to be attracting more attention than the other new ponies. He knew that this was a mistake, and in future he would try to adopt a lower profile. Anyway, why had Romulus picked on him? He had never set eyes on Paul till a few minutes ago. Surely, he and Romulus were fellow slaves and on the same side?<br />“Now, ponies, Mr. Dixon and his team will give you a demonstration of carriage driving. Please, mount your carriage, Mr. Dixon!”<br />One of the other overseers held the ponies’ rein as Dixon climbed back into the driving seat. He settled himself comfortably and took the long-handled carriage-whip out of the tube in which it rested. He gave a slight tug on the reins, and Romulus and Remus raised their heads, ached their backs and stuck out their muscular buttocks. Dixon pulled on his right-hand rein and guided the carriage round so that it was sideways to the row of prisoners. This gave Paul a new view of the beauty of the carriage which had a polished leather bench seat and could seat one or two passengers. The black door panels gleamed like glass, and even the shafts and wheels were polished.<br />Seen from the side, not far from his face, Dixon’s thighs and buttocks seemed vastly powerful. The heels of his boots rested on a bar, not far of the Ponies’ shoulders.<br />Suddenly Dixon gave a click with his tongue, gave a sharp flick with his whip across the ponies’ rumps, and the carriage set off at a walking pace. The ponies’ knees rose in perfect unison, their plumes waved upwards in perfect symmetry, and to Paul’s amazement even their tails swayed to left and right as if obeying a single command.<br />When they were half way round the corral again, Dixon clicked his tongue twice, and the pair broke into a trot. Trotting in flawless harmony the carriage and the pair did two complete circuits of the corral. Dixon flicked his whip incessantly first on one rump, then on the other, then on the straining ponies backs causing crimson welts rising on the skin although whipping was not necessary. It was clear that Dixon was doing it just for show.<br />On the third circuit Dixon ordered them into a gallop and used his whip more vigorously. Yet not once did either pony break stride or let his eyes drop from looking straight ahead. Paul wondered how many hours of training had been needed to attain such a degree of tandem galloping.<br />Finally Dixon received a signal from Samson, and the team drove off through the gate, their hooves making a rhythmic clip-clop as they entered the stable-yard, Samson turned back to Jones:<br />“Right, Mr. Jones, time for Hector to give his next display.”<br />Paul almost had forgotten about Hector. He looked over to the bar where Hector was tethered and realized, to his horror, that Hector has not moved a muscle all the time this demonstration of carriage ponies had been happening. Jones strode over to Hector and un-tethered him. Pulling him hard by the bridle, he brought him over to where the slaves were standing. They stopped sideways on in front of the line, and Hector lowered his huge head. Seen close up Hector was even taller than the tallest of the black overseers – yet he was obviously completely in their power.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 9 Hector’s ordeal<br /><br />Dixon meanwhile had returned, carrying a saddle and approached Hector from his front. As soon as he noticed Dixon, Hector crapped in a non-stop stream of liquid crap. Most of the nauseating shit splashed over the feet of the unfortunate Suarez and the slave boy standing next to Mendoza.<br />“I am sorry, Sutton,” said Samson laughing, “Hector has the unfortunate habit of crapping, whenever Mr. Dixon approaches him. It is a sign of negative affection and fear.”<br />Paul could see that it was more fear than affection. Hector was trembling from head to toe, as Dixon started to fit a saddle to his huge shoulders. Hector’s eyes were wide-open and rolled like a horse’s eye in agony.<br />“Steady, Hector, calm down!” said Dixon half comforting, half threatening. “You are going to get the chance to show your new friends what a splendid mount you are. Steady now, or I’ll take the crop to you!”<br />The saddle fitted over Hector’s head so that its front-straps pulled against his shoulders and chest where it was strapped to his chest girth. These girths were tensed extremely tight that Paul wondered how the giant was able to inhale enough breath. Behind Hector’ shoulders the saddle rested exactly fitting on the upper half of his back and over his tightly bound arms. From just above his waist the saddle curved out in the shape of a pommel to provide a firm and comfortable seat for the rider. On each side hung long adjustable stirrups. Paul did notice a slight quaver in the giant’s body, when Sadist Dixon fixed a thin double crotch-strap encircling the huge ball-sac and tightened it so cruelly tense through the arse-crack that Hector gasped a stifle whine.<br />“Dare not to let hear another sound, you tearful hulk of a mount, or my whip will slice your in pieces!” snapped Dixon hardly audibly for the prisoners. Hector pressed his gums together to suppress another sound of his intolerable pain.<br />Having checked and tightened every single strap of the mount’s body, Dixon swung himself easily into the saddle and grasped the reins which stretched the lips of Hector’s mouth hard backwards. It looked like as if the Horse smiled. Dixon stretched his legs out to make sure the stirrups were set correctly, pulled on the reins, and Hector raised his head and arched his back. With a click of his tongue and a quick flick of his crop on the mount’s right buttock, Dixon moved off towards a post set into the ground at one end of the corral.<br />“Watch, slaves!” said Samson, “and you will see that Dixon takes Hector to that post over there. He will then gallop him up to and round the post at the other end of the corral three times, and Mr. Jones will time him. Meanwhile, Sutton,” Samson added, addressing one of the slaves whom he yet not had humiliated, “just get down and lick up that mess Hector made! I wouldn’t want Mr. Dixon to dirty his boots, when he dismounts.”<br />Samson gave the order as if he was telling Sutton to do up his shirt. Poor Sutton was so startled, he hesitated, and one of the other guards raised his whip and hasted to beat him fiercely, until Sutton collapsed on his knees and proceeded to lick up the nauseating excrement. By the time, he had finished Dixon and Hector were standing by the starting post where Jones had taken up position on his own horse, time a stopping watch in hand.<br />Samson gave a signal with his crop, Jones shouted “Giddy-up!” and Hector set off at a furious pace straight towards the post. With his cruel rider on his back, he surrounded it and hurried back to the starting post. Paul again could witness how mercilessly Dixon struck his crop onto the thighs of his mount to drive it on fast and faster. In Hector’s face one could see the strain of his run.<br />Second turn from the starting post to the aim, and back again, round the post and again to the destination-post till mount and rider had completed six length of the corral. Dixon on its back permanently shouted abuse at him and whipped him all the way. Hector’s purple face strained with agony, and sweat poured from his face and body. Thick drops of sweat ran down his hairless belly und flew together in his bald groin, dropping from his fat ball-sac down to the ground.<br />When they had completed, Dixon trotted his panting mount back to rejoin the group of prisoners. Jones rode over and stopped his horse alongside Samson’s, announcing to his boss and to the shocked new slaves: “Thirty two seconds, Sir, one second slower than last time,” he reported.<br />“Oh dear, Hector! You are getting slower again! You know what happened last time you failed. Will you never learn? Put him on stable report this evening, Mr. Jones! Take care of it that he will get fifty strokes with the cane straight into his arse-cleft!” was Samson's answer.<br />At these words, Hector started to strain furiously against the bridle controlling him, and a look of terror came into his frantic eyes. Paul watched in horror as this great mountain of a man turned to jelly in the hands of these tormentors. What would they do to him, Paul, who was only half as tough as Hector? Panic-stricken he felt a shiver running down his spine. This was pure hell for a slave, and he was consigned to this merciless, inhuman and revengeful black sadists for ten years at minimum!<br />At the same time, Hector shat again in front of Paul’s feet. Paul was terrified that he would be ordered to clear up in the same manner as Sutton, but Samson had decided that it was time to move on, because he clearly announced to the frightened prisoners:<br />“You will now be taken away and groomed – the first step in your being transformed into hard-working and obedient ponies. You will be fed, watered, groomed, and rested. We shall meet later for your first training session.”<br />With those words Samson rode off, and the overseers unlocked the handcuffs from each of one of the slaves and re-cuffed them to the saddles of their horses, just behind the overseers thighs. Paul and Alex were cuffed to different sides of the same horse. The overseers on horseback then set off at a fast trot, dragging their panting captives behind them. Paul found it almost impossible not to be pulled off his feet. His arm felt as if it was being torn out of its socket, and he had to sprint to keep up. He never before had been this close to the hind-legs of a trotting horse.<br />Eventually they passed through the gates in the corral into a large stable yard. The new ponies were entering a different world …<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 10 Dressing in the stables<br /><br />As Alex and Paul rushed frantically into the stable yard, behind the overseer’s horse, Paul caught a glimpse of several more posts, and platforms, and various farm implements, and bits of equipment. There were also several men and animals standing or walking around, but he had no time to study them. At a glance, he also saw that there were stable blocks on three sides of the yard.<br />Paul’s overseer dragged him and Alex unceremoniously through an entrance at one end of the central stable block and came to a sudden halt near the far end of a wide central gangway with stall leading off on both sides. The whole building reeked of manure, and the central gangway was deep in slime and straw. Paul could see horses in one or two of the stalls, as he passed, but most of them seemed to be empty. He also noticed a couple of grooms shifting straw on long pitchforks.<br />Two black female grooms showed up quickly, and one held the horse’s bridle, while the overseer jumped down, unhitched the two slaves and re-cuffed their hands behind their backs. He handed the keys of the cuffs to the other black girl saying: “Two new ponies for you, Lena, get them groomed and fed, then get them ready for their first training session at four o’clock.”<br />“Okay,” said Lena, casually and almost arrogantly. The overseer rode off, and Lena fitted a long leather leash to Paul’s neck collar, and the other girl did the same to Alex’s collar.<br />Paul’s female groom was tall, statuesque and slim. Her high cheek-bones and finely chiselled nose gave her an almost aristocratic appearance. Her skin was mid-brown and her lips red and full; she was clearly more Creole than Negro. Even with the short glance at her face that Paul allowed himself, he realized she was stunningly beautiful – and as hard as nails. Her long shapely legs were clad in skin-tight biscuit-coloured jodhpurs and shiny black riding boots which came up to her knees, with a buckle at the top on the outside of each leg. As she turned, Paul could notice that her stretch jodhpurs fitted her shapely but breathtaking round buttocks like a second skin.<br />The other girl was darker, shorter and much fatter. She had the wide nose and thick lips of a southern Negress. She wore the same jodhpurs and boots as her colleague, but as her legs were shorter, the fat thighs and enormous buttocks almost spilled out of her jodhpurs!<br />“Right, Molly,” said Lena giving Paul’s leash a sharp, vicious tug, “let’s see what we can do about turning these honkies into ponies! Come along, pony! Look sharp! I’ve got a lot to do, if I’m to change you into a real animal!”<br />Out of the corner of his eyes Paul could see Suarez and Mendoza and the other pair of white slaves getting similar treatment from their girl grooms. Even this movement with his eyes did not escape his new mistress. Paul felt a stinging lash from a crop cut across his buttocks and another sharp yank on his chain which almost throttled him.<br />“Lesson number one, you piece of honky shit!” Lena yelled. “Ponies never look around! Always look straight ahead at all times. But I think this misbehaving will be changed as soon as you have got your ring. It will prevent you from staring round, be sure! Now move your lazy rump, pony, unless you want to fell braided leather!”<br />Paul jumped to obey his mistress, and within a few seconds the new ponies were tethered by their now shortened leashes to rings set in the far wall of their stalls. Lena seemed to delight in handling Paul as rough as possible. As soon as they had tethered their new charges, the two grooms went away. For the first time in his life, Paul experienced the feeling of complete helplessness, of vulnerability and desperation. He wondered if this was the feeling that black slaves must have experienced when being shipped naked and bound overseas from Africa to the southern States of North- or of South-America two-hundred years ago.<br />Thus he stood totally nude, tethered by a leash to the wall ring, with his hands tied firmly behind his back, and his head staring straight ahead as ordered. He heard young Alex sobbing his heart out. Paul sweated profusely not only with the damp mugginess in the stable inside, but rather with the fear of his agony in store for him.<br />Even though he was tethered and afraid to move his head, by darting furtive glances out of the sides of his eyes and moving his head a fraction, Paul was able to work out the rough geography of the stable where he had been brought to. He was in a large stable, divided from similar stalls to the left and right by wooden partitions about four to five feet high. Behind him on the other side of the central gangway, was one long stall.<br />There seemed to be about six stalls on his side of the gangway. Glancing up, he could see fanlight windows in the roof and small windows let high into the walls above each stall. In the early afternoon, the strong sunlight shone through these windows and made the stable quite light. The floors of the stalls were covered in fresh straw, and along the wooden stalls in front of him hung a vast selection of rings, chains, farm tools and bits of harness. Set in the same wall, about four feet of the ground, was a heavy iron trough which ran the whole length is the stall and was full of water. Immediately in front of him, above the iron trough, was a small metal trough which was empty.<br />The ring to which Paul was tethered was about one foot above the level of his head, but there were similar rings at one foot intervals down the wall. As Paul learned later, a pony in punishment could be tethered at various heights to suit the whim of his captors. Paul was in one corner of the stall, and Alex in the other, and between them was an empty space, but above the troughs in the middle space was a manger full of hay, Paul realized – to his horror – that this was supposed for a normal horse. This meant he would not be immediate next to Alex. He would be living alongside a real horse, sleeping on the same straw and – sharing its water-trough!<br />In the stall on his left he could see Mendoza, standing tethered just he other side of the partition, and Suarez in the further corner of the same stall, again with a gap between them, presumably also for a real horse.<br />After a few minutes the grooms re-appeared, and Paul felt Lena unlock his neck collar.<br />“Right, pony,” she snapped. “Time to take your collar off. Ponies don’t wear steel collars, not unless they have been disobedient. Ponies wear halters. Stand still, while I put this halter on you!”<br />She removed the collar and leash and hung them on a hook on the wall, then she fastened a halter round Paul’s head. One strap went round his forehead and was buckled behind his head, and another strap went over the top of his head and down his cheeks and fastened tight under his chin. From the two large steel rings by the side of his mouth a short tethering rein hung loose. The effect of wearing a halter was immediate.<br />In one fell swoop, Paul felt as if he had taken one quick stride down the path which Samson had outlined so graphically, Lena seized his rein and turned him to the left towards the wooden partition separating his stall from Mendoza’s, Paul could see that it was not just a simple partition: The planks which ran crosswise could be raised up and down by a pulley at the side, and there were several round holes in the partition which made it look like an old-fashioned pillory which is just was it was. Paul realized that the planks in the partition could be moved up and down by runners. Lena raised the top-plank, roughly pulled Paul’s head down into a hole and lowered the plank, fastening around his neck.<br />He was now helplessly trapped, as in a pillory, which his head cruelly bent deep down level with his groin, so his legs straight forced his rump obscenely to stick out and upwards, offering an inviting access to his arse-crack, anus and dangling balls. In effect, his body was in his own stall, and his head was in Mendoza’s stall. His hand was still firmly fastened behind his back. Mendoza’s head was fastened through the same partition from the opposite direction, and Paul could see Suarez being fixed in position at the far end. Presumably Alex was being fixed in a similar way into the further partition of his own stall.<br />There was a shorter delay while the girls went away. Paul could no longer see Lena coming or going, but he could watch the two grooms in Mendoza’s stall bustling around and cursing and slapping their charges, laughing and making fun with the balls and pricks of the helpless men.<br />Suddenly Paul jumped with surprise as a bucket of cold water was thrown over him from behind. This was immediately followed by a furious and painful scrubbing from a stiff brush with very hard bristles and a curt order to spread his legs further and stand still. Paul’s face grimaced with the pain in his lacerated skin, and he was embarrassed to have to show his contorted face to Mendoza who himself was indeed in no better position. The cold water stung his skin, and the bristles bit into his whip-marks, and Lena was obviously determined to show him who was boss. She smacked Paul’s buttocks hard to make him move to left or right. Without shame she seized his tool and roughly grabbed his fat balls and gave them a vicious scrubbing. She seemed to rub those parts of his body which had been lashed with particular venom. She scrubbed the whole of his body from his neck to his feet with remarkable speed, swearing at him, slapping him hard and addressing all the time as >pony<. She clearly felt she was dealing with a real horse, and the callousness of her grooming made Paul feel thoroughly humiliated, particularly when she kept threatening to use her crop on him.<br />Then Lena dropped the brush in the bucket, went to a socket in the wall and attached a pair of electric clippers, on a long lead, with which she proceeded to remove every trace of body hair from his back. Paul felt the vibrating piece of steel run painfully over every inch of his bent body, tearing merciless at the hair, first on his back and then on the back of his legs right down to his ankles. She unfastened each of his arms in turn, shaved under his armpits and re-tied his arms. Finally she ran the clippers roughly up the crack of his arse and removed all the hair right up his arsehole and the back of his scrotum. When she had finished, she took a large bottle of oil and rubbed generous quantities over his back, legs and buttocks. Paul found the oil soothing after the rigours his body had already endured that day, but he also found Lena’s oily hands arousing. To his embarrassment he felt his prick rising, though he could not see it, and he received a sharp slap across the “offending” organ and a stern order to behave himself.<br />Meanwhile he could notice Mendoza’s groom giving him the same treatment, and he could see that Mendoza, who was far hairier than Paul, was beginning to look like a plucked chicken. He had tears in his eyes, and his face also was grimacing when the clippers tore at his ample mat of black hairs.<br />Next, Lena opened Paul’s pillory and, roughly turning him around, forced his head down backwards so that she could lock his neck in the hole of the pillory, with his front facing her and completely at her mercy. Oh, what a shameful position! He felt like a sex-maniac producing his genitals lewdly to the young Negress. She then set about removing every single body-hair from his chest and stomach.<br />Now came the worst of the procedure when Lena turned her attentions to his pubic hair. Paul felt an utter embarrassment as an erotic excitement too as Lena seized his tool in her gloved hand, but when it went stiff she gave it a sharp slap and told Paul curtly to stand still. He felt the clippers run over every inch of his now not any more “private” parts, tugging the hairs, and he desperately wondered how much more humiliation there was to come.<br />Lena did not hide her particular delight in knocking roughly against his prick, cupping and kneading his vulnerable balls with her brown hands. Ruthlessly the clippers tore at his stubborn scrotum-hairs. Paul pressed his gums together to suppress his whining. The final coating of oil which contained a solution of acetylsalicylic-acid to prevent further growth of new hair was applied to his entire front, from neck downwards, only added to his confused feelings of degradation and arousal.<br />When Lena had finished, she freed him from the pillory and ordered him to stand upright. “Lift your left rear hoof behind you, pony!” she barked, and he felt her fitting some kind of shoe which felt like a heavy clog. She did the same to his right foot, then gave him a sharp slap on the buttocks with her crop, told him to stand still and stepped back to lit herself a cigarette. As she puffed the smoke lazily towards him, he could feel her eyes looking to his genitals, examining her “handiwork”. Paul sensed his skin burning from the hard rubbing and the rough shaving long after the soothing effect of the oil. His face was burning with embarrassment. He had become just an object to deal with.<br />After a few minutes Lena locked him back in the pillory face down and went round to the other side of the partition and removed his halter. The she plugged the clippers again. This time she went up to Paul’s head and, seizing him hard by the nose with one hand, roughly shaved off all the hair on his scalp with the other, leaving just a narrow strip down the middle, Mohican style. The she replaced the clippers with an electric razor and shaved his head again, so that it was now completely bald and shiny, apart of his Mohican strip.<br />Finally she shaved his face and re-fitted his halter. After that, she went back into his own stall, released him from the stocks and turned him back to face the wall. At every move she gave him a impatient tap with her crop, even though he responded instantly to her tugs and commands. She tethered him to one of the rings and flicked the tip of her crop against his newly shaven balls and semi-erect tool.<br />“You may piss or shit at any time, pony, except when you are being ridden or groomed or you are between the shafts of a carriage. Piss now!”<br />The effect of her frequent handling of his balls had made Paul desperate to piss, and he immediately let his stream go, though he realized, to his horror, as his piss splashed against the wall and trickled down the floor, that he was wetting his own straw. Lena watched him contemptuously as he performed this animal function, then undid his tether and re-tied to one of the lower rings near the trough.<br />“You may never sit, pony, and you may only lie when I tell you so. Normally in your stall you will stand bent forward like a real horse, but you may kneel when ordered. You may drink whenever you like. Drink up now!”<br />He gratefully lowered his head and lapped up some of the dirty water in the trough. Shortly after, Lena returned with another bucket and poured a gooey mess into his other trough. She pulled his head down till it was a few inches above the stinking mess, saying severely: “Eat up every drop, pony, and lick the trough clean after dining! If it will be not spotless clean, you will feel my whip.”<br />Paul had not eaten for nearly a whole day and hungrily stuck his mouth into the revolting mixture. It smelt appalling! What it contained he had no idea, but he learned later that it was the same swill the pigs got in their sties. Paul had no choice because there was surely nothing else to eat, and he also did not relish any more red “stripes” across his arse. His stomach retching and holding his breath, he gulped down the repulsive semi-liquid mess. He heard young Alex vomiting into his trough, and Paul could also hear Molly getting angry with him and strapping his arse, saying: “Eat it all up, stupid pony, every drop, including your own vomit! If you foul your trough, you more fool you. Lick it clean!”<br />No sooner Paul had finished, then Lena un-tethered his head and yanked it round to face her. She took a dry, but dirty rag and wiped away the filthy bits of mash which still clung to his face and nose. With his arm firmly tied behind him, he knew he was totally dependent on her for every small attention, and he realized miserably that she relished the power this gave her over him.<br />“Right, pony,” she said, almost gloating, “time for your first horse harness. Don’t move a muscle unless I tell you!”<br />She went up to the wall and fetched down a collection of heavy leather straps and brass buckles. In spite of his fear, Paul stood rigid as she fitted a wide belt round his waist and buckled it very tight, telling him to hold his stomach in, so she could pull it in another notch. Then she fitted a narrow belt round his chest. From this chest girth behind him she pulled a narrow strap up over each of his shoulders and clipped it to a ring in the front of his girth. Another narrower strap went from each of his shoulders to a central ring in the front of the girth, so that his nipples were fully exposed between the two straps on each side.<br />Straps led from his chest-girth to his waist-girth and fitted into rings there. His handcuffs then were removed and each of his wrists was placed in a leathery, fingerless glove and these gloves were strapped firmly together and buckled to the middle of the back of his waist-girth. This made his hand more useless than they had been before.<br />Lena then pulled a thinner strap from the back of his waist-girth down between his buttocks. She forced his balls and the cock into a cruelly tight cock-ring which left them fully exposed and protruded. From this cock-ring two wider straps led up to his waist-girth, and Lena gave each of these a hard tug, so that his arse-strap cut fiercely into his crack between his buttocks, and his scrotum and cock were pushed well forward and outward. Painful as this crotch-strap was, the pull on the front straps, as Lena tightened them, had a strange erotic effect.<br />“Keep your tool erect at all times, pony, when a master or mistress approaches you so to say as a sign of respect and joy of being used! Otherwise you might get a whipping; ponies are proud of their tools, like horses,” she told him, and with that she gave it a couple of fierce flicks with the tip of her crop. Just some moment before she has been whipping it for getting erect when handling it! This was pure sadism!<br />“Down!” she suddenly said. Paul had forgotten to expect this order and was a bit slow to respond. She seized his halter with one hand and laid into his buttocks with her crop regardless he was new to grovel with his harness on.<br />“When I say >down!<, pony, you get down just before I have closed my lips. Down!!”<br />Paul instantly dropped to his knees, though with his new harness he did not find it easy as when he had been naked. Some of the straps – especially the crotch-strap – cut deep into his flesh. But that was of no concern to mistress Lena.<br />“Put your nose in the dirt, pony, and do not move till I say so.!”<br />Paul knelt absolutely motionless, enduring the severity of her whipping. Now he was feeling as a true slave right-less dependent of hiss mistress’ mercy. To his dismay he realized that Lena had no restrictions to wield her crop almost as savagely as her black “brothers”. This was – he wondered – as the black nigger-slaves must have endured the undeserved flogging on the plantations of the old days while the white planters stood aside the flogging overseer and laughed about the slave’s squirming under the lashes.<br />“Now lick this shit off my boots!”<br />Paul inched forward and licked her boots as clean as he could. He noticed they were liberally covered in his own piss. In future he must try not to piss in his own stall. On the other hand, Lena had ordered him to do so. He had not had an alternative.<br />“Up!”<br />He staggered with difficulty to his feet and earned another couple of lashes for being too slow.<br />“Now you may shit, if you want to, pony, because I’m about to fit your tail, and if you get shit on it, you will wish you never had been born. And if you get it on my boots, you will have to lick them clean again.”<br />The revolting mash he had eaten was already churning in his stomach, and he could not stop himself releasing a stinking pile of shit onto the straw behind his hooves. He wondered how he could shit so easily with a strap between his buttocks, not realizing that this strap split in two where it covered his arsehole and the slightest pressure forced the strap to separate. He could feel the straps chafing his arsehole, and to his shame again he realized there was no question of his arse being wiped or not.<br />Lena looked at him with undisguised scorn. ‘God’, thought Paul, ‘why does she have to be so beautiful and so remote?’ It made these humiliations infinitely worse!<br />She looked at him as if he really was just a horse, a worthless animal. She stepped back and avoided the pile of shit and attached another strap round Paul’s waist. Immediately he felt something swishing against his legs and realized he had received his first tail.<br />While Lena had her back to him, Paul glanced across to Alex. He already was standing there in full harness, and Molly was teaching him how to swish his new brown tail. His eyes were full of silent tears. Paul felt sick with apprehension, as he realized how beautiful young Alex looked in harness and now his magnificent tail merely added lustre to his fabulous arse. Sure he would attract all the male and female overseers and guest of the ranch, longing to drive, ride and use him.<br />Meanwhile Lena had fetched a bit and fitted the ends to Paul’s halter. She suddenly gripped his nose between her finger and thumb. Panicking and desperate for breath, Paul opened his mouth to breathe. Lena took the chance to ram the bit in between his teeth just behind the row of molars behind the last one on each side. Pulling hard she fastened the bit-strap tightly behind his neck. Paul felt as if his lower face shout be split in two. But he was now effectively gagged, not that he was allowed to speak anyway.<br />“Just a light rubber bit for your first training session, pony, but don’t be wrong to take it as a permanent kind of a bit, for soon we’ll have your teeth seen to it, so your snout can take a proper bit heavy duty type.”<br />With these words Lena pulled his head up and walked him round the stable. The bridle had reins attached to it, and she stood in the middle of the stable and pulled him round by his reins. He suddenly felt the weight on his feet and realized that his “boots” were in fact more like high-heeled clogs with horse-shoes nailed underneath. They were rigid and hard to walk in, as they did not give in like ordinary boots and the high heels bend his foot in an angle that he literally stood on his toes. He felt his buttocks stuck out provocatively.<br />But the combination of bit and bridle, harness, tail and horseshoes made him feel that, within an hour, he had indeed been changed from a man into a horse. Several severe lashes across his back, buttocks and thighs and horse-commands like >Giddy-up” Whoa! Steady!< added to the feeling.<br />By the time he had done several circuits round Lena, his pile of shit had been well and truly trodden into the straw. While Lena was giving him his first brief lesson in walking on a short rein, Jones rode into the stable on his horse. Without dismounting, he shouted orders to the grooms, and the six new human ponies were at once led out into the central gangway by their grooms. They each handed Jones the reins of their charges and, without further ado, Jones turned his horse and trotted out of the stable, pulling all six “ponies” behind him in a struggling bunch, straining on the ends of their reins and trying desperately to keep their balance on their cumbersome hooves.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 11 Ruthless Training<br /><br />Tottering wildly on their unaccustomed horseshoe, the six naked and tightly harnessed ponies pelted after Jones, trying to avoid bumping into each other. Somehow their reins remained un-entangled, and Paul found himself in the middle of a group of sweating bodies, trying to keep up with their human master’ horse. Paul received a vicious hack on his shin from one of the other’s horseshoes, and he realized that – in his new world in which he found himself – there was no time for worrying about anyone but himself.<br />Jones made no concessions to the difficulties of the ponies following at such a speed. He held their reins taught, so that the bridles pulled the bits, embedded in the bare gums behind the molars, viciously forward.<br />Only an hour earlier Paul had been racing after Dixon with the chain pulling at his neck-collar. Now he was being pulled along by a bridle and bit, his hooves were clip-clopping on the ground, and his tail was swishing frantically against his legs. How far his transformation from human being to horse had progressed in just an hour! Every minute in the hand of these black maniacs seemed to be hurling him remorselessly down the slope to complete animalisation without the remotest hope of rescue. Could this really be happening in these days and age to a law-abiding American citizen?!?<br />Fortunately they did not have to go far at this crazy pace, and soon they were standing, panting and sweating in the full sun of the corral. Jones handed Suarez’s and Mendoza’s reins to Mr. Mills, and the other two ponies’ reins to Mr. Mason. To Paul’s dismay, Jones handed his reins and Alex’s to Mr. Dixon, the groom who terrified him most. Dixon seemed to be a vast, insensitive, black sadist build of solid rock.<br />The ponies were lined up side by side in three pairs, with Alex and Paul in the middle. Soon Samson rode up on his horse, looking as cool as ever. He spoke briefly to Jones, who turned his horse round and galloped back to the stables. Samson manoeuvred his horse to face the “ponies” and took up position about twenty paces in front of them:<br />“Let go of the lead reins!” he shouted, and Dixon let Paul’s and Alex’s reins drop from his huge black hands.<br />“Well, ponies!” Samson went on. “Now that you have been properly groomed and fed and harnessed, we can start our training. Stand up straight and feel your harness grip your bodies! Hold your heads high and feel what it will be like to have a stiff mane proudly dissecting your scalps! Feel how your horseshoes lift your hooves and stick out your rumps and lengthen your legs like real colts! Note the touch of your tails swishing the backs of your legs. Feel the strength which you are going to need when you pull the cart or drag the plough! Feel the pride which you are going to experience when you are hitched between the shafts of a carriage for the first time! Feel your horse pricks down there surging with sheer animal strength!”<br />Paul stood up erect and, to his amazement, really did feel as if he was becoming a horse. All the things which Samson described really seemed to be happening. His brain swam with strange sensations. It must be the hot sun or the strain, he told himself. His legs seemed to grow longer, and his feet seemed to turn into hooves. He even imagined he could detect a horse smell wafting up from his skin. He felt his prick throb with a sort of pride in his new condition.<br />“I can promise you,” Samson continued, “that you are already looking more like horses than human beings. But there is no way you can fight this process. We are your human masters, and you are our animals. We own your bodies, and you no longer have souls.” Paul felt being reminded at brain-washing when listening to always the same statements.<br />“The sooner you realize your animal status the sooner your life here will be tolerable. Think like horses, act like horses! They do think only of the next meal and the next command, nothing else. You have to do the same! We decide for you, you only have to be thankful for the chance to serve your masters to their satisfaction!”<br />The extremes of such demands shocked Paul back to reality. Not only Samson was completely mad, thought Paul, but he even believes his own crazy philosophy! Still, while Samson kept on talking his monologue, he could rest his shattered body.<br />“Now we are going to learn to whinny like real horses. It’s simple: Just one whinny for >Yes<, two whinnies for >No<, three whinnies for >please<>thank you, and an additional whinny for >master<.<br />Paul gave a feeble whinny. Dixon at once towered over him and seized his rein. His vast hand yanked his bridle sharply upwards, so Paul’s face was looking right up at the black devil’s face.<br />“Whinny properly like a horse, pony, or I will thrash the hide off your rump!”<br />Paul whinnied until he felt his throat going hoarse, but he realized it was the only noise he was capable of making with the rubber-bit clamping his tongue down in his mouth.<br />The lesson was accompanied by curses and lashes, but Paul was quick to learn. It was poor Suarez who received the bulk of the punishment. But his sturdy peasant body would be much more able to withstand the physical assaults which lay ahead. Paul wondered what use it would his brain and intellect be to him when he was harnessed to a plough or hitched to a heavy farm wagon and be whipped into action?<br />“Okay, ponies,” Samson continued his lesson, “I am going to teach you the positions of a pony. Rule 1: Ponies NEVER sit! Sitting is for humans! You will stand or lie down, but you may lie down in your stable at night to rest only when given permission. Horses hardly ever lie down if not being sick. But other than horses, there is a frequent position for you not as ponies, but as slaves: Grovelling. For simplicity we call it >downing<.”<br />He ordered “DOWN!” Paul and the others dropped to their knees, but not fast enough for Dixon. His crop tore across Paul’s shoulders, before he was half way down.<br />“You are to react a hundred times faster than that!” Dixon snarled, “and get your nose into that dust!” Paul could hear the other ponies being whipped as well and shouted in the same way. Oh God, Paul thought, this is only the beginning! How much worse would it get? Was this how Hector and Romulus and Remus had become so well trained?<br />The last whiplash he got from Dixon’s powerful arm felt as if he was applying a steel cable! The next one, Paul was certain, would break his back in two. Through his pain he heard Samson’s voice:<br />“Rule 2: When you are down, do not move a muscle. I do not want you to see you even breathe! You stay down unless your are told to go up! Under all circumstances. Even if the stable catches fire, you stay in your commanded position until told to do otherwise. Now UP!”<br />Paul shot to his feet. In this manner Samson continued to order >Down<>up several times, until every slave literally shot up and down.<br />Fortunately for Paul, the sadistic Dixon had turned his attention to poor Alex who got to feel his vicious whip. Paul had always felt sorry for the young Alex, but now he had grown into an animalistic behaviour when being glad it was Alex who got the whip and not himself. How quickly human values were changed …<br />Just a few days ago, Paul was a free man, free to do as he liked; now only four days later he was a slave, an animal, terrified to move, forbidden to speak, to sit, to think like a human being, fed on garbage, sweating his guts out. He knelt there in the shit, there was a horrible stench like sewage in his nostrils. Where does it come from?<br />He wondered if it came from the sties to where Conroy had been taken. Poor Conroy! What hell was he going through? Yet Paul began to contemplate if being a pig might be not preferable to being a horse although ponies had to pull carts and had to grovel and got whipped every few minutes.<br />Maybe Samson was right: it does not pay to think ahead as a slave. Paul dared looking around. Suddenly Dixon’s boot war just in front of his face: “Who gave you permission to look around? Up!”<br />Paul jumped to his feet, shivering with fear. Dixon grabbed Paul’s lead rein and ran over to one of the trestles in the corral, pulling Paul behind him. Paul struggled to keep up. Mr Mills abandoned his ponies and ran across to help Dixon while Samson ordered the other “ponies” to their feet and turn to watch what was happening.<br />Dixon unceremoniously strapped Paul’s ankles to the back of the trestle while Mills un-cuffed his hands, pulled them over Paul’s head and cuffed them to the front of the trestle. Paul’s back and arse were completely exposed now.<br />Immediately he felt a whip lash such as he had never felt before. The pain raced across his back and up to his brain. He tried to twist and to protect his rump from the next blow, but he was unable to move. The second lash and the third followed in quick succession, and Paul gave a loud scream through his bit. Mills quickly stepped up to him, removed the bit and filled his yelling mouth with a large rubber ball gag.<br />Immediately, the yelling went dead. Yet the next few minutes were by far the worst Paul had ever experienced in his life. He did not know why he did not pass out with pain and terror, each lash seemed to kick his brain to life again. Oh God! My Lord in heaven, what is happening to me! Before he found an answer, the ordeal was over.<br />Mills released his hands and replaced his bit, and Dixon released his legs. Paul fell to his knees trembling and without knowing what he was doing he wiggled forward and smothered Dixon’s filthy boots in kisses, clasping the Negro’s leg with his unbound hands. If his tongue had not been clamped down by the bit, he would have licked the boots spotless clean.<br />“Whinny your thanks, pony!” Dixon demanded. And Paul obeyed instantly with five loud whinnies and collapsed on the ground.<br />“Now our ponies have to learn the different paces which drivers and riders command by pulling on the reins or by clicking their tongues accordingly. So keep in your minds: One pull or click for >walk<, two for >trot<, three for >gallop<. We will start with the walk. When walking you keep up a good regular pace, head up, chest out, arse out, back hollow and swish your tail gently.”<br />Dixon and the other overseers now attached long training reins to each of the ponies’ bits and dragged them to different parts of the corral. When all were in position, Dixon gave one loud click with his tongue, and Paul and Alex walked forward side by side. Dixon led out their reins as they walked away from him. When they reached the end of the corral, he pulled their left traces, and they moved to the left.<br />When they had completed one circuit across the corral, he clicked his tongue twice, and they started to trot like obedient horses.<br />The other two trainers were pulling their charges through the same basic training.<br />“Not too fast! Keep your dressing and get your knees up! Farther up!! Sheehan, get your fucking knees up!” and Paul felt a whip lash his shoulders. “Steady pace! Keep in step! Chest out! Swing your tails! Knees up, up!“<br />Paul was already feeling the heat and straining to remember all the things he had to do, but the whip came mercilessly cracking down across the wheals he had received earlier, which were still hurting awfully.<br />After about ten circuits at a steady trotting rhythm, Paul felt his legs begin to sag, but he realized they still had to do galloping, and when the order came, it was accompanied by a torrent of curses and blows to his back, his ass, his thighs – Dixon did not care about. Paul even did feel the whip curl around his balls and lash his cock several times.<br />“Faster, Sheehan, Faster Harris! Keep your dressing! Get in Stepp! Heads up, knees up! Faster!“<br />Eventually, he brought them to a halt: “Stand still! Heads down! Don’t move!“ Then again: CLICK – CLICK! „Trot, not gallop! Heads up! Click – click –click! Gallop! Faster!“<br />The whip struck. „Whoa! Don’t move! Eyes down! Don’t move! DOWN!“<br />Paul hurled himself down to the ground, mouth dry, his eyes filled with sweat, his back and buttocks burning. Oh God, help me! And this is only day one!<br />“Up! – Down! – Walk – trot! – Gallop! Whoa! Stand still! Down --- up --- down!“ Pauls head started spinning. Oh, I can’t go on! I would rather die! Dear Lord, let me die …!<br />Finally, it seemed to be over. Dixon unclipped the training reins. Paul stood rigid, his eyes lowered to the ground. His back, shoulders, buttocks and thighs burning with pain, his feet sore and blistered. The corners of his mouth were pulled right back by the bit, his crotch stung from the rubbing of the crotch-strap, his prick burned from the whip’s sting. He heard one of the other ponies piss, and thankfully he followed suit. His piss splashed against his legs and turned the manure of the corral into a brown slime. But anyway! It’s animal-like, he thought. Piss and shit and the whip – they were his world now.<br />His bridle rein was hanging loose. He felt a strange desire for Dixon to come and seize it in his great black fist.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 12 Breeding sows<br /><br />Totally exhausted and with stiff members due to the long inflexibility, the three former Cheerleader girls crept out of the helicopter, by which they had been flown from the “Columbia’s capital airport” to the “El Dorado Ranch".<br />After the ruthless inspection by that giantly-built Negro who Kitty had named by ‘Mr. Samson’, the three girls were scared to death, for they boded their fates in store for them might be not very pleasant, rather being humiliating and filled with cruel ordeals. Maybe they even would get the chance to stay together and were not separated from each other.<br />The girls’ tired eyes didn’t get aware of a sturdy build black man had unloaded the three naked bodies being wrapped in a body-bag of gum during the flight from Georgia to Columbia out of the helicopter. The naked cheerleaders were shocked seeing him when the Negro opened the body-bag and made them crawl out.<br />They lay sweating and dazzled by the suddenly glaring sunlight on the dry, hot earth now in a cloud of dust which was whirled up by the first landing and then starting helicopter. They were let out of their bonds stark-naked. Nancy came to herself first and noticed that her anus, her perineum and her cunt were terribly sore and hurting.<br />Orientating herself carefully she blinked to the two girls lying next to her and saw Wendy, laying by chance with her back turned against Nancy, that a nearly unbelievably thick plug and a not much less thick peg were rammed into the private orifices up to their hilt. Nancy suspected that obviously her pains in her crotch had to be due to exactly the same pegs in her lower body openings.<br />Wendy and Margaret slowly also came to their five senses. They moaned with their dried out mouths when somebody whom they only recognized like silhouettes as a dark-skinned man undid their bonds and lifted them up on their legs.<br />The three ones saw a proud white horse with saddle and bridle trotting close by; the horse was led by a young white boy at the rein, and the boy stopped it a few steps besides two men talking to each other.<br />One of them was the huge Negro known to them from the prison in Georgia, who had inspected them so roughly before buying them. He stood about three yards apart of the disorientated girls and kept talking to the also black man who had un-wrapped and un-tethered them.<br />“These, Mr. Benson, are the three new breeding-sows which I have bought in Georgia/ USA. I was told they were allegedly former Cheerleaders of a football team, although they are looking rather run-down now. But still fairly young and capable for at least two decades of intense childbearing. Margaret, -- this is this brat here, is eighteen and mentioned herself the youngest, the middle is nineteen called Wendy, and the oldest one is 21-year-old Nancy. She seems rather to be the most stubborn of them if one judges on the traces on her body. You are to take the three in their stable, the usual programme and then bring them to their designed purpose as quickly as possible. Senora Lopez wishes to see the three new sows with thick laden bellies within at least five month!"<br />Samson turned round, mounted the waiting white horse and rode away with that. The white boy who had led it to his master ran breathlessly behind like a hound. Nancy was surprised that the boy was stark naked. He was a white boy, but his skin was sun-tanned all over.<br />Almost still drowsy, the three girls were standing nude in the glistening sun when an unexpectedly intense stroke over her arse catapulted Nancy out of her lethargy. Benson had beaten her with his dog whip and yelled at the three nude girls:<br />“Go on, march! Move to your accommodations!"<br />He drove the girls with encouraging strokes ahead like a herd of cattle. Shocked with horror, the three naked girls stared into the stinking pig pen which they were to enter. There were lying naked girls with grossly bloated bellies, and in opposite stalls stark-naked men who were chained up to the wall with their unbelievably gigantic ball-sacs encircled by very tight rings of bras or similar metal. Both sorts of “human beasts” were lying in straw covered sties. The three terrified girls were immediately seized and put over a rack-like trestle and securely tethered on these trestles by three black stable-boys. They dared not utter any protest after the bad experiences in that prison in Georgia. They were led like lambs to the slaughtering block.<br />Each girl’s eyes got now covered by a cloth. Then nothing happened for a short moment. The girls felt, though, that it got warm next to their heads as if they were bowed down next to a stove. They did not suspect that the heat war emitted from a basin with glowing charcoal.<br />Suddenly Margaret let out a shrill cry because she felt the nose-septum clamped hard by a pair of pincers and being pulled out of her face. She didn’t know what the purpose was until she perceived an extremely painful sting in the stretched nose-septum; then a cold rounded metal was pushed through this new hole in her septum.<br />“One nose is ringed properly, Mr. Benson,” announced the stable-hand.<br />“Okay, go on with the other two,” Benson answered.<br />Almost at the same time Nancy and Wendy yelled at the top of their lungs. They had got their nose-rings as well and in the same cruel way. And whilst the stable-hands were busy with the “new sows’” noses, Benson was engaged in the three vaginas of them. Having pulled out the plugs and carefully shaven off the stubbles on the pubic mounds of the three girls, he perforated the pair of sex-lips of each girl by a red hot shoemaker’s awl, totally unconcerned with the victims’ creaming. Through these fresh holes three padlocks were inserted into each vagina and locked secure.<br />“I never will understand why these white scum-bags are yelling just because of some minor pains,” commented Benson the shrill crying of the girls, “I think it will be the best to cut their vocal chord at once before we turn deaf from their yelling.”<br />The grooms forced open the jaws of the girls by steel clamps to maximum, fetched a shiny metallic instrument that turned out to be a small pair of scissors with a tiny lamp at the front tip. It was inserted into the open-forced mouth till down the throat, and ‘snip-snap’ the chord were cut through unceremoniously. Up from this moment there was a wonderful silence, save for the arduous gasping of the now mute girls.<br />“Now they are more similar to real sows: Nose-ring, cunt-lips depilated and sealed, just snorting like pigs instead of that deafening roar like dumb humans.” Benson laughed.<br />The mistreated girls hung fastened, exhausted, and resigned on the racks. Benson spoke over the house-phone with his boss, Senora Lopez. After a quarter of an hour, the woman came into the pig-stable, accompanied by two nude, white men, that walked on hands and feet beside her and were led by the cruel Senora with a leash fastened to their ringed scrotal-sacs.<br />All she was interested in were the cunts of these three girls which Benson had unlocked the moment when Senora Lopez was entering the stable. “Here we are,” he said and pointed to the three high-stretched bottoms on the racks. The cunt lips were bright-red and swollen.<br />“Their ages?” Lopez asked.<br />“This one has twenty-one, that sow in the middle has eighteen and the left side one has nineteen years of age,” answered the stable-master.<br />Nonchalantly, Senora Lopez ordered Benson to ‘open’ the ‘breeding orifices’, and Benson hurried to stand on the head-side of the trestles, bending over the on-bound female body, grabbed the cunt-ring and tore the sex-lip apart regardless of the hoarse hissing of the girl. Senora Lopez glared intensely into the pink canals. Benson pulled one cunt-slit after the other rigorously apart, and the Senora inspected it like a pound of meat for a barbecue.<br />“All three deflowered, okay. None of them had ever thrown a piglet. Mr. Benson, notice their menstruations carefully and make them impregnated as soon as possible. Meanwhile put a three inches wide plug into the cunts of the eighteen and the nineteen old one, so that the cunt-canals get used to being properly stretched for the prick of Conroy.”<br />“Thank your, Senora, I personally will see to it,” Benson bowed, “and what is about the twenty-one old sow?”<br />“That one I want to be inseminated by boar Percy. So use a four inches wide plug for her cunt to make sure, Percy’s impregnating pole will not rip her crotch apart.”<br />The girls heard with horror what the Lady ordered to Benson, but they had just lost the ability to protest or even comment them. Benson inserted the padlocks again and locked them.<br />“Are they already de-voiced?” asked Lopez, and as Benson said “yes”, she continued: “Okay, give them their brand due to our registration system. I hope Samson had been given their year of birth. The right one is breeding sow number 66, the middle 67 and the left one is to be number 68, okay?”<br />“Very well, Mistress. I’ll make the brands be registered in the files,” answered Benson politely.<br />“Oh, I almost forgot it to say: You have my permission to make the teeth of all three of them be extracted. They don’t need them any more for devouring the mushy swill. And I can imagine, how keen your are to feed the new sows with your sperm by mouth fucking!” Lopez grinned cunningly.<br />Harshly she tugged the leash at the ball-rings of her human dogs and triggered the crawling man to follow her fast paces out of the evil odorous stable. Her dog-whip struck the upturned arses of these poor men.<br />Margaret, Nancy and Wendy lay totally shattered over their trestles. They felt as if the end of their lives had come.<br /><br />End of the first part of the novel.My Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-45377358034876708802007-09-30T14:02:00.000-07:002007-09-30T14:04:05.921-07:00White Captives Part OneWHITE CAPTIVES<br />(Book One)<br /><br />by<br /><br />Peter Marriner<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />WARNING! All Olympia books are the subject of international copyright and should not be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form - including electronically - without the publisher’s prior written consent. ANY and ALL violations of Olympia copyright will be pursued vigorously through the appropriate courts.<br /><br /><br /><br />Judith Deane briefly suspended her stowing of empty water tins under the deck of the ketch to stare towards the red glow that illuminated the northern horizon, dimming the stars. From the dinghy bumping alongside, her friend and fellow voyager Jill Gordon called up to her. “This is the last load of empties, Judith! The Woodruffes will be coming off next trip.”<br />“That looks like something big on fire to the north!” Judith commented. “Must be the offshore oil wells. Those Purifier people are really serious about returning to a pre-industrial economy!”<br />Jill peered across the deck in the same direction as Judith. “This sort of thing seems to breaking out all over the place. Just the possibility of a world-wide catastrophe seems to have started crazy wars everywhere. This is the time to really use those Peace weapons. They say there are bugs now that can eat every kind of military material. You know!” she said vaguely. “Viruses or nano-technology, or whatever they are.”<br />“Just as well we’re getting away from this place before the real trouble starts,” Judith said cheerfully. “We should be home by the time it strikes…”<br />“At least by then they’ll have other things to think about.” Jill said with more confidence. “No one will be fighting wars in the middle of a natural disaster.” <br />The two women returned to work silently, their thoughts privately occupied with the uncertain future, Judith passing the empty tins handed up from the dinghy to her sister Gillian Arnold in the fore hatch, whose children Alice and Tom were crouched to stow them in the narrow space below. Ashore, John Arnold and the two Woodruffes, Jessica and Richard, were stripping the island bird observatory which had been their home for a year, of its last usable resources. They finished the last stow and sprawled on the wooden deck, skimpily clad in the warm tropical night, grateful for the light breeze. The women talked in low voices of the political disruption on the mainland and the projected return home, careful to remain cheerful in the hearing of the younger pair. The ketch rolled gently in the Indian Ocean swell as the dinghy appeared for the last time out of the darkness.<br />“Come on people! Rouse yourselves!” John Arnold called briskly. “We want to be well away from the island before dawn in case the fighting spreads. The sooner we reach the mainland the sooner we fill up with water. We have a long voyage ahead and the less we see of the land the better. The high seas are the safest place, whatever happens!”<br />Scrambling to their feet they set about hoisting in the dinghy, heaving up the anchor and setting sail, recognising the truth of his words.<br /><br />Chapter One<br /><br />A little over two years later and not far to the southward the sun was newly risen on a palm fringed shore. Just the lightest of breezes ruffled the calm and empty expanse of the ocean, but a long, low swell broke gently in regular flurries of dazzling white upon a long sandy beach. Only the piled, sun-bleached debris along the high water mark and the battered appearance of the fringing palms gave any sign of wreck and tempest past.<br />Offshore, a single fishing boat crept over the swells, its half dozen round-bladed oars dipping irregularly, looking like a labouring beetle as it described a wide arc out to seaward.<br />At the edge of the sea a grizzled old man in a white gown followed the progress of the boat, shielding his eyes with one hand, his legs like black matchsticks below the short hem of the gown, his black bullet head loosely wrapped in a white cloth. The boat had turned parallel to the shore, dark figures crouching, paying out nets over the stern. The old man stumped along the water’s edge, keeping pace with the boat and examining its progress at intervals. At last he came to a halt and gave a long cry, cracked and wavering, answered by several voices from the boat.<br />As if on cue, there emerged through the fringe of coconut palms behind the beach, a double file of khaki-clad women with long bare legs flashing in unison as they marched, marking them as pale of skin. Their hair, blonde, brown, brunette and auburn in colour, was European too, flowing long and loose. They marched in disciplined unison, heads up, bosoms out-thrust, pale arms swinging, the double rank of bare legs exposed almost to the thigh by the shortness of the out-sized khaki shirts which were their only visible garment.<br />Crisp orders rang out from their escort, four stalwart black women, uniformed in crisply pressed khaki and polished leather, each of whom was carrying a long bamboo cane tucked under one arm. Keeping in step, the double file swung to form a line above the beach, clear of the piles of storm debris, halted obediently and faced front towards the sea. They stood to attention. The greenish-khaki shirts were several sizes too large for their female frames, hanging loosely just long enough to cover essentials, the slit sides of the shirt-tails exposing white thighs. The sleeves were rolled above slender feminine elbows, and the open collars wide around delicate collarbones and slim necks. Their long hair, evidently uncut but well tended, fell right down their backs restrained only by a leather band.<br />At the margin of the sea below, the old man, having given a brief glance at their first coming, had returned his attention to the boat which was now rolling in the swell as it turned back towards the shore.<br />Erect before the disciplined double rank of white women, one of their black guards barked another command. In a ripple of movement the whole formation relaxed their postures. In perfect unison they reached forward arms crossed, and taking their loose shirts under the arms with practiced fingers, whipped them up in one fluid motion and over their heads. By demonstration the shirts had been their only garment.<br />Stark naked, the double line dipped in one graceful simultaneous motion, breasts bouncing and bottoms swinging, folding the shirts with practiced economy of movements into a neat square pile at their feet. They straightened with a quick backward flip of cascading hair and a gradual subsidence of bobbing breasts, to come to attention once more, chins uplifted and hands by their sides. Their out-thrust nipples prodded the air in all colours from pink to deep russet and below their bellies between their thighs, luxuriant pubic bushes varying from black to light gingery flourished untrimmed. The black drill mistress surveyed the naked ranks with satisfaction and then a last command broke their ranks and sent the women flooding naked, down the beach towards the sea.<br />The boat was well inshore by now. A small boy was balancing in the bows, his ragged gown tucked up to fling a line to the old man who was wading into the surf to catch it. He passed the end to the first of the women splashing out to meet him and the rest of them tailed on behind her. They waded deep, their naked figures, smooth and rounded, pale golden skinned, hair floating loose, formed a startling contrast with the voluminous white gown and black stick-like knotted limbs of the old fisherman. He paid little heed, however, yelling furiously over his shoulder as he hauled on the rope.<br />The women hauled valiantly, their naked bodies soon wet and gleaming with spray, breasts swinging and bottoms bobbing. Some waded deeper than the old man who was presently almost surrounded by his naked female gang. The black women guards remained aloof, standing back with their canes tucked under their arms. As if freed of their restraint there was some chattering among their charges, though a squeal or two and the sound of a wet slap brought the guards advancing to the very edge of the swash. They hesitated there as if reluctant to wet their gleaming boots, but the white girls bent in earnest to the task without further urging, the old man waving his fist, half jesting, half in earnest as he co-ordinated their heaves.<br />Slowly the net became visible inshore as a long crescent of leaping silvery fish. The female team, all wet-skinned gleaming curves, began to trudge alongshore in the shallows, towing the net behind them and shepherded by the old man. The boat rowed parallel to them a little off shore until the two ends were united where the other had been secured to a stake in the sand. They began to haul in the bulging net until its splashing silvery burden was spilling onto the sand. The fishing boat was now surging through the surf towards the beach and the naked gang came flocking back, obedient to the hen-wife gestures of their black supervisors. They retreated up the beach to where they had left the neat row of folded garments with a sudden last minute rush to form their line again, this time with hands on heads. Three of the black women followed them, leaving the fourth busily engaged with the boat’s crew sorting and dividing up the catch.<br />The reason for the rush was made evident when their supervisors selected one of the white women for further attention. The unfortunate choice was directed by a pointing cane to step forward in front of the rest. A sharp order from the wielder of the cane and the white woman meekly bent forward to touch her toes, her blonde hair falling to obscure her face.<br />“Thwackkk! Thwackkk! Thwackkk!<br />The fishermen had straightened from their work to stare and grin as the sharp impacts of the cane carried down to them. The other white women stood quite motionless. At a sharp order the one who had been caned straightened, revealing a very tearful red face and then, clutching her bottom, meekly re-joined the others.<br />Work resumed at fish sorting, though from time to time a fisherman would straighten for a covert stare at the row of naked women who, without resuming their clothing, now squatted on the sand under the eye of their guards, quietly plaiting strips of palm fronds into the semblance of shallow baskets. Among them, squatting naked with the rest, eyes lowered and fingers busy, but conscious of the interest displayed by the men, were Judith Deane, Gillian Arnold, Jessica Woodruffe and Jill Gordon.<br />Shortage of water had forced upon the voyagers the unwelcome necessity of making a landfall on the continental shore. Calling at one of the ports was out of the question since Western craft were liable to be regarded as spies or arms smugglers and none of them knew what murderous faction might have come out on top in the local wars. Tom Arnold had an intimate knowledge of that coast and was confident that he could navigate them into one of the thinly inhabited swampy river deltas. They would take on fresh water there, un-noticed by authority. Had they carried out that plan exactly and no more, all would have been well. The backwaters were so peaceful, however, and the few fishermen they met were so unthreatening that the girls were encouraged to go ashore in a small hamlet to bargain for fresh fruit.<br />On the way back to the dinghy, Jill was lagging behind with an awkward armful, when she was seized by a man who had emerged from a roadside hut, scratching his chest and wearing only a skimpy pair of boxer shorts. He had shouted angrily at her in no language that she recognised and, getting no response, grabbed her by the shirt. Dragged towards the hut in the intimate clutches of a man whose hands were taking liberties with her flesh and whose skimpy garment displayed the signs of his sexual arousal, Jill resisted desperately, dropping the fruit in the process. She yelled for help to her friends who were then well ahead. The man had a strong grip upon her shirt and the only way to free herself was to wriggle out of it, slipping downwards and leaving it in his grasp. He staggered back, unbalanced, while Jill scrabbled away in the dust with her breasts escaping from her skimpy bra. Other men were now tumbling from the hut behind him in similar states of undress and Jill didn’t stop to argue.<br />The two other women, having started back to help, saw her fleeing towards them half naked with her finger-marked breasts bouncing, pursued by whooping men, and didn’t wait to discover the exact circumstances either.<br />Jessica was alone on deck watch with the yacht’s only weapon. She used it wildly but impressively, firing in the general direction of the pursuing mob who all dropped immediately into cover with yells of fury and alarm. The men rushed up from below and got the yacht under way as the three women tumbled into the dinghy and made it almost skim the water to safety.<br />‘Silhouette’ had reached the sea without interference, but two days later, becalmed with the coast just a blue smudge in the distance they were overhauled by an armed patrol boat and arrested on suspicion of being arms smugglers. Taken into port despite their protests, the details of their clash on the river came to light. The men they had the brush with turned out to have been a patrol of militia supporting the latest revolutionary coup.<br />They had probably been taking an illicit siesta when one of their number was attracted by the sight of Jill passing the door. Unfortunately two of the soldiers had been lightly wounded by Jessica’s wild firing and, to justify themselves, they had reported having fought a pitched battle with armed intruders.<br />The trial of the voyagers for illegal entry, arms smuggling and the wounding of two government soldiers took place before a Revolutionary tribunal in a fly-blown coastal town, half market, half fishing station. The judges were local inhabitants chosen from the supporters of the coup, ignorant and fanatical, the atmosphere one of hysteria and xenophobia. Jill and Jessica were sentenced to five years’ corrective labour, Judith and Gillian to two years each. The men received heavier sentences and were parted immediately from the women to be sent to a high security prison in the interior. The two teenagers were taken into the care of a State orphanage pending their deportation, while their mother and the other three women were sent to an island penal settlement offshore.<br />“It will be better for Europeans there,” a friendly local assured them. “The climate is easier on the island and only women and juveniles are imprisoned there working on the experimental farm.”<br />The prison regime had not been unusual at first, though strict enough to compel the stranded quartet to submit wholly to the loss of their liberty and to acquire the more appropriate habits of disciplined obedience to authority. Other white women prisoners were added to the prisoners from the yacht. The first were two from a group of stranded travellers who had tried to steal a boat from a fishing co-operative and then several female members of various international, charitable or media organisations, all accused of spying or helping dissidents and rebels.<br />As their numbers rose they formed a quite distinct group within the prison and kept apart from the main body of black female prisoners. They were housed within the solid stone bastions of an old Portuguese fort set atop a rocky headland overlooking the shark infested waters of the islands harbour. Though the thickness of its walls and the constant breeze off the sea made it cooler than the hutted prison camp on the landward side, it formed a prison within a prison. They were held singly in individual cells except for exercise and work periods and this isolation deprived the white women of any opportunity to develop mutual support to counter the dominance of their guards. What they learned from the succession of new arrivals was of increasing strife and chaos on the mainland that made escape seem more dangerous than submission to prison discipline. Few of the wardresses spoke other than their own local dialect and so the white prisoners were unhappily all the more dependant upon the prison’s Chief Matron, Saida known as the Lioness, as being the only one who was capable of understanding them. <br />The prisoners were glad of these distant work details. Humiliating though the conditions might be, it kept them for a while out of the reach of the dreaded Lioness.<br /> She was a big black woman of a deep ebony colour with a quite terrifying majesty of manner and fierce tawny eyes. Her great bush of black raffia-like hair and thin arched nose hinted at Nilotic ancestry. She wore the same khaki uniform as her wardresses but with a style that suggested her severe outward composure concealed a streak of purely feminine vanity. Its cut enhanced her magnificent figure, her rump taut in the sheath of skirt, her thighs swelling powerfully under the crisp khaki. Her bosom seeming to defy gravity in the starched high-necked tunic. As she was a head taller than any other woman in the prison, she made an imposing and overwhelming figure.<br />Cross-legged on the sand, fingers busy, Judith recalled the process of learning this skill in the workroom in the early days. Rows of silently industrious women skimpily clad in thin grey cotton shifts, their flying fingers busy tucking and plaiting, all of them watching from under submissively downcast eyelashes, surreptitiously studying the Lioness’s unyielding black face as she dismisses her most recent victim and looks along the ranks, averting their eyes in case she is seeking another. Crimson-faced, the hapless delinquent whose cotton-clad seat has just sampled the cracking impact of the Chief Matron’s heavy ruler, stumbles back to her place. Not to sit, now too painful a position, but forced to kneel to her work. <br />Busily the others bend their heads over their task as Saida rises and paces like a Lioness indeed! She stalks among the prisoners, inspecting the work, surely aware of the tension that follows her, the frisson of fear that seizes whoever is by whenever she halts. There was not one of them by now who wouldn’t falter desperate excuses, make abject apologies, express fervent desire to make amends, rather than be the one to be singled out, marched to the front, while the others titter like weak minded idiots in sheer relief at being spared.<br />A sudden cry now from the wardress down on the beach alerted Judith and the prisoners all sprang up, hands brushing automatically the round splotches of drying sand from plump bottom cheeks. They filed down obediently to where their taskmistress now presided over a heap of silver fish. One by one they queued to have their shallow baskets heaped with the food. Suddenly one of those still waiting, cried out and pointed, slim white arm raised. Noise and activity stilled as the people on the beach and the men in the boat saw what she drew attention to.<br />A huge object, pale blue in colour, hung silently in the sky like a balloon a few hundred metres above the waves and seemingly a mile or two off-shore, as if it had just materialised out of nowhere. It grew rapidly larger and turned, resolving into an enormous torpedo shape.<br />Excited voices revived as the shock became identification of the shape and behaviour. A giant airship, its size verified by the row of cabin windows glittering in the sunlight on the long bulge beneath its belly. It was turning slowly broadside onto the shore. Along its vast side were revealed a long line of black oriental style ideograms, an enigma to its audience. Behind the bulge, four long tubes projected like rockets, swivelling and snorting brief puffs of white vapour as it manoeuvred with leisurely assurance to maintain its position. Figures and pale faces could be distinguished in the long gondola. The occupants, however, made no signals and seemed to be making a leisurely examination of the scene on the beach through binoculars.<br />At last the wardresses and the fishermen collected themselves and work resumed, now with a certain degree of nervous haste. There was a good deal of screaming and the cracking impact of canes as the uniformed black women endeavoured to round up and re-order their charges, some of whom had strayed up and down the beach in apparently aimless fashion during the excitement.<br />At length the squad was marshalled and counted in case any lay concealed among the heaps of sea wrack that lined the upper parts of the beach. Lifting the dripping baskets of fish aloft onto their heads in African fashion, they set off, not in quite the same order as they had arrived. They were quite naked now, arms raised to steady their burdens, lifted breasts thrusting pert nipples. Several bobbing pairs of round bottom cheeks now displayed the red imprint of the cane as they marched away through the tattered half-wrecked palm trees. The last of the white women, khaki-clad, carried in her basket the folded shirts of her naked sisters. Immediately beyond the palm-fringed beach, rocky cliffs rose steeply but in the direction they were headed a footpath climbed in zig-zag fashion towards the cliff top.<br />Behind them the great airship had lifted and turned away heading to follow the island coastline, leaving behind them the fishing boat rowing slowly in its wake and scrawled along the sand where the prisoners had been straying the trampled letters SOS HELP.<br />The procession of basket toting women surmounted the cliffs and joined a well-defined road that ran through cultivated fields towards the dark bulk of the old fortress on its headland. The flat plateau sloped gently down towards the harbour and, beneath the fortress walls were visible the reconstructed buildings of the modern prison, freshly white-washed and showing new thatch where tiles had been stripped off by the tsunami. The neat regularity of the fields, fenced with earth banks amid which occasional orchards and bio-fuel plantations, were just re-covering with fresh green shoots, was a relic of the experimental farm. Men and women were stooping at work in the fields, hardly bothering to look up as the long file of white porteresses passed them by. <br />The stooping field workers were, for the most part, occupants of these buildings no longer a prison but adapted as a resettlement village. Black women prisoners set free had found partners from among the mainly male refugees from the mainland. There being no attraction in returning, they had settled down contentedly under the rule of the Governess, their saviour and heroine. Assisted by her loyal and admiring staff, she had set about re-organising the island as an orderly queendom. The legacy of the experimental farm had been a wide range of stored seed and, particularly, salt tolerant types originally designed for the desert fringes, but useful in the aftermath of the sea wave.<br />Many of the survivors were fishermen who had been far out in deep ocean waters when the wave passed. The fishing was now particularly good with the sea stirred up and nutrients washed from the shore. The men who had manned the boat that morning had been from the settlement around the little boat harbour sheltered by the fortified headland.<br />The airship was visible again, now lying motionless off the harbour, having rounded the island cliffs. Where had it come from? Was there more just over the horizon? There were no more powered ships since the oil had all turned to dirt. If these people could fly, where had they come from? The file of laden women marched steadily towards the elucidation of these mysteries.<br />Among the workers in the fields the women roused most interest among a gang of boys working near the roadside who all stopped work to watch. With arms uplifted to the basket’s rim the women’s shirttails had inevitably lifted to reveal a little more than before. The boys whistled and hooted, the women affecting not to hear but quickening their pace instinctively. The boys were mere juveniles but, despite the large influx of male refugees and the large number of women prisoners and wardresses, there still remained an imbalance of females over males. Any virile male on the island might expect to find women vying for his attention. It had made even these younger boys from the juvenile side very cocky.<br />It had been one through one of these that Gillian had committed her first error.<br /><br />Chapter Two<br /><br />The whereabouts of her children had preyed upon Gillian’s mind. She knew that if she got a letter to the friendly local who had advised them at the trial, he would try to find out for her. How to send a letter was the problem. The authorities’ paranoia forbade outside communication. The coastline of the island was patrolled by militia guards who came and went by ferry from their base on the mainland, mostly elderly men with ancient weapons and with no great impulse to diligence. One of them might carry a letter, but she was baffled as to how to contact them, knowing nothing of the language.<br />She thought then of the boys who worked close by, when the women were sent as a work gang to the experimental farm. They were teenaged delinquents, mostly offenders from the shantytowns of the capital and she knew some of them spoke English for they sometimes shouted ribald comments. She had her eye in particular upon one of the less alarming ones, a cheeky black youth. He regularly acted as water carrier for his gang and annoyed the supervising wardress by exercising his English as he passed the line of working women, politically incorrect as it was under the current revolutionary regime.<br />It was easy to contact the lad. Some distance past where they were working was a bamboo and palm leaf structure used as a hide by hunters after the wild fowl that frequented the irrigation reservoir. She pretended to go to the latrine and, ducking out of sight of the wardress, intercepted the youngster as he came past with the filled water can.<br />“You got no hope! Very risky for me!”<br /> She had explained what she wanted of him, to find a militiaman who would carry a letter to the mainland. This reply so loftily dismissive collapsed her hopes. “You can’t do it then!” she said forlornly.<br />“Oh, I can fix OK!” He set down his can and surveyed her impudently up and down. “I know old man do this for me, easy!” <br />“Please! I suppose it’s dangerous for you, but I’ll give anything if you’ll do it!”<br />“You got nothing to give me!” he sneered. “Got no money, got no jewellery!” Her hopes fell again but he smirked. “You give me something better!” <br />She started and looked nervously at the grinning boy. Perhaps he wasn’t as harmless as she had thought.<br />“You want this bad? You please me and I fix!”<br />She had to decide quickly. She nodded dumbly. The boy gave her a leer of practised iniquity. “You bring me off. Quick! Down here!”<br />She had no chance for second thoughts, realising that he was now in a position of power. If he reported her, she would be punished and her hopes of getting a letter out would be ended too. She could only do what he demanded and then hope for the best.<br />They knelt on the beaten earth of the duck hide amid the dappled light from the gaps below the palm thatch and she fumbled with sweaty hands to undo the flies of his shorts to extract an already excited penis that grew as she struggled with it. She could hardly believe the size of the thing. Despite his youth, he had a man’s equipment all right. Her fist closed upon it gingerly and began to pump slowly.<br />“No!” the boy giggled. “Tits!” His hands shot out, seized the neck of her prison-issue blouse and, despite her horrified reaction, ripped it outwards and downwards before she could prevent it, bursting buttons on the way.<br />“Quiet!” His sharp hiss was so convincing that Gillian’s heart nearly stopped. She froze in terror of imminent discovery, with her blouse and bra around her ribs and her arms entangled.<br />“Quick!” She and the boy jostled intimately, his hands gripping her shoulders, firmly resisting her confused efforts either to rise from her knees or to sort out the tangle of her garments. He knelt close up against her, bouncing his huge cock on her bare breast. She realised that whatever she did it had to be fast, before either of them were missed and searched for. She feared his rage if his youthful lust was denied for he was jigging with excitement. He might say anything to get her into trouble. She had gone too far to go back. Forced to co-operate, she knelt erect and cupped her breasts as he slipped his dusky penis between their curves, until she had the thing enclosed in a tunnel of warm white flesh, only the mauve knob rearing clear.<br />Gillian was being clutched very firmly by the hair, gripped just above her ears. Lips curled back to display white teeth rivalled the whites of his eyes for visibility in the semi-darkness as her youthful exploiter looked down exultantly upon her. She hastily dropped her gaze, committed to pleasing him now without reserve. Flexing her shoulders she concentrated her mind upon keeping the stiff column in place between her breasts. Using her cupping hands she made the soft mammary flesh roll and surge around his rigidity, sliding up and down against the boyish thighs.<br />He and she jostled for the right rhythm, lifting and sinking in complementary unison, both panting and groaning.<br />“Shhh…!” Gillian checked and faltered, then the boy giggled, shaking his head and she groaned, having to set away again. She realised that stopping nervously to listen was only prolonging her ordeal. She tried to suppress any residual qualms and simply get it over with. She was bathed in sweat, her clothes sticking to her. Sweat dripped from her chin and made her breasts slippery. She peered at the dark face above, through the curtain of wet strands of hair stuck to her cheeks, but could make out only grinning teeth and two gleaming eyes. She could judge by the noise he was making, though, how far she was succeeding in the process of pleasing him.<br />His explosion caught her unawares nevertheless. Surging up from between her soft breasts the naked cock head spurted with every upward surge, shooting gouts of white cum, and being jerked to and fro by her wobbling breasts, gave her the semblance of a necklace of pearl-white droplets.<br />“Ahhh… Ohhh…” she wailed.<br />“Good… Good…!” the boy panted. <br />For a moment they clung together in the sweaty darkness. At last they let go by mutual decision and Gillian sank back against the creaking wall of the hide, flushed with shame. The youthful manipulator of her flesh was first to recover. “Come here with letter, tomorrow, time we all eat. I send old man.”<br />By the time Gillian had pulled herself together, reorganised her clothing and emerged on hands and knees into the fresh air, he was far down the path trotting with the water can balanced on his black bullet head.<br />She had to return twice more and repeat the performance before suspecting that the young devil was stringing her along. She lost her temper and gave him an ultimatum. Rather to her chagrin, it turned out that he already had it all arranged.<br />Another clandestine meeting. Easier managed this time. The elderly guard merely commandeered her by name from her work gang on the pretence that she had been sent for by the Governor. He escorted her no farther than the familiar duck blind.<br />The interview itself was not so easily managed. She had planned to keep her head this time and to make the ancient lecher give proof of delivery before he got any reward. But as soon as the hot darkness of the little hot enveloped them, a snag emerged. Her juvenile messenger had understood English, but this ancient warrior not a word and whatever the boy had told him, he now had only one thought in his head.<br />For an old man his grip was surprisingly strong. She sensed the sudden intensity of his excitement. Her nostrils were overwhelmed by the odour of masculinity, compounded of the scents of stale tobacco, wood smoke and sweat. His gnarled hands squeezed her thinly clad feminine curves with little grunting noises of appreciation. He took no notice of her attempts to control him, pulling her towards him and dragging her resisting hand to press it against the warm and ominous bulge in his uniform pants. Panting, Gillian resisted but his haste turned to impatience and his hands suddenly cruel on her flinching flesh made the position clear. Once begun, she was trapped into an inexorable sequence that she couldn’t control.<br />The guard hissed incomprehensible words, alternately threatening and cajoling, but clearly intent upon having his way. Gillian recognised the signs. She had better sell her co-operation before the buyer took it by force. She groped for his trouser flies and got a reaction from him of satisfied approval. She fumbled with the zip fastening, the man’s gnarled fingers over hers, assisting. Trying not to think too deeply of what she was doing, she dived her hand within, grappling with shifting male flesh that seemed to swell up into her hand. For an elderly man he was doing well. His cock stiffened before she could get it clear so that she had to lay hold of it with determination, struggling to get it out of the restricting cloth. The hot dark interior of the hut was full of the ancient warrior’s wheezing and grunting, his odour wafting over her, his hands grabbing and squeezing. Freed from restraint at last the thing in her hands rose almost erect.<br />Close up against him in the dark, she could make out little of what she was doing. She had to work by touch, establishing its length and girth with nervous half tentative fingers. It seemed astonishingly massive. A brief flicker of chagrin crossed her mind that such a veteran could produce anything that size. Her gingerliness probably excited the old man more than boldness would have done.<br /> The gnarled hands that had been juggling her breasts suddenly shifted to catch her by the hair. He forced her head down, ducking low until she had her head in his belly and she was only inches above the rearing cock head.<br />Gillian jerked her head back, guessing what he intended to extort from her. But though she might quail she was helpless to evade it. He wheezed either encouragement or instructions, then, as Gillian still dithered, making tremulous sounds of dissent, his voice turned instantly to a snarl of fury. Terrified by the noise he was making, Gillian’s resistance collapsed. She let him thrust her downwards, clutching at his cock as the blunt knob poked her blindly in the face, hearing his grunt and cackle of approval as she put warm lips to it. She dare not start a row, inviting discovery at this late stage. She had to go through with it.<br />Her lips gingerly engulfed the velvety knob, but she felt his fingers in her hair jerk painfully tight, pulling her convulsively onto him and sending the stem diving between the small palisade of her teeth and sliding across her recoiling tongue. The old soldier wheezed and sniggered in high delight overhead, while Gillian gobbled and snuffled almost choked by the monstrous obstruction.<br />For a moment they clung together, both uttering strangled snorts, Gillian half choked and the old man enjoying her warm wetness. Then the militiaman began to drive his erection in and out while Gillian clung mutely to his trouser legs. She was helpless to evade the need to give him the service he expected. She recognised the impatience in his voice if she didn’t understand the words. She had to pay his price just as if she were a whore whose services he had purchased with cash.<br />Abandoning all reservations, she began to play her full part, recognising the basic truth that the better she performed the sooner it would be over. Conquering her revulsion she held nothing back, bringing tongue lips and fingers into play, gurgling and slobbering in noisy combination with the old soldier’s grunting and wheezing. At least he wouldn’t last long by the sound of it, she thought thankfully. She had paid excess postage on her letter, but she could relax in the knowledge of a job finished.<br /><br />Chapter Three<br /><br />Nervously, Gillian Arnold entered the Chief Matron’s presence. She performed the obligatory curtsy ‘Hold out short khaki prison skirt carefully with the fingertips, put one foot behind the other, bob respectfully.’ As always it had the effect of making her feel like a very small child and put her at a disadvantage from the start. Saida’s office was in one of the old bastions of the fort, a large cool stone chamber. It was lit by a low wide gunport barred with iron and open to the waft of the sea breeze, filled with the susurrus of the ocean on the rocks below, with the sunlight reflected off the water playing upon the stone vaulted ceiling. It was floored with neatly woven straw matting and several old green metal filing cabinets lined the inner wall behind its principle item of furniture, a large well polished mahogany desk.<br />Straightening from her curtsey Gillian’s face flamed instantly in shamed recognition and growing horror. She was face-to-face with the undersized youth she had suborned to carry her letter. He was standing to one side of the Chief Matron’s desk visibly wilting and overwhelmed by his situation, eyes almost rolling in his head with fear. On the otherwise empty desk, laid prominently in view and instantly recognisable was the letter itself.<br />The Lioness towered behind the desk in impeccably starched khaki and polished leather. She pointed silently with a commanding finger and, impelled by a push from the escorting wardress, Gillian scuttled forward to the position indicated, at the opposite side of the desk facing her messenger. Neither looked directly at one another, until a brief sharp enquiry from the Lioness made the boy lift his eyes. He croaked a reply, pointing a trembling finger directly at Gillian who blanched guiltily and put her hands instinctively behind her. It was clear that he had revealed all.<br />“A disgusting business!” Saida’s nostrils flared as she fixed her leonine gaze upon each of them in turn. She held them both mesmerised.<br />“You!” she addressed Gillian. “This is a serious offence you have led this child into! If this were to be reported higher it would go hard with you!” Before the wilting Gillian could frame any reply, Saida turned her fire upon the boy, who looked so terrified in response that it infected Gillian even without her understanding a word.<br />Satisfied with his reaction, the Lioness turned back to Gillian. “Your sentence was for two years’ remedial training. You would not be treated so leniently if you came before the court a second time!”<br />“Oooh … No …ooh!” Gillian let out a whimper, going weak at the knees at the very thought of all her folly being dragged out in public. Undoubtedly it would seem… The woman was right… “Ohhh … Please … No!” She saw her sentence lengthening out of sight.<br />“Very well!” The Chief Matron tucked her hands behind her and looked with a mixture of disgust and sternness from the snivelling black youth to the wilting white woman.<br />“Very well! I shall be merciful. I shall not let it go further. I propose to deal with both of you summarily myself. Do you understand?”<br />Gillian squirmed uneasily. “What am I to do … I mean … What does it mean...” but Saida, ignoring her mumbling, spoke rapidly to the boy. He faltered something in abject tones and the Lioness evidently took both as assenting.<br />“This white woman is a prisoner because she has offended against our people.” She addressed the boy in English. “And you assisted in her wickedness because she offered you sexual favours!” She rounded upon Gillian. “No doubt you enjoyed his juvenile efforts too! Disgusting behaviour! I said I would be merciful, but you are here for moral training after all and I would be remiss if I did not make sure that neither of you enjoy the memory.”<br />Pointing to the boy, she gave an order and as he went up on his toes and bent forward over the edge of the desk, eyes large and lips trembling, she eyed Gillian too, amplifying it in English. “Bend over the desk!”<br />Gillian moved as if impelled by the stabbing finger to follow the boy’s example, bending across the desk-top, hands flat upon its polished surface. She didn’t know what else she might do.<br />“Take each other’s hands!” Facing one another across the length of the desk the pair clutched one another’s outstretched hands. Neither met the other’s eyes. The edge of the desk was hard and level across the top of Gillian’s thighs. Their mutual grasp made it effectually impossible for one to withdraw without the other’s co-operation. She had been obliged to rise on her toes to reach the boy’s hands and she was conscious of he tight curve of her bottom. She cast a nervous glance at the Chief Matron.<br />“Hold him firmly!” Saida had stepped to the boy’s rear. Her black fingers reached to the boy’s waist and ripped his shorts back and down to his knees with one powerful sweep. Gillian, held transfixed by the Chief Matron’s eye, clung to the boy’s twisting fingers. She heard him yelp in dismay and Smackkk! Smackkk! Smackkk! Saida’s dusky pink palm rose and fell. The boy’s round face twisted, his eyes rolling and his teeth showing white. Gillian looked on as wide-eyed as he, appalled by the violence, ashamed of her participation, panicky at her own prospects.<br />Smackkk! Smackkk! Smackkk! Resounding hand spanks. The boy was yelping now and squirming wildly, grinding his loins into the desk edge.<br />Gillian could feel the resulting tremors through the surface beneath her belly. Her own bottom cheeks twitched and tautened in sympathy as the smacks repeated and multiplied. The boy she had allowed to dominate and manipulate her was now behaving in very childish fashion.<br />The advent of her own turn took her quite by surprise. While the Chief Matron was still in view, Gillian had assumed she was safe. Hands from behind that grasped her skirt at the hips disabused her, yanking up her short skirt up above her waist. She had reckoned without the wardress who had escorted her. .<br />“Ohhh … Nooo…!” Gillian would have wriggled off the desk but the boy was now clutching her fingers as firmly as she had his. The wardress shifted her hands quickly to Gillian’s prison issue knickers and, hooking into the waistband, whipped them down about her knees. Gillian yelped at her sudden exposure to a descending hand. She kicked out but too late, her knees banging the desk and one sandal flying off.<br />“Makes more noise than the boy!” Saida commented. “Take this one for me.” She changed places with her subordinate, picking up the loose sandal as she came around the desk. It also was prison issue, a big hard slab of leather with thin straps at toe and heel. “A big well padded arse like that deserves something more effective!”<br />Gillian squeaked as she felt its rough sand-papery sole lightly touch her bottom cheeks. It was impossible to maintain any dignity in such a position.<br />Thwackkk! She yelped. The hard sole stung like fury!<br />Thwackkk! Thwackkk! Thwackkk! The boy’s grip had tightened. The wardress opposite, her white teeth showing in a grin, was using her hand upon him just as Saida had done and keeping exact time with her superior. To her horror, Gillian found she could anticipate each impact to her own bottom by the rhythmic descent of the black arm opposite. <br />The boy was only getting a hand spanking. By comparison, Gillian was the recipient of far sterner measures. The hard sole of the sandal came down in carefully placed echoing whacks upon alternate bottom cheeks with a deliberate pause between each pair that gave her just enough time to draw breath and the impacted flesh of her bottom to reshape its curve, leaving a reddened impression of the sandal upon each summit.<br />Gillian used her recovered breath to squawk, seeing the hand opposite lift and poise for another and then to howl even more loudly as it descended and the sandal following it impacted painfully upon her own behind.<br />The black boy could make the same connection, his eyes following the Chief Matron’s arm as she dealt with his fellow delinquent. Since his spanking was a stage more advanced than hers, their voices made a duet despite the difference in mode of punishment. By such companionship in misery they weakened one another’s resolution and made bravado impossible. Flesh and leather, the impacts rang around the stone vaulting in counter-point to their howls. <br />The white female bottom showed every smack of the sandal. From their former pristine peaches and cream, Gillian’s curves swiftly turned a glowing scarlet as the red imprints multiplied and merged. Her face had turned an equivalent colour, while her tears sprinkled the polished desktop like rain. By contrast, the black buttocks showed the effects of the spanking largely by the vigour of its recipients squirming and the tenor of his howls. Gillian’s resolution had probably been the greater initially but the slipper was a lot harder than a female palm so that by the time the two prison officials finally tired there was little to judge between the reactions of the two culprits.<br />“Very well!” The Lioness lowered the slipper. Both black women were breathing hard and the wardress who had been switching palms frequently, now wiped her brow with a khaki handkerchief.<br />“Get up you two! Let go of one another, idiots!” The sobbing pair had difficulty in disentangling their fingers, black and white having gripped and twisted for so long.<br />“Get over there both of you and face the wall in the corner, while I write up my report. No! Just as you are! Never mind how you look! Get over there! So! Hands to the front! You! Lift your skirt higher! Look to the front!”<br />Tearfully and painfully, both woman and boy shuffled across the width of the floor, clumsily jostling one another to stand as they were directed, side by side, faces to the wall. Both had their hands clasped in front of them, Gillian holding her skirts up about her waist, the boy modestly endeavouring to conceal his genitals. Knickers and shorts alike were still left tangled about their respective ankles.<br />The Chief Matron seated herself behind her desk, pulled out a large black-bound book and began to write in leisurely fashion, a smile coming to her lips whenever her eyes strayed to the mis-matched pair in the corner.<br />Both were half-clad in prison grey. The women was a whole fair head taller, but the boy’s longer proportion of leg put their two bare bottoms more or less level, his tight and narrow, hers wide and rounded. A closer inspection might have revealed the marks left by the spanking on the male buttocks, but the woman’s rounded bottom blazed the evidence right across the room.<br />Still snivelling, Gillian wiped her tears with the back of one hand while holding her skirts up with the other, feeling the executioner’s eye still upon her. Her backside was so hot and throbbing that it actually made the exposure if not a pleasure, at least a relief. Cool sea air flowed from the old gun ports and around her trembling nakedness. It was a complete humiliation and childishly ridiculous, but she could testify to its effectiveness.<br />“Very well! Take the boy away!”<br />The wardress made the boy pull up his shorts and led him out, her fingers firmly gripping his ear. For a seeming age, but which was probably only a few minutes, Gillian stood painfully in the corner on her own. Then the wardress returned and Saida laid down her pen with a clatter and scraped back her chair.<br />“Very well! You may go!”<br />On tenterhooks all this time lest there be worse to come, Gillian dropped her skirts over her throbbing bottom. She turned in relief to flee, but having forgotten the position her knickers were in, promptly tripped over them. Saida waited while her victim struggled painfully upright, red-faced, wincing and gasping as she hauled the undergarments back into their proper position. Then she dropped a bombshell.<br />“You will report to me at this time every Friday for the next four weeks to be given the remainder of your punishment.”<br />The solid wooden door closed upon the scene of her downfall, as Gillian was escorted hobbling painfully back to her cell there to fall face down, sobbing into her hard mattress.<br />Word of Gillian’s punishment soon made its way among the white prisoners. Though they were kept solitary and forced to maintain silence while working or exercising under the eyes of their guards, whispers went from one to another during breaks or going to and fro. Deprived of sisterly solidarity, it had a subtle effect upon their attitude to their supervisors and the news only served to keep them in subjection.<br />Gillian herself dared not protest. The Chief Matron appeared to be a law unto herself in the Women’s prison. There was a Governor over the whole island too but the white women had seen him only in the distance, a white-clad male figure going in or out of the offices in company with the Lioness. In the circumstances, the idea of appealing to an unknown man was not immediately attractive to Gillian. That was how she had got into her plight after all. Would he even want to interfere with how the Chief Matron disciplined her charges?<br />Back to the same breeze-cooled office the next day.<br />“Remove your skirt. It will only get creased!” It seemed logical. Gillian’s own brain was numbed by apprehension. She unfastened the skirt, stooped and stepped out of it. Standing there in blouse and knickers she looked for somewhere to put it.<br />“Place it neatly on the hanger!” The Lioness indicated the door behind Gillian, where sure enough there was a wooden hanger on a brass hook. When she turned back she saw with some dismay that Saida had opened a drawer in her desk and was taking from it a large old-fashioned wooden backed hairbrush, which she placed on the desk top. Gillian had expected her to use the sandal again and so had exchanged her footwear with Judith, whose own pair were well-worn and thinner in the sole.<br />Carrying her chair round from behind the desk to its front, the Chief Matron planted it a foot or two in advance, seating herself composedly and regarding Gillian with a remorselessly critical eye.<br />“Next time you report to me, I do not expect you to be wearing knickers. You will not need them while you are here. However since I did not make it clear this time, you need only pull them down before you come over my lap!”<br />“Please … You … Like that…?”<br />“I certainly don’t intend to treat you as an adult! If you play games with little boys you can expect to be punished in that fashion! Come along! I haven’t much patience. There are other methods!”<br />Biting her lip, Gillian reluctantly tugged her knickers down over her hips and wriggled them to her knees. What the other methods might be she wasn’t sure but she knew better by now than to rouse the Lioness. Feeling the cool sea breeze again on her warm skin, she instinctively clapped her thighs tight.<br />“That will do! Come here!” Saida barked impatiently and Gillian hobbled forward, feeling ridiculous with her pants clinging about her knees, making her look knock-kneed.<br />“Not to that side!” The Chief Matron snorted in exasperation. “Always present yourself to the right hand!”<br />Gillian’s cheeks burned, but she was forced to make a shuffling detour back round to the other side.<br />“Place yourself over my lap!”<br />Gillian knelt awkwardly by the Lioness’s right thigh and slid gingerly forward across the khaki-clad lap, flattening out as she went until she lay right across it, face down, fingertips reaching forward to the straw matting, toes just touching. Most of her weight rested intimately upon the black woman’s warm strong thighs. Gillian felt as if her exposed bottom was twice the size it should be. She found her childish posture both humiliating and alarming at the same time and wriggled a little where she lay, wishing desperately that Saida would get started and let her get it over with. This was worse than being bent over the desk.<br />The hairbrush, when it came, made her wish she hadn’t been so eager. In between applying it the Chief Matron conducted an interrogation of her victim.<br />“How many times did you meet that boy?” Smackkk!<br />“Ahhh … Ohhh…” <br />“Do I have to repeat myself?” Smackkk!<br />“Th-three …please … I mean three times!” Gillian mumbled in confusion, head downwards, from level with Saida’s booted calf.<br />“Don’t mumble! How many times did he fuck you?” Smackkk!<br />“No… Ahhh… please… He didn’t… I didn’t…!” Smackkk!<br />“Don’t quibble with me!” Smackkk! “What did you do for him?” Smackkk!<br />“Please … I only … I …gave him … I massaged … his penis…”<br />Distastefully, “You wanked him. How many times did you wank him?” Smackkk!<br />“Ahhh … Ohhh … All three times…” Gillian sobbed.<br />“And that old man?” Smackkk! “What did you do with him?” Smackkk!<br />“I … I … My … in my … mouth…” Gillian groaned hysterically from below.<br />Smackkk! The hairbrush came down hard. “Aren’t you ashamed of all this?” Smackkk! “Yes? Smackkk! Speak up!<br />“Then I expect you to say so the next time you go over my knee!” Smackkk! Smackkk! Smackkk! Gillian tried to keep her teeth gritted, but her feet were giving little kicks and her fingers clawing at the floor. No pause for questions now. How many was she going to get? How many had she been given? She started to squirm forward away from the descending hairbrush across the Chief Matron’s lap but was sternly hauled sternly back into place. Saida held her firmly there under one strong arm, plying the hard-backed instrument with a merciless vigour. The regular cracking impact soon overwhelmed any chance of her victim’s being able to maintain a stoic silence. Tears blinded Gillian and she began making long sobbing responses to the repeated wallops.<br />“Please … Ahhh … Ohhh … Please … I’m … I’m s-sorry … for … ah … what … for what … I ah … did…!”<br />At last it seemed she had found the right key.<br />“I am very glad to hear it!” the Lioness said severely but with a note of approval. “I shall expect you to repeat that each time you report to me!”<br />Shortly, Gillian stood in the corner again, knickers around her knees and skirts hoist about her waist, unable to mute her sobs as the pain from her scarlet backside swelled and ebbed in waves. Her fingers wanted to soothe and caress but she knew that was forbidden. She was filled with shame and confusion but incapable of thinking of any remedy. Instead she repeated silently to herself, like a talisman, the little grovelling speech Saida had composed and impressed upon Gillian with the back of the hairbrush.<br />Her confusion was to worsen. At her next appearance before the Chief Matron, she followed her curtsey, with a halting repetition of the formula, red-faced but hopeful.<br />“You shall not escape punishment, of course.” The Lioness assured her. “I dare say you didn’t expect to do so, since you admit you deserve it. However in view of your recognition of your guilt, I shall not be harsh!”<br />Saying which, she put Gillian over her knee again and spanked her squirming victim with as much cool efficiency as before. From Gillian’s point of view this merciful treatment merely added an extra and unwelcome dimension to her punishment. In addition to the warmth and firmness of the black woman’s thighs moving slightly beneath Gillian’s body, she had added the very personal contact of a female hand in a place where it made an impression out of proportion to its impact.<br />“This will remind you not to debauch juveniles!” The Chief Matron’s voice was deep and husky. Gillian felt like a juvenile herself, rendered inescapably childish by this posture. The rhythm of what followed seemed slowly paced to the point of torment, giving her ample time to feel every lingering effect and to contemplate every nuance.<br />“You have been guilty of immorality!” Smack!<br />“And of immodesty!” Smack!<br />“You have made an attempt at deception!” Smack!<br />“And bribery!” Smack!<br />“Concealment!” Smack! “Conspiracy!” Smack!<br />Saida delivered the stinging reproofs with scorn and evident relish. Gillian wriggled desperately in her grip, seeking to distribute the slowly mounting pain. She desperately wanted to divert that smacking palm. Where to, she wasn’t sure that she wanted to know.<br />“You are a very wicked girl!” Smack! “Are you not?” Smack!<br />“Ah … Yes … yes…!” Gillian cried through her tears. Clutching at the Chief Matron’s booted calf as the nearest solidity, she tried to reduce her cries, feeling that she was revealing more than she intended. The hand-spanked rounds of her bottom burned with a fire that somehow descended into her belly and loins until it felt as if Saida’s lap was a red-hot griddle.<br />“A wicked, wicked girl!” Smack! Saida sounded short of breath, hissing through gritted teeth.<br />“Yes … Yes…” Gillian sobbed in shame and anxiety, not sure where this was going, conscious that she was alone with this overpowering woman. There had been no escorting wardress. Anything could happen with only her word against the Chief Matron’s. Physical resistance was beyond her capacity. She sprawled across the black woman’s lap in complete disorder, unable to stop herself arching her backside upward at the descending palm.<br />“Ohhh … Owww…” She was suddenly on the floor, abruptly decanted from the Lioness’s lap as the black woman stood up brushing down her crumpled skirt. “Get up!”<br />By the time Gillian had pulled herself painfully together and got to her feet, the Chief Matron was as controlled and as dispassionate as ever. Out of the desk drawer from where the hairbrush had come, she was taking a long boxwood metre rule.<br />“I don’t need to be told it hurts!” Saida remarked a few minutes later, while waiting for the victim to compose herself again. The pain of half a dozen resounding smacks with the boxwood rule with Gillian once more bent dutifully over the desk edge had caused a temporary collapse of the English woman’s control. “You are fortunate! Our white masters whipped us black folk until the blood came. Your white arse allows me to judge exactly how effective I have been!”<br />Gillian, preparing herself to receive two more for changing position, hardly agreed that she was fortunate except that the pain had put paid to any bizarre reactions!<br />The last and intended to be final session followed a similar course that was now almost a ritual.<br />In the interval Gillian had spent much of her leisure time re-living those bizarre reactions to her spanking. Somehow the intimacy of being treated like a naughty child had affected her view of her persecutor. She had weird dreams in which the Chief Matron appeared in the character of a hardhearted stepmother or a strict headmistress, to be won over by love. The cruel wheals across Gillian’s backside were a decider, however. It was impossible to believe that the Lioness could be won over to anything. She clearly possessed an iron will and enjoyed humiliating her victims. In the end it only left Gillian more confused.<br /><br />This last time was even worse.<br />Across the Chief Matron’s lap, like a naughty child having her bare bottom spanked, what Gillian most feared now re-occurred. At each descent of the matronly hand she felt a dreadful excitement. The smarting smack of the firm palm on her quivering flesh sent electric pulses down her thighs and excited tremors that ran through belly and loins until she blushed in shame, unable to repress her wriggles. Smack mounted upon smack, each one smarting anew but not quite enough to quell the excitement.<br />And then suddenly the spanking stopped. She could feel Saida’s firm thighs through the skirt. Gillian moaned half excited, half terrified, feeling something new was about to happen to her and knowing she was powerless to avert it. Pleas formed in her mind, rose almost to her lips.<br />She had slid half off the Chief Matron’s lap, head downwards until she was almost standing on her head, only held by the black woman’s quick grasp at the back of her blouse. The front of her blouse had come unbuttoned with her wriggles and her breasts flopped out like two white melons. She opened the eyes she had until then kept tight shut and froze. Through a cascade of her own hair she could see a pair of feet approach across the matting.<br />Large feet in shiny black polished shoes. Somehow she knew immediately they belonged to a man. Shock and shame abruptly killed off all her complicated desires. She heard a voice, most definitely a man’s! How long had he been there? Though the language was unintelligible to her, she could sense the thick trace of lust in his voice and the sullen note in the Chief Matron’s reply, that of a woman forced to restrain herself. Then, “Very well! You may go! That will do!”<br />Flustered and dizzy, bare-breasted and crimson cheeked, at both ends, Gillian found herself yanked upright in Saida’s iron grip and thrust towards the door, not having dared to look in the man’s direction. He exuded too much masculine presence as it was. She had only an impression of his burly white-clad figure and a black official briefcase before she was thrust outside. She had been saved, but saved from what and by whom. Had the man spared her or had his female deputy put her out of reach? That all this might go further to some higher official level and her recent painful humiliation go for nothing was her main fear.<br /><br />Chapter Four<br /><br />The exact nature of Gillian’s encounters with the Lioness was never entirely clear to the rest of the white prisoners, but they sensed the alteration in her attitude and became themselves more wary of offending their gaolers.<br />Meanwhile, having come upon the disciplinary display, wholly by accident, the owner of those polished shoes, the island’s Governor, found the memory of it a constant temptation. Dwelling upon its un­-exploited potential, he began to find excuses to involve himself in the operation of the women’s side of the prison, hitherto the exclusive preserve of his Chief Matron.<br />He was by training an academic, an American-trained agronomist, appointed to this post by a previous modernising regime, years before, mainly with an eye to effective organisation of the experimental farm on the island, to which the Women’s prison had merely been a peripheral supplier of labour. The official relationship between Governor and Chief Matron was unclear to the white prisoners, but they knew that Joanna, sent to sweep corridors near Saida’s office and hearing what she described as extraordinary noises, had tiptoed daringly down a side turning clutching her broom for alibi. She whispered of having caught a glimpse of the Governor with his trouser flies undone, bending the Lioness over a desk about to give the Chief Matron a table-ender.<br />The Governor’s authority had long been rendered nominal by this liaison. Now he used the excuse of Gillian’s misdemeanour to accuse his angry mistress of needing closer supervision and so to insist upon installing himself in his own office within the Women’s prison.<br />A large, balding man with a bush of white woolly hair over his ears, wearing horn-rimmed spectacles, he sat at his hastily installed desk, very black against his spotless white uniform, fussing with unimportant papers. Under their cover he was surreptitiously studying the white woman who, according to his orders, had been brought along as a work detail by a wardress and set to scrubbing the floor of the long disused office.<br />He reflected upon the traditional saying. “If a leopard has a goat in its grip it will eat it. If a man has a woman in his grip he will fuck her.” He was still uncertain how much power he had, with the Chief Matron so sullen and uncooperative, but lust goaded him on. He reflected that it must be a long time since these white females had experienced any sex, remembering how randy he had found them in California, in his old student days.<br />At the moment, the quarry was facing away from him, kneeling in front of his desk vigorously wielding soap and scrubbing brush. By the nature of her employment she was working backwards, her bottom moving towards him. Her short prison skirt riding up over her hips and creasing about her narrow waist, with each backward shift, exposed more and more of her long smooth pale thighs, until finally a flash of bottom crease with a V of white knickers buried deep between the curves met his eyes. He swallowed and licked his lips.<br />Those generous curves were a definite incitement. From time to time her long blonde hair dangled in her way and she raised her head to flick it back with her free hand. It was the hair made him sure that he recognised her. One white bottom looked much like another, but he was quite confident that he had the one he wanted; this was the one he had seen being soundly spanked.<br />His brain whirled with plans and projections. Saida had only been forthcoming when she wanted something. He had to bargain for every favour, but here were women under his authority who were in no position to bargain.<br />At that moment the kneeling white girl, who was in fact not Gillian but her sister Judith, backed un­warily into his wastebasket. Her attention being entirely on the floor, her foot sent it flying, spilling its contents across the tiles. The girl scurried hastily on all fours to retrieve the spill and recover the basket. The governor sprang to his feet to intercept her.<br />“Clumsy wench!” he said in English.<br />The girl looked astonished, then smirked as if she found him comic.<br />“Stand up, ignorant woman!” He reverted to his own language angrily. She looked blank. She hadn’t even bothered to learn the language of her superiors! Indignantly he snatched the first suitable thing that met his hand, the big wooden desk ruler and then, reaching down, seized her by the neck of her shift with the other.<br />“I will soon teach you!” he barked in English. “Bend over that desk!”<br />“Sir...” she faltered, gesturing wildly with the dripping scrubbing brush in one hand and a crumpled ball of paper in the other. “Sir ... I ... Ohhh…” She was not smirking now, he observed with relish. The savagery of his reaction silenced her and his grip on her neck impelled her where he directed. Two steps and before she could make up her mind to resist, she was head foremost across the desk, hoist off her feet so that her bare toes sought vainly for leverage, hands still occupied and her hair spilling over her face, half concealing its expression of dismay and alarm.<br />His jerk at the neck of her khaki smock had ridden it up just that much further so as to present to the Governor’s lust-inflamed view two ample bottom rounds. The strained curves of her little white knickers making deep indentations across the soft flesh left much of their surface nakedly exposed and he noticed no trace of her recent spanking. Feeling the sudden exposure she clapped tight her thighs, the narrowed crotch of her knickers disappearing like a mere thong, into the hidden depths. Long forgotten memories of porn movies and girlie magazines from his student days returned to add vigour to the Governor’s response.<br />“I will teach you!” He found himself using the heavy ruler in his hands, almost mesmerised, smacking those trembling curves with exhilarating results. It fell upon them with a resounding crack and the plump flesh positively rebounded beneath the impact.<br />The woman first gasped then yelled, jerking in his grasp. He would make her appreciate his power! Sight and sound had stiffened his loins at once. The girl’s pale thighs had parted involuntarily with the shock of repeated smacks, exposing the white bulge of her knickers where the crotch overlay the desk edge. He knew what he really wanted to impress her with!<br />“No...! Oh ... No…!” she was pleading.<br />Recklessly his thumbs went to her hips, hooking into the soft flesh and under the waistband of her knickers.<br />Several things happened simultaneously, Judith began a squawk of alarm, jerking her head up, the governor found the cling of her underwear more resistant than he had expected, and the door banging open, Saida the Lioness strode through it.<br />“How dare you!” The Chief Matron sprang like the beast that was her namesake, and seized the wooden ruler from the Governor’s faltering grasp.<br />Crackkk! “I am sorry sir, that she has put you to such trouble!” Crackkk! Crackkk! The three swift hard strokes of the ruler spanned Judith’s thinly clad seat before she could grasp the situation had changed, three breath-taking strokes that rendered her incapable of coherent reply when she was yanked upright.<br />“Return to your cell at once! Quick march!” Saida thrust Judith, red faced and tearful, out of the office, the confused white girl retreating with her hands clapped tenderly to her seat.<br />The Governor’s lust only grew with denial. It maddened him that he couldn’t employ his theoretical mastery over these helpless women. The only thing that stood in his way was the Chief Matron and the thought of a forthcoming visit of inspection. The Purity Commission had been appointed under a regime he had little influence with. They were reputed to be puritanical and ultra Racist. He couldn’t afford to have his irregularities reported to the visiting sub-committee. On the other hand if the new regime were to remove him anyway, he would have missed even this chance.<br />Next time it really was Gillian he picked out, not her sister<br />“You are concerned for your children, eh? You will be given a second chance!” Perhaps this was going to a better deal, Gillian thought hopefully as she bent over the old desk that she had just been assiduously cleaning up for his use. Nervously she rested her elbows on the desktop her fingers gripping the beaded edge. She had been made to take her knickers down, squeaking only a timorously half-hearted protest as she felt him lift her skirt up so that the cool draught on her behind made her exposure more obvious. Clearly it was to be a repeat of her earlier encounter with prison discipline. She assumed the Governor had ordered that punishment and that he could add to it at will.<br />A hand patted her naked bottom, a large meaty, very masculine hand. She squirmed instinctively away from it a little, going up on her toes. To escape she would first have to thrust backwards against the hand, but escape wasn’t an option she paused to consider. Power and authority were on his side. She felt his fingers slide between her tightly clamped thighs and reflected desperately that all men were the same really. Suddenly, as if recalled to his intention, he began to spank her. Gillian began to panic. She didn’t want another thrashing. With a flash of desperation she relaxed her thighs again. He was a man and men generally wanted one thing. She was resigned to providing it was the only way. As his fingers lingered a moment, her thighs gaped wider and her rump thrust upward with a little moan of artifice. Would that divert him?<br />“So! Get up on the desk! Earn yourself another chance!”<br />The masculine hands boosted her like a rocket up onto all fours on the desk. Evidently he was intending to take her from behind. Well she could close her eyes and take refuge in fantasy. She was innocent this time. She couldn’t be blamed.<br />The desk was groaning and creaking under their combined weight. The man entered her and began to thrust. Gillian groaned as she was forced to brace herself.<br />“Big … eh? Big … cock eh?” He redoubled his efforts as if sensing her attempt to remain detached. He went into her again, twice as hard as before until breathless squeals began to emerge despite her efforts.<br />The Governor rumbled and grunted obscenities.<br />“I’ll have … you …” he panted. “I’ll have you all…! All … your … white cunts…!” Amid his pounding and thumping, Gillian remembered what she wanted.<br />“My children … I want … see … children … here…” she gasped.<br />“Yes … Yes…” The Governor panted irritably, thrusting more rapidly. Surely he was coming…? Surely …? Surely …?<br />With a splintering crash in a cloud of dust the woodwork gave way beneath them. With a shriek, Gillian was catapulted head forwards, her heels in the air, while behind her the Governor foundered with a roar into the dusty ruins of the worm-eaten desk, his vainly stabbing cock covered in sawdust. Alarmed voices rose outside and hastening feet in the corridor ended their encounter.<br /> <br /> Next time Gillian saw the Governor he was passing through a passage where she was on her hands and knees cleaning a floor. She tried to delay him clutching at his trouser leg.<br />“Get back to your work! Unless you are all pleasing to me, you will get nothing!” The Governor hadn’t given up his plans to make use of the white woman, but he had to make sure that neither Saida nor her loyal wardresses could testify against him. He was confident that allegations brought by a prisoner on her own word could be safely discounted. Once the inspection was safely past he planned to get rid of the Chief Matron and replace her with someone more complaisant.<br />The white women prisoners were now in a state of alarm and dismay, Gillian demoralised and Judith indignant. The exact circumstances might be obscure but the lesson was clear enough. The Governor was a menace. They were helpless to resist his abuse of power without outside help. The wardresses seemed to be taking their cue from the Governor and resorting to the casual use of their little canes with evident growing enjoyment. The reaction of the Chief Matron, while seeming to put a good face on her loss of status, seemed to be to give her late consort rope enough to hang himself.<br />Heather, on a charge of insubordination, (resenting a wardress’s use of the cane) was handcuffed and marched to the Chief Matron’s office. She was obliged to wait for her interview with her handcuffed wrists lifted and looped over the horns of an old-fashioned ironwood hat stand. The Governor discovered her in this vulnerable posture, but got no further than to fondle her bottom before Heather managed to upset the hat stand with a crash that attracted the attention of a wardress. Several others found themselves in similar peril, which only ran short of rape due to their resistance and the man’s reluctance to risk an outcry.<br />Nevertheless it was clear to his victims that his reluctance was merely tactical, his plans for their future didn’t envisage its continuance and his failures only fanned the flames. Yet the prisoners had an ally. A note was passed to Judith by one of the most brutish of the wardresses. In a childishly ill-formed hand, written in pencil upon a half sheet torn from an exercise book she made out;<br />‘Boss man want you get child for fuck. You fuck for him no good. He want fuck all you.’<br />Judith guessed that perhaps it had been meant for her sister and given to her by mistake. She knew that the wardress spoke no English at all, so the note must have come from someone else. She decided not to pass it to Gillian, but she became a leader in the hasty whispered conferences upon means of ridding themselves of the danger. The brute now openly surveyed his charges with lustful anticipation. They could appeal to a higher authority but none of them could think of a way other of doing so safely. What if he intercepted the appeal or if the appeal was turned down and he was left in complete control?<br />The next note was notably more sophisticated. It read: ‘The Governor not should make trouble in women prison. We agree. We wish you help.’ <br />It sounded as if organised opposition was growing behind the man’s back. Judith was spurred on by the hopefulness of her fellow prisoners. They had already addressed the possibility of their witness being disregarded. It was clear there must be testimony the Governor could not dismiss or overawe. Nothing would do but the complete removal of the man on a charge of serious misconduct.<br />The crucial note said: ‘Delegation from People’s Commission for Purity comes to inspect. Governor knows nothing. If they catch Governor with white woman he will be made to go from here.’<br />It seemed providential. Judith suspected the Chief Matron’s hand in the conspiracy, disguising her authorship by affecting a lack of English. She remembered the image so graphically described by the peeking Joanna, of lacy white briefs dangling round a booted ankle. Their owner though face down and otherwise invisible beyond the pumping black male buttocks, had almost certainly been Saida! Hell had no more fury than a woman scorned! So Judith fell in with the plan outlined in the final note.<br />‘You he most want,’ the note read. ‘Write note make him meet you for sex in hut near landing place in midday break. Wardress send you there when delegation come. We have friend will make sure delegation find you. These people very hateful to mixing of race.’<br />There were other, brief notices of postponement, but the plan remained the same. They were, all like the others carefully retrieved by the woman who delivered them. They served to induce a state of nervous excitement in Judith. She realised that she was only a pawn in another’s game. Obviously the timing would be tricky, but the postponements made her feel she was in the hands of plotters who knew what they were doing. She felt they had every reason to get it right for the prisoners’ own sakes. The only uncertainty she could see about it was whether the Governor could be lured to the rendezvous and that was to be her part. Even if things went wrong, Judith reasoned with a thrill of danger, she would only be risking what she might have to submit to eventually if nothing was done…<br /><br />“It will have been a long time since you had sex!” the Governor leered and Judith demurely lowering her eyelashes, flicked a quick glance to where the rest of the gang and their attendant wardress were assiduously weeding at the other end of the field. Clearly no one was going to interfere. The Governor had a legitimate excuse to concern himself with the field work and had intercepted her as she was collecting an empty basket from the roadside. The thought of women deprived of sex evidently made the man horny. She could see the bulge that was forming in his pants.<br />“They say the fertility of your men has been ruined by pollution! Here we are free of pollution. We are real men!”<br />Looking up at him where he stood a couple of feet higher on the roadway in his clean whites, Judith shuffled her muddy feet, feeling like a sharecropper’s daughter singled out by the plantation owner. “Yes, sir!” She contrived to give him a good view as she bent forward to pick up the sack. The neck of her prison blouse was open low and her short skirt tight across her behind. “Real men!” she echoed.<br />“So you will meet me?”<br /> “Meet … yes … meet you.” she nodded, eyes down. Her hoarse voiced reply probably sounded like lustful anticipation, the man was certainly in no state to make a rational assessment.<br />“You like me to fuck you?”<br />“Yes … to f-fuck th-that’s it…!” She busied herself folding the sack, looking towards the gang as if nervous of the wardress. “Tomorrow … At midday … In the tool shed!” Judith kept her face hidden as she turned to hurry back to the work place, but she could feel his eyes still following her and in a burst of confidence deliberately gave her rear a provocative waggle as she went. The wardress yelled at her and swiped with the cane as she passed, but without real effect. The other prisoners ostentatiously turned away. From the Governor’s distance it probably looked as if her randiness was a perfectly genuine impulse.<br /><br />Chapter Five<br /><br />“We haven’t met here to play romantic games like one of your western women’s novels.” The Prison Governor, growing impatient, was resolved to bring his equivocating conquest down to basics at last. “You think to conquer the big black man with your white beauty! I tell you! You will find my cock big enough to conquer you!” He waved an impatient hand towards the pile of sacks he had arranged in a corner of the little hut used as a tool shed. “Get undressed and let me see how you perform!” He had moved as if by insight, so as to cut off Judith’s escape route, bringing to an end any remaining hope she had of drawing things out.<br />Judith wriggled in his grasp. She had no way of counting the minutes she had wasted so far, but it was surely longer than had been planned. A flimsy construction of plaited leaves and woven saplings, the gang had carefully left the hut almost empty of tools, but the Governor had found plenty of the sacks towards which he was now edging Judith.<br />“I am the Governor!” he roared. “Not a love sick boy. And you are nothing but a damn convict bitch! You had better recognise quickly who is the master! Get those things off and get down there!” His impatient hand catching at the back of her skirt ripped a worn seam apart and yanked the skirt down around her knees. Realising that it would hamper her chances of escape, she let it slip and hopped clear. The Governor smartly shifted his grip however and inspired by his success with the skirt made as if to continue undressing her, while Judith simultaneously obstructed him, pretending to want to do it herself.<br />“Don’t … Not … Not like that…”<br />“Keep still!” the Governor panted. He had ripped her blouse open in front and then pulled it down to her elbows. Her shoulders and breasts glimmered white in the gloom of the hut. He got his hands upon her knickers next despite her eel-like wriggles, while she was struggling to disentangle her arms from the blouse. She panicked at the prospect of losing her knickers and kicked out wildly, abandoning any attempt to seem to be co-operating.<br />“Cease that! Be still!” the man snarled in vain. Panting filled the stifling interior of the hut, with an occasional clatter or thump as one or other of them kicked a mattock or knocked over a bucket.<br />“You white bitches! I’ll have any one of you I like! I’ll have the pick of you for a harem whether you want it or not!”<br />Judith now had a grip on a thick masculine ear and was twisting it fiercely, while the Governor with her squirming body tucked firmly under one arm was ripping at her clinging, sweat soaked garments like a man trying to undo an awkwardly shaped parcel. Her knickers defied his efforts to the last, clinging stubbornly to her curves. In the end he let go of the rest of her so as to use both hands to rip at the knickers.<br />At that moment, Judith was lying half across the man’s hip and thigh, temporarily subdued by a series of heavy-handed slaps. Drawing fresh breath she seized what might be her last chance with desperate vigour. She launched herself across the earth floor on hands and knees, sweat-slick skin slipping through his clutching hands. Raising her arms before her, elbows foremost, she hurled herself bodily at the wall and crashed right through the flimsy rotting palm leaves into the open air.<br />She bounced to her feet, looking right and left for the expected rescuers. Nothing else moved in the steamy noon heat. Behind her the rest of the shack was disintegrating as the furious Governor smashed his way out, breaking up the thin framework. She was stark naked and had no hope of his mercy. <br />Before her lay a field of plantains, an empty expanse of green tops. Unable to think of any better alternative, Judith plunged into the thick of the knee-high plants and set off at a run across the field. She ran between the rows, stumbling along a furrow with the mud squishing between her toes. She didn’t dare look round for she could hear the squelch of heavy feet coming behind her almost at her heels.<br />She thought she was doing well, her pursuer even dropping back. But for the moment he was merely pounding clumsily behind, fascinated by her slim shapeliness, her white skin suddenly revealed to the sunlight and the satin roundness of her rear bobbing along ahead of him. Then halfway across the field he suddenly recollected how he had been made a fool of and raised the stick he was carrying.<br />Judith was staggered by the great swinging thwack across her rump. She recovered, yelping, but heard the wheep of the stick again from the opposite direction. This time her yelp anticipated its descent, but the whack unbalanced her completely and with a despairing shriek she went down on her hands and knees in the furrow, hip deep amid the broad green leaves.<br />“Bitch! White bitch!”<br />She looked over her shoulder. Her pursuer stood over her stick lifted. The sting of the two stripes still throbbed across her bottom. She was at his mercy.<br />“You cock-teasing white bitch! I’ll have you now!”<br />She knew that she was trapped, and if she didn’t do something fast, in for a severe thrashing. She made little propitiatory mewing sounds and rolled over onto her elbows in the muddy furrow, parting her thighs in mute submission.<br />“You crafty white slut,” he sneered, mopping his face with a spotless white handkerchief. “That won’t help you! Get back as you were! You’re going to get what you deserve first!”<br />“You frightened me …I didn’t mean to run away…” she sobbed, pretending to be wholly intimidated, but taking her time in obeying, slowly rolling over and squirming onto her belly, hoping to delay him as long as possible.<br /> “Lying, cock-teasing bitch! Get your bottom up in the air!” The Governor was puzzled as to what the white woman had hoped to gain. She had obviously meant to cheat him somehow. Never mind. He would beat it out of her when he had time.<br />Slowly and reluctantly, Judith obeyed his repeated, impatient objurgations. Crouching on hands and knees she thrust her muddy rump higher and higher in trembling anticipation of the descent of the stick. The Governor looked down at the nakedly feminine figure, blonde hair adrift, half-buried amid the leaves, her whiteness now disguised with black glutinous mud. Two round splotches decorated the summits of her rump where she had sat in it. Saliva wet his chin as he clutched his stick in one hand, his throbbing cock in the other. He looked quickly about him. They were nearly in mid-field but the landscape was still empty of figures in the noonday lull. A flock of egrets flapped un-alarmed along the field margin.<br />Beneath him, Judith whimpered. She heard the wheep of the stick as he brought it down. It fell with a wet smack splattering mud and sliced painfully across the summits of her behind. She squealed loudly. Her bottom shrank, cheeks clenching and unclenching as the stick swept down again and again and mud flew.<br />“Get it up again! Higher! Higher!” She had tried to burrow completely into the plantains, but was brutally checked before she was completely hidden, head and shoulders buried among the stems, but her white heart-shaped rump reared just level with the leafy tops. To any distant onlooker the Governor’s prodding actions with the cane would have seemed inexplicable.<br />Standing over her, the man paused again to wipe his face. He had forgotten the questions for which he had intended to extract answers. The woman’s bottom gleaming in the sunlight was split in two white rounds marked by vivid red wheals, the soft furrow between them diving deeply to where a dark furry bulge displayed a ragged red gash that glistened wetly provocative. He dropped his stick among the plants and, heedless of the effect upon his beautifully laundered whites, dropped to his knees between the plants, ripping at his fly buttons to free his now aching cock.<br />Judith’s view was limited to a few inches of mud in the furrow and the pallid plantain stalks on either side. She was breathless and her bottom was laced with fire, she had almost forgotten why she was out here in the first place. What almost entirely occupied her mind was the expected resumption of the thrashing.<br />Instead of the slashing stick, hard masculine hands seized her, spreading her throbbing bottom cheeks painfully apart. She moaned in protest, but only half-heartedly since the alternative was the thrashing. Disregarding it he held her steady and then sank his big cock knob into her. Judith greeted it with another groan and then a squeal as its full size became quite clear. She heard the grunt of satisfaction with her reaction as he drove in, hard and deep.<br />Each successive surge splayed Judith wider and drove her deeper, until her chin was buried in the mud and it oozed cold and wet between squashed breasts. Mercilessly the Governor probed her inch by inch to the depths, his white clad loins ramming into her bottom until he was nearly as muddy as she and both were lubricated by the ooze.<br />Disheartened squeals rose loudly from the white woman buried among the rustling plantains but the Governor was heedless of risk. Plans to utilise one or two of these female convicts as house servants ran through his head and excited him wildly. He drove into his vociferously protesting victim with such effect that it drove all else out entirely. At last, throwing his head back, he arched himself in one mighty thrust, bellowing like a bull and then let go. His semen burst its bonds and pumped deep within the woman’s warm clasp.<br />Judith gurgled in helpless protest, her humped body quivering with every recurring spurt, unwilling, but forced to be its recipient nevertheless.<br />The Governor was slow to recover his wits. He stood upright and buckled his pants before glancing about him. To his right the white egrets were feeding undisturbed. To his left a kite hawk circled lazily. Reassured he glanced over his shoulder and was instantly appalled.<br />From in front of the half wrecked hut, a row of people stood watching him and in animated discussion among themselves. .<br />Below him, Judith groaned and stirred. “Get down on your belly!” The Governor’s boot thrust brutally at her rump and Judith obediently flattened out before it. She was ignorant of events beyond the vicinity of the furrow and took it merely for a further refinement of humiliation. The Governor gestured hopefully, indicating that the visitors should proceed onwards to the prison without him. Stooping over Judith and using his belt and handkerchief he extemporised a collar and leash. Endeavouring to seem nonchalant, he gestured, more expressively he hoped, at the staring onlookers. They remained obstinately immobile. He gave up that attempt.<br /> The only thing was to head for the opposite side of the field and trust that he would pass for a man inspecting the crop, with a dog on a leash.<br />“Crawl on hands and knees!” he hissed to Judith. “Go on, you cow! On hands and knees!”<br />Judith pushed obediently enough along the furrow, parting the dense growth of leaves before her and only visible he hoped, as an occasional flash of unidentifiable whiteness. The Governor lumbered slowly behind her in an agony of nervousness, trying to keep an eye on the people behind them without making it obvious. For a moment he thought they were content to remain there. Then to his horror, he saw that they split up and some going one way, some the other, began circling round the margins of the field.<br />“Faster!” the Governor snarled, aiming a kick at Judith’s slowly bobbing rear. He had lost his stick. He contemplated using the belt, but it would only have attracted more attention. He should have left the white bitch among the leaves, but could he have been sure that she stayed hidden? As they neared the edge of the field he thought there was still a chance, but at once some of the would-be interceptors broke into a trot to close the gap. In that instant he gave up hope. <br />He knew how the regime viewed miscegenation. What he had feared was now before him. The zealous meddlers were the visiting committee of the Purity Commission. He had been trapped! He wilted under their combined gaze as they lined the field margin. He was smeared with mud and green juices, his flies were undone and he was in company with a naked white woman upon all fours, pretending to be a dog.<br />“Get up, you bitch!” He levered the panting white woman to her feet and, with a sudden inspiration, threw his coat around her muddy nakedness. He would shift some of the blame by representing her as a wicked siren who had lured him from his duty. These people were nobodies, puffed up by their own importance as moral censors. That might divert them.<br />About ten minutes out, the Chief Matron was reflecting complacently, behind her mask of shocked horror, but even better timing as it turned out. The white female had got more than she bargained for, but that was nothing to what they all had coming to them once she was in power!<br /><br />Chapter Six<br /><br />The Governor was suspended at once upon the authority of the visiting sub-committee, though he tried to bluff it out to the last, blaming the white woman’s trickery and incitement. The state of his clothing and the circumstances in which he had first been observed however, condemned him as at least an equal participant. Judith was whisked out of sight so fast that she left only a fleeting impression of naked shame upon the committee members. She spent the next twenty-four hours in solitary confinement, not knowing what was happening, but with an uneasy feeling that all wasn’t going according to plan.<br />Meanwhile an enquiry was convened into the conduct of the Governor. Intensive negotiations had gone on overnight between the Governor, the Chief Matron and the leading members of the sub-committee. At the enquiry the Governor admitted having sexual relations with the white woman prisoner, but blamed her for seducing him in order to win privileges. He exhibited Judith’s hand-written note inviting an assignation. A wardress confirmed having passed the note in ignorance of its contents at the white prisoner’s urging.<br />The Governor commended his Chief Matron for warning him of the white women’s immorality and Saida, giving evidence in her turn, exhibited the intercepted letter Gillian had written. She translated it for the committee member’s benefit without making it clear that two different prisoners were involved and elaborating upon her own position.<br />“I knew nothing of this later development, of course. I dealt with the earlier occurrence, a matter of attempting to smuggle out this letter by offering sexual favours to one of the male juveniles, as I thought quite successfully. Of course with the Governor involved, I could only warn him to be on his guard and ensure that, as far as possible, the white women were not left alone with him unsupervised. I could do no more. I had no proof that he had become their target. I could not risk an accusation of disloyalty to my superior, or even of conspiracy.<br />“These white women are experienced in manipulating men sexually from an early age and I suspect this was a concerted plot among themselves to exploit the Governor’s unfortunate infatuation. Remember, these are females who have been convicted of offences against the People. They will exploit any weakness. Traces of dissolute European attitudes still persist at high levels in our nation, that lead to men being easily misled by such creatures!”<br />The members of the Revolutionary sub-committee were only village level activists who understood little English and relied upon the Chief Matron’s translation. They were jittery with foreboding of disasters looming and mostly eager to get back to the mainland. The sub-committee thanked the Chief Matron for her assistance and congratulated her on the maintenance of prison discipline in difficult circumstances. “Clearly the former Governor was not fitted for this post. He will return with us to the mainland for re-assignment,” the chairman of the delegation announced. “Our sister here will be able to cope as Governess until further consideration.”<br />Saida bowed gravely and expressed her eagerness to serve the people.<br />“But what about his fellow offender?” one of the others asked.<br />“Merely a matter of prison discipline!” another delegate dismissed the matter, proposing that it be left to the new Governess. Others were more conscientious, though they felt that the white woman’s guilt was well established. As a consequence they made only the briefest examination of Judith’s part in the affair.<br />Saida acted as interpreter. “Did you write this note?” the Chief Matron translated the question to Judith with an expression of total neutrality.<br />“Well … yes … but…” Judith stammered in alarm and confusion. She began a long explanation, but halfway through it, an uplifted hand from the delegation chairman checked her impatiently.<br />The Lioness then gave a brief précis of what Judith had said, or so the hapless prisoner hoped, conscious now how much of a handicap she laboured under. She had no way of knowing whether her qualification of her reply had been accurately transmitted or not. She thought she recognised the word for yes featuring rather often.<br />Her judges conferred among themselves and then the chairman voiced a brief question, which Chief Matron translated as, “Were you fucked by the governor?”<br />Flushing visibly red before all these strangers, Judith stammered a qualified assent, not entirely convinced that the question had been accurately translated and hearing with even less confidence, the Lioness seemingly repeat the affirmative without any qualifications. It seemed to cause amusement and scorn in equal measure and Judith was relieved, if still uneasy, to be dismissed.<br />The sub-committee reassembled briefly after a good lunch to give their decision before they departed to board the launch for the mainland. During lunch they had congratulated Saida upon her promotion and agreed at her suggestion to recommend that a male Governor was a source of weakness. Someone raised the question of the penalty to be applied to the white woman for her part in the incident. <br />“What is the penalty prescribed for the woman’s offence?” the chairman enquired, wiping his mouth, naturally consulting the new Governess.<br />“I have consulted the Prison Code.” Saida replied. “Two offences are involved. Bribery of a prison officer, and Indecent and immoral behaviour; for both of which the maximum penalty is twelve strokes of the cane. Since the present case is so heinous, I suggest the maximum sentence is appropriate and that an example be made of her as a warning to the other prisoners!”<br />“The cane, eh?” the chairman murmured.<br />“Our Prison Code was drawn up under the former Colonial power,” Saida said evenly. “Some of its penal aspects have never been revised.”<br />“Doubly appropriate then!” The others agreed with him that it was indeed most appropriate. Some of their number even decided it was their duty to remain on the island a further day, to act as official observers and see that the punishment was correctly administered.<br /><br />Chapter Seven<br /><br />After a night in solitary confinement, Judith was marched mid morning to the former Governor’s office, now Saida’s, to be examined by the doctor who had come with the visitors. He was male and quite young. Judith felt particularly humiliated by the manner in which the investigation was conducted. She was made to take off her knickers, lift her skirts and bend over the big desk. She had seen out of the corner of her eye, however, the Lioness gesture significantly to the two wardresses. Guessing that the pair would enjoy quelling any rebellion, Judith managed to repress the urge to kick out as the man prodded and patted her bottom, taking too much of an evident pleasure in his work. At last the fellow turned away at last to wash his hands and nodded to the Governess.<br />“Doctor confirms that you are quite fit,” Saida told Judith and before their former wearer’s dismayed eyes folded up the little pair of white cotton knickers and tossed them into a drawer, banging it shut with a note of finality.<br />“My- my knickers. What are you doing…?” Judith clutched at the scant hem of her prison smock as if to ensure that it concealed her lately displayed nakedness.<br />“You will not want them afterwards, I assure you!” The Lioness had opened a large folio volume bound in battered red leather, stamped with a barely distinguishable crown. The two wardresses who had been rolling up their sleeves with ostentatious gusto took hold of Judith by the arms.<br />“Prisoner One five nine! For your offences under Rules fourteen and twenty-two, you have been sentenced to receive twenty-four strokes of the cane!” the black woman’s voice rang out with formal clarity.<br />“No! They can’t! They got it all wrong!” Judith found her breath coming short. She gave little angry gasps, prepared a frantic argument.<br />“Disrespect to the committee will incur further strokes to be added at my discretion,” Saida snapped, her nostrils flaring in a familiar danger sign. Judith spluttered incoherently for words but now in fear of making things worse.<br />“The wardresses will prepare you!” Saida closed the book with a slam that made Judith jump. Propelled by her escorts she was swung about and propelled out and a short way down the corridor, the two large and muscular black women chattering and giggling over her head as they went and Judith was very conscious that her naked bottom cheeks under the smock were contracting at every step. They only took her into a toilet, however, and made her bend forward over the bowl. One of them held her while the other produced a nasty looking rubber tube and an enormous syringe. Judith panicked at the sight of these implements, struggling and kicking, resisting their attempts to insert the dubious tube into her. They were bigger and tougher than she, but the pair didn’t persist. With a shrug, they shoved her back upright and marched her back once more to the Governess’ office.<br />The Lioness listened to her subordinate’s report without expression. “You are a foolish creature!” she said severely. “Disobedience and violence towards a wardress is also punishable by the cane. After you have received your official sentence of twenty-four strokes therefore, you will remain in place to await a further six at the hands of the wardress you resisted. I trust that the opportunity for reflection this will give you, will impress your folly upon you more thoroughly!”<br />At that moment the door opened to admit one of the male guards, an elderly but still stalwart black man in peaked cap and well pressed khaki uniform. Judith’s glance, immediately apprehending its purpose, flew at once to the long bamboo cane that he carried sloped over one shoulder. She was already staggered by the swiftness of her introduction to her fate. Her heart sank as her eyes flew from the man’s unconcerned expression to the impassive face of the Lioness.<br />“Prisoner One five nine! Precede the guard to the Punishment Hall.”<br />Judith’s mind was filled with fear and consternation as, led by a wardress, she was made to precede the man with the cane in the little procession that ensued. Only the prospect of adding even further to her penalty made her choke back a wild protest. It would have been bad enough if one of the wardresses had administered the beating, here in Saida’s office! Instead she was to be part of a ritual. No doubt it went back to Colonial times and had impressed itself painfully upon many a recalcitrant black convict. Now she was in their place and having the ritual focussed upon her was very successfully un-nerving.<br />It was a long twitchy walk, down corridors and up flights of steps. All the way she heard the booted feet of her nemesis treading heavily behind her. Every footstep was made in the knowledge that the hem of her skirt fluttering on the back of her thighs invited the brute’s attention to his ready-prepared target. It took her attention off the placing of her feet and she tripped and nearly fell on the last stair, so steep that she fancied she felt the man’s hot breath on her naked bottom and almost sprang into the Punishment Hall. <br />It was the prison gymnasium under a different title. A high bare whitewashed oblong space, it was lit by a row of high windows along one long side and a viewing gallery across one end. At that moment it held only one solitary item of furniture on a raised stage in the middle of the floor, a kind of wooden lectern.<br />Judith was instantly conscious of an audience, but she had little time for more than one appalled glance before she was hustled forward mounted up to the lectern-like structure and bent forward over it. It was only when she was head down in this position and they were no longer visible that she realised the row of figures seated close behind her in a row of comfortable chairs, were the dignitaries by whose judgement she was to be given this punishment.<br />“Please!” she shouted. “I didn’t do what you think!” But by that time she was muffled by her head-down posture and, when she tried to break free to make her pleas heard, she found that her wrists and ankles were held and being fastened with straps.<br />“Remember the penalty for insolence!” Saida hissed savagely. “If you are going to make a nuisance of yourself, I will have you gagged!” Judith subsided in sullen despair. She knew no way of making anyone else understand and clearly, by the fact of their presence, the dignitaries endorsed her treatment.<br />She was positioned with her belly on the sloping desk-like top with the upper ridge in her loins so that her bottom was fully curved and tautened, the highest part of her. Thick leather straps from the sides of the lectern front and rear, secured her wrists and ankles at full stretch, her toes barely touching the platform at each corner, her reaching finger tips well clear of the floor. With her legs held well apart and similarly secured at the knees, and as the last touch her khaki skirt pulled right up and securely pinned at her shoulders, she was exposed to view in a manner that left nothing to the imagination.<br />“Your friends will get a good view!” The newly promoted Governess bent to check the fastenings. “They will be in the front row. The lesson you are to get is as much for them as for you!”<br />The steady shuffle of feet had been at the edge of Judith’s hearing for some time. Prisoners, white and black, were filing in and being marshalled by the wardresses to form an audience, awed and apprehensive as they were chivvied into place, in front and around the sides, while above them in the raised seats the dignitaries looked on gravely. From her undignified and exposed position, Judith could only see the nearest prisoners out of the corner of her eye and of the dignitaries nothing at all was visible.<br />The Governess waited until the audience were marshalled in order, read a long and to Judith incomprehensible denunciation, then stepped back. “Punishment will begin!”<br />The man with the cane cast a leisurely glance about him, as if enjoying his prominent role and the attention of so many female eyes. He rolled up his sleeve, slowly baring the arm that was to wield the cane, positioned himself carefully and measured the thin bamboo across the white feminine rump elevated before him.<br />Judith tensed as she felt the tap of the cane, her bottom cheeks quivered and tightened. All thought of the shame of having such an audience to her humiliation fled from her brain as it focussed upon the brief hiss of the descending bamboo.<br />Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!! A yelp emerged from her, even through gritted teeth.<br />“Keep your bottom still!” Saida hissed in warning. “Mis-hits will not count!”<br />Despite her resolve, Judith had been unable to repress a violent wriggle as she felt the burning wheal the cane left behind. A single red stripe across the white curves of her bottom made it equally clear to the audience. Hissing with bottled up tension, Judith craned her neck, vainly trying to look over her shoulder. It gained her only the briefest glimpse of open mouths and rounded eyes among her audience before the impact of the second stroke obscured her vision with tears and jerked from her a wavering groan.<br />Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!! There was definitely masculine strength behind the resounding strokes.<br />Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!! Judith whimpered desperately and set her teeth anew, the full curves of her red-traceried bottom quivering visibly in full view of the audience.<br />Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!! The effects were getting worse, each stroke outdoing its precursor. It was nothing like the sting of the ruler across taut knickers, all that she had by way of previous experience of physical punishment. She tossed her head to and fro, the only part of her free to move. Wheeeppp! Crack!!! Wheeppp! Crack!!! Writhing lips expressed cries she dared not fully voice, but reduced to agonised ah… ah…ing sounds in fear of added penalties. On either hand the nearest prisoners looked back at her as helplessly. They wore expressions of horror and fear, as her plight might be transmitted like a plague.<br />Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!! Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!! Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!! Judith’s teeth were clenched on her cries in defiance of all her female instincts, like a schoolboy determined not to blubber, when the Lioness held up one hand to check the anticipated descent.<br />“Do you wish to express your contrition and beg for the chance to reform?”<br />Desperation was uppermost in Judith’s mind. She saw this only as further cruelty. She glared through her tears with a teeth-gritted hiss.<br />“This is an example,” Saida raised her voice, “of the sulky and obstinate nature of these white women! Recommence!”<br />Wheeeppp! Crack!!! Dimly, Judith felt she had made a mistake. Innumerable lines of fire burned across her bottom. Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!! She was given no time to rethink it. Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!! She definitely regretted her defiance. Wheeeppp!!! Her mouth began to open. Crackkk!!! The cane struck and she abandoned hardihood for a howl of pain. The beast had placed his stroke almost exactly on the line of his last. Judith wriggled her hips desperately from side to side in front of the man, her grinding belly adding its small contribution to the well-polished top of the lectern. Her vigorous reaction, amplified by her posture lifted her parted thighs a little, displaying her sexual attributes as if she was desperate for anything to divert his attention from thrashing her rump.<br />Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!! Right into the crease between cheeks and thighs just stinging her exposed sex mound. Her unconscious attempt severely punished, she ground her well-furred mound hard into the timber with a shriek.<br /> Wheeeppp! Crackkkk!!! Wheeeppp! Crack!!! Applied with unsparing muscular vigour to alternate bottom cheeks, the cane now elicited a throaty answering scream each time it cracked down. Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!! The hall was silent except for the sound of the rattan upon bare flesh and Judith’s uninhibited reaction. Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!! All Judith’s self-control was now gone, though she was still conscious of a sense of shame at her performance. Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!! She was now howling unreservedly before the whole assembly and the appalled witness of her friends. Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!!<br />There was a pause. The Governess was speaking. Judith’s cries subsided into sobs though her discoloured and red-striped bottom cheeks still twitched in automatic terror at every unidentified sound. Suddenly it dawned upon her that it was over. She must have been given the whole twenty-four! Then, no! Twenty-four had only been the official punishment! She was to wait, in position, being given time to reflect, the terrible fact was that she had another six to come. That was what Saida was explaining.<br />Judith cried out in despair and panic. She was finding out why she had been taken to the toilet. She tried desperately to control herself, hoping they would come quickly.<br />But the delay lengthened and Saida droned on. Judith could hear the heavy breathing of the guard behind her. Standing back with shouldered cane, awaiting further orders, the man was admiring his handiwork. A white bottom displayed it so effectively. These white women were a randy lot, by all the tales of what used to happen when they cavorted at the beach resorts in the old days. This one’s thighs were parted enough so that her swollen sex was positively pouting at him. Discipline prevented any test of the extent of the victim’s demoralisation, but he guessed that she would be glad to earn a remission of sentence if only he could give her the opportunity.<br />“Please … I … I need…” Judith whimpered, hoping to draw the attention of a wardress, wanting to be allowed to close her thighs or at least to be granted some respite from what she knew would happen. The guard cursed under his breath, contemplating the whimpering, quivering woman-flesh, but he was under the observation of a hundred eyes. The convict audience was still formed up, the dignitaries still self-importantly alert.<br />The Lioness took in the white woman’s situation at a glance. Waving back an advancing wardress she signalled to the guard. He had done well; he might finish the job! “Six more!”<br />Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!! Judith wailed in pain and fear.<br />Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!! Her body gave way like a water-skin hit by a stick. She felt the hot contents of her bladder squirting wetly down her thighs and visibly soaking the woodwork, while the repeatedly descending cane defeated all efforts at control. Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!! Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!! Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!!<br />Suddenly there was an attempt to protest. A stir of emotion among the other white women watching in the ranks resulted in several voices crying out in frightened and indignant fashion. Judith was past attending to its results. The protestors were outnumbered by the wardresses and demoralised by the disapproval of the black prisoners between whom they were quickly subdued or intimidated, without troubling the last application of the cane. Wheeeppp! Crackkk!!!<br />The Governess stood meanwhile with folded arms like nemesis herself, fixing her tawny eyes upon each trouble-maker in turn until they quailed in dismay and foreboding.<br /><br />Chapter Eight<br /><br />The Sub-committee departed, satisfied. A minor impudence, Saida had assured them referring to the stir. Easily dealt with.<br />Early next morning, the corridor outside the prison administration office was where the ex­-rebels learnt what that meant in practice. They now understood the extent of the new Governess’s authority over them. Evidently sanctioned by the authority of the departed committee, she might order each and every one of them to the block and publicly flogged there. For what offences they could not be sure of, but undoubtedly they included wilful rebellion.<br />Awaiting the Governess’s displeasure, fear effectively subduing indignation, a queue of the erstwhile protestors lined the corridor in state of humiliating dishabille. Summoned one by one into the guardroom in their best prison dress, under the eyes of menacingly large-limbed wardresses they were made to remove skirt and knickers. Sent in this state to join the queue, they stood like a row of naughty children, bare bottom cheeks peeping below the loose shirt-tails, enjoined to silence by a stern supervisor, thighs self consciously together, fingers nervously tugging at fluttering hems.<br />The corridor in question was little more than an enclosed veranda, what passed for an outer wall was composed of bamboo sunblinds. Since all the doors and windows stood wide to catch any passing breeze, the apprehensive remainder waiting their turn could not but hear every detail of what befell their precursors; and anticipate their own experience being broadcast likewise to the ears of every passer by.<br />Saida’s voice came with particular clarity.<br />“Prisoner One seven three (That was Caroline Webster). For unruly behaviour and insolence, you will be given six strokes of the cane. The purpose of your sentence is to produce in you a proper attitude of shame. You are therefore required to admit your fault!”<br />“P-please ma’am ... I was unruly and ... and … insolent … and I d-deserve my p-punishment!”<br />Caroline’s low voice was indeed full of shame, but the first two to be processed had been given double doses for being slow to conform to the required submission.<br />“Very well!” Saida’s rich contralto voice sounded gracious. Chair legs grated briefly on the floor. “Bend over!”<br />Wheeeppp-Crackkk!!! “Ohhhooo…!”<br />Wheeeppp-Crackkk!!! “Ohhhowww…!”<br />The vicious sound of bamboo descending upon tender female flesh produced a quivering shudder down the waiting line, white hands fluttered nervously towards twitching backsides. The sound was repeated four more well-spaced repetitions<br />“The purpose of this punishment is also to oblige you take note of your errors. You will therefore apologise for troubling me and thank me for your punishment.” Ears pricked nervously outside. This was a new requirement to remember! There were two more resounding cracks before Caroline could adjust her thoughts. <br />“Please ma’am... I’m sorry to have ... to have been ... unruly … and ... and insolent...” she groaned, head downwards with Saida prompting her word by word impassively, tapping her upturned bottom smartly with the cane. <br />“And ... And thank you ma’am ... for ... for punishing me!”<br />The others listening, feverishly memorised what they would have to say. It was preferable to learning it at the wrong end of the Lioness’s cane. They were coming to realise they had no alternative. There was no way of escape and giving way to defiance or even indignation would only make it worse for them.<br />So each in turn advanced to execution with faltering steps. As each was swiftly dealt with, she was lined up with her precursors against the wall furthest from the door, noses to the white-plastered wall and holding their short hems lifted high, so that each successive arrival, taking in the Governess and her cane, also saw its results prominently displayed.<br />Complaining of tedium, Saida made the last two demoralised delinquents, Clare Brooke and Diana Harley, apply the cane to one another. The wretched women, threatened with a double penalty and not daring to show one another mercy, laid the cane upon one another’s backside, probably harder than Saida’s tiring arm would have done.<br /><br />That had been the last time outside government had impinged upon the prisoner’s lives, for the full Catastrophe was rushing upon them. The new Governess acted wisely and promptly when it came.<br />While the earth shook and the skies darkened, the island’s inhabitants were evacuated into the old fortress high above the sea. The juvenile delinquents, black women prisoners, the guards and wardresses and their families, even the visiting fishermen crowded in. The white prisoners were herded into one cell to make room for the refugees and their food supplies and bundles of possessions, many of which, needing fuel or power, or relying upon plastic components, were destined in the end to be junked. They crammed into the empty cells and camped in the corridors. Children ran up and down with the usual adaptability of the young, peering into the white women’s cell and giggling.<br />But soon, even the very rock the fortress was built into was trembling, shaken to its roots. There were storms of wind and salty rain, which carried away many of the lighter structures and flooded the courtyards. There was darkness all through what should have been daylight hours. The first Tsunami, the biggest to hit the island, registered as a more than usually vigorous quake. One of the bastions split suddenly from top to bottom amid a deafening roar.<br />Afterwards while conditions became more rationally acceptable, the results of salt deposit, climatic change and the more puzzling corruption of fuel and plastics and modern weapons affected the sea-girt island as elsewhere. These effects had to be overcome by human energy and discipline, which the Governess was supremely qualified to apply.<br />The widespread failure of communications deepened with time rather than improved. Starvation and plague removed the ability of the surviving centres of population to organise a recovery. Other smaller, but technically advanced, groups attempted to assume leadership, only to be overwhelmed or to mysteriously disappear in their turn. At last all that was known by the islanders of events elsewhere was what passed by word of mouth, the accounts of the experiences of refugees arriving from the mainland. The arrival of the airship was startling evidence that there were groups that still had the power to affect their lives. In what way they could only guess wildly.<br /><br />Chapter Nine<br /><br />Unusually, Saida the Lioness, Governess and effective ruler of the island was not at the fort gateway where she was accustomed to watch the procession of white-skinned fish carriers return with their burdens. She was inside standing at the foot of the steps and had a man with her. He was a newcomer, but no haggard half- starved refugee, rather a tall stout man, very black, in a skullcap and spotless white gown.<br />The Governess’s attitude gave no hint of any difficulty with her visitor. She stood erect in smartly pressed khaki with buttons and belt buckle gleaming, her skirt taut over straddled thighs, her black boots polished. Her confident stance reminded Judith of her racehorse-owning grandfather surveying his string of highly bred highly trained animals, confident in his mastery of their performance. The prisoners too, were accustomed to being paraded for her inspection and even that of newcomers to the island. Nevertheless a little thrill of excitement ran through them all as they made the obvious guess of a connection with the airship. A visitor from ‘Outside’!<br />“Halt! Down baskets! Attention!” The eighteen women straightening automatically as ordered, legs together, heads up, breasts outthrust, nervously eyed the stranger, conscious of his scrutiny and thankful that they had been allowed to resume their skimpy costume before they reached the gate. None dared voice an appeal. They could have few illusions as to the state of the world ‘Outside’. Yet some hope still lingered of a rescue. Anxiously they awaited the visitor’s reaction.<br />“Curtsey to the visitor!” The line dipped raggedly, conscious of how much the shortness of their shirts revealed when lifted at the hem.<br />“Upon all fours!” Saida barked, unshipping the cane from her wrist. With an almost audible tremor of dismay the double line sank, each onto hands and knees, each facing her basket. Saida gestured, inviting the visitor to follow her, walking along behind the line of kneeling women. From this vantage point a row of bare white bottom cheeks was visible beneath the tails of their shirts.<br />“Lift it up!” The cane tapped the nearest rump and its owner slowly thrust her rear upwards until her splayed thighs were vertical with her creamy white bottom reared in the air so that the loose shirt tail slid inexorably downwards to her waist.<br />The Governess shot a glance at her visitor. “Like apes, are they not?”<br />“Um … Hairy you mean?” the man said with a chuckle. “All colours and sorts too!” And indeed the pubic bushes, in their current posture peeping between the legs of all the women, were of all shades from black through ginger to one or two quite blonde.<br />“Identify yourself!” Saida commanded.<br />“One five nine, Judith, Ma’am!” The voice of the woman before them was rather muffled by her head down position.<br />“Sentenced by a People’s court to two years corrective labour. Convicted of sexual bribery, immorality and indecency, and sentenced to a public flogging.” The Governess poked the ridiculously postured woman. “How many strokes of the cane did you get, One five nine?”<br />“Twenty-four, Ma’am... and six extra, Ma’am.”<br />“They are young women sexually experienced, you see!” the black woman remarked to her companion. “And you know how randy and immoral white women naturally are!”<br />She addressed the woman again. “Did the cane cure you, One five nine?”<br />“Oh yes, Ma’am!” Saida’s victims dared do no more than give the responses expected of them. The penalty for speaking out of turn was to wear a wooden gag for twenty-four hours.<br />“They were sent here to learn humility,” the Governess commented as she moved on to the next.<br />“Two zero seven, Susan, Ma’am!”<br />Exposure this time, revealed a tattooed line of flowing script crowning one of her pale bottom cheeks.<br />“Picked up at sea by our fishermen from the wreck of a ship. She had been pirated from a refugee yacht. The tattoo was to signify that she belonged to the ship’s crew.”<br />“One zero three, Angela, Ma’am!” This one sported half a dozen red ridged wheals across her bared bottom, evidently only recently applied.<br />“Please, ma’am,” the woman nervously offered an explanation, in answer to Saida’s prompting. “I was caned for kissing One nine three, Gemma, and putting my fingers where they shouldn’t have gone, Ma’am.”<br />“Disgusting!” the Governess said. “I should have doubled it! We are very vigilant against such lewd behaviour,” she said to her companion, moving on.<br />“One seven three, Caroline, Ma’am!” <br />“When did you get those two cane wheals, One seven three?”<br />“Please Ma’am, this morning, Ma’am. For lingering on the beach, Ma’am.” The woman’s voice revealed some confusion. She had been one of the SOS message writers and was uncertain of the consequences.<br />Saida’s cane swept down with a crack. One seven three Caroline, yelped and her bottom jerked, but she kept her pose. A message had been delivered which wasn’t lost upon any others who didn’t know what to make of the visitor in the scheme of things. The dominant pair moved on.<br /> “One three zero, Gemma, Ma’am!”<br />“This one was sent here for stealing a canoe.”<br />“Two zero seven, Joanne, Ma’am!”<br />“Wife of a deposed government minister.”<br />“Two two eight, Diane, Ma’am!”<br />“That one was found aboard a drifting ship.”<br />“One six two, Stephanie, Ma’am!”<br />“This one you see is still growing out.” The Governess prodded with the woman intimately with her cane. “She was depilated in Arab style by her original captor, but to have their hairiness so displayed reminds us that the whites are closer to the apes than we Africans.” She looked at the man again. “You are aroused by them? Perhaps you would like to have one?”<br />A little irritably he declined, guessing that had been the reason for the row of blatantly postured rosy slots glistening before him, the hint of a bribe.<br />“White women are no novelty to me. In places that I have visited you could buy them for a bowl of rice or a loaf of bread.”<br />“Well, it would probably have given them ideas anyway!” the Governess smiled and refastened her cane.<br />“Attention!” she barked. “Rise!”<br />The white women rose with evident relief, red faced. But their ordeal was not yet over. The Governess summoned some of the crowd of giggling black women who, with numerous children, were clustered by the gate. They ran forward to take up the baskets of fish and carry them away.<br />“The smell of fish lingers,” she observed. She spoke to two of the black women who drew forward a black rubber hose. The whites were made to remove their shirts and resume their all fours position, this time stark naked, in which hapless posture they were hosed down with a surprisingly strong clear jet of water. The two black women allowed some of the children to direct the hose and the black imps shouted with glee as they played the hose over backs, bottoms and long-tressed heads, while the whites received their drenching with docile relief.<br />“Do you have a pump to get the water up here?” the visitor frowned.<br />“Our home-made water wheel,” Saida smiled. “Come inside and presently you will see.”<br />They climbed back up the stone steps and turned up a narrow stairway in the thickness of the wall. The wheel-room was in one of the circular corner bastions. The door opened onto a narrow wooden platform alongside a large wooden treadmill wheel, trundling and dripping in a deep pit. Its turning axle worked the plunging metal rods of a pump somewhere below, which gushed a steady stream of water into a great cistern. The motive power was a white-skinned woman fastened by a harness to the framework of the wheel. Her wrists were fastened above her head and she leant forward from the waist, a leather belt holding her over a round wooden bar, so that only her legs were free, working steadily at walking pace, non stop as the wooden rungs passed beneath her.<br />She was a woman of mature figure with some grey in her long dark hair. Heavy breasts swung slightly elongated, bouncing rhythmically as she laboured. Her pose made a prominent feature of the generous curves of her bottom, noticeably a different colour to the rest of her and seamed with fine reddish lines.<br />“This is Two zero four, Emily.” Saida said. “Once of Cornell University; a full Professor. She was one of the women found aboard a drifting derelict by fishermen. There are many such who hoped to find safety from the Catastrophe on the sea. The fishermen only rescue the females, of course, and usually they have been thoroughly raped by the time they come ashore. They serve as a warning to others, not to think there is any safety in escape off the island.”<br />“Two zero four aspired to be a leader of the younger women. As you see, I cured that. She is sometimes relieved by one of the others who are to be punished. It is one they hate; like being converted into a part of a machine.” The woman on the treadmill gave no sign of having heard. She padded steadily, her big bottom bobbing in time with her stride. She seemed to be watching the progress of a dangling weight on the wall opposite her, as it very slowly descended against a white painted scale.<br /> The sound of gushing water in the courtyard below had ceased. “The hose uses a great deal of water very quickly,” the Governess commented as the weight increased its rate of descent. “Wait until the weight reaches the red mark.”<br />As it came down almost to the red, the pace of the woman’s legs faltered and for a moment she halted. The weight responded instantly, it hung and then seemed to reverse a little. With a desperate expression, the woman threw herself into motion again, this time with a rush. The weight hit the red mark and simultaneously a bamboo cane flicked out behind the bending woman and caught her a smart crack across the rump. The woman Emily only squeaked, though the rod, springing away, left a new and distinct bright red stripe on her behind.<br />“Of course she doesn’t feel it as another would, her backside is quite leathery. The other women are really sometimes quite comical in their efforts to avoid the effects.”<br />The woman on the treadmill had sagged, panting, over her crossbar, but still keeping her eyes upon the scale. “Get on with it!” Saida reached out and spanked her hard. With a slight groan the other began to push her feet down once more, until in a few seconds an arching jet of water began suddenly to descend from above, splashing over the head and body of the power-provider. Almost simultaneously the cane flicked out again, smacking noisily on wet and labouring bottom rounds.<br />“Very well!” Saida yelled above the splashing of the water.<br />Thankfully the white woman ceased her tread, dripping wet from head to toes, but not quite wholly able to rest, for every few seconds she advanced just another step or two.<br />“She has to keep the pressure up!” the Governess explained. “If she stops, then the water runs back and the cane gives her a reminder. If the level of the tank falls too far, the same thing happens. If she overfills the tank, then as you saw, she gets the cane again and a douche of cold water into the bargain. Though sometimes she will do that deliberately, taking a stroke of the cane for the sake of a cool shower.”<br />“I wondered how my employers would take it,” the visitor said, smiling. “But woman-powered devices are perfectly within their principles. They object only to the use of unnatural power.” He mopped his face in the damp heat of the little chamber.<br />“My office will be cooler, if only by the effect of the sea breeze and refreshment is available there.” The Governess led the way back to her own private quarters.<br /><br />Chapter Ten<br /><br />“Come!” The familiar contralto voice responding impatiently to her knock created a nervous tremor that blanked off part of Alice Arnold’s brain and made her knees wobble before she stepped within the Governess’s sitting room, to which that lady and her guest had retired. It had been so from the very beginning.<br />It was many painful months ago that Alice had first entered this room, meekly following the Governess when, in a leisure moment, Saida had decided to inspect her latest acquisition. For a week or so after her arrival on the island, Alice had languished in solitary confinement, fed irregularly and terrified by the battering winds and shuddering walls, the wails and screams of the refugees and the other prisoners. Saida and her staff had been too busy to spare any time for the latest arrival. She had been filed away for later attention. Then that moment had come.<br />“Face me and stand still!”<br />Alice had obeyed, terrified by the fierce look of this woman whom she knew to wield absolute power over her. Tall, she carried herself with authority. Her uniform was crisply starched, boots polished, and buttons gleaming. She looked athletic enough to be fit for an Olympic pentathlete. In front of her, Alice felt slight and young, her fair hair cropped short, wearing the thin well-worn prison smock she had been given. Her knees felt weak. She put her hands behind her, her cheeks burning and eyes downcast. She had seen and taken heed of the whippy-looking bamboo cane that dangled from the black woman’s wrist. She already knew from the wardresses what an effect it could have.<br />As if reading the young girl’s thoughts, the uniformed woman slipped the thong free from her wrist and tapped the cane on the palm of her other hand.<br />“You see this? You will feel it too, if you aren’t quick to obey me! You understand?” Alice nodded wide-eyed. She did indeed.<br />“Very well. Hands on your head!” the Governess gestured.<br />Nervously, Alice had done as she was told. The short smock, which was all that she had been given, lifted with the action of her arms and the cool breeze from the open shutters, caressing her bare thighs made her tremble. The cane reached out and lifted the hem of the smock this way and that. Alice remained rigid, trying to keep her thighs together and not daring to drop her arms.<br />“Turn around!”<br />Again the cane lifted the hem of her smock, this time right up above her bottom.<br />“Have you ever been caned Alice?”<br />“No…” Thwackkk!<br /> “No, ma’am!”<br />“No, ma’am!” Alice whimpered obediently, starting to take hands off her head to rub her smarting bottom and then after catching Saida’s eye, not daring to.<br />She had been taken then by the Governess, pattering barefoot behind the commanding figure, along stone passages and up curving stairs to emerge from a stone arched doorway at the top of a long flight of steps that descended into a walled exercise yard.<br />“Here you see some of your elders who have preceded you here. One or two you will recognise I think. Take heed of their discipline.”<br />In the yard below, a formation of women in four rows of four, white-skinned like herself, lay flat on their backs with their legs vertically up in the air. All of them quite naked, they lay motionless, like a set of nude plastic dolls fallen or toppled in that position. The only movement came from a black woman in the uniform of a wardress strolling between the upraised legs with a long bamboo cane. She gave a crisp order and the dolls suddenly came to simultaneous life, the lifted legs closing knees together and straightened toes pointing straight upwards.<br />Another order. The pale bodies began to squirm and rear, behinds lifting off the floor, torsos following thrust up by the leverage of arms and elbows, palms pressed flat on the ground. They reared until all the bodies were almost vertical, propped up on head and shoulders. Erect but upside down, their breasts flopped ludicrously the wrong way, pale undersides abnormally exposed. Untrimmed hair spilled about their heads, black, brown, blonde or chestnut.<br />Yet another order and the legs split apart, thighs trembling a little as they fell into wide and all-revealing Vs, obscenely displaying the proofs of femininity widely agape.<br />The uniformed instructress prowled the ranks with her cane.<br />“Two four one!” Thwackkk! She used the cane with the speed of a striking snake, the bamboo making an impact with a meaty smack on one pair of upturned bottom-cheeks. The woman who received it yelped shrilly, her legs waving wildly as she tried to recover quick enough to avoid another one.<br />A wave of titters greeted her efforts and drew the girl’s attention to their origin in a little crowd of onlookers to one side of the yard, black women and children, hanging about an open gateway.<br />“In-Out!” the instructress chanted. “In-Out!” The sixteen pairs of split legs drew together, then slowly parted again, and repeated the motion over and over. Perhaps it was the effect of the thrusting posture, but Alice noticed that all seemed generously endowed with pubic bushes, though the colours were not as variegated as the rest of their hair. From there, the legs went on to bicycling motions, driven relentlessly by their instructress who prowled to and fro on the lookout for laggards. At length she allowed her charges to come upright on their feet, but only to set them touching toes, going up and down, breasts swinging and hair flying and bouncing in wild disorder. She dealt out cracks of the cane liberally as they went down, Alice wincing each time, along with each of the recipients.<br />The humiliation of her seniors in the way the trainee servant girl was then witnessing had first begun soon after Saida’s assumption of power when one morning the white prisoners were paraded for exercise as usual.<br />The gymnasium was the main hall of the citadel, the very place where Judith had been so publicly flogged, a suitable warning in itself. Standing to attention under the eye of their instructress they awaited the Governess’s inspection. They made a tattered array by now for no new supplies had come through from the mainland for months and the prisoners had the lowest priority. Their uniforms were becoming ragged and threadbare.<br />When at length the Governess emerged under the viewing balcony she was accompanied by two wardresses, each carrying a little pile of folded khaki. Saida took her stance before the parade, the wardresses depositing their burdens by her side. A little frisson ran through the prisoner’s ranks, quelled by a sharp order. They hoped these would be some part of the hoped-for new uniforms.<br />As was her custom, Saida herself was smartly arrayed in khaki shirt and skirt, crisply starched and carefully pressed by the diligent hands of her white charges. Gleaming black boots, assiduously polished by the same unfortunates, enhanced her stature, while ominously a plaited leather quirt, the subject of recent application of oil by trembling white fingers, dangled loosely from her wrist.<br />The Governess nodded to the Instructress, a big ugly girl only recently a prisoner herself, now promoted to wardress.<br />“Begin the exercise!”<br />“Running in place! Begin!”<br />The already familiar routine of exercise proceeded and soon the women were forced to turn their attention away from the pile of garments. They were formed in three lines of six, widely spaced, each one out of even whispering distance of her neighbours, and as the Instructress strove to display her efficiency and vigour to the Governess they soon had other things to occupy them.<br />“Higher! Get knees higher!”<br />“Hup! Hup! Hup!”<br />“One two! One two!”<br />They began to pant and gasp, breasts bouncing like melons in a bag straining at the worn-out khaki blouses. Long ponytails tied neatly back with ribbon bobbed vigorously, brown black, blonde and russet. <br />“Higher! Higher! Get knees high!”<br />Their armpits backs and bellies began to show dark patches of sweat. All their attention was focussed upon showing eager obedience.<br />Crackkk! A shrill cry! That was the Instructress using her cane upon one of their number. That was the penalty for failure to impress.<br />“Legs astride! Arms high! Bending and touching toes - Go!”<br />The eighteen white prisoners straddled their legs apart as wide as their skirts would allow, raised their arms aloft and then swung down to bend right over, while the Instructress, big and ugly, prowled behind one after another, bamboo cane at the ready.<br />“Up!” All the squad rose together.<br />“Down!” The whole eighteen bobbed as one, bottoms coming uppermost.<br />“Up! Down! Up! Down! Up! Down!”<br />Faces grew red with exertion, blouses pulled loose, sliding up to expose bare midriff. The seats of skirts strained tightly.<br />“Up! Down!” Thwackkk! A yelp echoed to the vault. “Keep those legs straight One nine one!” That was Lindsey Stephen, her skirt had split at the hip.<br />“Careless sluts!” The Lioness strode forward among the motionless ranks. “If this is the way you treat Government property, you don’t deserve new uniforms! I shan’t ignore such carelessness!” She stalked the panting lines with a presence that made each of them quake as she passed. Stranded in the head downwards posture, her charges were in a position completely bereft of dignity and dared not rise out of it, never mind answer back. She gestured again at the Instructress to continue.<br />“Flat on your backs! Push those legs up! Right up! Bicycle!” The white females were soon all flat on their backs on the floor pushing their bodies upwards, supporting their hips with their hands. Their skirts fell back around their waists exposing plain white prison-issue knickers as they cycled their legs in the air. As worn-out as the rest of their uniform the white cotton was so thin as to be almost transparent, showing a hint of pink skin.<br />After a few minutes of this, Saida herself intervened, directing them in performing a scissoring motion, opening and closing their legs; a exercise until then new to them.<br />“Legs wide! Then together! Wide! Together! One! Two! One! Two!” After a few minutes of this several pairs of legs were wavering and Judith’s knickers had split their crotch, gaping every time she spread her legs.<br />“Get your legs wide! Wider!” Crackkk! A yelp and a ripping sound as the impact of the cane split threadbare cotton right across the seat. “Stop!” Saida sprang forward. “I will not have this damage! In future you will strip for exercise and resume your uniforms afterwards! To attention!”<br />They scrambled upwards with a gasp combined of relief and apprehension, facing a new threat, but without the opportunity to seek for one another’s support, not daring to resist. They remembered the fate of their earlier protest. Saida the Lioness was stalking among them, eyeing each trembling female in turn.<br />“At the command ‘Strip one!’ you will remove your uniforms starting with the blouse and setting it neatly folded at your feet!” She slapped the little whip noisily against her booted leg as she went from one to another, a noise that made their bottom cheeks clench instinctively and weakened their knees.<br />“Ready! Strip one!”<br />The helpless white women began slowly to unbutton their blouses, recognising a certain logic in the situation but reluctant to submit to the humiliation. Their terrifying gaoler still stalked among them, however, and after ripping Amanda Smith’s blouse from her back, buttons popping and flying in all directions, speeding their fingers considerably. A ruined garment they feared might not be replaced.<br />“At the command ‘Strip two!’ you will remove your uniform skirt, fold and set it neatly on top of the blouse!”<br />“Ready! Strip two!” The women, isolated and in fear that either Saida or the Instructress might be looming up behind them, unfastened their skirts and dropped them about their ankles.<br />“Neatly! Neatly!” Thwackkk! Coming down upon thin and well-worn cotton, the whip sliced Heather Thompson’s knickers as well as her flesh, opening a long sliver of bare skin with a red stripe neatly down its middle. Sobbing with pain, Heather folded and straightened her shed skirt, seeking refuge in normal female functions, while the others hastily revised their own ideas of neatness.<br />“At the command ‘Strip three!’ you will undo your bra and set that down too!” It had begun to dawn upon the flushed and tremulous prisoners that if they were to protest it must be now. But a protest would undoubtedly be mutiny. The first to move would earn herself more than a public flogging.<br />“Ready! Strip three!” Practised fingers reached back to bra fastenings, surreptitious glances sliding sideways, seeking but not finding support for resistance. Almost before the idea sank in, every prisoner was bare breasted, eighteen nervously jiggling pairs of creamy white tits, cool air prickling nipples of every shade from pink to russet.<br />“Now you are like bush women,” Saida chuckled richly. “White bush women!” She prowled up and down the three lines, slapping her leather quirt rhythmically against her boot, a sound that in the sudden silence struck hopeless chill into the hearts of her charges.<br />“Very well. At the command ‘Strip four!’ you will remove that last rag and then stand to attention. You will be fast and decisive because the last one to stand naked will get my whip across her arse!”<br />“Ready! Strip four!”<br />A brief second of hesitation, fingers reaching and fumbling indecisively. Then Crackkk! Crackkk! Crackkk! interspersed with shrieks of pain. Saida hadn’t waited for a rebel, she was making an example at random.<br />Alexandra Boyd, the tallest and most dignified of the women prisoners, was writhing in the Lioness’s grip, held by the hair with its convenient ponytail. Her bare breast were bouncing and swinging inelegantly as she was held helplessly across the black woman’s out-thrust thigh. Alexandra, abandoning dignity, squealed out her intention to demonstrate compliance while the Lioness, disregarding her assertions, alternately dealt out fierce blows and ripped the flimsy fabric down Alexandra’s thighs.<br />With their companion’s shrieks in their ears, the other women had all wriggled out of their knickers even before Saida thrust her sobbing victim back into her place, similarly stripped. They saw the Governess straighten, whip in hand and, as one woman, quickly stepping out of the crumpled twists of white cotton at their ankles, they added them to the growing pile of material at their feet as if fearing to be caught in possession.<br />“Attention!”<br />The Governess let her leonine gaze sweep across the wide-eyed prisoners, nakedly paraded before her, white skins looking all the more naked for the sunburned effect of necks, forearms and legs.<br />“Hands upon heads!” She walked along the ranks examining the intimacies now fully displayed. “I will have no conceited notions of modesty. You were sent here to be re-educated. That is, taught to accept your changed status. No longer privileged white ladies enjoying the fruits of colonial exploitation of our people, you are convicted female felons who must learn to be humble before the black people who are your superiors.” She gave them a last sweeping glance.<br />“Instructress, continue the exercise!”<br />“Legs astride! Arms raised! Bending and touching toes! Go!”<br />Eighteen pairs of thighs parted wide, this time with no skirts to restrict them. Eighteen pairs of white arms were raised, breasts up-lifting sharp-nippled. Eighteen bare bottoms were prominently displayed as they dipped again to touch their toes. Several pairs already sported red lines and three gruesome whip wheals in one case, where Alexandra whimpered as her bottom flesh was stretched by her efforts.<br />Up! Down! Up! Down! Suddenly the ranks lost poise and rhythm as some of the women bending to touch their toes, sighted from between their legs in that revealing pose, a black boy of some ten or eleven years of age who had entered the hall. Perhaps on an errand to the Governess, he had slowed almost to a halt as he passed behind them, gawping open-mouthed.<br />Crackkk! Crackkk! Crackkk!<br />Responding squeals. “Do you think yourselves too good for the eyes of black people? You will learn not to be so modest!”<br />The prisoners, bobbing up and down, hastily resumed, quivered but dared not falter again. Humiliating as their position was, it would be more so to be thrashed in front of the boy.<br />“Up!” All came erect together, breasts jiggling, daylight between their legs, pubic bushes prominent below white bellies, faces flushed, eyes seeking anxiously for onlookers.<br />“Down!” Down they all went, eighteen pairs of breasts swung and bounced, eighteen sets of bottom cheeks turned uppermost, eighteen pairs of ponytails spilled downwards almost to sweep the dust.<br />Crackkk! The admonishing cane sounded smartly un-deadened by skirt or knickers. “Keep your knees straight, Two two one!”<br />Over and over the white bodies bent and straightened, strained and stretched, split and bobbed. Mouths began to gasp, breasts to heave, sweat to run down the most intimate bodily channels. Periodically the cane smacked wetly on sweat slicked flesh as the Instructress caught one slower or slacker than the rest. The Governess stood watching. When at last the Instructress allowed the squad to rest, she summoned her aides and indicated the prisoner’s discarded garments. “Remove those rags and burn them!”<br />The sixteen naked white women were paraded exhausted and panting, apathetically watching as their old uniforms were burnt before their eyes. Afterwards they discovered with a shock that the neat pile of fresh khaki consisted of sixteen pairs of men’s sized army issue shirts and nothing more.<br />“We must keep those tender white skins from the sun,” Saida pronounced while a wardress handed out one each. “Full dress uniforms will be prepared eventually, but they will only be issued for special occasions. These will be your ordinary working uniforms.”<br />“Attention! Dismiss! You may dress!”<br />As they went out, each was obliged to make the usual curtsey to the Governess and in this way were made immediately aware of how much care had to be employed in picking up the edges of the shirt-tails or the curtsey if they were not to reveal their entire lack of underwear.<br />That had all been a long time ago.<br /><br />Chapter Eleven<br /><br />It was with glasses and sweat-beaded glass jug on a silver tray Alice entered the roof pavilion to which Saida had summoned her. “I need a house girl,” the black woman had said when she had taken Alice back to her office and finished her inspection. “I shall train you.”<br />She found the Governess and her visitor seated at ease in long cane chairs in the cool shade of the veranda. He was a long-limbed man, very black, wearing a skullcap and a long, spotlessly white gown. Before them upon a glass topped table was scattered with maps and papers.<br />“Only Alice, my house girl,” Saida reassured the visitor who had made an instinctive gesture towards the maps. “She understands no language but English and has no contact beyond the gates.” The man nodded, his equanimity restored.<br />Ferried ashore by the local fishermen, he was obviously not a refugee and the Governess had immediately made the correct connection with the mysterious airship. She treated him accordingly as an envoy. He had addressed her first in Swahili and then in English and, finding her English adequate, switched easily back and forth.<br />Sinking back into his chair he examined the newcomer with detachment as she pattered forward barefoot, bobbing a sort of curtsey to his hostess and setting down the drinks on the table between them, carefully filled the two glasses from the jug. The girl he saw was young, white and almost completely naked. Her sole covering was a G-string not much more than a shoelace, except where it supported a tiny triangular scrap of leather just big enough to conceal her pudenda. Two spots of red on her cheeks and a sideways glance with a flash of blue eyes under lowered lashes were her only acknowledgement of the stranger’s presence.<br />“My boots, girl!” The Governess extended one leg outwards in her servant’s direction.<br />There was plenty of room for the natural mode of approach but the girl didn’t seem to consider it. Instead she swung about, turning her back on her mistress and straddling the out-stretched leg, crouched and gripped the boot with two white hands. This way she pushed rather than pulled, bent over with her round bottom in the air. She thrust it seemed in vain at first, her bottom bobbing, the tautened leather thong biting deep into the soft flesh of her hips and almost disappearing between the cheeks. The calf length boots were tight fitting and the angle of attack awkward.<br />“No vigour in these white sluts!” The Governess eyed him, amused. “They need constant direction!” She lifted her other booted foot, placing the toe deliberately between the curves of Alice’s bottom cheeks. The white girl’s face flamed, but she braced herself without attempting to evade the gritty boot toe lodged just upon the bud of her anus, the triangle of boot toe spreading soft flesh apart.<br />Saida’s leg straightened inexorably. Alice hissed, the sound growing almost into a squeal, but she clung dutifully to the woman’s boot. Saida grunted. Alice was bent into a curve by the thrust up her behind. The teenager made no attempt to save herself as the boot shot off. She went tumbling forward, almost head over heels, still clutching the boot to her breast.<br />“The other one!” Blonde hair escaping from its complicated knot, youthfully pointed breasts jiggling, Alice scrambled back to deal with the second boot being waggled impatiently by her mistress. She used exactly the same technique, though this time her mistress had only bare toes to provide the impulse. Under colour of settling herself, Saida took her time inserting them in the youthful bottom cleft.<br />“Don’t wriggle so, you stupid girl!” The black woman snatched up a small cane from the table and added a smart crack across the bobbing bottom that gave added impetus to the jerk.<br />Alice picked herself up of the matting and gathered up the two boots, panting and breathless.<br />“Bring a plate of fruit, girl!” Bobbing obediently, the girl disappeared indoors.<br />“So the tsunami which devastated the mainland shores gave you less trouble here!” The visitor resumed their conversation, making a broad gesture over the map. “You are by far the best organised survivor community in this area.”<br />“We had plenty of warning to evacuate the lower parts.” Saida looked thoughtfully at the map. “The sea rose quite gently, almost submerging the island, but hardly breaking at all. The island rises very steeply from the ocean deeps.”<br />He nodded. “Evacuation only made things worse in most other parts of the world. It put an extra strain upon the survivors. The salt deposits from the flood and from the rains caused disaster to agriculture everywhere. Even where the land was irrigated from deep-water sources and so recovered more quickly, the food was quickly exhausted by the hordes of starving refugees. Only in places remote from population centres could the farmers survive and keep enough seed to plant in the next season. The disruption to the climate even ruined many of those attempts.”<br />As if in response to his assertion, the young slave girl Alice reappeared, this time with a brass tray loaded with a selection of neatly cut pieces of fruit, which she laid between them in a hastily cleared space. Bending so, her pert young breasts cherry tipped jiggled at the visitor’s eye level. She was slender and nubile, if barely so.<br />“How old is Alice?” he smiled, aware of Saida’s scrutiny.<br />“Fifteen. The daughter of one of our female convicts. Sent to a state orphanage with her young brother when their parents were sentenced. Her mother is a troublesome slut. The former Governor ruined himself over her. He had the two brats sent here. Some plan to use them to win the mother’s co-operation. Under the old law I became their legal guardian. The boy is out there somewhere. They tell me he endeavours to darken his exposed parts to blend in. Which reminds me, I must make arrangements to have him neutered before he gets among the women.”<br />The visitor nodded approvingly. “This human sterility will last a few years yet according to our calculations, but it’s as well not to leave these things to chance. We disapprove of the preservation of redundant races. But what happened to your ex-chief? Did he get his wish?”<br />“It was his downfall. He was posted elsewhere to remove him from temptation. But he left us a useful legacy. We too had trouble with salt.” Saida had noted his surprise at the fresh fruit. “The deep cisterns were nearly full and when the salt rains began we blocked the inlets so that it remained pure. The prison also functioned as an experimental farm and the former director was developing salt- resistant plants for use in the campaign against desertification. Though he left the island before the Catastrophe, there was a stock of seed remaining and the sea proved so enormously productive after the upheaval as to see us through.”<br />“A fortunate series of circumstances and well judged responses!” the visitor complimented her. “You should reflect deeply upon that fact!”<br />The Governess nodded. Marked out by fate had been his pitch. She had been one of the chosen. It seemed to be a religious fanatic’s notion, but he said that his masters had different identities and ideologies in different places, the soldiers of Khali, the servants of Gaia, the Hands of God, and many others, even some who purported to be directed by extra-terrestrial supervisors, some aware of their greater purpose, some only useful tools, but united in the aim of return the world to a simpler past; then his own masters the Hidden empire. Accepting their aim and with their assistance she could become a regional overlord and make her own little world to her own rules! Subject to continuing to follow their precepts of course.<br />“No cities or towns survive and we would have it remain so. But many families, individuals and small groups survive as chance dictated. People who found hidden stores overlooked by looters, animal food easily scavenged or even preyed upon other humans. Here and there larger groups survive as on this island and all these need to be organised, kept an eye upon, given reliable leaders who will see that don’t fall into the old erroneous ways. You are like a Queen to the people here. With our backing you could be an Empress on the mainland.”<br />Saida’s eyes glittered. The idea of a larger stage upon which to exercise power appealed to her. “These weapons you will provide. Are they proof against the bugs? Do your employers have a cure?” she asked the question suspiciously. Who knew where the bugs came from?<br />“No. What is done is done! But we have means of working round them. The weapons fire darts and are dependent upon gas cylinders, which only we can supply. You will not find refills in any abandoned armoury. Though you might manufacture your own poison darts, they will not be so efficient. In return, as long as we supply you, we will expect you to destroy all the machinery that you come across and more particularly, to destroy those who have the knowledge of how to re-create such machines.”<br />The house-girl advanced bobbing nervously. Saida turned in her chair. “Yes, what is it?”<br />The white girl seemed to sink into the floor, but she was only going on her knees before her mistress.<br />“Please ma’am. Please may I p-piss?” She made the request with a red face in a tone of desperation. The Governess fished out of the neck of her uniform shirt a tiny key on a gold chain. Directing her forefinger at the girl she described a half circle with it in the air.<br />The crouching teenager obeyed the finger, turning herself about as Saida reached forward to insert the key and turn it. The visitor gazed curiously at the girl’s backside turned towards him where she knelt. The leather thong of the G-string ran invisible between her bottom cheeks, which he noticed, displayed a faint criss cross of faded wheals. Where it emerged as a thin string it was fastened to the two similar strings spanning her hips, in a trio of brass rings inter-connected by a tiny brass padlock. The three rings fell easily apart leaving red lines where the strings had clung, but the triangular leather patch remained obstinately in place strings dangling. He wondered at it for a second, but then the girl ducked forward, parting her thighs and thrusting up her rump. Bending her head, she reached between her legs to gather the dangling strings in her small fist and give them a jerk. The fist came up holding the leather triangle and attached to it several inches of black dildo, still glistening with her secretions.<br />An audible hiss of relief escaped the girl’s lips and she sprang up, poised to flee. Her mistress checked her sharply. “There is a visitor present!” Flustered, the girl turned with the flicker of a grimace and, keeping her blue eyes lowered, curtseyed dutifully to him and only then, bolted. He swallowed hard on the piece of fruit he had been chewing.<br />“A pretty girl of her kind,” he observed. “Do you keep her like that all the time?”<br />The Governess looked severe. “There is an excess of women on the island and the men are consequently used to having their way. I keep her locked up to prevent temptation. White is an ugly colour, but novelty always wins attention. Sexual relations with the prisoners are illegal.”<br />“There are no laws in force now,” the man reminded her.<br />“I say what laws shall be kept here,” Saida declared. She looked towards the door through which the house-girl had departed, then at her visitor. “What kind of ideology are we expected to adopt to gain your master’s sponsorship?”<br />“What you please,” he said smiling. “As you say, the laws are yours to make. There are several traditions that we sponsor or co-operate with. The only unifying principal is a determination to take this opportunity to return to pre-industrial simplicity and thus make a new start. Our alliances are merely of those of convenience wherever it will prevent a resumption of the false path of science and industrialism. Provided that you don’t attempt to rise above the level of rural simplicity, nor employ anything more elaborate than a water wheel or ox-cart, you may rule unhindered by whatever rules you wish. You might make laws for a whole country.”<br />“But what use would it be? Will there be such a country in future to make laws for?” Saida’s caution snapped at last. “We have had no babies born here since the Catastrophe, nor heard of any on the mainland, not even to whites!”<br />“That is the most powerful weapon we have to give you; we can restore that fertility to those whom we approve of and with our guidance you can convey this blessing to those who follow you. As time goes on it will be restored without need for intervention, but you will be accepted by then.”<br />The white slave-girl returned her G-string in hand. With it back in place and re-locked she seemed reassured, as if somehow she was less naked.<br /> “You are an effective trainer,” the visitor commented, licking fruit juice from his fingers. “Your little troupe below would be very effective as a circus act. My employers as you call them, have a taste for that sort of thing. A weakness even. Sometimes our vessel comes across survivors from beyond the tropics, fleeing the ice and snow. It is not in our interests that they be allowed to stray where they will. If you can use the females here, we can be sure they are safely bestowed.”<br />Saida nodded, preoccupied, she still had a startled look, pondering the potent effect of being able to promise a posterity to all her followers.<br />“If fertility is restored to the world, then will it not get out of your hands eventually? You cannot patrol forever, surely.”<br />The man shook his head. “No need. The effect was designed to reoccur wherever humans congregate again in large groups. The out-break point is a population of about one thousand, more or less. Ensure that your people live in small, dispersed villages and all will continue to be well.”<br /><br />Later, as Saida was escorting him to the canoe which would return him to the airship, they paused at the head of the steps that led down the cliff to the boat harbour. “What would have happened,” she asked, “if you had simply disappeared on your mission, dropped overboard somewhere between the airship and the shore?”<br />Smiling, he looked up searching the sky and then pointed.<br />“A sea bird?” She watched it circling, stiff winged, high above and looked at him quizzically. “Not just a bird?”<br />“My employers like to keep track of their representatives for several reasons.” he said, grinning. “Their methods of control were quite crude at first. Now as the world settles more to their requirements they are more subtle.”<br />“Once fertility is restored with your help,” Saida asked, “why should these local leaders remain loyal?” She was expecting dire warnings of powerful retribution.<br />He took a moment to assure himself that no one remained within hearing. “Long life,” he said simply. “We have the means to prolong life, too. The world could not have sustained it before. Even now it cannot be for common use, but to be a loyal executive is to be one of the chosen. To be one of the chosen is to live beyond the common span.”<br />Saida went so far as to bow. “I would very much like to meet these superiors of yours and make them welcome. I hope to satisfy their requirements.”<br /><br />Chapter Twelve<br /><br />The tropical dusk had fallen and flaring torches illuminated the fortress courtyard. The visiting strangers brought by the airship which rested offshore, looming large over the small harbour, had been feasted on the best the island could offer and were now seated on a row of chairs on either side of the entrance steps. Around the walls squatted the rest of the island’s inhabitants, young and old, male and female eager to see how their visitors were entertained. It might have been the visit of an explorer’s ship to some newly discovered atoll.<br />“Now for your amusement,” the Governess announced, standing before them like a ring mistress introducing a circus act. “My tame white women will give a demonstration of how their kind used to excite their men.”<br />The visitors nodded but their blank yellow-brown faces remained enigmatic as the black negotiator translated her words.<br />The Governess had got together with the drill mistress. She had been the mistress of a European businessman of depraved habits. When he had abandoned her, she had turned whore and then night-club dancer. She had been convicted of murdering a rival and sent to the island originally as a convict. Under her direction the prisoners had been set to producing a new costume. The components were largely obtained from the yellow men in the airship by way of trade in exchange for food and sewn up by the prisoners themselves in the prison workroom.<br />Musicians struck up a throbbing, wailing rhythm. The sixteen white women marched forward, arms swinging in military style and formed up in a double line. They were fully clad in uniforms of light khaki as smart as those of the wardresses, the skirt narrow and mid calf length. Only the sheer black stockings and high-heeled sandals struck a less prim note. Their long hair was caught back from the face by a leather strap and then allowed to stream down their backs. In the centre of the open space they halted.<br />“One!”<br />Mechanically they went into their routine, well trained, following the rhythm of the music.<br />The blouse had brass buttons down the front. Four buttons were undone, one by one, the blouse was shrugged off one bare shoulder and then the other, held together at the breast for a count of three, then let go. The blouse slid down white arms to briefly disclose white breasts jiggling softly in black lace brassieres as the women thrust their chests forward. Their right hands across the chest caught the sliding blouse and whisked it round to the front, dangled from red-nailed fingers. Sixteen white arms extended at the same moment to drop the garments vertically to their feet.<br />“Two!”<br />Both hands shot behind them and paused in the small of their backs. There had been a shortage of zippers. Quick female fingers plucked out a neat bow and the demure skirt fell apart at the rump, slithering down curved hips. Fingers flicked in unison right then left and the skirts slid, crumpling about sixteen pairs of ankles. One step back, two steps in time to the thud of the drum and a quick flick of the toe threw the garment clear and left the women on display in black bra and knickers with a scarlet garter belt, its long tapes down white thighs supporting the black tops of the stockings.<br />“Three!”<br />Manipulating the stockings was a more complicated affair. Along the double row, the women extended right legs, toes pointed. Their owners bent straight over stretching slim white arms forward and downward to unclip the stocking top, rolling it swiftly on down the leg. Bending heads cascaded hair like silken curtains over shoulders and breasts as the stocking slid clear together with the sandal.<br />Back upright then, a full toss of the head sent all the varied waves of hair back into place. For a moment each woman had one leg black, the other white; then they bent swiftly again to repeat the movement and unpeel the second stocking.<br />For the white women tension eased in one aspect at least. The tricky bit had been passed without a serious slip. Tension of a different sort replaced it. Their instructress had bullied them unmercifully for weeks. “You white sluts! You’ve become careless with nothing but a shirt to wear! I’ll teach you how a female can interest an audience in her!” They had not been fully dressed for a very long time and it revived instincts long suppressed. The business of removing it again for the mere amusement of an audience of men was bringing up all kinds of unwelcome feelings.<br />The garter belt on four was easy, its removal revealing nothing not on view already. They steadied at that, all keeping exact time as sixteen arms extended to drop the lacy scrap from finger and thumb onto the growing pile.<br />“Five!”<br />Now they came to what might be expected to excite a male audience. The bra came first. They reached back with white arms to unclip the fastenings. The musical accompaniment gave the cue and the timing. The bra loosed, one hand held it to the breasts while the other slid the straps from each shoulder in turn. The line of women bowed slightly as they had been taught, ensuring that their breasts hung freely within the curve of concealing hand and forearm. A crescendo in the music gave the signal and their sixteen forearms swept clear, dropping the black bra to one side as the women straightened. Sixteen pairs of white breasts bounced naked into view, aureoles darkly reddened with nipples prodding sharply as the women made little simultaneous dance steps.<br />Applause from the audience, licked lips and reddening faces among the prancing performers as they felt the horrid effect of what was required of them. To act so lasciviously before a randy male audience never failed to arouse an unwilling excitement. This was the point at which most of them had been thrashed at one time or another. They had all got past that now. Naked but for their knickers, the sixteen women turned and wriggled in unison like so many erotic mannequins.<br />Sixteen pairs of feminine thumbs slid into the hip-bands of their knickers, sixteen pairs of hips squirmed slowly in time to the wailing flutes, white bellies revolving as the performers slowly thrust downwards, strutting in a little circle to display the emerging bottom cheeks bared to view. They poised motionless for a second, looking back over their shoulders at the audience but carefully unfocussed, with the roll of lacy fabric stretched in a bar across the tops of their thighs. Coming round to face the silent men they all thrust downwards simultaneously, the limp lace descending instantly to the ground, the line of females bending almost double contrived to still obscure what they had uncovered. <br />For three drum beats they all posed so, then with a crash of percussion they shot upright in a wave of naked white female bodies, twirling round with long hair flicking out, arms up-curved and pelvises thrusting, legs wide, everything briefly revealed before they turned, melding their lines into a single one, naked bodies closely packed, one behind the other, hands on hips and torso arched, nipples poking the shoulder blades in front and bottoms thrust backward to be cupped by the loins of the one to the rear. Like a wriggling white caterpillar the jogging line disappeared this way, back the way they had come.<br />Afterwards the Governess took her guests upon a tour of the fortress and then, at their invitation, across the harbour to dine and drink in the Airship. Meanwhile the rest of the audience poured out onto the beaten earth before the prison gate.<br />As darkness fell, a circle of fires illuminated this wide expanse of hard trodden earth between the main gate and the clustered huts of the village. The whole population of the island now filled this irregular space which constituted the village meeting place, in holiday mood to drink and shriek and dance, excited by the visitors’ presence and the free show. The music of flutes and drums was supplemented by the rhythmic slapping of dusky palms. All were jogging and prancing, the women in gaudy wraps newly acquired from the visitors by way of trade, the men more uniformly clad, clutching long sticks in imitation of spears. Children capered around the edges of the crowd in excited emulation. The half- grown boys, former delinquents, swaggered among the men. Old crones jogged as ardently as any while grizzled elders, spindle-shanked old men added their palms to the beating rhythm with solemn enthusiasm.<br />Out of the confused melee a double line would suddenly form, one of men opposite one of women. The women clutched fronds of green palm or other leaves, the men brandishing their sticks to the mock alarm of the women. The lines surged forward and back in a thudding rhythm of stamping feet, the men grunting, the women ululating. They closed the last few feet in a rush of excitement, the men yelling ferociously as if in passion and fury, only to leap in the air grinning as the women spun about, shrieking in mock terror.<br />Soft darkness swiftly closed in upon the fire lit expanse, leaving only a few vague shapes of hut roofs and palm fronds outlined against the stars. The dancers were a medley of people thrown together by brutal chance. Ex-prisoners and guards, refugees and fishermen, but their initial stiffness soon dissolved in the enthusiasm of the dance.<br />The oldest dancers and the very young began to drop out of the dance, reverting to the status of spectators. The rhythm and power of the music intensified with a corresponding rise in the energy and abandon of the sweating dancers. The musicians encouraged the mood, egging on the crowd with repeated refrains taken up by the spectators.<br />A stir and giggle on the fringes of the scene announced the arrival of participants more reluctant. The white women were still in the state to which they had been reduced by their strip show. Urged on by their wardresses, themselves out of uniform but still potently equipped with their canes, the prisoners were formed in the same wriggling caterpillar line, naked bodies moving intimately in contact one behind the other. <br />Hitherto under the regime of the Lioness, the slave women had been strictly kept from any action that might result in sexual release. Regularly exposed under humiliating circumstances and mercilessly disciplined in public, they had found the strain of watching male eyes particularly destabilising. Having feared, half-expected, to be made to submit at last to the sexual use of the visiting strangers, they were still in a state of nervous arousal. Conspicuous in their white skinned nakedness among the brightly dressed black dancers, although almost inured by now to the public exhibition of their shame, proximity to so many staring strangers made them reluctant to dissolve their line. Mercilessly driven by their giggling escorts, the naked line shuffled and stamped with mechanical obedience in a wobbling caterpillar procession through the throng of laughing, shrieking, black villagers.<br />Instinctively the white women conformed to the rhythm of the music and therefore, whether they like it or not, to the pattern of the other dancers. Their naked bodies rubbed and brushed against those of their neighbours’ front and back until they began to twist and wriggle quite involuntarily. As if the tension had grown too much for them, they turned and fell apart into individuality, becoming a mere straggle of isolated white bodies dancing between the black lines male and female, which closed in before and behind them.<br />The naked whites faced men and women in turn, the helpless butt of each. The men approached with leaps and yells, prodding with their sticks at vulnerable flesh. The women coming in when the men fell back used their palm fronds with shrewdly aimed flicks. The white women shied from each in turn with increasing yelps and squeals.<br />The steps and actions of the dance were not difficult to pick up, though as it went on and on, it forced another relaxation of inhibitions from the hapless white novitiates. The short jerky stamping steps culminating in a brain-stunning thump of the heels, made necessary an undulating thrust of the hips that exactly simulated the action of sexual intercourse. The chant that went with it, a series of short syllabic sounds uttered with a grunting expiry of breath, compelled shallow and rapid breathing to keep pace. Together they brought further light headedness, so that as time passed the line of white women were quickly reduced to a state of dazed acquiescence in what was happening to them.<br />The dance settled to a steady rhythm. Participants began to drop in or out of the performance, knowing from experience that dancing would go on for hours yet. The drummers changed and re-changed without the beat faltering for an instant. Earthenware jars inscribed on their sides with oriental characters were being passed from hand to hand among the crowd. The dancers swigged from the jars and passed them on between steps, not missing a beat. They were thrust upon the white women, too. Their bodies were running with sweat and they had already drunk eagerly of whatever came to hand, mostly local beer. The stuff in the jar was whisky or something close. It was fiery stuff and after such long abstention went immediately to their heads.<br />On into the tropical night, hour after hour the dance went on, never ending. By now the relays of drummers had achieved an element of control over the dancers. The dazed white women followed the rhythm with slavish obedience. The wardresses had long since tired of their charges and, shedding their uniforms, had melted into the general crowd, drinking and dancing themselves. No longer a coherent group, its members having sagged away to recover and been driven back and compelled to continue, they had been broken up in this irregular fashion into ones and twos.<br />With knowing glances shot from beneath brows dripping with sweat, the expert drummers set out to induce the dancing women to respond like zombies as if they were wired to the beat. Frenetic male dancers began to work their way in among the most glassy-eyed of the women, bending close as they danced to whisper into a female ear, first one side then the other.<br />In these celebrations the local people had been accustomed to see participants dance themselves into a state of self-hypnosis, carried away by the uninhibited output of energy, the unrelenting over-breathing and the dizzy thudding of their heels on hard ground. It wasn’t the custom to allow their women to reach this state, since the dangerous trance-like condition created a kind of sexual suggestibility that could temporarily over-ride social conditioning and tribal taboos. Now and then, as one or other of the local females showed the danger signs, her friends or relatives would intervene to remove her from the dance. So suggestible were they by that point that no more than a gentle pressure was needed.<br /> It might be that their tipsy guards felt that the conspicuousness of white skins would keep them from straying very far, but no one thought to intervene on behalf of the white women. <br />By now the captives would have made a savage and indecent spectacle themselves, had any sober eye been present. Forced by the unrelenting rhythm of the drum into a state resembling sexual possession, they threw themselves into the most grotesque and lewdest style of dancing, eyes wide and unfocused, or half closed and heavy lidded. Heels thud-thudding in little puffs of dust produced an endless jerk and pump of the pelvis that had become an invitation. Breasts bounced heavily, long hair clung in damp tendrils about face and shoulders. Everything was laid wide, mouths, loins, hands lifted palms outermost as if in demonstration of defencelessness.<br />Judith was dancing alone, having lost touch with all her companions. Feeling herself drowning in the waves of sound, unable to rescue herself, tossed this way and that, possessed by the dance, she had forgotten all her anger and humiliation and become indifferent to her fate. Some little part of her mind still registered alarm, yet languor seemed to possess her and paralysed her will. Escape was an abstract idea to which her limbs had simply failed to respond. Dancing ever more wildly to the dictate of the drums, she seemed to lose contact with the ground. Though she still stamped and danced it was as if upon a layer of cotton wool, the drums alone seemed to support her, keeping her upright, keeping her dancing. The fire-lit crowd of dancers about her had dissolved in a red mist. It grew deeper, until she danced in it as if disembodied, she felt rather than heard, the rhythm of the drums repeated in her pounding veins. Voices whispered in her ear like messages from her own brain. The words didn’t really register but the meaning was clear, drawing her forward. Still dancing like an automaton, it was as if an aisle had opened in the red mist, down which she danced.<br />Then suddenly without knowing how or why she was there, she was before the open doorway of one of the huts and a naked black man held her by the wrist, leading her forward. Teeth gleaming in his black face, he gestured vividly towards the interior of the hut. Excitement suffused her for no reason that she could remember.<br />The collapse of a log behind her blazed up the fire and sent red reflections that highlighted the rippling muscularity of his body, slab-chested, broad shouldered, and narrow hipped. Judith drank in his masculinity with widened eyes as if it satisfied a nagging ache, her breath coming in quick tumultuous gasps. Below his flat belly the sudden firelight showed the prodding length and thickness of his half-erected penis. She recognised the reason for her excitement unashamedly and followed his commanding gesture without a qualm, ducking under the low lintel into the darkness of the hut with absolute certainty of purpose, her mind still filled with the lingering image of overwhelming masculinity.<br />Hands caught her in the dark, large masculine hands expecting docility, guiding her down, blinded by the darkness, onto a hard packed, clean-swept earth floor.<br />“Fuck … me … Ohhh … fuck …me …” she moaned breathlessly. The ripe smell of male arousal was mingled with wood smoke and the tang of cow dung. It almost overwhelmed her and she wriggled excitedly out of his immediate grasp only to roll upon her back on the floor. The hot dark interior of the hut throbbed with the insistent drumming, hardly diminished by distance. Flickers of red light from cracks and gaps in the wattle walls served to pick out the man’s looming bulk as Judith’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. She spread her thighs wide, her arms lifted eagerly to the impending mass. This was what she had wanted! The thought blossomed in her swimming brain like a brilliant light. Why had she delayed? This was what she wanted. To be penetrated, to be opened up, to surrender herself to a man!<br />The hut reverberated with the man’s rumbling chuckle as he noted her invitation. Unwitting victim of self-hypnosis by a process more laborious but more insidious than any drug, tomorrow she might remember nothing of this, reverting to her normal self, but for this night Judith’s mind adapted to whatever notion her captor willed. She would be insatiable for him, eager to be his prey. Soft hands confirmed it, tugging at his muscle-corded arms and he allowed her to pull him down to her.<br />Guiding his cock one handed, he entered her. Judith writhed ecstatically as its swollen knob parted the lips of her slit like a hot wedge and then closed softly about its bulk so that they clung for an instant, soft feminine flesh exciting his stiff maleness. Desperate not to lose it, she made little encouraging excited whimpers, feeling his size and hardness about to pin her like a butterfly spread-eagled on a board. He grunted in satisfaction, reacting to her slow writhing by thrusting slowly deeper. He was as big as Judith had anticipated. She groaned in delight, lifting her bottom off the floor to meet his thrust, straining to get him to sink into her, her mind elated by the very thought of size and stiffness. <br />Hot, tight, creamily smooth, her reaction excited her black partner, ensuring in turn that his swollen member filled her all the more tightly. Long wavering gasps responded to his solid rhythmic surges as he sank into her, inch by inch. Judith’s voice rose higher and shriller as his black cock sank deeper, until at last the pink lips of her slot met the base of his cock and they came tight belly to belly in a joint lather of sweat and lust. She was clinging to the man now, arms about him, sharp nails digging into his shoulder blades, gripping tight while he fucked her. Glassy-eyed, she amplified her encouragement, words coming to her as if plucked out of the air.<br />“Yes …! Want it … Yes …! Love it … Lord … Master … Black man … Black man’s … cock …”<br />He built rapidly into the deep hard strokes. His enormous member filled and distended her channel with an effect that sent electric tremors through her entire body. At each deep entry she felt him hard up inside her. At each rippling withdrawal he pulled right back out to the bulbous end. Their intermingled cries and groans were equally frantic. More than once their joint thrusts became so wild that his whole length came out. Then Judith squealed in alarm and he cursed, laughing though, sure she would not escape him. The pair of them grappled panting and gasping, until they re-connected and he started again. The second time it happened, Judith lifted her legs and wrapped them firmly about his thrusting rump, determined to keep possession of him.<br />Within the tangle of black and white limbs, their bodies grew slippery with sweat, a lubricant between them, bellies and thighs slithering and smacking wetly. Eventually it spread further and Judith’s back and bottom were squirming in a slippery film of mud on the earthen floor. Big horny hands slid down under her muddy bottom rounds, assisting her to lift to his stroke.<br />Judith felt as if she would burst.<br />But it was rather her partner who burst.<br />He slammed hard into her and this time remained deep. He bellowed like a bull deep in his throat as the orgasm struck him. Judith gasped in dismay, clasping his member with every muscle as the oncoming bursts pumped into her in short thick rushes. This was what she had invited of course … What she had intended … Yet she was aware … it was not enough!<br />The man on top of her wallowed heavily, shuddering, coming to a stop. Then panting and gasping he levered himself clear and rolled off her onto his back, satiated and without a further care.<br />For a minute or two Judith sprawled panting on her back and feeling at a loss. She had performed faithfully, satisfied her partner. She deserved to be fucked properly, didn’t she? Tearfully, she rolled over and crawled on all fours over to her black stallion. Her eyes were used to the poor light now. With regret, she saw his huge cock dangling half collapsed against his thigh. She took it in one small white fist, feeling it react a little and its owner grunt complacently. It was still too limp to do her job, though. She tried to think for herself. Yes … She wanted more of it … more cock … needed more …! Encourage him. That was it!<br />The vision she had first seen in the firelight filled her dazed mind, which seemed only to have room for one idea at a time. The massive stallion thing she remembered was what was needed, not this snake-like object cupped in her palm.<br />She caressed it tentatively, crooning her desire while the amused black man, interest reviving, encouraged her with deep grunts. Sprawled across his legs she grew more and more excited by her idea. Encourage it … Stroke it … Kiss it … That was it! She lifted it. Her head bowed over it. Her mouth shaped an oval to kiss the rounded, dusky cone. Her tongue tip emerged, delicately touching here and there and finding the little slot in the end, probed into salty stickiness. Beyond the screen of her fallen hair the man snorted jerkily. Uncontrollable urges made Judith tremble in haste. Her tongue went further and further. She encouraged the burgeoning cock with both hands. She treated it like an ice cream cone, licking this way and that. Her tongue rounded the knob and over the wrinkle of foreskin, curling round the black knobbly barrel still slick with her own juices, until she reached its root and her cheek was laid against his belly. Ideas like whispered instructions started in her mind, inspiring her to further lasciviousness. Her soft hand slid down to caress his balls, nails sharp against the loose folds, soft palm hefting their weight. The solid black pillar of masculine flesh reared through her fingers and lifting her head she fixed her eyes upon its glossy crown paler than the rest.<br />Something impelled Judith to open her lips and then lean forward to engulf it. She would treat it like a lollipop. It filled her mouth more like a golf ball, but a warm and living ball that grew of its own accord and almost gagged her. Saliva ran down her chin. She snorted and gurgled wildly but made no attempt to draw back. She engulfed it inch by inch until it reached the back of her throat. She closed her lips firmly upon its thickness and began to suck, swirling her tongue around the irregular shape, her head going up and down. At the top of each rise she paused, holding the cock steady in her hand enough to take a deep breath and run her tongue around the rim before beginning to suck him again. By now the black man’s eyes were rolling and he was grunting and quivering. She was writhing as much as he, her knees planted wide apart on the floor and her rear end up-thrust and gyrating in excited circles.<br />She wailed in protest when the big hands suddenly plucked her from her position, before realising his intention. Hoisted over his loins, her wail turned into a squeal of anticipation. Now she would get what she wanted! Reaching down between her thighs, she grasped the throbbing pillar of male flesh. Two fingers and her thumb encircled the knob, directing it to its desired target as she squatted above him. She was too frantic to be skilful, but the warm, firm clasp of his big hands on her hips steadied and calmed her. She shuddered in delight as she felt the bulbous summit part her fleshy lips and push into an orifice gone suddenly wet and melting.<br />Standing up solidly to her descending weight, it was slowly driven up into her, with every inch under her control. Both of them were making noises now, the man deep in his chest, Judith shriller, almost squealing. Suddenly she felt her pubic bush meet his belly. She was all the way down and filled to bursting point. Throwing back her head, quivering in triumph, she clawed damp hair out of her eyes and squatted panting for a moment, filled with hard black cock.<br />The need for sensation drove her on. She had to have friction to stoke the fires. Slowly she began to rise, thrusting with splayed fingers at black thighs as solid as tree roots. The action tightened her grip upon his intrusion and made the withdrawal a delight of sensation to both. She rose, gasping in ecstasy, until she was almost vacated, with only the fat acorn shape still trapped within clinging slot-lips. Hardly pausing then, she sank back swallowing up the great black truncheon with a cry until she straddled the man’s loins. Eagerly she began to go up and down upon him, faster and faster until she was riding him as if for dear life.<br />Each now urged the other on, giving vent to noisy lust. Careless of her superimposed weight, Judith’s black partner humped upwards using all his powerful muscles. Judith was thrown up and down like a girl on a pony and rode hard in response, breasts bouncing, long hair sweeping about her shoulders. She used all her muscles to enhance the effect of his penetration, twisting and swivelling with mouth agape and eyes closed.<br />“Uhhh … So … So … Good …! Ahhh … Keep … Keep … Ahhh …!” she gasped wildly. The monster she was impaled upon dizzied her into incoherence. She felt as if she was riding for the winning post and it was only a dozen strokes away.<br />“Ahhh … eee … ahhh …!”<br />Just as she slackened rein, gaping and groaning in mid orgasm, the man beneath her rose with a volcanic roar, hurled her onto her back and rolling over on top, reversed their positions instantly.<br />Dazzled by her orgasm, she was forced to respond nevertheless, out of a sense of self-preservation and in no time began to find desire renewed in her, matching his bellows with gasping squeals of her own. Her knees lifted, pulled back and her ankles met and crossed tightly above his driving butt.<br />Once more they failed to coincide. The black man, reaching his limit, expended himself in a series of ecstatic thrusts that deprived Judith of all breath to protest when he rolled abruptly off her, this time kicking her away when she tried immediately to resume.<br />Frustrated and bewildered, Judith crawled in circles round the floor on hands and knees while the man drank copiously from the contents of an earthenware pitcher. The scanty furnishings of the hut included a low string-sprung bed upon which he cast himself heavily. Stumbling upon the pitcher herself, Judith drank eagerly and deeply, spilling some of it down her front. It was the local beer, yeasty but cool. It refreshed and further stimulated her.<br />She considered her kidnapper with impatience, his lolling, slackened cock with greed. She had tried to satisfy herself using her own fingers but somehow that didn’t seem to work, she was subject to hypnotic suggestions that had sunk deep and been specific. She heard him starting to snore. Suddenly the sight of such inertia maddened her. Flying at the comatose brute she shook him awake again. He turned over, grunting and slapped at her as if she had been a persisting mosquito. She shrank back momentarily, but lust overcame her fear and she flew at him, pummelling him angrily with small fists.<br />A bigger fist seized her wrists and another one her hair, shaking her hard as she continued to struggle. The man rose with a sudden spurt of angry energy, swinging his legs down from the bed and Judith found herself yanked across his lap, bottom upward. She shrieked in outraged protest. This wasn’t the reaction she had intended to arouse. Then humiliatingly, he began to spank her as if she were a delinquent child. The flat of his hand, as big as a paddle, came down hard across her squirming bottom. Judith shrieked harder, bucking against the restraining arm that pinned her across muscular thighs. The multiplying smacks raised a hot stinging pain that at least seemed to sink deep enough to counter the hot itch between her legs. She threshed wildly, without wholly knowing whether she did it from pain or excitement. Something was suddenly evident, prodding upwards from the hard male thighs and nudging at the base of her belly.<br />A couple more smacks and excitement was definitely gaining the edge. It engendered a ready submissiveness that given a clear head she might remember with shame. Right now she was only seeing the punishment as a harbinger of pleasure. Not that it wasn’t painful too, for the black man’s palm was hard and effective, even if the spanking became progressively less serious. Judith encouraged him unblushingly with breathless squeals, but her hand-spanked bottom squirmed more eloquently still, her thighs opening and closing, provocatively squeezing the summit of his rising cock.<br />She reached her second orgasm right there, wallowing across the black man’s lap, alternately grinding her pelvis down on his cock and squealing under the impact of his hand. By that time he was only play spanking her and before she had finished squalling her ecstasy, he was heaving her bodily off his lap and onto the bed. He set her down upon hands and knees this time, climbing up to kneel behind her. The bed creaked and twanged, its diamond web of ropes sagging so that Judith had to dig in with fingers and toes to keep herself steady. <br />Her shapely bottom was presented to her partner, the redness imparted by his hand not so obvious in the near darkness. Her long tapering thighs were parted wide and her back hollowed, making clear the offer of her openings to his use. Her anus was a dark ring that expanded and then tightened as she pushed back, the vulva bulged like an over-ripe fruit with its ragged split glistening red, tufted with light hairs below. His thick black forefinger prodded both in turn while Judith whimpered with renewed eagerness. The man closed with all this ripeness, directing his resurgent cock and parting the scalloped edges of the vulva with it. He paused with its knob buried in velvety warmth and Judith groaned in anticipation, open-mouthed, trembling from head to toe so that the bed lashings quivered.<br />He thrust slowly. She was slick from his prior use and he slid in easily. She gave a gasping wail but was forced to wait upon him patiently. She set herself to exert every muscle that would serve to increase her tightness for him. She took the grunt of appreciation that she heard as a personal triumph. He pulled out so slowly however that for a moment she feared he meant to leave her. Then just as she panicked, he rammed back in, forcing a squeal in place of a protest. His big hands steadied her, cupping her bottom, awakening a resurgence of pain. It made her wriggle and squeal, but that too served to excite him further. <br />In this leisurely style the islander began to fuck his lust crazed Englishwoman once again. Little gasps and groans came from her as she did her best at every thrust to trap his thickening organ lest it escape. The pace increased almost imperceptibly, keeping Judith incoherent and building her exquisitely slowly, stroke by stroke, towards a jelly-quivering climax. Impaled by the steadily reaming cock she mewled and wailed in uninhibited orgasm, clinging to the bed with curled fingers and toes, feeling as if her insides had melted.<br />The man had his own timetable, though. He kept on pounding faster and faster into her. The bed shuddered and creaked beneath them. For long minutes Judith responded only feebly out of duty and fear of being spanked again, then the relentless build up re-commenced. She recovered and passed swiftly from one orgasm into the build-up to another, but then the man reached his firing point too soon, overlapping her once more and leaving her gasping and unsatisfied all over again.<br />Once again she tried to prevent his retiring from her, clinging to him and alternately pleading and protesting.<br />His response was to throw her out. Literally! She was seized by one arm and one leg and pitched bodily through the hut door. Sprawled sobbing disconsolately in the dirt, she heard him guffaw as he retreated within and dragged the door shut behind him.<br />The hut was set back a little from the rest of the village and the edge of the bush loomed like a black wall close behind it, the tall palms casting fingers of shadow. Rolling over with an angry sob, Judith sensed that someone was near at hand. The moon was bright but the shadows were confusing. A dark shape, only identifiable as human by the whites of the eyes, stared at her from the edge of the bush. At a hiss of words two figures detached themselves more substantially from the shadows by the hut wall and closed in upon her.<br />“A white!” Judith was seized by the arms as she struggled to rise to her knees, her white body gleaming like marble in the moonlight. “Come! Give you good fucking!” She dithered, looking back towards the tight closed hut, torn between the masculinity left behind and the sexual incitement of these unknown night wanderers.<br />“Come!” Her hand was guided to a live penis of such promising proportions that she put up little further resistance.<br />“Good fucking!” youthful voices insisted. They half led, half shoved her, one with a firm grip on her long hair. Confused and still tearful, but compliant to a stronger will she went with them through a tunnel of bushes in the dark, over a fence, half hoist, half thrust by eager hands, and then across some kind of lawn dappled with moonlight. The side of a building loomed up with gravel underfoot, a black square turned out to be an open window, with a low sill easily negotiated.<br />“Good fucking!” They repeated the promise like grooms soothing a nervous mare. Somehow she had acquired a sort of halter, a rope noose around her neck, by which she was jerked inexorably forward, following her escorts in scrambling over the sill.<br />Pushed and groped by many hands in what to her at first, was pitch darkness, Judith crouched trembling, nostrils flared, catching the thick reek all about her of the body odours of young males. The darkness only gradually resolved into half-seen structures and a shifting crowd of shadowy figures.<br />“A white!” she heard repeated with glee and the only words she understood, as a number of youthful voices argued and giggled over her. What she had blundered into she hardly knew but their tone of voice, evidently gloating over her acquisition, re-invigorated her excitement. She was on all fours, with a floor of polished wooden boards under her hands and knees and fastened by the neck to some unseen fixture. It was an unnecessary precaution. She accepted whatever arrangements of her body they desired and submitted herself co-operatively to the first comer.<br />The excited voices made a bewildering background accompaniment to the fucking, criticising, questioning and goading one another. Judith understood only that these youthfully vigorous bodies were well able to fill her need. The cocks that now thrust into her from behind, one after another, were smaller than the one she had followed from the dance, but they were in seemingly endless supply. Inexperience might lead to them giving her short fast fucks, but there was always another waiting to take over, slipping easily into the squelching wet orifice, well lubricated by his precursors. Growing practice made Judith skilful at getting the most out of them. <br /> Though her zombie-like state was beginning to be shot with moments of lucidity, she still retained a trace of its self-delusion. Shame and horror might teeter on the verge of emergence, but she still managed to persuade herself that she had made a rational choice in following this way of satisfying her needs. Her new possessors took her in bewildering succession, one after another, with hardly an interval between them and hardly a dip in the level of her excitement. <br />She achieved an orgasm that quite shattered her and then, just as her responses began to falter in consequence, there came a respite. There was a new flurry of arrivals and a lot of youthful sniggering. A thinning of the press of bodies revealed that Judith had a colleague. Another pale-skinned figure, glimmering in the dim light from the window, moved up to kneel almost hip-to-hip alongside her, as if their captors intended to make a contest of their performance.<br />There was work enough for two. Intoxicated by the lascivious masculinity that submerged them, the two women panted from orgasm to orgasm. They were worked through by the whole queue and then, by furious tonguing and sucking, brought some of the first-comers back up to scratch to begin again. Bodies eddied about them, going and coming almost invisibly in the dark, among them one showing paler than the rest mingled in the action, one more male cock unidentifiable among the rest.<br /><br />In the morning a search was made by grumbling, slow moving, wardresses, whom even the Lioness couldn’t speed to their duty.<br />The first to have succumbed, Judith, was the first to be recovered. She was found together with her sister Gillian, both too stiff and exhausted to move and both still tied by the neck to the uprights of a bunk in a dormitory of the juvenile reformatory, surrounded by innocently snoring inmates.<br />The rest of the prisoners had been similarly plucked as they came ripe, one by one, drawn out of the dance and led into the darkness to be used by whoever claimed them while the effects of the self-hypnosis lasted.<br />Lisa had been escorted as far as the fishing village by a solicitous group of young fishermen who settled on the beach alongside their boats and passed her from one to another throughout the night. She was discovered inside, within the home of one of the young men, still being humped, having been shaken awake at dawn and made to go back into action between his muscular thighs, while his ancient grandmother cooked breakfast for them outside the hut.<br />Gemma and Claire, the two youngest and juiciest of the prisoners, were taken in hand by the elderly expert who supervised the beach fishing. The widower did such a good job of arousal that the pair soon out-reached their mentor and, becoming too importunate, were ejected from his bed and eventually from his hut. Blundering about in the warm darkness of the bush they accidentally collided and rolled, clutching one another head to tail, among the piles that supported the raised floor. There, out of sight if not out of hearing, they remained until retrieved at daylight by the wardresses in a state of mutual exhaustion.<br />Jenny had been sneaked away by one of the wardresses, the ugly drill mistress whose iron will and unrelenting cane so ruled the demoralised white prisoners. She was no lesbian, however. Her interest in claiming Jenny was simply to use the white woman to attract village men to accompany her back to her quarters. The drill mistress’s idea had been that she would take the man while Jenny acted as a dummy third. The first man called in a friend, however, and then both men took it in turns to fuck both the drill mistress and Jenny too. Though ugly enough to need the enticement, the drill mistress was still jealous of the men’s preference and thrashed Jenny several times during the ensuing night of sex, when she felt that her white lure’s urgent soliciting of the men was making her too much of a rival. When the men flagged between sessions, the drill mistress had Jenny perform lesbian acts upon her as an appetiser.<br />An exhaustive search eventually rounded up all but one, Amanda, who had last been seen being carried in the darkness over the shoulder of an unidentified man.<br />She recovered consciousness after dawn in a dank wooden crib smelling strongly of fish, with her mind a blank as to how she got there. Trying to rise, she found herself lurching this way and that. She was lying under folds of stiff canvas among the bottom timbers of a boat, which was rising and falling in a seaway. Struggling towards the light, she crawled out from beneath a salt-impregnated sail into hot sunlight amid swooping shadows to find that she was aboard a fishing boat under sail, far out on the ocean under a cloudless sky. She squinted into the light where a row of dark hunched shapes like vultures stood out against the blue. It was a row of men perched along the high side of the boat, their grinning white teeth and rolling eyes in dark faces expressing their appreciation of their unusual catch. Still with a lingering effect of the night within her, she felt a strange mixture of excitement and shame as she saw the lust she had aroused in the crew.<br /><br />Two days later the same craft touched briefly upon an island beach and then, propelled by raggedly splashing oars, backed out into the open sea and hoisted sail again. Left behind on the sand, a naked pale skinned female figure, tangle haired and crawling on all fours, dragged herself clear of the waves.<br />By then the wrath of the Governess at the denouement of the dance-night abandonment had been made plain.<br />“You shameless white sluts, left unconfined, are clearly liable to lead our black men into disorder and debauchery!” the Lioness informed the wilting and blear-eyed slaves when finally rounded up and paraded before her. “Unattached black women are non-existent on this island and the numbers of male recruits for the army will swell the numbers of unattached men. There will be men among them base enough to resort to such as you and so make themselves easy meat for cunning sluts to work upon! I intend to control their future access to you and put a stopper in your works when they are not in service.”<br />The stopper part was a hardwood truncheon, two fingers thick and the length of a female forearm. The smoothly rounded head was inserted in the vagina to a finger’s depth at which point a hole pierced the shaft. A brass wire riveted to the back of a stout leather waist belt, then ran down between the bottom cheeks, passed through the hole drilled in the rod and up over the belly where it was fastened to the waist belt and secured by a padlock. Withdrawal of the pole was impossible and the taut wire made even buggery difficult, while the projecting pole, which waggled in full view under the scanty skirts of a uniform shirt, reminded every passing male of their status.<br />The control of access was preceded by a lesson in the penalties for promiscuous indiscipline. Judith was the first of those who had gone astray in the night, to be given her public whipping.<br />Two short thick wooden posts about waist high, each with a cross piece, had been set up in the bare space before the fortress gate, about afoot apart. Across the top of one, like a T, its stout crosspiece had a hollow cut in the centre and large staples hammered into the extremities. The stapled crosspiece of the other was fastened at ankle level. Unplugged and stripped naked before the crowd, the unfortunate culprit standing before the rear post had her ankles drawn far apart until she could barely touch the earth with her toes and fastened to the lower set of staples. She was made to bend forward to the other post until her torso was horizontal and her arms out-stretched for the wrists to be fastened at each end of the cross bar. In this way her belly was now resting firmly upon the top of the rear post with her body level and bottom elevated.<br />With her chin resting in the central hollow, Judith had a good view of most of the crowd and they of her. Most of the inhabitants of the settlement seemed to be present, of all ages and both sexes, as well as a lot of men from the new training camp. Public whippings were a new thing and the spectacle seemed to be being treated as an entertainment. She was conscious of the continuous murmur of comment. She didn’t even have the obscurity of falling hair to hide behind, for Saida herself had deprived her of that shelter, drawing Judith’s abundant tresses back from her hot cheeks and tying them back with a piece of leather. <br />All Judith’s senses were preternaturally heightened. Booted feet tramped purposefully and then there was a thump and rustle as the guards came to attention. From behind her, Saida’s voice rose clearly, reading something in the local language, punctuated by ooohs and aaahs from the crowd; then in English for the enlightenment of the trembling prisoners and most of all, Judith herself. “Twenty lashes!”<br />Time seemed to stand still for Judith. Sweat from her naked body was making damp trickles on the woodwork of the whipping post. Her limbs were held taut by the straps trembled with tension, muscles protesting. Half consciously her ears had been monitoring the buzz of the crowd who could see more than she. When they suddenly hushed she caught the hint at once. Gasping with fear she tensed herself every nerve quivering to detect the hiss of the descending whip.<br />Swishhh! She convulsed in terror, convulsing with a shriek against the unyielding timber.<br />Nothing happened. It had been nothing but a testing sweep of the whip in empty air, never touching her. But she found herself suddenly emptying her bladder against the post, all down the woodwork between her legs. Quivering with shame, she heard the laughter spread as those who could see passed on the news to others. She drew a sobbing breath, filling her lungs to scream at her tormentors begging to be put out of this agony of waiting.<br />She had her wish even before the words were formulated and instantly regretted even having wished it. Shock as much as pain produced the first resounding howl, then the pain following to drive out further restraint. The lash had struck across the full width of her behind, drawing a line at first numbed, then melting into a red-hot stripe, and then spreading, throbbing and burning in a wider swathe.<br />Nineteen more to come! She could envisage exactly how they would burn and throb, far worse than the cane. She realised that she was probably going to survive them but that was hardly consolation with nineteen still to go. Dreadful anticipation had given place to the horror of experience.<br />The second stroke fell a fraction below the first, so that Judith felt every inch afresh and with twin wheals doubled the pain. This time her breath was too short to even howl properly.<br />The third fell while she was still gasping and writhing from the first two, so that she twisted a little under it and it sliced from hip to mid thigh, crossing the other two and removing what breath she had recovered.<br />She nearly fainted, but a delay in the delivery of the next allowed her to breathe again. The fourth seemed worse than its precursors and her recovered breath restored her ability to howl. She ground her naked belly against the solidity of the wooden post as the fourth wheal blended indistinguishably into what was now a throbbing generalised torment. She tried fruitlessly to heave herself up far enough to slip off the post, bottom flexing madly, fingers clawing at the straps, thighs and calves straining to close together for protection. The next blow seemed to follow her motion, whipping upwards under the rounds of her bottom, giving her an impetus she couldn’t have achieved on her own, and almost lifting her off the post after all.<br />Six! Seven! Eight! The strokes that followed were regularly spaced but carelessly aimed, doubling their effect wherever they crossed the earlier wheals. Judith gasped with straining lungs after each stroke, having expended it in a shriek and having to start again before the next, writhing with unrestrained vigour, heedless of the spectacle she was presenting to the men behind her in the crowd.<br />At length one stroke, more wildly placed than before, struck her high up across the back over the ribs and virtually silenced her. It was immediately followed by a correction which fell low instead, crossing the tops of her hitherto untouched thighs with an effect like two red hot garters and so galvanising her that she tried again to close her thighs against the restricting straps. This and the succeeding two or three she could only greet with animal sounds as she tried to recover her wind, but falling as they did upon a body as wet with sweat as if she had come fresh from her bath, they made plenty of noise on their own.<br />An unexpected pause gave Judith time to catch up, as if half the effect had not yet bitten home. She had lost count of how many strokes she had received but she was painfully conscious that it hadn’t been anywhere near twenty.<br />It was a long pause. Then, “The remainder of your punishment is suspended for the time being!” Saida’s voice penetrated to Judith’s distracted mind. “Whether it will be resumed depends upon how well you perform your future duties.” The Governess stepped back evidently contented with the expression of fervent relief that mixed with anguished apprehension upon Judith’s face.<br /> “Replace her with the next one!”<br /><br />Chapter Thirteen<br /><br />The plans for the army of invasion that Saida had concerted with the representatives of the Hidden Empire were put into practice. Recruits were sought among both the islanders and the fishing communities formed by survivors on the mainland coast, drilled and trained with the aid of instructors supplied by the yellow folk from their headquarters somewhere out in the ocean beyond the horizon. Extra recruits were forthcoming as a result of their aerial voyages of investigation further afield, single male survivors lured by the prospect of acquiring fertile females for themselves from among the prospective conquests. Controlled access turned out to mean Saida’s mode of keeping her male recruits satisfied.<br />Judith led the way from Reception, the man stumping heavily behind her, his flip-flops slapping the stone floor. The long passage was lined along one side by the doors of the cells, each one with its inspection hatch and stout bolts, and illuminated only by light from behind them and the squares of light from the inspection hatches on either hand. From the knob on each hatch-slide depended a square of cardboard, about half showing white, the others dark. Sounds came from those with the card turned to the dark side, grunting and gasping, from one, Annabel’s, a feminine squeal and a responding masculine bellow from another.<br />Judith halted before the door to her own cell where the card hung white in token of vacancy and then stood to one side, mutely indicating the huge lock.<br />The man was huge and very black, wearing a T-shirt and shorts. He held up the large key he was carrying with its dangling wooden tablet marked Judith and a number, One five nine, matching the card. He leered at Judith lustfully and inserted the key in the lock with a demonstrative shove. She was going to get his key in her lock, was no doubt what he meant.<br />Down the corridor a door opened and Gillian emerged, coming towards Judith, looking flustered and anxious. She was as naked as her sister, her hair tumbled over her shoulders and breasts, and padding barefoot.<br />“He wants more beer,” she whispered as she passed Judith, who made a face in commiseration before turning the card and hastily following her customer inside. The more a man drank, the more difficult it made their task. Gillian and she were operating separately this time. All too often those men who knew they were sisters seemed impelled to combine with a buddy to engage both of them together.<br />Judith’s cell held the minimum of furniture required for its function, a larger bed, a water pitcher and cup, the oil lamp on its bracket, a receptacle for waste products under the bed. Only two functions were practised here. Sleep and sex. The man she had led here expected the latter.<br />“Let me see what you can do, white whore!” he said. <br />“I’m not really a whore!” Judith protested wearily. She had been chosen by one of those few who spoke English. She guessed that he was a newcomer to the island and she still hoped vaguely for sympathy. But climbing onto the bed and settling herself upon knees and elbows with more realistic expectations, she parted her thighs and offered herself for rear entry. Like all those who had been recently whipped the painful effects of lying on her back made her prefer to be taken from behind and most of the men seemed to readily take the cue.<br />“You have had a good training then!” His cock was standing out straight, its heaviness almost overcoming its erection. “I hear you white women are really hot stuff when you want to be.”<br />Judith groaned. “They force us to take you. We are whipped if we don’t give you pleasure.”<br />“Then you had better perform well for me, white woman, or you’ll earn yourself another whipping,” he said unsympathetically.<br />She felt him enter her sliding easily in her well-lubricated channel and then, remembering what he had said, dutifully used her abdominal muscles upon his intrusion. He grunted pleasurably to her shame, but she could only continue as she had begun, feeling him pulsing within her. He began ploughing hard into her and she had to clutch the sides of the bed to steady herself against his muscular thrusts as she was forced to accommodate every inch.<br />“Make it good, white cunt!” he said through gritted teeth. With reluctant obedience she thrust backwards, squeezing him as hard as she could. The bed creaked loudly enough to be heard all the way to Reception. Judith panted and squealed almost as loudly. She had found that it impressed and flattered most of the brutes. The man shafting her was big but not that big, her efforts paid off though insofar as he reached the fast strokes very quickly and was soon bellowing with delight as he spurted into her.<br />“You are too good a fuck to be an amateur!” he laughed, after he had pulled off her and sat back, lighting up a thin brown cigar. “We still have time for another. You can restore me to stiffness with your mouth this time.”<br />“I’ve never done that sort of thing!” Judith lied hopefully.<br />“Then you will learn a new skill. Get down on your knees here!” Seated on the bunk-side he jabbed a finger downwards between his feet. His greasy cock flopped limply from his shorts, gleaming with the product of her own passage.<br />Judith knew she had no choice but to continue her degrading progression. The stones of the floor were hard under her knees as she shuffled between his spread thighs and took his limp cock in soft fingertips to put her lips to its wet and sticky tip. It grew under her touch spreading her lips and pushing upwards in no time through the reluctant parting of her teeth. It took longer to stiffen it properly and she had to engulf its length completely, pushing her lips down until his pubic hair brushed her nose and then running her tongue back up the sensitive underside of its barrel.<br />“Good enough.” He jerked her off him. “Get up on the bed!” He made her kneel up on the bed upon all fours and took her from behind this time, doggy fashion. It took him much longer to reach orgasm of course and Judith in the confusion of her need to participate, ended by exciting herself past the point of control. She let herself go, hoping that he would be flattered, but she had misjudged his reaction. <br />“You really are a hot little bitch after all! That’s what you white ladies are really like, isn’t it? I should give you a good spanking for trying to fool me.”<br />She was returned to Reception with a reddened bottom, the man giving her backside a last slap as a parting gesture and exchanging jocular banter with the bored ex-wardress who sat at the supervisor’s desk in front of a pile of used tickets and a coiled black whip, before he swaggered out into the night.<br />Half a dozen fellow slaves were in waiting in Reception, not yet taken up, or returned like Gillian and Judith herself after being used for quickies. They knelt mutely upon all fours in a naked row, lined up on a raised platform, in the patch of light afforded by two hanging oil lamps, ready for the inspection and choice of newly arriving customers. The bell that the wardress rang brought a black girl sauntering in to conduct Judith to the shower and oversee her in cleaning out the traces of her previous user and preparing herself for her next customer.<br />There were about twenty slave women available for service on any one night, while there were hundreds of men eager to make use of them. A hundred wooden tickets for this Army brothel were distributed each day, given out with the men’s rations, each valid for one hour with an inmate. <br />Shepherded by the girl, Judith returned to Reception, taking up her position alongside the others upon the platform, her key dangling conspicuously from the hook on the front of her collar. Just as she did so, another man came through the door, bringing with him the usual strong waft of tobacco, alcohol and wood smoke to mingle with the scent of perfumed soap.<br /> At the gesture of their black supervisor, the rank of waiting white women lifted their heads, sliding a nervously assessing look at the newcomer, before moistening their lips and then spreading their knees wide, thrusting up their rumps with backs hollowed. A fat man in a long striped gown draped over a bulging belly, he dangled a whole sheaf of tickets over the desk. Any soldier might save up tickets or buy them from his comrades for small sums in order to have the right to an all night session. But this time after some argument, the wardress rose and, coming round the desk, pointed out Judith and then Gillian. The fat man picked up both their keys and then returned one to the black woman. It was the first intimation that he was alone and intended to take both sisters together, spending his tickets upon an hour’s session with the pair.<br />In Judith’s cell, the two sisters lost no time in working upon the purchaser of their services, for by now they knew an appearance of willingness at least allowed them some measure of control. Most of the men were content to have a woman offer herself to them, but they were nervous that this one might expect something special and order them a whipping if he wasn’t satisfied. They hoped to pre-empt anything he had in mind by a display of ardour.<br />In the event it seemed he hadn’t expected such a reception and with both of them working in combination eager to save their skins, he had easily been carried away. He was soon recumbent on the bed like a stranded black whale with the girls like two white mermaids crouched over him.<br />Judith was straddling his thick torso, lowering herself until her breasts dangled over his face. She gave a little gasp as she felt big teeth grip one nipple sharply, stretching the little nub as she failed to repress a little upward jerk. She dipped hastily lower, allowing the round heaviness of her breast to bulge down into everted lips allowing him to suckle her like a giant baby. She had found this was a technique that worked with Orientals and it was better than having to kiss him.<br />A visiting party from the Airship was the worst news, since they seemed uneasy to be upon their own. They preferred rather to take a number of the slave women communally, reserving one of the old offices furnished as a bar room and bringing their own supply of booze looted from some forgotten far-off store. They expected their whores to be dressed up too as they had first seen them displayed, and to act as serving girls until they were required as whores. She and Gillian had been made to perform a 69 for the first time upon a table top at one of these orgies.<br />A quick glance over Judith’s shoulder from where there came a steady slurping sound checked that Gillian had her head well down between the man’s thighs, sucking hard on his cock. Judith lowered herself further until her breasts almost smothered the man, feeling his teeth take a mouthful of her flesh. Her belly rested on the man’s chest, straddling his ribcage and she wriggled her soft weight gently against him, feeling the wobble of his fat belly rising against her bottom.<br />“He’s not even a soldier!” Gillian had hissed resentfully, following him on the way along the corridor, though both were well aware that to show resentment was to risk a whipping. Tickets were sometimes sold or traded by the soldiery to non-combatants and probably this fat man was a clerk or paper shuffler, but they both well knew that it was ridiculous to have preferences in their situation.<br />Smack! The man was ready for the next step and Judith rose at the peremptory slap, her breasts wet and tooth marked and, together with her sister, scrambled off the bed. The man swung round ponderously and heaved himself up grunting, his penis worked by Gillian’s lips and tongue to rigidity.<br />This time it was Judith’s turn to go first. She knelt on the hard stone floor with her head and shoulders on the bed, lifting her backside high and spreading her thighs so that he could enter her more easily from behind. She felt him buffet her bottom with his belly and braced herself as his cock knob nudged and thrust. Gillian had made sure that he was well lubricated with saliva and he went in easily. Judith concentrated her muscles on his sliding shaft. Her sister, she knew, would be on her knees behind the man, helping it on with intimate caresses.<br />They changed over then, working swiftly together. This time Gillian mounted him while Judith worked to assist. The man took longer, but they were successful in bringing him off just before the Supervisor banged on the door, notifying the man that his time was up.<br />Sometimes on a quiet night the soldiers were allowed to take longer than the time prescribed, but this time when Judith and Gillian were returned to the waiting bench they were the only available women and a man was already hovering eagerly to make his choice.<br />He grunted pleasurably as he circled round behind the sisters, carefully examining the pouting sexual clefts thrust out for his delectation. He fingered them one after another, spreading the fleshy lips and thrusting his fingers into their crevices, parting their lifted bottom cheeks to prod the crinkled anal buds with his thumb. By the time he made up his mind, they were both shifting so restlessly that the supervisor’s hand closed upon her whip. Then hearing two more, noisily conversing men arriving, he hastily settled his choice upon Judith, whose nipples he was pinching at that moment.<br />The night was only half over, but doors had been banging and keys grinding in locks steadily at intervals for the past hour. Almost all the doors along the corridor now carried the black square of occupation, sign that the white captives whose number it had borne was busy within, providing for the sexual release of some black would-be warrior. Returned at intervals by their satisfied users, they could only wait passively to find out how many more they would have to take before dawn released them from this degrading labour.<br /> As the island rapidly became an armed camp and its harbour filled with a fleet of fishing boats turned invasion transports, the unfortunate white captives, though destined to labour as porters, came to look forward to the invasion almost as much as the black followers of Saida the Lioness, the Great Black Queen.<br /><br />To be continued …My Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-80272580984429626752007-09-30T14:00:00.000-07:002007-09-30T14:02:01.041-07:00Slave Bitches Part 2To 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.<br />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. <br />“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.”<br />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. <br />“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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />“Arghhh! You wicked creature! You wish to trouble me!”<br />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.<br />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.<br />“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.<br />“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.<br />“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.”<br />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.<br />The Administrator of Bamba had swept into view, parting the crowd in between the stalls, backed by the usual following of orderlies and suppliants.<br />“So! You have trouble keeping your debt slave in order?”<br />Mama Ogupo curtseyed, rolling her eyes. “Sir! When she gives me trouble I beat her, you see!”<br />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.<br />“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!”<br />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!”<br />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.<br />“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.”<br />Angela’s mistress bobbed curtseys with repeated expressions of fulsome gratitude, expressing desires to be of service to her patron.<br />“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.<br />“You like to escape the whipping post, I think!”<br />Angela nodded, fervently, but not daring to speak, feeling her bottom cheeks clench involuntarily at the thought, and eyeing Mama Ogupo’s cane.<br />“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?<br />“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?”<br />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.<br />“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!”<br />After some experiment and without viable alternative Angela satisfied her mistress, squatting on her haunches like a seated dog.<br />“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!”<br />The fat woman sat down on the little wooden stool, the cane resting across her knees. “Dah!”<br />Angela dropped to hands and knees and crawled forward. Mama Ogupo stood up and brought the cane down hard. Angela yelped miserably.<br />“Quicker! Make it look you like to do!”<br />“How …” Angela began then yelped a second time, just anticipating the descent of the cane.<br />“Dog don’t talk!”<br />Angela moved more briskly, wagging her rear and lolling her tongue.<br />“Good! Like that all times! You do all like that!”<br /><br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />“Angeela!”<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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?<br />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.<br />“Hooah!”<br />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.<br />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.<br />“Angeela!”<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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!<br />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.<br />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. <br />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.<br />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.<br />“Hooah!”<br />Mama Ogupo took command, flicking free the short lash of the dog whip.<br />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.<br />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.<br />“Up, bitch!” she ordered, adding as Angela gathered her limbs. “Dog fuck first! Eat after!”<br />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.<br />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.<br />“Up dog!”<br />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.<br />“Display!”<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />The man within the window held his breath, barely aware of what his own hands were doing, busy in his crotch.<br />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. <br />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.<br />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. <br />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.<br />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.<br />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<br />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.<br />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. <br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br /><br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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. <br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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. <br />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.<br />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.<br /><br />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.<br />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. <br />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. <br />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.<br />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.<br />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. <br />“Hooah!”<br />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.<br />Her first partner was to be Celia.<br />“Hooah!”<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />“Hooah!”<br />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.<br />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.<br />The trainer switched her attention to the male equipment of the other performer.<br />“Hooah!”<br />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.<br />“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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br /> 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. <br />The audience re-filled glasses and exchanged opinions and congratulated their host upon the show, while the third performer was brought into play.<br />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. <br />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. <br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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. <br />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. <br />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.<br /><br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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. <br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br /><br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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. <br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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’.<br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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. <br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br /><br />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.<br />What could happen to her that would be any worse?<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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. <br />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. <br />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.<br />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.<br />“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.<br />“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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br /> 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. <br />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.<br />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.<br />Glass in hand the man came forward to where Angela and her escort waited subserviently for his attention.<br />He rapped out a question and the black woman curtseyed, stammering something in reply.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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. <br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />“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.<br />Seizing Gibril by the collar, the Kaid barked orders, the crowd scattering before him as he stalked away.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br /> 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.<br />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.<br />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.<br /> 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.<br />Gibril reappeared, but was not invited to share her services. The old man showed obvious signs of jealousy of this possible rival dog-trainer.<br />“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.”<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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. <br />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.<br />The other two circled round, scurrying upon knuckles and knees this time, then began to fight, rolling over and over snarling realistically and scratching.<br />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.<br />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.<br /> 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. <br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br /><br />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.<br />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. <br />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.My Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-76252032318424633782007-09-30T13:59:00.000-07:002007-09-30T14:00:42.476-07:00Slave Bitches Part OneSLAVE BITCHES<br /><br />By<br /><br />Peter Marriner<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />WARNING! All Olympia books are the subject of international copyright and should not be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form - including electronically - without the publisher’s prior written consent. ANY and ALL violations of Olympia copyright will be pursued vigorously through the appropriate courts.<br /><br /><br /><br />A clerk emerged from the doorway of the Administrator’s office into the hot sunlight and surveyed the queue of hopeful suppliants, who waited as usual in the dusty mud-walled courtyard. He was a tall well-set young man, cocky with a sense of his superior position. Like all public officials in Bamba these days, anxious to demonstrate their rejection of Western influences, he wore traditional dress. The billowing spotlessly white cotton gown gave his bare head and neck the appearance of an ebony carving as he ran his gaze down the queue.<br />Amongst the row of would-be petitioners seated patiently on wooden benches along the wall, one stood out instantly. The only European among them, she chose that moment too, to lean forward in her place as if to make sure she caught his eye.<br />She was a pretty young woman still in her mid twenties, fair haired, her shapely figure enhanced by the skimpiness of her blue cotton dress with large white buttons down its front, worn with white high heeled sandals. She had worn it every day she had turned up here. Clothing made of artificial fibres had largely failed to survive the side effects of the Catastrophe and, since this had never been a cotton growing area, replacement cottons were expensive now. He guessed that she probably had nothing else fit to wear.<br />He knew her name, Angela Kerr, and her history. She had been some sort of organiser for an American educational charity, which had recently extended into this area. She had been inspecting school buildings for the charity and had been stranded here by accident, penniless and with only a few words of French and none at all of the local language.<br />Speaking foreign languages wasn’t a thing one boasted of in public just now. Idly he wondered if that was why the woman Ms Kerr lodged with didn’t accompany her. That one was an English speaker, a crafty businesswoman he had heard, married into a local family and probably too wary, he speculated, to get involved in a hopeless case. He saw how the rest of the queue, mostly women in billowing colourful robes and elaborately twisted turbans, with a few old men in white gowns or the ragged shirt and shorts of bush pagans, looked askance at their white neighbour. In their eyes she had once been rich and powerful and now, reduced to poverty and powerlessness, she was the very symbol of bad luck.<br />Since the Catastrophe, hysteria had been the common reaction to the totality of the disaster. No one could quite assimilate its dramatic inevitability and here, where superstition had never been eradicated the outsider was a natural scapegoat.<br />The clerk hardly needed the woman’s forward movement to draw his attention. He knew about her well enough. She had been waiting a week already, hoping for a travel permit. She really had no hope. He knew she was penniless. The funds that had once been available to Ms Angela Kerr, seeming so lavish by local standards, were now only memories of a banking system rendered meaningless. Very probably any other of her clothes that had survived had been sold for food or to pay her rent. Properly, the white woman should have lined up with the rest of the starving refugees to be fed by the public charity. The clerk guessed that she had been slow to realise the extent of the disaster, still thinking that order and credit could be restored.<br />Bamba had been fortunate. Its Administrator had been quick to block all access by refugees from the more thickly populated areas further south and only a few such filtered through the desert from the north. Being on the margins of the desert, the crops the local peasants grew with traditional un-mechanised methods were salt tolerant and so the disaster of the salt rains had been less fatal than elsewhere. The floods had flushed fish and shrimps from the old salt lakes into new environments where they quickly multiplied. With care the peasants would save enough seed to replant next year and the fortuitous fish harvest would tide over the population until then. Meanwhile the roads were closed and the movement of trading boats passing up or downstream was strictly controlled lest they spread the hopeful word and start a flood of refugees.<br />As if conscious of the clerk’s interest, the European woman had visibly tensed. His dark eyes met her blue ones. An administration still existed in Bamba. Paper was still being shuffled as if things were normal. Probably nothing seemed impossible to her. No doubt she hoped something could still be arranged. A hope the clerk decided he would encourage. This time his eyes didn’t slide past with contemptuous indifference. He beckoned.<br />With undignified haste Angela Kerr sprang up from the bench, ignoring the scowls from all about her, to follow the tall white-gowned figure, her heart suddenly thudding. Over long weeks her ideas of what was possible had in fact undergone a drastic change. Originally she had intended to petition for assistance in quashing the ridiculous financial claims being made upon her and for the restoration of her stolen vehicle and equipment, but reality had slowly forced itself upon her. By now she had narrowed her aim. She only wanted to escape from this place to somewhere even marginally more civilised.<br />The clerk didn’t pause in the outer office where previously she had always been interviewed, but swept straight through the crowd of scribbling clerks, idling orderlies and babbling petitioners towards a door at the rear.<br />Despite having almost to scuttle to keep up with his stride, Angela didn’t fail to take in the inscription that announced it to be the Administrator’s private office. For a moment she thought she was to be given an interview by the great man himself and quailed a little, contemplating her dusty hair and worn out dress. But then she remembered that she had seen the Administrator depart not an hour earlier with his usual grim expression, half a dozen orderlies trotting at his heels. To judge by his confident air before his fellow clerks, this young man must have been left in charge and she hoped by his swagger, inclined to take liberties with his borrowed authority. Hope sprang high in Angela’s breast as she followed him into his master’s inner sanctum.<br />It was unremarkable, workmanlike. She knew the Administrator to be an ascetic type, ex-minister in a former anti-Western regime before he was ousted by a political coup and exiled to govern this back-of-beyond dump. Since the trauma of the Catastrophe he had kept a tight hand upon the administration by what she had heard were unorthodox and sometimes ruthless methods.<br />Unusually his clerks were said to be afraid to take bribes and to follow the rules with obsessive zeal, but Angela’s instinct picked up the air of reckless excitement in the young man that she followed. In Bamba since the Catastrophe, erratic behaviour had become normal. This might be her best chance. She was even encouraged by the way he shut the office door with conspiratorial care behind her. It was a solid door and the chatter of voices was cut off abruptly. The private office was spacious if sparsely furnished with a cool tiled floor and high windows admitting a refreshing breeze from the grove of palm trees beyond them. Green metal filing cabinets stood against the walls with framed maps above them. An electric fan hung motionless from the ceiling, useless without power. The only item of any grandeur was a large finely carved mahogany desk, its polished top neatly set with papers and files behind which the clerk now seated himself. He gazed expectantly at Angela.<br />He was younger than she had thought, perhaps the Administrator’s confidential clerk. She noticed uneasily that he was fidgeting with his hands below the desk.<br />“Je suis Madame Angela Kerr. Je suis er ...” She endeavoured to conceal her weariness. She should have had her resumé off by heart now, she had been made to repeat it so often to so many uncomprehending clerks.<br />“You wish a permit to depart this place!” he said in English, interrupting her. Her spirits lifted a little. At least this one had decided not to play that particular game. Of course he knew what she wanted, they all did. Resentment gripped her at the memory of all that time and anguish wasted upon clerks who pretended not to understand her rudimentary French.<br />To the point and in English. Leave this place? Indeed she did! If only she could get to the capital, there would be consulates, or at least people who knew of her, organisations to help people like her. She was growing desperate. She had seen the hungry penniless people in Bamba, some of them European refugees, who were fed on a public dole of grain, resented by the local population as a burden. So far she had been spared that. She had heard horrifying tales of how the soldiers in charge kept order by beatings and barbarity. It was said that many European refugees had been murdered trying to cross the desert from the north. She couldn’t keep her thoughts from appearing in her face.<br />The clerk examined her shrewdly. No jewellery, her ears pierced but devoid of earrings. He would be surprised if she possessed any more than she stood up in. She had no future in Bamba and would only fall deeper into the hands of whoever was providing for her. He licked his lips.<br />“M’sieur le Chef. Il sont fait un tour des environs.” Angela nodded, guessing more or less at his meaning.<br />“I ... command here!” he asserted in English and Angela nodded again, almost making it a bow, hoping to convey respectful awe of his alleged power, wondering what he could be persuaded to do with it, eager to flatter him.<br />Frowning, the clerk drummed his fingers on the desk. “Perhaps I fix permit for you to go on boat.”<br />There! Angela dug her nails into her palms afraid of betraying the excitement she felt. Perhaps! Free from supervision, he was reverting to type. She knew all about small bribes to minor officials; she had been handing them out almost daily during her tour, a few banknotes passed and everything opened up. She almost felt triumphant until she remembered her position.<br />“Some people, I think, pay something for this service!”<br />Her heart pounded at his words. Her whole trouble was she had nothing left that was worthwhile for a bribe. Really, only cotton clothing and foodstuffs were of any account in Bamba. Refugees struggling southwards selling gold and jewellery in desperation had depressed their value and, in any case, she had been delayed so long that all of hers had been sold already to pay for her keep.<br />“Much payment I think!” The clerk wiped his lips with a white handkerchief; nervous of his petty crime, Angela thought. At one time the clerk would simply have named the sum and taken it in banknotes. Her heart sank. She still needed to pay her way on the riverboat unless she could also persuade the clerk to include an official passage along with the permit. Any trouble here might get to the ears of her principal creditor, Moussa Abbeou, whom she knew to have interests everywhere. Trembling with resentment, she could only try to throw herself upon this young man’s mercy.<br /> “Please! I must get away from here! I haven’t got anything I can give you! My hostess insists I owe her for my keep and the owner of the school building claims I am responsible for the rent. I’ll starve here if I don’t get away. That beast of a woman has sold all my clothes just for feeding me.” Angela dabbed at her tears without concealment, feeling that a display of feminine weakness would serve her better than a stiff upper lip.<br />“Quite well fed, though!” the clerk thought to himself, admiring her curves, her tears stimulating in him a shrewd calculation. Then his eyes bulged when she suddenly began to undo the topmost buttons on her dress.<br />“Does ... does the permit ... I mean … will I get a free passage?” Intent upon what she was doing, she missed the licking of his lips as she fumbled in her bosom to fish out a small purse from between the swells of her breasts.<br />“This is all the money I have.” Her anxious gaze caught the direction of his gaze and she reddened furiously, thrusting the little sweat-dampened wad of local notes towards him.<br />The clerk admired the way the blushes spread and wondered how far down they went. He was resolved that he would find out. Angela blushed more furiously than ever. She was used to attracting lustful men, but this was the first time she had not been in control of the situation, or at least of herself. She wanted so desperately what it was in his power to give her.<br />His eyes barely flicking to the notes, the clerk pushed them back at her dismissively. “Not sufficing, this kind money!” Local notes were still accepted for small transactions, but grudgingly, so it was a valid excuse. Helplessly, Angela fumbled to restore the little purse to its hiding place. She felt oddly humiliated, as if she had tried to cheat him. Tears started, her emotion made her breasts heave within the still unbuttoned front of her dress where the smooth curves showed a hint of lace. She was having difficulty getting the purse back inside.<br />“Money, never mind!” the clerk burst out with, his eyes bulged until the whites showed with the intensity of his desire. “You make love with me, I fix! I give permit! No money!”<br />The words made Angela swallow hard, shame uppermost in her mind. Her gaze fled to the windows where a patch of blue sky showed between moving green palm leaves. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t understand. Yet she couldn’t deny either that it solved her main problem. The clerk stood up suddenly and Angela gave a nervous start, finding him overtopping her.<br />“You give me good fuck! I give you permit and passage also. No payment!”<br />Angela knew the price, though. She realised with shame that she had left it far too late to pretend she hadn’t been considering paying it. The proposal put so crudely almost made her flee after all, but somehow she remained transfixed, still paralysed by her dilemma. Revulsion vied against desire. It solved both her problems.<br />“I like to have white lady!” the black man grinned. “White ladies, very hot stuff!”<br />She wasn’t that sort! Angela was indignant, thinking angrily of some of the ex-pats she had met. Nevertheless she cast an uncertain glance towards the door.<br />“No one come! No one hear!”<br />No doubt it was meant as reassurance, but Angela nervously took it another way. If she fought and screamed, would anyone come to her rescue? Her gaze fell upon his big black hands. If she fled now, would she be allowed to escape? She dithered, knowing that every second’s delay made it more inevitable that she would have to do what he wanted. A few minutes’ unpleasantness, she reasoned, would set her free. Only a few minutes against what might happen to her if she remained trapped and helpless in Bamba.<br />“Come!” the clerk urged. “Quick! I good fuck! Fuck many girls! Very good! Very hard!”<br />“W-what if s-someone comes…” Angela, still seeking to delay, gestured to the door.<br />“I fix!” He held up a key triumphantly. She hadn’t even realised that he’d locked it. Her retreat had been cut off all the time.<br />“Let me have the permit,” she got out. There, she had done it!<br />“Fuck first, then I give you permit!” he bargained automatically.<br />“H-how do I know?” Angela insisted, blushing with shame, but determined.<br />The young Bamban stared angrily, then finding her adamant, caved in with a shrug. He rattled open a drawer, dragged out a pad and wrote furiously, began to give it to her, then checked and, finding a stamp and inkpad, banged it down a couple of times and waved it at her, grinning.<br />“Where do ... Here?” She looked about her, suddenly deflated.<br />The clerk seized the files on his superior’s desk and shifted them hastily, dropping half the papers on the floor. “Here!” A large hand recklessly swept the rest after them and, as if mesmerised by the gesture, Angela took a step towards the desk.<br />“Wait!” The man checked her with a jerky gesture. “Take off all! I fuck you like on movies! White girls all fuck naked!” As if taken by this idea he was already ripping open the collar of his own garment. “Vite! Vite!”<br />He had paid in advance and now he expected action. Hastily stuffing her precious permit into the little purse, the truth struck through all of Angela’s dithering and impelled her into shamefaced acquiescence. Cold sweat seemed to have plastered her dress to her body. It trickled eerily between her shoulder blades and down the insides of her thighs. It made things more difficult than she expected as she struggled with the usually automatic process of undressing.<br />“See! I help!” The expectant beneficiary made a clumsy lunge.<br />“No!” Angela wrenched hastily at the clinging fabric, trembling with vexation, but unable to allow herself the luxury of hesitation. She almost tore the dress off and dropped it on top of the papers strewn underfoot. Blushing nervously, she stood in bra and knickers, her eyes going instinctively to the man to look for a reaction, then dropping her eyes, startled into a reaction of her own. She had heard the expression - hung like a donkey!<br />Stripped of his clothes he stood by the desk like an ebony statue, his tall frame full of muscle, displaying tribal scars as proudly as any pagan warrior ancestor. White teeth gleaming, he cradled in one fist the thing that had startled her, a penis like a dangling length of dusky hosepipe. She stood as if transfixed. The change was so drastic from modestly gowned clerk to naked, savage masculinity.<br />Fortunately the Bamban seemed to take her expression as a tribute, beaming with conceit. “Ahh! You see it is so long eh! You will be well fucked, I think!”<br />Flight was no longer an option. Standing there in her underwear, shivering a little as an unexpectedly cool breeze goose pimpled her sweat damp skin, Angela tried to control her emotions. His boastful vanity irritated her. She didn’t enjoy the prospect of being penetrated by that thing, but she had to go through with it now. That was all there was to it.<br />“Come, woman! Make all naked!”<br />Her undesired partner was getting impatient, sure that his prize was nearly in his grasp. She saw he was exasperated with her dithering. She had to get out safely with her precious piece of paper. Fearing that impatience might get the better of him and he might tear the purse from her with the rest of her clothing, she hastened to appease him. With downcast eyes she reached back to unhook her bra, unclipped it quickly and let her breasts tumble free, heavy and bare on her rib cage, feeling the nipples prick and stiffen in the cool draught. She stooped, self consciously, one arm across her breasts as they swung forward, dropping the flimsy piece of lace on top of her dress.<br />She tried to slip out of her briefs with equal efficiency, but this time the damp cotton clung obstinately to her bare curves. Balanced absurdly on one leg, she found them caught in a twist around her calves. She was very conscious of the erotic spectacle she made as bent over in the struggle, made more nervous by the almost physical feeling of male eyes upon her. Tousled and panting, breasts bouncing wildly with her efforts, she ended by tearing the worn fabric irreparably before she got them off and stood up before the desk as naked as the man who faced her.<br />Despite her resignation, her hands fluttered nervously before her loins as if conscious of being a target and her eyes slid quickly away from the sight of his penis, springing from his enclosing fist like an emergent snake. But then, as he started round the desk, she hastily stepped towards it. Better to get it over with.<br />“You give me good fuck!” It sounded enough like a threat to unnerve her with its implied requirement for enthusiasm. Angela dithered again as he loomed closer, his fist jiggling his penis. She shrank back but was fielded by a long reaching black arm. Swung back up against the desk end, she scrabbled behind her, found its hard edge and hoisted herself up, assisted by a heave of his hand so enthusiastic that she went sprawling flat on her back, legs kicking and arms out-flung.<br />With the desktop hot from the sun it was like being splayed upon a stove. Angela’s reaction must have looked like an attempt to escape, for the Bamban slammed her down with unexpected violence. Seeing his angry glare, Angela prudently submitted. <br />Clutching the decoratively carved edges of the desk she closed her eyes and spread her legs wide, hoping he would be quick. Suitably appeased, the man grunted and lifted her dangling legs, sliding his hands under her knees, Angela remaining limp, fearing to annoy him further even if she wasn’t going to give him any encouragement either. She felt the desk edge hard across her bottom as she lay on her back awaiting the assault.<br />Nor did the brute use much finesse, despite his boasts. He drove at her with a rutting bellow and such vigour that she slid on her bottom across the slippery desktop. She was dragged roughly back and he tried again.<br />She had fully expected to be tested. The length of what she was to receive was vivid in her memory. The clerk’s black face was set in a grimace of concentration, looming over her every time she opened her eyes. His lithe and muscular male body rammed hard into her, driving her thighs even wider and forcing gasps from her gritted teeth. His blundering crudity disgusted her. Though she herself professed no great skill, she realised that he was not the experienced black Don Juan he had made himself out to be. She stiffened with resentment and secret scorn, without caring if it made it more difficult for him. She felt she had done her part after all.<br />Her clumsily thrusting abuser began to mutter curses, with a growing note of anger. He had lifted Angela up bodily by the hips, the damp flesh of her bottom cheeks peeling off the polished desktop like a half stuck postage stamp and her head and shoulders sliding on the shiny surface. Too late Angela was beginning to have intimations of disaster looming. His penis seemed too big to penetrate readily, stabbing bluntly. He blamed her for her efforts to hold onto the desk edge as she was shaken like a rag doll. Her teeth rattled and her legs waved wildly kicking in the air, high heels stabbing ludicrously.<br />“You make like dead woman!” He dumped Angela back on the desk with a thump, her legs dangling either side, and reaching forward grabbed the thong that held her precious prize about her neck. “You cheat me!”<br />“No! No!” Angela hung on, seeking to retain the small square of leather and was yanked over onto her face, sliding head foremost off the desk. The thong snapped and came away in his grasp, the purse dropping at his feet. Angela scrabbled on her hands and knees, trying to recapture it. Blocked by his bulk she clutched at the muscular black thighs caught between him and the desk end, overwhelmed by his unreasoning fury.<br />“You make hard again!” he raged. His enormous penis dangled limply before Angela’s eyes, more like a length of empty hosepipe than ever, as if it had been the clasp of his fist that had kept it up.<br />“Take!” The passionate tone and her helplessly trapped position, left Angela no alternative. However she might resent being made to take the blame she was going to have to assist in her own undoing. Resentfully she closed her slim fingers round the dangling rubbery stem, feeling the thing jump and start to stiffen just at her touch. Half relieved, half rebellious, she wanked it slowly up and down, the man giving mollified grunts all the while. Webbed with prominent veins, thickening as it rose in her hands it emanated a ripe smell that made her nostrils flare with distaste.<br />“Suck it!”<br />Angela looked up in involuntary dismay. But his face was a mask of lust and cruelty, glaring down at her like a menacing black gargoyle. She thought momentarily of breaking off and screaming for help, but she could see her little leather purse, with the permit in it, lying under his feet. She would never get it back and the men who came in response might only add to her abusers after all.<br />Recognising her lack of choice she clutched the great truncheon in her hand, closed her eyes and let her lips part to engulf the penis head, like a child enveloping a lollipop, cheeks bulging. Where her lips touched she felt it slither like an entering snake. It slid across her tongue and as she gagged upon it, filled the roof of her mouth and dived to the back of her throat. Its owner groaned pleasurably, his hips ramming her head back against the desk. Horribly trapped, she was forced to gobble around its seeming endless length, snorting desperately for breath and still clutching at the thick base of the shaft in an attempt to prevent it choking her.<br />“Let go! White bitch! Let go!”<br /> Angela grovelled before his thighs, her head ringing from the clout he gave her as he tore himself away, cursing her ungratefully. He was triumphant now. He was rampant as a stallion. The swollen dusky knob and thick stem glistened with Angela’s saliva as the great cudgel of flesh wagged ponderously under her nose. Before she could recover, she was hoist like a toy, grabbed by whatever portion of her came handiest, swung by one arm and a leg and thrown down, smack, on her belly on the desktop.<br />Dazed and disoriented, she struggled to adjust. Pushed and yanked into position up on all fours, she knelt on top of the desk, trembling and fearful. She felt more humiliated than ever. This time she was going to be taken from the rear in dog-fashion.<br />But she had learnt that co-operation was expected of her. Feeling the woodwork of the desk quiver beneath the man’s added weight as he mounted behind her, she splayed herself abjectly for his convenience without having to be told, consoling herself with the reflection that at least like this she didn’t have to face the man or pretend appreciation.<br />Big hands were clapped to her naked flanks, lifting them and positioning her. She felt his erection prod on target, part her sex lips and enter her at once. Gasping and straining to accommodate his thickness, she reflected it was fortunate after all that she had been made to lubricate it first. Head pushed over the end of the desk as he thrust, her eyes focussed briefly on the purse on the floor, the permit within it now out of reach without his permission. Alarmed, she realised that it was not enough simply to endure a rape. She would have to play the whore, too. What if she failed to please him this time? Would the permit be withheld? Would she have to keep on trying until he was satisfied?<br />Responding with panic to such fears, she lifted her bottom to the next thrust, willing herself to co-operate. Driven by dire necessity, she felt she had no resort but to abandon all scruples. Whether her user recognised her effort she could hardly tell. Perhaps he took it for a tribute to his new-found virility.<br />He began ramming Angela with relentless vigour, forcing her to do her utmost to match it. He skewered her mercilessly until she grew too breathless to squeal. His big black hands clamped her pale flanks, holding her steady while his cock drove like a living jack-hammer, deeper and deeper. Waves of her resisting flesh seemed to build up before its bulk, only to be stretched spread and assimilated in its relentless progress. Her flesh enveloped his throbbing shaft in warm, tight, juiciness. His lean black thighs gradually closed with her wide splayed white ones, his black loins sank to enfold the quivering pale curve of her out-thrust bottom, as if centred by the solid black shaft connecting both.<br />Teeth exposed between parted lips, Angela clutched at the desk edges, hissing like a teakettle and feeling every inch of the solid shaft within her, its solid knob right up her at last.<br />The hissing changed to a long shuddering sigh of relief as her grunting penetrator drew slowly back and slid nearly the whole hot length of it from her clinging vagina. That breath was hardly recovered then Angela was forced to change her tune again, this time too a long shrill cry, as he sank it all back into her in one powerful thrust.<br />She was fully conscious of the noise she was making, imagining what listening ears beyond the office might be making of it but she was almost helpless to avoid it and, behind her, the clerk was becoming even noisier. They were into a steady rhythm of thrust and withdrawal, he gasping and grunting in ecstasy and enjoyment, Angela groaning and hissing in her efforts to conform to her user’s needs.<br />Up on the desk, black and white intimately united, they humped and strained more or less in unison. Sweat trickled between slithering and smacking flesh, a lubricant between the two. Tears merged with sweat and droplets of both flew from the panting pair to spatter the shiny surface of the desk. Slowly the rhythm increased as both participants abandoned control for different reasons. The in and out driving of the dusky cock-shaft engrossed them both. Angela was now obsessed, possessed with only one aim, to arouse the outburst that alone would release her from its surging red-hot shaft. For his part, its owner took his white victim’s co-operation for granted and was now working up into the final strokes grunting and humping, heedless of all but her melting hot depths and his coming climax.<br />Every one of her senses monopolised by her abuser, sensitive to every nuance of his performance, Angela anticipated the onset of his outburst to the very inch and as he drove deep for what she anticipated would be the last time, she let herself go with a triumphant cry of accomplishment.<br />Then several things happened at once.<br />Behind her the clerk had reared erect, similarly crowing in triumph while still firing his last spasms into Angela’s well-plumbed depths. Angela was still thrusting herself back to meet him meanwhile, as if anxious to milk every drop. She was elated by success, horrified by its necessity, but terrified of leaving off her efforts too soon. The clerk was noisily slapping her rump to encourage her, gloating in his own potency and also reluctant to give up.<br />Neither had heard the voices, nor the key that turned in the office door. A white-gowned figure stood in the doorway. Behind him and around him, a crowd of goggling faces peered in upon this lewd tableau. Man and woman, black and white, both naked and copulating like two randy dogs on the Administrator’s desk, amid a sea of spilled papers.<br />With bewildering suddenness, the pair found themselves torn apart. The clerk bellowed like a startled bullock, the first resentful blare turning instantly to fear. Angela feeling her last rearward thrust meet no protrusion, turned her head in astonishment and at once echoed his consternation in a shriller fashion. Her erstwhile penetrator plucked bodily from her like a cork out of a bottle, had suddenly shrunk to a caricature of deflated manhood, gripped firmly by two khaki-clad orderlies. <br />For the rest, the tall white-clad figure of the Administrator of Bamba dominated the scene. He was a lean, grizzled man, with a dark face both angular and thin-nosed. Normally hovering on the borderline between handsome and forbidding, his present expression was one of outrage.<br />Left suddenly stranded in naked abandon on his desktop, Angela’s unfortunate pose, with up-thrust rump and widely parted thighs presented the gaping onlookers with a comprehensive view of her sexual parts. Her reddened cleft in a envelope of crinkle and swollen lips was clearly glistening wet and her curly brown pubic bush was prominently spattered with clots of white, from which thin thread dangled downward, carrying the eye to a small sticky white puddle between her knees.<br />“Descendez vous! Poulaine! Quitter le bureau!”<br />Angela had gone rigid in horror at her situation; her limbs seemed to have frozen. She was well aware that she was incapable of explaining it. It would have been difficult even in English. Choking back the wail of despair that was her initial reaction, she drew her sprawled limbs together, her brain trying to reconcile the simultaneous urges to conceal her tell-tale condition and to escape from the desktop.<br />A further bellow from the Administrator had cleared the office, the fringe of heads at the door instantly disappearing and the two orderlies briskly wheeling their prisoner about and rushing him out, too. It left Angela and the Administrator alone. She had taken advantage of the pause to tumble off the desk, tottering on her high heels. Disorientated by the calamity she had landed on the wrong side, separated from her discarded garments by the obstacle of the desk and the person of the Administrator. Squirming under his contemptuous gaze she tried to cover herself with uncertain hands, not daring to dart past him. Then frustration overwhelmed her shame as she remembered all she had gone through and what the intervention of this sneering official had cost her.<br />“Cette homme …” she burst out, made sulky by her inability to command the right words. “Il sont … er … promise. I mean … Je donner un … un … e r… f-fuck pour donner moi un permis de passage …”<br />The irate official might almost have been anticipating some impudent attempt to justify her position, for he swooped instantly upon her, visibly swelling with rage. Angela panicked. Yelping in fear, she tried to dodge round him in order to reach her clothes. Taking it for an attempt to escape, he intercepted her one handed, dragging her back with a grip on the back of her neck. Protesting shrilly, she found herself thrust head first towards the desk, but this time bent over it, with the carved edge hard across the top of her thighs. She saw from close quarters the flat polished surface stretching out in front of her, still damp in patches from her previous occupancy.<br />“Regardez!” he hissed violently. “Salope!” Then, “Lappez vous!”<br />The white blob of cum deposited in the process of the clerk’s abrupt evacuation of her, was still there accusingly on the polished wood, right under her nose.<br />“I wasn’t … I was … That is … Owww!” she yelped, as a stinging hand smack to her bottom almost took her breath away and deprived her of any hope of mustering a justification. His grip on her neck was inexorable and she felt in the lasting sting the power behind the smack of his hand on her bottom cheek. However humiliating his order, she shied away from the prospect of getting any more of those.<br />Feeling like a punished puppy and whimpering rather like one, she put her tongue out to the little blob of goo and reluctantly began to lick it clean.<br />Held to this task she could see nothing but the vague shimmer of her face reflected in the glossy surface, but she was conscious that the man behind her seemed to be breathing very hard. Suddenly she was conscious of the naked indecency as well as the humiliating nature of her posture and the masculine power of her captor. Deep within her she was horrified to find that last thought inspired a kind of reaction, a tiny quiver of the thighs. Perhaps the co-operation required of her by the departed clerk had affected her after all. Connecting this with the lingering smart of his hand on her bottom, it was impossible to repress a wriggle of shame.<br />And then, sensing that the man behind her had stiffened with a sharp intake of breath, desperation took her by storm. The reputedly incorruptible Administrator was human and male and susceptible. Like master, like man, evidently! As if reaching dutifully to lick another inch forward, Angela slowly squirmed her thighs apart under what she hoped would be his fascinated gaze.<br />“Ah … vous … poulaine!”<br />Momentarily, Angela went rigid in the man’s grip, then as a broad male palm came up between her spread legs and splayed strong fingers lingeringly across her bum and rested her plump pussy hot on his palm, she braced herself to squirm with a deceitful little moan against the firm clasp.<br />“Vous se ressembler … a la chienne …chienne blanche…!”<br />Deep and vibrant, his voice almost a purr, gave Angela time for a flush of guilty elation, convinced of a clever decision. So she was taken completely by surprise when the hand slipped away, reappeared briefly in the corner of her eye, dipping into a half opened desk drawer. It came up swiftly and the heavy ruler it held came smacking down exactly where the hand had caressed her!<br />Pain, rage and panic succeeded one another as Angela’s incipient seductive wriggle exploded into a wild threshing of legs and her languorous moan became a series of shrieks as she tried to escape from the desk. Her previous forward wriggle had carried her toes clear of the floor and the inexorable grip on her neck held her flat, kept her from backing off, presenting her bare bottom to the descending ruler,<br />The thing was wide hard and heavy and hurt like hell! Worse than his hand by far! Confused and demoralised, Angela greeted every whack with a squeal from behind gritted teeth, still doing her best to make a lewd display, thinking perhaps this was the sort of thing the beast found exciting.<br />He gave her six cracking whacks with the ruler, each one harder than the last, each leaving lines of fiery pain right across the width of her bottom. By the time he let up she was only too eager to do anything that might preserve her from more of the same.<br />“Se levez vous!”<br />Which evidently meant that she was to get up on the desk again in the position he had discovered her, kneeling on all fours, thighs widespread. She fully expected to be made to earn her permit a second time over and this time with a throbbing backside that promised to make it a lot more painful. Instead the man only laughed scornfully, making some comment she didn’t understand. <br />He left her isolated up there and opening the office door, bellowing a rapid volley of orders into the sudden hush that ensued. Amid a frantic bustle, two clerks rushed in and immediately began rapidly picking up the fallen papers from the floor, while doing their best to ignore Angela posed naked and red faced on the desk above them. The Administrator directed the clearance, pacing to and fro before Angela who dared neither to raise her eyes nor voice her feelings despite the chaos that reigned in her mind. The ruler was still lying on the desk right where she could see it.<br />The office was shadowy and cool. The throbbing glare of tropical sunlight was reduced by the deep eaves and over shadowing palm trees. The open door and windows made a pathway for what, in other circumstances, Angela would have found a pleasant breeze. As it was it made her quiver when it caressed her burning flesh, a reminder of her double attempt at sexual bribery and her humiliating failure. The fleeting glimpse she got of the Administrator’s figure showed no sign of arousal. It suddenly occurred to her that she might have misconstrued the words ‘se lever’, but by then she didn’t dare try to climb back down. She stayed where she was, salt tears on her hot cheeks, tasting the mixture of sperm and varnish on her tongue.<br />“You have proved yourself a harlot!”<br />The Administrator spoke loudly, using the local language evidently more for the benefit of the receptive ears in the outer office than for Angela’s understanding. Even the tone, however, was enough for the Englishwoman to squirm with shame. His magisterial delivery brooked no denial and she would have found difficulty in summoning any coherent defence even if she had understood the words. She saw that he had picked up the ruler again and she didn’t dare incur his wrath a second time. The Administrator was, for all practical purposes, a dictator in Bamba. His word could be made law. She was as helpless in his hands as the lowliest native inhabitant, more so, since she had neither family or patron nor protector to dispute any judgement.<br />“You are condemned by your own admission!” he barked inexorably, this time in English. “You were selling your sexual favours to my clerk in return for a permit to which you were not entitled. That is bribery of a public official; indecent behaviour in a public office and conspiracy to forge a document.” He turned with a swirl of gown to the door. “As you are a refugee and not a citizen, under Emergency regulations your case can be dealt with summarily. I intend to demonstrate that such behaviour will be dealt with most severely!”<br />A commanding bellow submerged a timid attempt by Angela to beg for an explanation. It brought rushing in, with crashing military salutes, two more khaki-clad orderlies, almost the twins to the pair who had removed Angela’s fellow delinquent. These two were accompanied by a large, heavily breathing black woman wearing a feminine version of the same uniform. Behind them from the outer office rose a buzz of excited voices.<br />Still ignorant of her fate, Angela was given no time to prepare herself, but yanked bodily straight off her perch and frog-marched briskly out of the office with her discarded clothing left behind on the other side of the desk. Out through a crowd of gaping people, clerks and petitioners she was borne, frantically protesting. Out into the even more public courtyard, from which she might well wish now she had never graduated, her protests falling on deaf ears. The tale of her offences and summary condemnation had run ahead of her. The crowd stared with interest as she was trotted past, stark naked except for her high heeled sandals.<br />The townspeople were unaccustomed to such displays of nudity. Even the bush pagans donned clothing to come to town, aware that nakedness was seen as a mark either of shameless ignorance or of abysmal poverty. Seeing this penniless European woman, having been caught in the act of immoral and criminal behaviour, reduced to such a level seemed to the giggling onlookers perfectly appropriate.<br />Trailed by a chattering and expectant throng of whom Angela was the only one ignorant of what was intended, she and her escort entered another compound. More spacious, its mud brick walls enclosed an almost empty expanse of well-trodden earth where at the centre stood a stout wooden post like a cut-down telephone pole. As they entered, another procession was just leaving, more khaki clad men carrying out by the arms and legs, head foremost between them a sagging half-naked black figure whose passing left a horrifying trail of bright red spots of blood; the last that Angela was to see of the initiator of her disgrace.<br />Her escort forced her to retrace the course of that trail as far as the central post. Angela had seen this post before, had passed it indeed each time she visited the Administration offices. Of course no one had told her what it was for and only now was she beginning to make connections between the whip the female orderly was carrying and the fate of her precursor.<br />She was thrust up against the post, facing it and embracing it. It rose well above her head despite her high heels and her arms were lifted up so that her wrists could be made fast with straps to a wooden peg high up on the far side. Her ankles were unceremoniously dragged apart and secured in similar fashion, so that she hugged the wooden post like a lover, breasts and belly pressed firmly to it. Securely strapped in place she waited helplessly; waiting for what she now guessed was the punishment she had been condemned to. This was a whipping post!<br />She turned her head with difficulty, got a view of the black wardress carrying the whip she remembered all too well, and shut her eyes. The compound was rapidly filling up with spectators, people crowding in around the walls. She was being made a public spectacle. She would have sunk to the earth if her bonds hadn’t held her up nakedly exposed as the target for all eyes.<br />Public whippings were still a novelty in Bamba, having only recently been re-introduced under Fundamentalist influence for minor crimes and offences against public morality. They had been a reaction to the townspeople’s fear that starving refugees would bring crime and disorder. In this town on the edge of civilisation, however, the modern world had always had an uncertain grip. By the animated buzz of the crowd, they seemed to regard this mediaeval display as a form of entertainment.<br />Angela’s naked flesh crept and twitched almost of its own accord, reacting to her vulnerability. She hugged the solid timber in terror of what was to come, trying not to squirm, knowing that every movement of hers was adding to the spectacle. The Administrator’s heavy ruler had left her with a persisting relic of its sting on her behind. She would have been glad to beg for that now, rather than what she was going to get.<br />With senses preternaturally heightened, she heard every sound behind her with desperate clarity. Booted feet shifted purposefully, voices muttered then a throat was cleared loudly. As the crowd fell respectfully silent for the announcement, a female voice close at hand read out something in a monotone in the local language, punctuated by the occasional oh’s and ah’s of the listeners. The judgement and sentence perhaps, it meant nothing to Angela of course, except the last phrase alone, which was repeated in bad French perhaps out of some archaic legal habit.<br />“Vingt de coup!”<br />“Twenty something! Twenty strokes?”<br />At last Angela was shocked out of her dumb submission, but since horror simultaneously knotted her vocal cords, the intended shriek of protest came out as a strangled croak. It was unlikely that it would have made any difference; the response of the onlookers seemed to be a ripple of approval.<br />For Angela time seemed to stand still. Sweat from her naked body was making damp patches on the whipping post. Her limbs held taut by the straps trembled with tension, muscles protesting. In agony of mind she assured herself that should she survive this, she would leave Bamba if she had to crawl upon all fours to do it. Half consciously her ears had been monitoring the buzz of the crowd. When it suddenly hushed she got the message at once. Gasping with fear she tensed herself every nerve quivering, alert for the hiss of the descending whip.<br />Swishhh! She convulsed in terror, thrusting herself with a shriek against the unyielding timber.<br />Nothing happened! It had been nothing but a testing sweep of the whip in empty air, never touching her. She found herself suddenly emptying her bladder against the post, all down the woodwork between her legs. Quivering with shame, she heard the laughter. She drew a sobbing breath, filling her lungs to scream at her tormentors begging to be put out of this agony of waiting.<br />She had her wish even before the words were formulated and instantly regretted even wishing it.<br />Shock as much as pain produced the first resounding howl. How could such a thing be happening to her? Then the pain followed to drive out reason. The thing had struck right across the full width of her backside, drawing a line at first numbed, then melting into a red-hot stripe and then spreading, throbbing and burning in a wider swathe.<br />With nineteen more to come!<br />Now she knew exactly how it would feel. She also guessed she was going to survive them but that was hardly consolation with nineteen to go. Dreadful anticipation had given place to the horror of experience.<br />The second stroke fell a fraction below the first, making Angela feel every inch afresh and doubling the pain with twin weals. This time her breath was too short to even howl properly.<br />The third fell while she was still gasping and writhing from the first two, so that she twisted a little under it and it sliced from hip to mid thigh, crossing the other two and removing what breath she had recovered.<br />She nearly fainted, but a delay in the delivery of the next allowed her to breathe again. The fourth seemed worse than its precursors and her recovered breath restored her ability to howl. She ground her naked belly against the solidity of the wooden post as the fourth weal blended indistinguishably into what was now a throbbing generalised torment. She tried fruitlessly to heave herself up the whipping post, fingers clawing at the straps, thighs and calves straining to assist.<br />The next blow seemed to follow her motion. Whipping upwards under the rounds of her bottom the thing almost lifted her off her toes, slicing the clenched cheeks as if to make two round buns of them.<br />On and on it went. Six! Seven! Eight! The strokes followed one another regularly spaced but carelessly aimed, doubling their effect wherever they crossed the earlier weals. Angela gasped with straining lungs after each stroke, expending it in a shriek and having to start again before the next, writhing with unrestrained vigour heedless of the spectacle she was presenting to the crowd.<br />At length one stroke, more wildly placed than before, struck her high up under the ribs and virtually silenced her during the next few deliveries. It was immediately followed with a correction which fell low instead, crossing the tops of her hitherto untouched thighs, leaving an effect like two red hot garters and so galvanising her that she tried to dance against the restraining straps. This and the succeeding two or three she could greet only with animal sounds as she tried to recover her wind, but falling as they did upon a body as wet with sweat as if she had come fresh from her bath, they made plenty of noise on their own.<br />An unexpected pause gave Angela time to catch up, a respite of sorts. She had lost count of how many strokes she had received but she was painfully conscious that it hadn’t been anywhere near twenty.<br />It was a long pause. Slowly regaining some awareness of her surroundings, Angela picked up a commotion among the crowd.<br />“That is she! Oh, the wicked creature!”<br />Uncomforting words and in a familiar if unloved voice, that of Mama Ogupo, formerly Angela’s employee as cook/interpreter, her present landlady and lately a disgruntled creditor. It was evidently her expostulation, in a mixture of languages, which was holding up proceedings.<br />Angela’s wrists and ankles were being unfastened from the whipping post. Was her ordeal over? Was Mama Ogupo of all people somehow rescuing her? She turned painfully to see through the haze of her tears, the massive ungainly figure, almost as wide as she was high, gaudy in her best gown and turban, contrasting with the ascetic figure of the Administrator beside her. The man’s face, angular and impassive gave nothing away. Mama Ogupo’s face, of which Angela once heard a pupil comment ‘a cow step on she’ was alive with indignation.<br />Angela made three or four tottering steps towards them before collapsing onto hands and knees before her presumed rescuer.<br />“Please … Please … speak for me,” she groaned, never reflecting upon the irony of begging for the woman from whom she had tried to escape, to rescue her from the painful consequences.<br />The fat ex-cook stooped over her, loose flesh wobbling like a sack-full of jelly, her little yellow eyeballs rolling in an expression of infinite malice.<br />Angela had been asked to take over control of the charity’s operation in Bamba after government complaints of misappropriations by the local organiser. She had been flattered by the guarantee of a completely free hand, even though she expected difficulties since she spoke little French. The project director had assured her that the principal contractor spoke good English and assured him that English speakers could be hired locally. That was true as far as it went, but she had discovered they were mostly prostitutes. She had been forced to rely upon Mama Ogupo as interpreter, whom she had originally hired at the contractor’s suggestion as cook-housekeeper.<br />Mama Ogupo had contacts among local politicians. A commanding woman with few scruples, she had been involved in some obscure political difficulty, which had impelled her to move across the border. She had been Angela’s most devoted champion up until the extent of the general collapse had become clear. Before the Catastrophe, Angela had been the authoritative outsider who knew how to make the system disgorge money, but with the disaster that system had gone completely, the world she came from buried under snow and ice or swept away. When Angela had gone almost overnight from a rich source of patronage and funding to the penniless reminder of a failed investment, it had become obvious that the other woman’s devotion had been to the possibility of making money.<br />A bad investment! Mama Ogupo had cast about, so far largely in vain, for the means of realising some return on her erstwhile employer. The news of Angela’s attempt to abscond and her consequent plight had struck the black woman with astonishment and fury. Clearly she had been cheated. The penniless debtor had attempted to capitalise upon her one remaining asset and mismanaged it into the bargain! She had hurried to the scene at once, brim full of indignation.<br />“Oh you wicked woman! Oh you slut! You never pay me what you owe me and now you think you can escape me!” <br />“M’sieu! M’sieu!” The fat woman appealed to the Administrator for justice upon the absconding debtor, totting up the sums for back salary, food and lodging, rent of premises etc to an enormous figure.<br />The man looked impassively down at Angela whose ability to follow all this had been somewhat submerged. The woman who had wielded, not the whip as Angela had assumed but a long flexible bamboo cane, had directed the contents of a pail of water upon her victim’s kneeling figure. The petrifying shock of cold water accurately directed upon her burning weals had rendered Angela temporarily speechless.<br />“This woman has been sentenced to twenty strokes of the cane for bribery and immorality. She attempted to bribe my clerk with sexual services in return for a permit to leave the town.”<br />His petitioner howled in dismay at the Administrator’s confirmation of her fears. She looked down at Angela who was gasping and groaning on all fours in a muddy puddle. “You wicked creature! You sell yourself to escape me!” Flourishing her fat fist she yelled, “Why you not sell yourself to pay me then?”<br />“You … horrible … woman …” Angela groaned helplessly, her humiliated reaction to the reproach owing as much to its logic as to its crudity.<br />“Attention!” Stony faced as ever, the Administrator silenced the rising babble from the crowd, advocating solutions of their own and pronounced his official judgement upon Mama Ogupo’s suit.<br />“If this woman,” he indicated Angela whimpering in non-comprehension at their feet. “If this woman, as seems to be the case, owes you more than she can pay then she will be assigned to you as a debt slave, as was our traditional practice in times past! And will remain so until such time as you have recovered all the sum of the debt from her service.”<br />Mama Ogupo looked astonished and the crowd buzzed. Then as the idea sank in, the fat ex-cook began to chuckle with sudden glee that shook her mountainous flesh. Angela, looking from one face to the other, had it explained to her in crudely brutal terms. Debt slavery was an old institution in these parts, difficult to eradicate, persisting within living memory. She protested feebly and tearfully but she knew she was trapped. Mama Ogupo didn’t bother to translate her protest.<br />“That will serve me very well, Sir!” she wheezed still chuckling. Then reflecting more shrewdly she pursed her lips. “But, Sir! What if she becomes troublesome in her behaviour?”<br />The Administrator dismissed the problem, saying indifferently. “Since she is your property until the debt is repaid, the remainder of her sentence has been suspended in order not to damage your interest in her. Should you wish at any time to waive your property rights then the sentence can be carried out in full. With the whip this time, if necessary! You may tell her that, so that she understands.”<br />The fat woman nodded, impressed. She made sure that Angela understood too, who sobbed impotently at her plight. She was to be at the mercy of the ex-cook who would house and feed her and be responsible for her discipline with authority to punish her for disobedience or laziness and have her returned here for a public flogging if she dared to rebel.<br />“Ah Sir! That is a very wise and suitable decision.” Mama Ogupo bobbed an elephantine curtsey to her benefactor.<br />“Submit an exact claim for your debts to my office.” the official said. “A clerk will calculate the period for which she will serve, making allowance for the cost of her upkeep, and will issue you with a license for her.”<br />“Sir she is likely to serve me for ever, she owes so much!” Mama Ogupo forecast jubilantly.<br />He nodded casually and waved forward the female orderly, whose approach with the long cane in hand set Angela sobbing afresh in fear of renewed punishment. “Leonie will furnish you with some sort of rag to cover your slave. It won’t be advisable to let her go naked in the street until people become accustomed to her status.”<br />On his instructions one of the orderlies, a man with a stentorian voice was already relaying the details of the judgement to the appreciative crowd. Leaving the rest of the arrangements to the women, the Administrator turned away and his escort began clearing the compound. While it slowly emptied, the ex-cook and Leonie together surveyed their victim’s red-wealed hindquarters.<br />“You haven’t badly damaged her, Leonie?”<br />“Only the cane. A woman’s punishment!” the female orderly said dismissively. She handed a short thick braided whip to Mama Ogupo before Angela’s apprehensive eyes. “The marks will disappear quickly enough, even from her white skin. The Administrator told me to give you the whip in case she gives you trouble. A white slave woman will be quite a novelty. You might make something out of her yet!” She grinned.<br />“In this place? Pfwaa…!” Mama Ogupo made a rude noise. “A black cow gives as much milk as a white. Who would pay much? The refugee women are dirt cheap!”<br />“Still,” Leonie remarked. “Men are strange and have odd requirements.”<br /><br />“Angeeelaaa!”<br />At the call, Angela Kerr struggled up sleepily from her bed in what had been a school storeroom and now held besides her, only a mattress and a water jug and one other item. On one of the bare white walls where she could see it every time she lay down or awoke, a curled black dog-whip hung by a strip of blue ribbon from a nail in the plaster. Her eyes lifted to it and she sat up immediately. It was a sufficient reminder.<br />Hastily she reached for the piece of faded blue cotton that was the sole item of clothing she now possessed. Knotted about her waist it left her breasts bare but the scrap was deliberately insufficient to cover all of her decently and she had been strictly forbidden by her mistress to tear any of it.<br />Her mistress! Once she had been a person of privilege, a woman in authority, crossing frontiers with casual assurance, invited guest at government functions, courted by business men and ministers as a source of contracts and funding and employment. Then the Catastrophe and suddenly she was nothing, a penniless refugee, deserted sand unprotected. Worse, she was unfairly charged with enormous debts incurred on behalf of an organization now vanished. She was shunned by all except her creditors who still hoped to get something out of her and because of one false step she was now in their hands as a condemned slave.<br />She writhed mentally at the very thought of it. She might have rebelled but the cane was a sufficient reminder of the truth of her opposition. She might be, had been, could be again, taken at her mistress’s complaint, naked to the whipping post and publicly flogged. She was a slave, condemned for debt and until she paid it off Mama Ogupo owned her entirely.<br />“Angeeelaaa!”<br /> Shooting out of the door into the dawn light, Angela started across the dusty compound at an anxious trot. Her mistress didn’t need to resort to the public whipping post for discipline, either. <br />The once well-groomed, smartly dressed, self-assured organiser of people was tousle haired, bare footed and bare breasted. A gang of men loading packages into a small cart turned to look. Feeling their eyes upon her, Angela was self-consciously aware of her jutting breasts goose pimpled, the nipples prickling in the chilly morning air.<br />Mama Ogupo had opened a lodging and eating house in the former school buildings to cater for the official river boatmen between trips, the fishermen from the riverbank and the Administrator’s soldiers who passed on the way to and from the refugee camp. The fat woman was well known to have access to the black market in foodstuffs that supplemented the official ration. She was far too ugly to have been a whore herself, but Angela suspected that not all the young women about the place could be granddaughters and was nervously concerned about how the food was to be paid for. Fortunately perhaps, women were readily to be had in the refugee camp by any man with food to spare and Mama Ogupo seemed content to use her as a scullion. Angela had been put to work from the start, cleaning out former classrooms still dusty from the sand-laden hurricanes that had destroyed many less well-built structures, chopping up wrecked desks for cook-wood, cleaning vegetables and pounding grain.<br />In the customary fashion of the country, Mama Ogupo was the undisputed tyrant queen over the microcosmic world contained within the compound walls and the other inmates took their cue from their matriarch and patroness in their attitude to the family slave. The fat negress had brought in some of the less prosperous members of her family to help in the new venture, her daughters Agatha and Beata, and the latter’s husband, Jonas, a river boat crewman, a tall thin very black man, who was often away on trips. The remainder were offspring of the two daughters, ranging from the suspect young women to tottering infants.<br />Angela noticed that Jonas was one of the men about the cart. A boat was expected to set off down river that day belonging to a rich relative of Mama Ogupo, a former public works contractor now turned trader, the man in fact who owned part of Angela’s alleged debt. No doubt the packages were to go down to the riverbank to be loaded aboard. Feeling Jonas’s eyes in particular lingering upon her, Angela quickened her trot, hearing the men laugh at her haste.<br />Haste was advisable. On the very first morning of her new subservience, Angela had been given a salutary lesson. She had been slow to respond to the call. Dragged threshing and kicking across Mama Ogupo’s ample lap with the scrap of blue cotton whisked up to her waist, she was spanked in humiliating fashion on her bare bottom like a naughty child.<br />“What your name?” Smackkk!<br />“Angela<br />“No! That is all finished! All gone! You are…!” Smackkk! “Just…!” Smackkk! “Angela…!” Smackkk! “Justangela…!” Smackkk!<br />“Ohhh …owww!”<br />“What you say if a person ask your name?” Smackkk!<br />“Ohhhowww…! Justangela!”<br />“Wrong!” Smackkk! “Justangela, Mistress!”<br />The fat pink hand had descended inexorably upon Angela’s cane-tender bottom, emphasizing every phrase. The Englishwoman’s former employee was big and strong her arm practiced by years of pounding the family grain, and her hand weighted with multiple rings. Two or three lanky, frizzle-haired teenage granddaughters, coming out to see what the row was, remained to watch and giggle. A covey of younger children playing in the dust abandoned their game to peer wide-eyed in a cluster around the doorjamb. Angela had been taught her position in the establishment very effectively.<br />Bobbing a sort of curtsey, she presented herself, panting, before her mistress, who was standing arms akimbo at the kitchen steps. The voluminous brightly patterned gown that enveloped the black woman’s ungainly figure made her look twice as massive.<br />“Please … I did hurry … Mistress!” Angela gulped.<br />An ugly scowl greeted this attempt at propitiation; an effect that came easily to Mama Ogupo whose face under the gaudy turban resembled a squashed black pumpkin.<br />“Get to your work! Here is Uncle Moussa come! He will think I make bad bargain for such a lazy creature!”<br />Angela scuttled past with a feeling of dread at the news. Moussa was the man to whom she was partly indebted, along with Mama Ogupo. If she was the black woman’s property then she must be his, too. Indeed he would be entitled to the lion’s share of her services. The eating-house keeper used her for a kitchen scullion. How would this man require his share to be repaid?<br />Angela worked in a daze all morning. It was well towards noon when Mama Ogupo’s leather slipper, snatched off in an instant, startled her from a fear-filled reverie into zealous activity. She was on hands and knees on the worn cement floor of a former classroom from which the rubble had been cleared and the roof patched. She crawled hastily out of easy reach between two plank tables, pushing an old metal bucket of dirty water with one hand, a scrubbing brush with the faded legend ‘Made in China’ in the other.<br />“Gibril!” Mama Ogupo having resumed her slipper and looked about her spotted her eldest grandson, summoning him to her. “You come here, boy! See this creature scrub good!”<br />Self-importantly the boy folded his arms and stood over Angela as she pursued her servile duty with more vigour than before, adding salt tears to the water she sloshed onto the concrete. This was now the eating area of the establishment, quiet in the heat of midday. A few men, traders waiting to meet the river-boat, were eating sorghum porridge and drinking local beer at the far end. They watched Angela’s backward progress towards them, the rounds of her bottom under the thin cotton bobbing and waggling as she scrubbed. Her long white back curved and straightened rhythmically, while dimly visible below heavily pendant breasts swung liquidly to and fro with each thrust of the scrubbing brush.<br />“What would you give to have that one to fuck tonight?” one of them asked.<br />“It’s an ugly sort of colour really,” the other joked. “But she’s well shaped. They say these white women know more ways of fucking a man than a house-full of whores. It would be interesting to try her out.”<br />“You will have no trouble getting a woman to fuck nowadays,” an older man commented. He indicated his half-consumed meal. “The refugee women out at the camp will do it for a bowl of porridge.” <br />“They have no fear of another mouth to feed!” one said heavily. They all nodded glumly, reflecting upon the crash decline in fertility.<br />“We all fuck like crazy these desperate days,” the older man said. “But you won’t get that one. Mama Ogupo isn’t keeping her for nothing. Not many whites available here. I’ll bet she’s being reserved for a better deal than you can offer.”<br />“Look at that arse waggle.” The first man returned his attention to Angela. “I’ll bet the bitch knows it!”<br />She was gradually backing towards them, her short and inadequate waistcloth working its way round until the split up one thigh revealed a segment of round bottom-cheek and at each vigorous movement a tantalizing glimpse of darkness within.<br />“Ohhh …oooh!” Clang! Crash! Unwarily Angela had moved her bobbing rump within reaching distance of the nearest man. His hand dived like lightning into the slit, two fingers effectively sampling its warm depths. In springing away, Angela crashed into the bucket and, as she and Gibril both grabbed for it, they collided and overturned a table-full of bottles.<br />“Let go!” Angela squealed, kicking wildly. The boy had come down on top of her and she reacted in defence, unsure whether she was under assault by man or boy. Gibril responded, at first indignant and then excited by her squirming softness, egged on by the laughing men.<br />“You think that beer for watering the floor!” The mistress of the house restored order with an indiscriminate hand. A large black palm cuffed Gibril hard enough to make his eyes water, the other hauled Angela upright.<br />“Please I couldn’t help it … It …was him …” Angela stopped, faltering, not really certain.<br />“How you tell such lies!” Her mistress ignored the possibility of it being the customer’s fault and chose to take it out upon the easiest target. Grabbing a handy bench with her free hand she drew it forward and thumped Angela face down across its seat. By this time the split in the skimpy waistcloth had worked right round and the garment fell naturally apart to expose her bare white bottom to view. The men at the tables grunted and sniggered in appreciation, enlivened by the stir they had created. <br /> Mama Ogupo ordered the kitchen cane to be fetched and one of the teenage girls, who had been serving the men their beer, ran off to do her bidding, her departure the signal for a fringe of children’s heads to appear round the door. Gibril, keeping his own head down, scurried to and fro, removing empty beer bottles and refreshing the glasses. Angela, prostrate upon the bench, wriggled a little, cast one glance at the onlookers, her face quite scarlet and thereafter kept her eyes strictly on the floor beneath her.<br />The girl who had assumed the task returned breathless with the cane in hand and, exchanging a smirk with her sister, handed the instrument to her grandmother.<br />The onlookers noticed with amusement the woman’s red-faced reaction to the appearance of the cane. She wriggled uneasily, casting a frantic glance over her shoulder at them as to make an appeal for her punishment to be averted. Evidently she abandoned that hope at once. As the proprietress advanced upon her with cane in hand, the victim gave a kind of desperate groan and then settled herself across the bench, head down, her body supported by outstretched fingers and toes, slightly arched so that her backside was the highest part of her.<br />Splattt!!! The stout black arm wielded the supple bamboo with unmerciful vigour and all eyes flew to register the white woman’s reaction, which was to kick wildly and toss up her head with a howl, revealing scarlet cheeks and an expression in which pain vied with shame. Angela had learnt that trying to keep a stiff upper lip only earned harder strokes. As the cane came whistling down upon her, again and again, she put more and more feeling into her howls. This produced the very reverse of sympathy among her auditors who, unfeelingly, seemed to expect more fortitude. <br />The children mocked her howls and giggled and the two mop-headed teenagers loudly gave it as their opinion that she deserved it.<br />“It’s the only way to treat her,” one of them said to the customers. “She’s been used to having her own way. Being treated like a naughty child is the best way to make an impression!”<br />“You can certainly see the impression,” the older man laughed, as the sobbing Englishwoman retreated in disorder, pulling her skirt back around to conceal the four vivid stripes across her bottom. Angela’s shame was increased by the male laughter. She had only been given four and she realised perfectly well that she owed it largely to her convincingly abject display. She was sent to fetch the necessary utensils to sweep and mop up the spillage and then worked in the kitchen under her mistress’s eye.<br />It was evening and she had recovered some equanimity when she was next called upon to face a customer.<br />“Uncle Moussa requires your service!”<br />Trembling with nervous uncertainty as to what service this might be, Angela presented herself before her co-owner. It was growing rapidly dusk and the ex-contractor was seated alone in a small side room at a table by the window overlooking the yard, lingering over his meal. Eyes downcast as if concentrating upon balancing the tray of bottles and glasses she was carrying, Angela repeated her lesson. “Please Sir, I am Angela your, your d-debt slave,” with a dutiful curtsey as she had been taught, blushing fiery red as he looked up, belching noisily and wiping his mouth on a napkin.<br />“Ah! So you have learnt to be respectful to your owners, eh?” He showed big white teeth in a grin. “Excellent woman your mistress! Excellent!”<br />He pushed himself away from the table, turning to survey her from head to foot. Moussa himself was a big burly man, thick necked and pop-eyed, about fifty years old and exuding an aura of self satisfied masculinity. He sat very much at ease, as if he was quite used to being served by bare breasted slave-girls. His upper half was only partly covered by a loose gown, hanging open to display a broad hairless chest and muscular torso. Below the waist he wore a long cloth patterned in green and gold. He gave off an aroma of some masculine scent overlying something elemental. Angela’s burden wobbled a little.<br />“So, you tried to escape your debt by seducing the Administrator’s clerk. You were a fool. The Administrator was right to make a slave of you. You would never have survived in the city. I trade them a little food, those rich enough to afford it. Their soldiers can’t force the peasants to feed them without guns and there are too many city people anyway. They are down to offering me their wives and daughters for food. When they flee at last into the countryside they will have to kill to get food and the peasants will kill them in retaliation and both together will eat up everything.”<br />He had such a thick accent that Angela hardly understood him, only one thing sparked in her brain. He was still making trips down river to the city.<br />“So, you will naturally be eager to pay off the debt.”<br />Angela flushed deeper, uneasy with his manner, sensing the degree of satisfaction the situation gave him and remembering the last time they had met. It had been at a reception in the capital, a formal affair to which he had apparently contrived an invitation in the hope of doing business. She had been wearing a stylish evening frock, turning a few heads among the men there and he had been in evident discomfort in a European style suit. He had been ingratiatingly eager to lease her a property to house the new school and had delicately offered a bribe. He had taken her indignant rebuke with a display of humility. She had been outmanoeuvred all the same, for he had gone through the relevant ministry and she had been forced to accept the lease. No doubt it had cost him a much larger bribe. She was miserably conscious that she was being made to pay him back now and in a situation she could never have dreamt of.<br />“Come, I will have to inspect my new property.” His gesture with a thick forefinger supplemented his deep bass rumble to make the instruction clear.<br />Haplessly, Angela put down her tray and followed the gesture to come closer, standing meekly before him eyes downcast, hands nervously smoothing her skirt.<br />“But none of the property should be concealed from the owner.” The voice hardened and became more implacable. “Remove that!” He flicked his finger expressively at Angela’s waist. She took a deep breath, conscious that it made her nipples jiggle quite expressively, but she did as she was told. She had been instructed that she was to give him service. It seemed to be part of the terms for her repayment, but what it involved had never been spelled out. Here alone and facing him she could easily guess.<br />That spark of realisation still burned in her brain. She thought nervously that if she pleased him, he might take her with him on his next trip. She would get away from Bamba, perhaps run away from him too when they got to the capital, if she got the chance.<br />Undoing the knot, she dropped the garment around her ankles and stepped clear, stark naked for his inspection.<br />“Turn around!” He circled with his finger. Angela turned slowly trying to suppress any sign of her jittery qualms. She couldn’t be blamed for this if she was a slave. Moussa’s view of her rear of course, would include the four thin red lines across the plump ivory curve of her bottom cheeks, the lingering evidence of her earlier caning.<br />“Excellent woman, Ogupo, excellent woman!” He stood up, having shed his robe, as Angela faced him again. A big and imposing male, six feet tall at least, thickening at the waist but still muscular and virile. As proof of the latter, a visible protrusion poked at his remaining garment below his belly.<br />That made up Angela’s mind for her. She was going to be fucked she had to face it. She had no chance of escaping it so she might as well do the best she could for herself. She had to make him want to keep her as a plaything.<br />“Beer!” He slapped her bottom, amused at her yelp and confusion as she snatched up his empty glass. Despite her attempt at control he had read her inner struggle with complacent certainty. He had no illusions as to the aim behind her submissiveness but her situation amused and stimulated him. She was forced to wait upon his pleasure and make herself available in whatever way he decided to take her. He watched appreciatively as she padded barefoot to the tray, blonde hair sweeping down her narrowing back almost to the slender waist, hips flared into voluptuous curves and plump bottom cheeks bobbing as if to display the faint but unmistakable evidence of his kinswoman’s cane.<br />Angela found a beer bottle and returned with it and the glass, endeavouring to appear unselfconscious before his gaze. She was long-legged and heavy breasted, her pubic bush conspicuous against her white belly. He remembered her walking across a crowded room at a government reception, assured of the admiration of the men and the envy of the women. Then that figure had been sheathed in midnight blue silk and she was made-up, adorned and perfumed, the men who eyed her hoping for a flicker of her interest to come their way. Now she was forced to perform for him alone, naked and nervous, conscious that she had no other options. There was no doubt to who she would have to give herself. She had an owner.<br />She had to lean over him to place the glass where he indicated. Her breasts swung liquidly forward, the nearest dropping handily into his cupped palm, even as his free hand delivered a hard spank to her rump that sent her pitching forward across his lap with a surprised squeal.<br />“Your mistress caned you this morning?”<br />Angela wriggled uncomfortably on his broad thighs, feeling his hand lingering on her backside and even more daunting the growing bulge prodding up into her belly through its thin covering. “Y-yes, Sir!”<br />His fingers tracing the weals on her bottom reminded her of Mama Ogupo’s strictures on the need for respect.<br />“So you won’t want to be spanked by me, eh?”<br />“Nooo Sir!”<br />“You would much prefer to be fucked, eh?”<br />“Yes … Sir!” Angela mumbled, head down over his lap.<br />“Ask politely!”<br />“Ah … Yes … Ah … Please ah f-fuck me, Sir!” Angela almost yelped. Her creditor’s final demand was already presented, poking through thin cotton. Chuckling, he removed the beer bottle from her grasp and poured himself a glass above her prostrate body. “Patience. I fuck you after I drink this.”<br />He took a couple of leisurely sips, holding her down casually with an arm across her waist. His free hand patted her bottom and dipped between her legs, spreading her wider and delving deep. Angela wriggled and whimpered resignedly as the caresses became more and more intimate. Resistance seemed counter productive, given her circumstances. With a groan she surrendered to their effectiveness. She was panting and trembling wide eyed when at last Moussa set down his glass and let her slide off his lap onto her knees.<br />He stood up, grunting ponderously, loosed and dropped his waistcloth. Stripped for action, he displayed the erection that had caused such a bulge. It thrust straight outward with swollen veins zigzagging round its swollen stem and crowned by a dusky purplish club-head. To Angela, down on her knees as if in a position of obeisance, it looked almost as thick as her fist. She gaped up at a loss, mouth open, paralysed by her sense of helplessness.<br />Grunting with evident satisfaction at this reaction, the Bamban curled his fist round the shaft and thrust his hips forward, emphasizing its rearing length and stripping back the stretched foreskin from the naked crown. His free hand whipped out and seized Angela by one ear, yanking her towards him. Instinctively she threw out her hands to clutch his thickly muscled thighs for support as the thick cock banged her on the mouth and cheek. She was grabbed by both of her ears as she tried half-heartedly to dodge it, his deep growl bringing her quickly to submission. Choking back resentment and suppressing her distaste, Angela reflected that after all she had done this before. Mental comparison with her volunteer performance for the Administrator’s clerk evoked a groan even as it crossed her mind. Choice was beyond her now. This big brute was her owner and she was expected to give him his money’s worth.<br />Mechanically she let her lips part, allowed the thing to slide into her mouth. He rammed brutally deep at once, right to the back of her throat, so that she gagged and gurgled in extremis. She had to guide it or choke upon it. Curling her small hand about the thick shaft she sought to control it, feeling it jump and surge under her touch. Closing her lips upon it, she hastened to use both lips and tongue to keep him happy. This was what she had come to. She felt she could sink no lower. On her knees in a dusty lodging house sucking for dear life on the cock of a man who owned her, simply with the aim of taking his fancy as a good performer.<br />His big hands held her tightly, splayed on either side of her head her blonde curls spilling over his black wrists. Angela surrendered entirely to necessity, using both hands and mouth, fisting the slithery stem, cupping his balls, sucking him up and down, running her tongue along the underside of the shaft. She received his groaning appreciation with relief. She was doing well!<br />But soon she was having to snort for breath in unladylike fashion, mouth full of the massively surging intrusion which had begun to take on a life of its own. She responded frantically, sucking and tonguing ever faster, feeling that only by bringing him to a quick finish would she get enough air to fill her lungs. Her fair head was now going up and down like a pumping engine over Uncle Moussa’s lap as she sensed his coming orgasm, bracing herself in a near panic to take the coming flood.<br />Uncle Moussa was still in control, however. He yanked himself suddenly free and, with a clout on the ear, drove Angela from her dazed attempt to cling to him.<br />She landed on her bottom on the rough matting floor, yelping, falling on her back with her legs open. He followed her down onto the matting with a heavy thud, lifting her splayed legs and hoisting them swiftly, one over each shoulder as he knelt between her thighs. He thrust into her ruthlessly, lubricated with her own saliva, his big hands clasping her bottom cheeks like ripe fruit as he drew her onto him. <br />She was given no time to recover her breath but jolted and bounced on his hard thighs, squealing breathlessly as she was penetrated inch by inch. He rose slowly to his knees, his solid shaft still deep within her. Angela arched backwards, flung to and fro, banging her head on the furniture and flailing about her for a grip. Hard up in her he somehow managed to rise massively to his feet, gripping Angela by the hips, her torso arching unsupported in front of him, her finger tips just brushing the floor and her hair sweeping dust from the matting. He walked slowly forward, swinging Angela bodily from side to side, her head and elbows making painful contact with chairs and table legs as she bounced and flailed.<br />In this fashion they lurched slowly the full length of the room, Angela groaning and yelping, Uncle Moussa grunting in ecstasy. They barged open a door, Angela’s head performing the actual operation. Within was a small room almost filled by Uncle Moussa’s bags and bales, but with enough room for a narrow bed upon which she swiftly found herself disposed. She was turned skilfully about, without him even having to disengage from her, her vagina sending sharp prickles of pain, and propped up on her knees on the edge of the bed.<br />He was overpoweringly big and heavy, driving Angela’s head and shoulders down into the mattress her rump held up by his clamping hands with the big cock lodged like an additional prop in her expanded orifice. She tried dutifully to play her part, but he seemed to need little assistance of that sort. His hard thighs banged her wider and wider until she lost any leverage on the bed edge and her legs wavered in the air behind his arching back. Angela wriggled and kicked helplessly, upside down, gasping in a breath at each withdrawal and expelling a muffled whimper at each thrust.<br />“Ha! … Give you … something to whine about!”<br />He surged and thrust with brutal passion, grunting and cursing Angela whose whimpers turned to hisses, her fingers clawing at the edges of the bed as he thumped the breath out of her.<br />“Now you feel me!” The bed squeaked and groaned beneath them in steady rhythm. “Wriggle your arse girl … Wriggle it…! Faster…! Faster…!”<br />With a muffled wail Angela tried to respond, her knees and heels pressing for whatever grip they could find on his thrusting body. Uncle Moussa panted and snarled, obeying his own exhortation to speed, pounding until it seemed the creaking bed would collapse and the grunts and groans of both parties filled the room with all the noises of a zoo.<br />Suddenly there was no holding the man. His heavy black belly pounded like a pile driver into Angela’s obediently thrusting white butt. The rich bass of his bellowing almost drowned out her shriller tones. He exploded very quickly, driving into her with quick repeated jolts. Angela lay with her mouth agape, eyes closed, hands clutching the bed shuddering in shame at each wet spurt within her.<br />“How you like being fucked, eh?”<br /> She was forced to respond. “Uh … very … ah … good … Sir!” she swallowed hard as she came up with this miserably mendacious response.<br />Uncle Moussa chuckled complacently. Stretching out on the bed with a beer bottle in his big fist, he propped his heavy body up on the pillows from where he could oversee his diligent servitor. Crouched by him, head bent, Angela was set to work licking clean the limp organ so recently withdrawn glistening from between her own legs.<br />“I have a pretty big cock, eh?”<br />“Y-yes, Sir,” Angela mumbled in between efforts to curl her tongue round its massiveness. At least she didn’t have to lie about that.<br />“Yet you haven’t had an orgasm from it, eh?”<br />“No, Sir,” Angela swallowed uncertainly.<br />“You’d like to have that put right, eh?”<br />“Uh … yes … thank you … uh, Sir.” Angela mumbled in untruthful acquiescence from beneath the shifting screen of her hair.<br />“Get up then! We’ll have a sixty-nine session. I’ll work you up while you make me hard again.” <br />Angela was forced to comply as he directed, straddling his big chest and presenting her parted thighs vulnerably to his exploitative hands while she kept her head bent over his stiffening penis. Lascivious fingers stroked upwards over the inner surfaces of her arched thighs to the apex and her pouting vagina, teasing and caressing. Angela endeavoured to concentrate upon her own task. Already his once limp cock had lifted and stiffened under her ministrations.<br />She took the naked knob head into her mouth again, feeling it bob against her teeth and tongue in the wet warmth, involuntary gurgling noises escaping her as she felt the effect of his fingers between her legs. Angela tried to empty her mind of everything but the physical sensation. Thinking of what she was doing might be fatal to her chances. She tried to match the action of her lips and tongue to the sensation of his fingers between her legs.<br />Uncle Moussa for his part was as skilful as he had boasted. His warm hand held her pubic mound like some small furry animal on its palm while first one, then two long fingers delved beyond coaxed it to respond. Angela snorted wildly, head bobbing, her lips sliding up and down the stiffening stem, her tongue teasing the sensitive underside in electrifying curls. Two stiff penetrating masculine fingers inside her shaft drove her hips up and down too, making electrifying curls within her sensitive lips and stiffening clitoral bud. <br />Faster and faster, Uncle Moussa led Angela on, both of them gasping and hissing. Her blonde hair spilled over his black loins, her white belly down-curved brushed his hairless up-arching rib-cage, her elongated breasts dangling pink nipples traced curlicues of sensation on his broad black belly. As their pace increased, the noises made by both became more animal-like. Angela whimpered and mewed, Uncle Moussa grunted and bellowed.<br />The senior partner was still in control, however. Angela’s reared backside writhed voluptuously in time to his finger work, her pale thighs clamping his black wrist and squirming around his uplifted arm as if it were a monster cock. Her head nodded in complete synchronization with the penetration, her muted cries escaping around the real one betrayed her inner state. Confusion reigned in her brain. In seeking to neutralise her scruples she had laid herself open to excitation. His teasing fingers penetrated to succulent depths and she ground her furry quim against his palm in effort to assimilate the effect, writhing in slow ecstatic circles.<br />She no longer knew whether she was sucking to do her duty and save her skin, or to achieve an orgasm. She had forgotten by which she was possessed, persecutor or benefactor. Still she managed to keep her tongue at work, curling it like a hot wet prehensile muscle about the male shaft that her softly slurping lips seemed at last to have drawn back into full erection. <br />For some minutes they were poised together like some exotic working sculpture, ivory mounted on an obsidian base, male and female interconnected and interacting, lubricated by running sweat, and powered by lust.<br />Uncle Moussa broke loose first, his eyes starting as he arched upward with full-throated, masculine bellows. Angela’s head jerked up off him almost at once, hair flying, her eyes wild, her mouth still showing an empty oval, wet lipped, a skein of white dangling downwards to his cock. Still hanging unthinkingly onto his massive cock, with one small white hand, she rammed her haunches down onto the solid black fist between her thighs, her mouth gaping and her squeals without reservation. The small hot room reverberated with the sound of their combined orgasm.<br /><br />When the pearly tropical dawn flooded the sleeping compound with light, not yet holding the threat of coming heat, Angela and Uncle Moussa were still at it. Somewhere in the distance people were slowly stirring, but Moussa, about to set out upon a risky journey, seemed eager to utilise his new acquisition’s desire to please. Angela having once abandoned resistance to the fires of sexuality, had convinced herself that she was doing so in her own interest.<br />“You are very good at this, eh!”<br />“I hope … so … Sir …” Angela panted. She had been moved back into the cooler space of the dining room, and was bent her over one of the tables.<br />“Good, eh!”<br />“Yes … yes …” Angela was not entirely lying. She had been made to serve Moussa with beer in the cool before dawn, the faint breeze from the un-shuttered windows goose-pimpling her nakedness. Then she had been posed on the table while the experienced debauchee having long since cooled his own sexual ardour amused himself by reawakening hers before entering her from the rear.<br />“You like this, eh?”<br />“Y-yes … Sir …” Angela groaned, torn between shame lust and hope.<br />“You would make a good whore!” he grunted. “You would you like a job in a brothel, eh?”<br />“No, Sir! Ah … No Sir!” Her mouth opened and shut in regular gulps like a fish in a bowl.<br />“No?”<br />Angela gasped and gobbled wordlessly, feeling her own body betraying her with a electrifying response to Uncle Moussa’s slow steady thrusting in and out.<br />“Sure?” Moussa grunted.<br />“Ah … Just … just with you … Sir …” She drew her wits together, about to express the plea she had been rehearsing, the sum of her hopes reduced to words, the hope of being adopted as a rich man’s plaything. But with a long drawn out, deep-chested groan he forestalled her, denying her the opportunity of going further into shame.<br />“Bad… luck…!” He gave her a quick succession of hard, heaving thrusts and shot his bolt at last. Angela groaned in acknowledgement as he drove deep into her, squeezing the last drops of cum from his depleted store. She thrust back automatically her breasts bouncing on the table-top as she hollowed her back and went up onto her toes, spreading her legs wide to accommodate him.<br />“Bad luck …” he repeated with a grunt. “Because …” he grunted again. “I don’t …” another grunt. “Don’t own you any more!” he finished with a regretful sigh, remaining within her holding her firmly by the hips bent over the table edge.<br />“What that you say, Moussa?”<br />Mama Ogupo must have come up quietly behind them. The big man pulled out of Angela, giving her a casual spank as he moved heavily away to recover his discarded waistcloth. The imprints of his fingers lingered reddened on the curve of her ivory flank as she remained in the position he had left her, gathering her breath.<br />“Time to go,” he said to his relative. “Those bugs have ruined everything, whoever put them into the air, either the Weapons for Peace people or the Fundamentalists, or maybe those Japanese lunatics; they had access to a satellite. It’s pack animals I am looking to buy now, not women. I sold this one,” he jerked his thumb at the humiliated Angela who was still dazed, trying to assimilate this news, “to my patron, who seems to have taken an interest in her.”<br />“Aaargh! You wicked man! You never tell me before!” Mama Ogupo screeched. “She service you all night for nothing!” she protested but without great heat, rather amused and seeming pleased.<br />The light had dawned upon Angela meanwhile, who looked from one to the other, aghast.<br />Uncle Moussa cackled.<br />Angela wailed at the thought of what she had gone through for nothing. “You disgusting … horrible …” She failed to find words adequate and, in blind fury, hurled herself at her betrayer. The force and speed of her unexpected assault toppled the big merchant off his perch and he fell backwards with Angela on top of him, raking nails reaching for his face. Moussa swiped her hands away vigorously before she could connect. She was kicking and threshing but at her second attempt he caught her wrists in a powerful grip.<br />Rendered almost helpless and finding a thick black forearm pressing across her mouth, Angela, without reflection, bit it hard. Her opponent bellowed as he felt her teeth sink in, but the muscular bicep proved too massive for her jaws to get a grip and she was shaken free. Cursing, the man shifted his grip, holding Angela well clear of him despite her spitting fury, as he rose to his feet. Her kicking and clawing then rapidly ceased as her rage suddenly exhausted itself and the futility, not to say danger of her action, dawned upon her in its place.<br />Rumbling ominously, Uncle Moussa thrust her towards Mama Ogupo whose ugly features were distorted by rage, and who now flourished the dreaded dog whip clutched in a massive fist.<br />“You wicked creature!”<br />Angela’s nerve abruptly collapsed. “Please don’t … Please don’t …” She had a vision of being led back to the whipping post again.<br />“She bites like a dog!” Uncle Moussa declared indignantly.<br />“I make her into a dog,” his kinswoman declared. “You!” She shook the whip at Angela. “You bite like dog, you be treated like a dog!”<br />Grunting in sudden amusement, Moussa dumped Angela bodily and abruptly at Mama Ogupo’s feet where she remained completely deflated, cowering upon all fours, eyeing the whip and whimpering in propitiation.<br />“Outside! You go like dog now!” Mama Ogupo reinforced her authority with a vicious cut of the dog whip, sending Angela scuttling with a howl towards the outer door upon all fours. “I chain you in kennel, you bitch!” her mistress declared. “Until you be better trained!”<br />It was a notion that seemed to take a permanent hold on the woman’s evil sense of humour. Out in the yard Angela crouched upon all fours, hot tears of chagrin and defeat making dark splashes in the dust. Her mistress meanwhile fetched the collar and chain that had belonged to a guard dog, a half-savage animal that before the Catastrophe had been allowed to roam loose at night. Probably it had ended up being eaten by some desperate refugee.<br />She stooped over Angela and clapped the heavy collar about the girl’s slim neck. It was cold and stiff against her skin, weighted with brass studs and heavy buckle.<br />“Come!” she commanded, yanking the chain leash. “Make yourself like a proper white bitch!” Still in fear of the whip, Angela was forced to comply. While Uncle Moussa lingered by the door and a gaggle of children collected to watch, the fat ex-cook made her demoralised former employer scurry up and down the yard on the end of the leash upon hands and knees as if she were a dog in training.<br />“There!” At last Angela’s heavily breathing tormentor found it too exhausting a pursuit and bent to fasten the end of the chain leash to a staple in the outside of the kitchen doorpost. “Now you stay tied up like good bitch. You be guard dog. Let me hear how good you bark! Louder! Good! Now these children trouble you, you bark jus’ like that!”<br />And there Angela was left for the while, not really secured except that she dared not release herself. She knew Mama Ogupo’s eye would be upon her and the dreaded dog whip hung from the staple as a further warning. <br />The children set out at once to test her. Angela was almost defenceless. She didn’t even possess a dog’s impressive set of teeth to deter them. While she might easily have removed the horrid collar or even unfastened the chain, she could guess what would be the result of that. She could slap any child than came within reach, but when they took to pelting her with stones she had to act. Yet it took two or three tries, opening and closing her mouth before she could bring herself to emit, shame-faced, a sort of yelping bark.<br />The cook pounced with a promptness that suggested she had indeed been keeping a close watch. She scattered the shrieking children like a flock of birds with a few swipes of the kitchen cane and returned to the cookhouse grunting with satisfaction, ignoring the humiliated ‘dog’ by the door.<br /> <br /><br />With the work of setting up the eating house now completed, Angela found her duties light, since she was no longer put to work in the public part of the eating house. Whether this had anything to do with her new owner she didn’t in the least know, since Uncle Moussa had departed without revealing exactly whom she had been sold to. She re-lived the episode with Uncle Moussa often, with fear and shame in her mind. She feared that their discovery by the cook might have given the fat beast of a woman some ideas. No doubt many female refugees had been forced to descend to such efforts to stay alive. Perhaps there was no lack of recruits, but Angela supposed she would at least have novelty value. She dreaded being expected to entertain the male customers of the house in the same way, so that at first she was as disobedient as she dared, even risking a whipping in the hope that her conduct might be taken to disqualify her as a whore.<br />Her mistress caned her soundly for her behaviour but seemed satisfied to continue her treatment of her white slave as a dog, chaining her up ignominiously in the small, high-walled compound behind the cookhouse and from then on, expending a good deal of time and energy in ensuring that Angela behaved appropriately.<br />A week or so after Uncle Moussa’s departure, the compound lay bare and dusty, with only a few low unpainted wooden hutches and a tethered goat to relieve its emptiness. Mama Ogupo emerged from the kitchen doorway followed by several children who sped to open the hutch doors liberating half a dozen scrawny chickens, while one older girl led away the goat.<br />Mama Ogupo herself, a long cane in her hand, went to the furthest hutch accompanied by two children carefully carrying two bowls. Shooing away clucking chickens, the fat black woman directed the placing of the bowls before the hutch. The children subsided chattering and giggling onto the kitchen steps in anticipation. Beata appeared head and shoulders in the only window overlooking the yard and leaned on the sill.<br />Mama Ogupo unfastened the hutch door of metal wire mesh. “Angeeela!”<br />Angela emerged from the hutch, quite naked and crawling upon all fours with a length of thin chain dragging behind her from the heavy dog collar. She kept a nervous eye upon the cane but obeyed its directions, scurrying towards the bowls. The long night in the dusty hutch had given her a desperate thirst. She could almost scent the coolness of the water in the bowl. <br />Her eyes slid sideways in shame to those of the audience for whose amusement it seemed she was being so treated. Collared and chained like a dog, she had been tamed and disciplined appropriately. She was all too conscious of the impatient twitch of her mistress’s cane and remembered its painful lessons. Her bottom was still throbbing and painful from its recent application but she feared the whipping-post even more. <br />With only a flicker of hesitation she ducked her head over the bowl and began slurping up cool water as best she might. The first inhibition broken then, she went on to the other. The food had been almost as tempting. She knew very well that the starving refugees outside the town would have fought over it.<br />In the window Beata had been joined by a male figure lurking in the shadows behind her, Jonas, her husband, watching over her shoulder the ludicrous performance in the yard. Angela by now had her head down, licking thoroughly around the sides of the dog bowl. From the doorway Mama Ogupo glanced across reflectively as Beata suddenly disappeared from view, drawn down out of sight.<br /><br />During the long nights, as she lay crouching on the dusty earth in the starlit courtyard, Angela spent many a fruitless hour trying to adjust her ideas to the gap between her past and her present life. They seemed so far removed now as to have been in different worlds. Yet it was only a matter of months. Had it been a mistake of hers. Could she have avoided this? Could she still escape it?<br />She knew it had been thought that Third World countries would be most vulnerable to a worldwide catastrophe. Surely, she thought; there must be centres of civilisation about the world that were still capable of reviving.<br /> In this her instinct let her down. Bamba had always been close to mediaeval in its self-sufficient economy and was now luckily insulated by its remoteness to survive loss of technology, crop failure, hordes of refugees and disease. She could not bring herself to believe how great the Catastrophe had been. The major centres with their fragile networks and complex infra-systems were much less able to adjust to such a disaster. Instinct was a delusive guide.<br />About local events she had a confused picture, gleaned only half consciously from bits and pieces and illumined by Uncle Moussa’s monologues during the long night she had spent servicing him.<br />Bamba was largely isolated from the outside world. Only a trickle of refugees came across the desert wastes and word of Bamba’s relative order had been kept from reaching the south. Few of the hordes of starving refugees thought of striking northwards towards the desert. The survival of bush villagers through the Catastrophe meant that the town still functioned as a market centre. Old crafts were being revived in wood, straw, leather and metal to replace disintegrated plastic or useless machinery.<br />The Administrator’s control depended upon a precarious balance of interests. The soldiers, reduced in power with their guns rendered useless, were kept loyal by being conscious of the general resentment against them. The townspeople accepted his control as a guarantee of public order. The peasants, long exploited, resented his demands for food taxes from their dwindling supplies of scarce produce but appreciated his control of refugees and looters. Lastly the refugees, resented by all as a useless burden, relied upon the Administrator’s taxes for the scanty rations that might permit their survival.<br />Angela’s status was even lower than the refugees, though far better fed. Her new owner, whoever it was, had never put in an appearance, so far as she knew. The fat matriarch, apparently left to indulge her own fancy, relegated her slave to doing the duty of a dog. She had her lanky son-in law Jonas build a large wooden kennel in which Angela slept at night to perform her part as a guard dog, chained up with strict instructions to sound the alarm in case of intruders.<br />Angela assumed this to be another piece of cruel humour, until twice on successive nights furtive figures slipping over the wall disturbed her solitude. Whether she or the cookhouse stores were the target she didn't wait to find out and the startled intruders vanished instantly when she screeched an alarm. Thereafter she spent the nights mostly wide-awake with her ears alert, thankful that the lazy emptiness of her days, with only a few vegetables to prepare, allowed her to catch up on her sleep. Sometimes the cook or one or other of her daughters would bring a friend to view the “guard dog” but they were always female with the air of whores out in unaccustomed daylight.<br />Angela was primed to raise the alarm at any night-time marauder, but she was less prepared for assault from the inside.<br />The household had settled into sleep when Gibril, the eldest grandson, slid from the window of the room he shared with his parents and crossed the moonlit compound towards the kitchen wing. The women were asleep in the dark rooms round the compound, his formidable grandmother snoring reassuringly in hers. Threading his way through the dining room, he entered the room that Uncle Moussa used. The shutters were closed and he groped his way in the warm darkness to the window, the only window opening onto the small yard in which the white slave was kennelled. Lying to the rear of the kitchen and surrounded on two other sides by blank walls of the former school building, it was accessible otherwise only from the kitchen and by a door locked and barred, on its fourth side, which formerly gave onto a school garden.<br />The shutter was closed but not fastened and a gap showed a strip of faint light. Gibril crouched and applied his eye to the gap. For some minutes he peered into the yard, mouth open, shifting silently this way and that for a better view. At length he straightened and with infinite precaution gently parted the shutters wide enough for him to climb up and slip through the gap.<br />Much of the yard lay in shadow. The dark shape of the dog kennel his father had built was barely distinguishable in the darkness, but from beyond its bulk came soft rhythmic slapping sounds that stirred the boy’s curiosity. Consumed by excitement he crept boldly alongside the house wall, keeping in the shadow, bare feet silent in the soft dust until he could see past the kennel.<br />The waning moon cast a patch of light there as if to illumine a night scene on stage. As he had suspected when he discovered his father’s unwonted absence from his bed, Jonas was one of the actors. Angela, of course, was the other. The European woman’s shapely form was marble pale in the moonlight though anything but rigid in action. Jonas’s black skin made him almost invisible by contrast, though there was light enough for the boy to see that she was stretched across his father’s lean thighs.<br />The explanation of the slapping noise became evident. Jonas was spanking his captive playfully as she wriggled across his lap. For her part Angela, though apparently kicking vigorously in protest, was curiously muted, making no attempt to wake the sleeping household. Neither participant had eyes or ears for anything other than their own interaction. The panting and gasping and the slap-slap of Jonas’s hand were sufficient cover for Gibril creeping closer and closer, fascinated by the almost ritualistic reactions of the naked pair, two figures black and white intensely combined in the moonlight.<br />Suddenly Jonas hissed and rose to his feet with an effort, gripping Angela by her hair with one fist and above the knee with the other so that she swung with arms and legs splayed out like a large pale frog. He had been seated on the small stool that the matriarch commonly sat on outside the kitchen door. Now he swung his burden and dumped her belly-down across the stool, limbs sprawling.<br />Crouched in the shadows Gibril could see her eyes wide but the only sound to emerge from her was a little squeak of surprise. She twitched her limbs and wriggled this way and that on the stool as if in preparation for escape while making no real attempt to do so.<br />“No … You shouldn’t,” she protested, but Gibril noticed nevertheless that she kept her voice low.<br />His father at any rate took no notice. He was wearing a skimpy pair of cotton underpants and was now struggling to remove them with one hand while holding Angela down with the other. A thick dark snake seemed to rear suddenly out of Jonas’s curled fist. The woman twisted about, craning to look over her shoulder as the man slid down behind and between her spread thighs.<br />“Your wife … I’ll tell … I’ll scream … I really will!” Her voice rose and Gibril froze in dismay as his father recklessly ignored her threats. He could see his teeth glinting white in a baffled snarl and two large hands splayed black against her white body reaching round her ribs to restrain her, gripping the soft white breasts as if restraining her escape.<br /> The boy had been manoeuvring for a better view without much effort at concealment. Angela’s bottom, opalescent in the moonlight, had risen a little as if it was impelled upwards by his father’s prodding erection, her hips wriggling this way and that to frustrate the man’s efforts. Gibril clearly saw her expression when she lifted her head, wavering between panic and indecision.<br />The black hands slid quickly from Angela’s breasts to her hips, allowing her upper half to flop, Angela struggling to push herself back up from the dust. Black thumbs slid round to splay her bottom purposefully apart, the other fingers sinking deep into pale flesh to hold her in an inescapable grip. Despite all her wriggling, his father was about to make a prize of her whether she would or not.<br />Watching half fascinated, half alarmed, Gibril saw Angela’s expression harden. He saw her mouth open. Instinctively he rose, prepared for flight as she gathered breath to shriek. Then, in sudden inspiration, he leapt forward instead, covering the distance between him and the older pair almost in one bound and just as his father thrust hard, landed upon Angela’s shoulders, one hand clapped hand firmly over her mouth, the other gripping her hair.<br />Jonas hardly flinched his face wore an expression of reckless lust. His back arched and naked muscles rippled, reflecting the moonlight as he began to prise the white woman apart from behind. “Good boy!” he hissed, nodding vigorous encouragement to Gibril’s filial zeal<br />The woman’s incipient shriek had been smothered, cut back to a muffled squawk. She beat at the newcomer with indignant fists but the boy was weighing down her shoulders, one knee across the back of her neck and there was nothing she could reach that would discourage him. Soon her efforts flagged as the parental thrust and withdrawal began to monopolise her attention and she began to run short of breath, snorting and gurgling beneath Gibril’s muffling hand.<br />Jonas was getting stuck into her with muscular vigour. Angela splayed her fingers on the hard earth to steady herself as she was jerked to and fro by the elder’s vigorous fucking. Sensing that she no longer had sufficient breath left to make an outcry, Gibril relaxed a little, though keeping a precautionary grip on her hair. Presently the two adults almost forgot his presence. They were otherwise engrossed, both snorting puffing and groaning, more or less in unison.<br />His father rumbled deep in his chest, his face looked like an ebony carving its gleaming highlights picked out by the moonlight, white teeth clenched, a mask of lust and erotic effort. Stretched before him Angela’s slim white body flopped and wriggled like a strange sea creature, her muted cries only adding to the effect of male triumph and female submission.<br />Gibril let go of her, leaning back, merely an excited observer. No longer restrained by his grip, she toppled off the stool with her wriggles and was left with it wedged under her belly, heavy breasts dangling, head and shoulders thrust out beyond. Jonas thrust her backside up until she was on her knees. She pushed downwards in turn, seeking to lift herself off the stool, ending up on all fours. Like a stray bitch being humped by a dog, Gibril thought. His father was certainly treating her like one, thumping steadily away, the heavy leather amulet dangling from his neck bouncing on her arched back.<br />Gibril was almost beside himself with excitement, imagining himself in his Sire’s position playing the dog. Jonas was going at her faster and faster, thrusting hard. He grunted more vigorously now and Angela responded with rising cries of alarm as if she knew what was coming. <br />Looking about him, Gibril found his father’s discarded shorts to hand and stuffed them into her mouth, slithering his knees further under her shoulders and pushing the stool sideways. Shifting to claw at his hands, Angela collapsed onto his thighs, her chin in his crotch and his erected shaft rearing up against her cotton stuffed mouth. <br />They tussled madly until Angela, distracted by his father’s thrusts from behind, gave up the attempt. Her soft breasts were squeezed between the boy’s knees and she clutched with sharp fingernails at Gibril’s hips and buttocks, gurgling furiously into her gag. His penis was now bumping its shiny crown against her thin European nose, thrust up and down by the last surges of his father’s penetration of her. Jonas let go with a long sighing groan and a last huge thrust. Angela, tangled among the legs of the overturned stool, was almost cross eyed as she contemplated the glossy purple knob going up and down before them. Gibril held her tight by the hair over her ears forcing her face against him; he was coming too.<br />He gritted his teeth as he felt the dam burst and spurts of white goo shot up into the air and fell upon her, on hair, cheeks and forehead. The cloth fell away from her mouth as he backed away and released her smothered groans. Slowly they wound down to a stop, all three participants panting in exhaustion.<br />Gibril was suddenly brought to earth. His father too, had become uneasily aware of their situation. Looking at one another they listened for sounds from the dark building about them. In those last few minutes surely he and his father must have made enough noise between them to rouse the sleepers. Guiltily, father and son considered the other of the trio, the one who had least to lose by discovery. Angela raised her head and glared.<br />“You … you … pair of swine!” she hissed with the recklessness of despair. “You had both better help me … If you don’t I’ll tell … tell your wife … tell Ogupo!”<br />“She whip you too!” Gibril laughed uneasily.<br />“I don’t care!” Angela hissed. She had hold of Jonas’s discarded underpants, wiping her face and fending off his attempts to retrieve them. “Help me or I tell!”<br />Gibril looked to his father. There was little stuffing left in the satiated Jonas. After his night’s exploit he only wanted to sneak off again and would happily have abandoned his victim had he dared. Jonas furrowed his low brow. It didn’t need Gibril to translate. Though his father knew no English, he had guessed what the slave was threatening. He knew his formidable mother-in-law was supposed to be preserving the woman for someone special and didn’t fancy facing her wrath if she found out how he had used her prize.<br />He decided he would be magnanimous. She had been a good fuck and the boy would keep his mouth shut. Would it matter if he helped her anyway? As a river boatman he had a shrewd idea what her chances of rescue were.<br />Angela, of course, was less in touch with reality. Ignorant of the language she assumed that Mama Ogupo and Uncle Moussa were likely to be lying. She had never come to grips with the sheer scale of the Catastrophe. She saw herself as the victim of an exceptional breakdown of normality in a backward place on the margin of the world. As she saw it, all she had to do was get a message out. Gibril would provide the writing material, pens and paper were readily available in a building that had been a school. Jonas was a river man, she recognised now the smell she had noticed about Moussa, much stronger upon Jonas, the aroma of dried fish cargoes. So now she had means to transmit the letter down river to the capital on one of his trips with Uncle Moussa’s boats.<br />In her dog kennel, after she had been chained up the following night, she drew the writing materials out of concealment and composed a tear-stained appeal addressed to anyone in authority or concerned with the welfare of refugees. It was entrusted to Jonas via Gibril to await his next trip.<br />In this she found a snag. There was a price to pay. She relied upon Jonas and his son as collaborators. When the letter went, Jonas of course, went with it, but his son remained.<br />Her days were still long and uneventful but by night, whenever he could evade his grandmother’s vigilance, she was subject to the secret visits of young Gibril. She dared not offend him by refusing him sexual privileges. His co-operation in keeping quiet could only be secured by her doing the same and so she was forced to submit to being fucked by him whenever he turned up. Of course the young swine exploited his position. She was being kept firmly in her place as a plaything.<br />Mama Ogupo was surprised to find her English slave suddenly have become diligent and submissive, for Angela now fervently desired to avoid being relegated to the doghouse where she would be called upon to perform for an increasingly ingenious youth for no reward. In fact she pleased her mistress too much for her own good, for the dominating negress decided that Angela was subdued enough to be taken with her in the capacity of a porter, on one of her daily visits to the market.<br />Early in the morning, Angela was loaded up with a small pile of goods for barter, mostly items that had been received as payment in the eating house, but including one or two items of the debt slave’s own former possessions. Since fresh supplies of factory made goods were unobtainable, second hand goods of the most worn and battered kind readily changed hands. Mama Ogupo, who had first come to Bamba as a market trader, still enjoyed the process of bargaining.<br />The market took place outside the town about an hour’s walk from the school compound, the track following the riverbank across a flat wasteland dotted with rubbish heaps and the carcasses of abandoned vehicles. The way was haunted by lean goats guarded by watchful boys from the hungry families of refugees who squatted in some of the wrecks.<br />Mama Ogupo, majestic in her billowing multi-hued gown and elaborate turban, led her slave at the end of a rope halter, more for effect than for security. Angela was balancing, with difficulty, a head load of trade goods. The pair were tailed by a straggle of curious black refugee children clad in ragged vests and shorts or tattered gowns according to age and sex. The wearing of clothing had always been a token of civilisation hereabouts. Even the visiting bush pagans donned whatever garments they possessed to visit the town. Now with cloth at a premium it was a matter of status, the poorest of the refugees along the riverbank tried to keep at least one garment in their possession. To have sold everything would have been admitting total demoralisation.<br />Angela wore even less than the poorest child. Her sole covering was a tiny triangular scrap of blue cotton, sufficient only to conceal the dark fuzz of hair in the V of her thighs. Thin cords spanned her hips to support it and another dived between naked bottom cheeks and was knotted above them to hold it in place behind. Inexperienced as a porter, she had to keep her arms uplifted to her load and she trotted self consciously behind her mistress, acutely conscious of the way her up-thrust breasts jiggled and prodded in naked display and flustered by the juvenile audience.<br />An even bigger audience met her when they reached the market. It was in full swing, for the laws against hoarding were strict and food had to be bought and sold in public directly from the producers. A buzzing anthill of people, the market assaulted the sense with colour noise and stink. Fish and prawns, fresh and dried, were the major part of the edible produce. There were stalls shaded by awnings and more informal heaps of goods. A section was devoted to second hand clothing, mostly of bright colour and pattern. Locally woven cloth of goat’s hair and roughly tanned goat and other animal skins were the only substitutes available.<br />Manufactured drugs were unobtainable but there were strange ingredients for home remedies, or magic potions with which to attract a lover or destroy a rival. There were petrol and kerosene tins for sale in profusion but of course no trace of the former contents remained, that function supplied by bundles of firewood or baskets of charcoal.<br />Altogether the market was mostly a female enterprise. Massive black matrons squatted by their goods in solid dignity, younger women jangled armloads of bangles, exchanging strident gossip or advertising their wares with high-pitched cries, while about them moved a kaleidoscopic flow of colourfully dressed shoppers. Fresh foods were sold by the womenfolk of the peasant producers, who sat patiently with sacks of sorghum or rice, peanuts or roots. Sometimes as little as a handful of wild fruit or a bundle of herbs, painfully foraged, were proffered by a squatting vendor. <br />Many of the women carried small children astride one hip and shoals of older children ran and dodged in and out among their elders, but there was a notable lack of very young babies. It had been rumoured even before the Catastrophe that Anti-fertility viruses existed, genetically tailored to fit specific populations. Somehow they had been released. A white man’s plot, some said, to empty Africa of black people. A Chinese plot to reduce their own population, which went wrong, others contradicted them. Or there was the wilder theory that creatures from outer space were seeking a vacant Earth for their own use.<br />To one side the meat and fish market was identified by a row of vultures squatting warily along its roof ridge. Carrion eaters were the most prosperous part of the animal population; only the most desperate would resort to eating them, but Angela knew that Mama passed off vulture as chicken. Fish and meat was a commodity sold exclusively by men or boys.My Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-36253693066716244062007-09-30T13:50:00.001-07:002007-10-01T13:16:30.847-07:00Bound For Africa Pqart 4 by Gordon Kerr“Stop… Owwww, ooooohh, please, ouchhh! Why are you going this!”<br />“To make you more attractive to N’Gono of course,” said Julie. “None of the women of his tribe have pubic hair. This treatment is given to them before they are married. Body hair on a woman is considered uncouth.”<br />“OOUHH! AAAAHHH…! AAAAAGHH…!”<br />“Stop screaming, white woman,” snapped Dr. Kamwego.<br />“I can’t help it. It hurts, it hurts!” whined Evelyn, pulling at her bonds once more.”<br />“Ohhh, ahhh… AAAAAAIIIEEEEEHHHHHHHHH!”<br />Kamwego slashed her across the breasts with a short riding whip. “I told you to stop screaming!” he shouted. “You white women are so weak. I’ll give you something to scream about!”<br />The old woman continued to pluck for at least half an hour, while Evelyn tied to stifle her cries. Soon the witchdoctor had succeeded in removing all of Evelyn’s pubic hair, and the small amount of hair in her armpits. Then she took a flask of thick, strong smelling liquid from her pouch, and mixed it in one of the bowls. Spreading it over her hands she worked it into the area of Evelyn’s skin that she had depilated. It burned horribly at first and Evelyn’s resurgent screams filled the room, despite repeated applications of the doctor’s crop. The sting however, gradually faded.<br />“This ointment will ensure that none of the hair grows back,” said Julie.<br />Evelyn looked down at the juncture between her legs. The slight swell of her pudenda was now very evident, as well as the delicate pink color. But she noticed an even more pronounced gaping of her hole, and protruding of her inner labia. The insertion of N’Gono’s very large male organ had already stretched and changed her vagina somewhat inside and out. The old shamaness laughed and began chattering with glee in her own language.<br />The doctor laughed as well. “She says you look like a civilized woman now. She says white woman have hair like apes!”<br />The old woman continued chattering excitedly, smiling and gesturing at Evelyn.<br />“She says now you will really feel N’Gono’s pubic hair tickle your lips and clit while he fucks you,” said the doctor. “She says it will make you rut like a monkey.”<br />Evelyn flushed and pouted with disgust. But the old woman reached over and began caressing her vulva, lightly stroking the now hairless skin surrounding it. Evelyn bucked her hips and gasped with surprise. It was more sensitive!<br />“Please… it… don’t do that…” cried Evelyn. The old woman continued to yammer in broken English and Dinka, while lightly stroking Evelyn’s clitoris.<br />“Aahhh, ahhhh, ahhhh, ahhhha, please, hhhh, hhhh, hhhhhhhh,” Evelyn’s hips humped, as if responding to an invisible man on top of her. Al-wani knew exactly how to touch her.<br />The doctor was very amused and conversed back and forth with the old woman for a minute or two. All the while, Evelyn endured the expert manipulation of her vaginal lips, anal ring and love bud. She continued to squirm and buck, and emit little involuntary huffs of pleasure. Finally, the woman entered her with her long middle finger. She massaged an ultra sensitive spot inside Evelyn’s vagina, behind her clitoris, while working the little nub from the front with her other hand.<br />Evelyn’s sex instantly exploded into a powerful orgasm. Her eyes rolled back and her hips rocked violently. “AAAHHH, AAAAAAHHHH, AAAHHH, UUHHHHHHH, AAAAAHHHHHHH, pleeeaaasssee.” For an instant, Evelyn lost consciousness. She came to with the sound of the doctor’s laugher.<br />The native woman was preparing to do something else between Evelyn’s legs, but the white woman suddenly noticed that Julie was no longer in the room. She groaned and her anxiety mounted again. She had unconsciously been relying on her friend for strength and comfort.<br />Evelyn became aware of a pungent odor about her, and she thought it must be coming from the little leather fetish pouch that the woman was holding near Evelyn’s sex. A thick, oily goo poured reluctantly from the pouch, onto the white woman’s labia, falling in a glop over her clitoral hood. Bony, deft fingers worked the substance into the folds, bathing her pink pleasure nub in the warm, slightly stinging liquid.<br />After a few minutes, Evelyn felt a deadening of nerves in her pubic area. She watched in silent horror as the woman took a silver knife, and began cut away a small incision in the skin of her clitoral hood, cleaving it apart. It was quite painless because of the ointment, but Evelyn feared she was being disfigured and tied to squirm within her bonds. The old woman looked up angrily, and Kamwego snapped, “don’t move. Or you’ll injure yourself.”<br />Evelyn held her breath and clenched her fingers and toes. There was a minute amount of bleeding, but it was stanched by the ointment.<br />The shamaness took a tiny silver ring and pierced the two edges of Evelyn’s now separated clit hood. She inspected her work and nodded with satisfaction. Then she and the doctor released Evelyn from her restraints and ordered her down on all fours, resting her abdomen over a stool on the floor. Al-wani sat behind her on another stool. Evelyn looked back to see her opening another leather bag, which held many implements.<br />Evelyn hung her head and wondered when the nightmare was going to end. She felt a sting on her lower back over her spine, and something snagging her skin- suddenly she realized that she was being tattooed.<br />Evelyn’s mind once again exploded with panic. For some reason the thought of being marked like Julie and the other white women filled her with an overwhelming sense of revulsion. She bolted to her feet and ran, making it all the way to the door before it opened and she collided with Jayant.<br />He seized her by the throat, holding her in place in the steely grasp of his old, black hands.<br />The doctor spoke in his pseudo calm voice. “You’re going to be tattooed, bitch. You’re going to carry the marks of the Dinka and your master, N’Gono. I am giving you to him, to welcome him to the church.”<br />“No… I’m an American woman. I love my husband.”<br />“Bend over the stool and hold still!” he snarled.<br />“Please,” begged Evelyn. But the hesitation merely earned her a nasty slap on the face.<br />“Do as your told, slut. Down on the stool!”<br />“No,” cried Evelyn hysterically. “This is horrible and violating… I won’t… I won’t bear the marks of a pagan man! A man who’s not my husband!”<br />The doctor simply smiled, and calmly reached up to grasp a handful of Evelyn’s hair. “I’ll call the warden and tell him you’re not cooperating. You’ll be shipped out to the rape camp within an hour. Then there’ll be hundreds of men who’ll play with your cunt and asshole. In a week you’ll have prison tattoos covering your body. They’ll brand you with irons. Each man who fucks you will apply his mark to you. It is the tradition here among criminals!”<br />Evelyn broke down sobbing. She was defeated and she knew it. Her mind numbed with defeat, she went to her knees, and crawled to the stool.<br />Al-wani began to work again, and this time Evelyn did not resist. For three hours she felt the shamaness making the tiny cuts with a tool and working the ink under her skin. She couldn’t see it, but it felt as though they were applying an image similar to Julie’s, across her lower back from hip to hip.<br />When at last the old woman was done, Evelyn felt limp and drained. She had undergone a violation similar to rape. In some ways it was even more profound. The act of rape was transitory. The marks on her back were permanent.<br />They ordered her up, seated on the edge of the table again. Now the Al-wani proceeded to apply a smaller tattoo to her belly, on the flat plane just above her sex. The old woman began chanting while sprinkling more of her mysterious ointments and powders onto Evelyn, and rubbing them into her flesh in the affected areas. Finally the shamaness stood up.<br />“Now you fit for N’Gono,” she smiled, pleased with her handiwork. “Powerful spells on you flesh now. You Dinka property.”<br />The old witchdoctor spoke to Kamwego before she left. Evelyn slumped on the table, weeping and desolate.<br />Dr. Kamwego sat beside her after the old woman had left. He spoke to her gently, almost compassionately.<br />“You will adapt,” he said. “A woman’s heart turns quickly to a strong man. The man who has captured her. Soon your white husband will fall out of your desires, your hopes, and finally your memory. You belong to N’Gono, now.”<br />Evelyn did not react to him.<br />“Al-wani gave you a great complement,” said the doctor. “She said you have a mother’s body and a whore’s heart. And you are much to old not to have children. I told her your white husband was a weakling who couldn’t get you pregnant and that N’Gono has taken you into his hut now. She says she expects to see you many more times. She is a midwife also.”<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 12<br /><br />Julie, Deanna, and Vicky accompanied a very tired Evelyn back to her house. They doted on her all the way, solicitous of her feelings and offering advice based on their own experience of what she had been through.<br />“Make sure you don’t smudge or damage the tattoos,” said Deanna.<br />“Oh, I hate them, they’re disgusting. ” said Evelyn. “Maybe if I soak them with hot water they’ll fade!”<br />“No,” said Deanna. “I tried that, Evelyn. Dr. Kamwego whipped me mercilessly when he found out! And he’ll just bring you right back. “He’ll have that witch woman Al-wani apply them all over again.”<br />“They what am I going to do!” cried Evelyn. “How can I face Rick?”<br />“You’re not going to do anything, Evelyn,” said Julie. “The tattoos will stay.”<br />“You’ll get used to them very soon,” said Deanna. “You’ll be proud to carry N’Gono’s mark.”<br />“The designs mean something?” asked Evelyn.<br />“The tattoos on your back are N’Gono’s tribal and clan markings,” said Julie. “The tattoo on your belly is his personal mark. Everyone who fucks you from now on will see it and know you belong to him.”<br />That statement brought on new misery for Evelyn. “What will Rick think when the American Embassy gets him released. It’ll be right on my belly when we… if we… if he sees me in our bedroom.”<br />When they reached Evelyn’s house, the other three women entered without waiting for an invitation from their host. All Evelyn wanted was a quiet evening alone to recover, but the girls insisted there were many more things to do.<br />They took Evelyn into the bathroom and washed her hair thoroughly. Then they set her down, and began to meticulously plait her long, silky brown tresses, interweaving dozens of beads into the braids. As they worked, Evelyn began to feel much better. Soon she was talking and laughing with her three companions as they shared stories and jokes.<br />It took them a couple of hours, but when they were finished they brought Julie a mirror. She was astonished at the transformation. The radical change in hairstyle had altered her appearance drastically. It was much more “African” now, like that of the other girls.<br />The women talked until almost dark, then anxious to get home to their men, all three of Evelyn’s guests took their leave.<br />When they were gone, Evelyn went into the bathroom, to look at herself in the full-length mirror. As she dropped her kangas, she couldn’t believe what she saw! The woman before her seemed so alien, almost pagan! Besides her hair and face, she could now clearly see the changes to her body. The loss of her thick pubic bush made her sex lips much more prominent. The tattoo above her slit almost glowed with iniquitous maculation. It was about three or four inches around, and featured small, colorful animal figurines done in African motif. At its center was the unmistakable shape of a black phallus, pointing directly down to her womanhood.<br />She turned, and saw some of her back in the mirror. Evelyn gasped. The African tribal tattoo spanned her back with a bold, black and white geometric design. Like Julie’s it ran from hip to hip and seemed shaped like a flower with the stem leading to her crack. The skin under both tattoos was swollen and very sore. She blushed with the thought of what people would say when she returned to Iowa. She would have to be very careful what she wore if she went out in warm weather. Still, though horrifying, it gave her an odd sort of tingle in her loins to see her own body changed and marked by the hands of black natives.<br /><br />Over the next three days, Julie and Evelyn finished scrubbing the veranda. They moved on to other jobs, including weeding, feeding the guard dogs, and washing the doctor’s many automobiles. All of the chores were menial, but Evelyn found that the work was never overwhelming. She had grown up in a conservative, rural part of America and had worked hard as a child and teenager, but the Africans seemed more laid back about work. Even in their subservient roles, the white women were not pushed too hard, as long as they got a reasonable amount done.<br />They occasionally saw Vicky and Deanna, and met a few other white girls. They were always dressed the same, in the traditional African garb; barefoot, wearing only the kanga about their waists and the smaller kanga on their breasts if they were outside. In the villa proper, they were invariably bare-breasted. The majority were either pregnant, or nursing black babies, or both. Some even had a toddler or two in tow.<br />Evelyn began to fall into the routine. She had not been told when N’Gono would return, and she was beginning to become hopeful that her family, or the U.S. Embassy would be able to resolve the situation, and get she and her husband out of the country before she was sexually assaulted again. As far as the tattoos and other modifications of her body, she would just have to hope Rick would understand. Her skin was healing and the tattoos were set now, but perhaps they could be removed or masked once she got home to Iowa. She knew her body hair would never grow back, but she would have to live with that- a perpetual reminder of Rick’s foolish venture in Africa.<br />The next day was Saturday, which was, Julie informed Evelyn, a day off. On Saturdays, the church members met on the lakeshore for fun and relaxation on the beach.<br />Evelyn was excited. She had recovered somewhat from the shocking events earlier in the week, and had decided that perhaps things were not quite as bleak as they seemed. She was anxious to meet more people, especially the other white women who she might relate to.<br />Julie collected Evelyn in the morning, and they made their way down to the beach. Evelyn was thankful it was a little overcast, and not an extremely hot day. She had been told to wear her bikini top and a thong under her kanga, and had been worried about getting too much sun.<br />When they arrived at the shoreline, Evelyn could see there were perhaps a hundred or more people there. The white women numbered thirty or thirty-five. The remainder were black, mostly men, but with several black woman mixed in. There were no white males. It was a very casual gathering. There were a few fires and lots of beach chairs and towels lying about on the sand. Evelyn stuck close to Julie. Ayang was sitting in one of the chairs, idly conversing with two other black men. Julie went and sat down cross-legged on the sand in front of his chair. She motioned for Evelyn to sit on the ground beside her, in front of one of the black men. Reluctantly, Evelyn complied.<br />Only after she had set down did she notice that the man behind her was the one whom she had rebuffed days before on the road. Evelyn felt a chill of fear, wondering if he might still be angry, but fortunately, he was ignoring her. She wondered if he remembered the incident.<br />Evelyn studied the beach-goers. The black women were all dressed in loose, modern clothing, or fairly conservative one-piece bathing suits. They seemed aloof, almost snobbish toward the whites. The white women by contrast, wore the traditional kangas, or very minimal thong-type swimwear. Some of the white women had even removed their tops! All were like Julie, without a hint of tan lines across their breasts.<br />Evelyn saw other differences too. The black women sat in chairs. The white women all sat on the sand, or in the black men’s laps. The white women seemed much more flirtatious than the black women, who were by comparison demure, independent and sophisticated.<br />Evelyn tried to relax and enjoy the sunshine. The men seated behind her were speaking in an African dialect and seemed unconcerned about the girls sitting at their feet. Evelyn had just closed her eyes with the warmth of the African sun on her face when Julie nudged her with an elbow.<br />Evelyn turned to see that her friend had removed the kanga top, and her man Ayang was idly caressing her naked back with his black hand.<br />“Evelyn, take off your top,” she whispered.<br />Evelyn frowned. With great reluctance, she reached up and removed her small kanga. The bikini top was so skimpy that she blushed, and had to fight the urge to cover her chest with her hands. She got up to walk around. There was a cooler close by, filled mostly with beer and ice, but with a few soft drinks as well. Evelyn took one and stood, watching the party.<br />Soon things were developing in a blatantly sexual direction. Here and there were couples, carousing between drinks, seemingly oblivious to everything but each other. Black hands fondling tan white breasts, and sneaking under bikini bottoms; quiescent feminine giggles and gasps.<br />The men were engaging both black and white women. But the black women were more modest. That activity seemed to invariably retire to the little beach houses for privacy, while most of the sexual antics involving the white women were unfolding in the bold sunlight, right out on the sand! Only a few feet away a black man and a white woman were laying on a towel, both naked and in the midst of rather advanced foreplay.<br />Evelyn looked with disgusted shock at the little orgies that were developing on the beach. Julie was still seated in front of Ayang’s chair. His big hand was now kneading her bare breast as he chatted with the other black men. Julie suddenly looked back at Evelyn with concern, as if to warn her that her that antisocial behavior was rebellious and “sinful,” It was unacceptable, and if she persisted there would be dire consequences. For the moment, however, the black men seemed to be ignoring her.<br />Suddenly Evelyn felt her head wrenched back and she was looking into the angry scowl of Dr. Kamwego himself. His voice was tight and threatening. “Go back over there and sit in front of brother Nabela as Julie is doing. Do as he tells you. I’m not going warn you again.” Then the doctor let go of her hair.<br />Defeated, Evelyn emitted a little sniffle, then padded back across the sand and sat next Julie again, in front of Nabela’s chair.<br />Julie smiled at her reassuringly. The girl seemed almost totally at ease, as if she and Evelyn were just two young women alone on a beautiful beach. Her winsome smile almost made it seem to Evelyn that all this was normal. But then Evelyn felt the big, black hand stroking her slender neck!<br />“Take off your bikini top now,” whispered Julie again.<br />Evelyn shook her head again, staring straight out to the water with a determined look. It was bad enough to have to be here, watching all this happen. There was no way she was going to remove her top, this place was simply too public.<br />She breathed a small sigh of relief when Ayang and Nabela got up and walked over to the water’s edge. A few feet from them a fat, African man in his mid fifties had removed the panties of a petite, red-haired young white girl, who looked to be in her late teens. He mounted the unresisting female and immediately began to energetically pound her into the sand, rutting his big manhood into and gripping her form roughly by the shoulders. The girl grunted with his huge intrusion into her belly, but did not resist. In fact she curled her soft legs around his back and made a strained effort to smile up at the man.<br />Ayang and Nabela stood chatting and smiling next to them, seemingly oblivious to the lewd spectacle transpiring at their feet. Evelyn shook her head with disgust. Never had she dreamed such depravity could exist, especially within a church gathering. She closed her eyes tight, trying to shut out the shocking and threatening world around her.<br />“Take off your top, Evelyn!” hissed Julie, urgently.<br />“No,” whispered Evelyn through clenched teeth.<br />“You have to,” replied Julie. “All of the other white women are bare breasted. Brother Nabela expects it and the doctor will punish your racist pride if you keep it on.”<br />“It’s not racist pride,” spat Evelyn, trying to keep her voice to a whisper. “It’s a matter of modesty!”<br />“Not in Africa,” said Julie.<br />“But the black women aren’t topless,” whined Evelyn.<br />“Dr. Kamwego says we whites have to accept African ways and the authority of his church and his elders if we are to be forgiven for our race’s past oppressions. Going bare breasted at church functions is one way of demonstrating that. Submitting to any African man’s advances is another.”<br />Evelyn starred slack jawed at her young friend. “You mean… make… have… have sex with them? Right here? I… I couldn’t… I couldn’t do that! Besides, it’s so immoral!”<br />Julie shook her head. “It’s not sinful if the doctor tells us to do it. It’s a sin to disobey him. Take off your top!”<br />Once again Evelyn shook her head and set her jaw, trying to concentrate on the lake and the surf. She was a married, Christian woman. Submitting to one black man behind closed doors, until she could escape the country, was one thing. This was something else. She did not have to participate in such illicit activities.<br />So determined was she to remain aloof and ignore her surroundings, she did not hear the doctor’s quiet footsteps behind her. Suddenly she felt a slight tug on her top. She turned to see him sitting on the chair behind her. Then she felt a cold, sharp object at her back. The strap parted and the cups of her bikini top fell away from her chest! She gasped with shock and outrage as the cool lake air played lightly over her now exposed nipples and her face flushed with an even deeper color. She instinctively tried to look down and find the sheer cloth, but he seized her neck in an iron grip. He would not allow her to move her head and she whimpered with the familiar feeling of helplessness at his hands. Knowing she was now completely bare above the waist, she bought up her arms, again with purely modest instinct.<br />The doctor pushed her hands violently away then slapped her face. “Leave your arms down,” he growled, reaching down and snatching up the remnants of her top.<br />Still utterly shocked, Evelyn gasped for words. “Please… I… I… can’t… ouch… oh, I can’t… please… ahhhggghh…” she rasped, as he twisted her hair.<br />“Quiet,” he snapped. Then he leaned down to whisper beside her reddened face. “Keep your hands and arms down and push your chest out, or I’ll have the fattest, ugliest brother rape you right here on the sand! Is that clear?”<br />Now cowed, Evelyn sniffled with defeat. “Ye… yes… please don’t hurt me!”<br />He released his hold on her and walked off, satisfied for the moment. Evelyn sobbed quietly and hung her head with shame for a few minutes, but she did not try to hide her breasts.<br />“I told you to take them off,” said Julie, with mixed sympathy and vindication. “Now you will go all the way back to the house topless. Everyone’s going to see your tits.”<br />“No…” whimpered Evelyn.<br />“Oh yes! Every guest, brother and elder is going to get an eyeful, because you were disobedient.”<br />“Please… I didn’t know… I can’t go back like this.”<br />“Evelyn, that’s the least of your problems. Nabela is still annoyed at your little stunt on the path a few days ago. I heard them talking and they’re going to teach you a lesson.”<br />“But… I didn’t mean to…”<br />“Just grit your teeth and bear it, Evelyn, you’ll survive. But don’t give brother Nabela anymore trouble or he’ll probably whip you raw, right here on the sand in front of everyone. I’ve seen him do it to other girls, so you better calm yourself down and do what it takes to please him.”<br />A few moments latter, Nabela and Ayang returned to their beach chairs behind the two white wives.<br />Evelyn screwed her eyes shut, hoping against hope that whatever they had planned would somehow not occur. Fear of the two big, African males and what they might do kept her from moving. She tensed with a small gasp when she felt the large, callused hand again, but this time it was not caressing. It had taken a cruel grip on her upper arm.<br />Nabela rose, pulling Evelyn up with him and dragging her over to one of two open beach towels.<br />“Get that kanga off,” he barked. “And the thong! On your knees… On all fours.”<br />When Evelyn began to protest weakly he punched her savagely in the belly. She doubled over onto the cloth, temporarily unable to breathe and frozen with fear as he pulled the kanga from her waist and ripped the thong from her body.<br />“Spread your legs!” he snarled.<br />“All right… ugghh…” cried Evelyn, still trying to catch her breath. But he did not wait for her volition. He kicked her thighs apart with his sandal-clad foot and slapped her rear cheek with a loud crack.<br />“White bitch. You’ll never push me away again!” he said. He knelt behind her and brought his hand to her puckered anus. “N’Gono doesn’t use this hole. But I do!”<br />An intense spasm of fear and revulsion ripped through Evelyn’s very soul. This man intended to perform that unnatural, unspeakable act that she had only heard about in the vilest of contexts. He was going to sodomize her!<br />“Oh god no! Please no! I’m sorry for pushing you away!”<br />He slapped her hard again on the rump. “Shut up, bitch!”<br />“Please, sir,”<br />Evelyn was suddenly aware of Julie kneeling beside her before the angry black man. “Please sir, use this. It will make it easier for you to fuck her asshole, sir. Please let me give it to her.”<br />Nabela grunted his assent.<br />Julie moved over to Evelyn and presented her with a tube of sexual lubricant.<br />Evelyn’s eyes were wide and she shook with hysteria. “He wants to… to… Sodomize… NOOOO!” she shrieked.<br />Julie slapped her face, trying to calm her frenzied panic. “Evelyn, listen. Listen to me. He’s going to fuck your ass! Now use this jelly so he doesn’t tear you. Squirt some up your anus and work it around. Then spread some on his cock. Hurry and lube yourself!”<br />“No… no… not there,” Evelyn kept sobbing and whimpering. But she was using the tube, squeezing the viscous gel into her rectal cavity and pushing it in with a finger. She kept looking at Julie desperately, begging with her trembling voice. “Please… not there… he can’t do it there!”<br />“Shhhhh,” said Julie, her voice as soothing as possible. “He’s going to fuck you there, Evelyn. Now turn around and coat the stuff on his cock.”<br />Evelyn, in an almost catatonic state, obeyed. She grasped his big, black organ timidly and squirted the lubricant onto it. It wasn’t as big as N’Gono’s, but it was still much larger than Rick’s.<br />“Now get back down there,” said Nabela. “Reach back and pull your cheeks apart.”<br />Evelyn complied, wishing fervently that the earth would open and swallow her up.<br />“Try to relax your anal muscles and let it happen,” said Julie.<br />Then Evelyn felt the head of his penis. He pushed, and the slick jelly allowed him to enter her smoothly, though her anal ring resisted and there was some pain.<br />“Aahhh, ahhhh, ahhh, ooohhhh,” panted Evelyn pathetically. Her face was buried in the towel and her hands were clawing at it. She felt him push again and his cock went deep.<br />“OOOHHHHH! Please, it hurts!”<br />He paused for a moment, allowing her muscles to adjust. Then he began a slow pumping motion and Evelyn gritted her teeth. The pain of his initial invasion had faded, but it still felt gross and unnatural. She lifted her face and looked around, once more aware that she was in a very public place. People were casually watching, smiling, or just walking past. None of them acted as though the public anal rape of a white woman by an African man was anything out of the ordinary.<br />The minutes seemed to have slipped by and Evelyn realized he was thrusting fast, about to climax. Before he did so he reached around and touched the bud of her clit. Instantly a weird, cloying heat suffused her loins, like an orgasm burning slowly instead of exploding. She felt him groan and stiffen, and his balls were twitching as they hung against her vulva.<br />“Ahhgg, yes… take it, woman.”<br />She could feel his semen as it pulsed into her vitals. The masking pleasure dissipated quickly for Evelyn after he pulled out and she lay face down and unmoving while her anal ring tried to recover.<br />Nabela was already laughing and joking with another black man, and sat back down as though nothing had happened. But for Evelyn, it was beyond rape, beyond humiliation. She was sure her mind and body would never be the same. She felt dead inside, filthy, and utterly defiled.<br />A few feet away she heard a female voice permeated with rapturous bliss. She turned her head to see Julie on her back, being ferociously fucked by Ayang and thrusting her loins up to meet his with equal vigor. As Evelyn watched, their pleasure crested. Ayang shouted in triumph and pinned her to the sand, pumping, filling, possessing his white woman, as Julie screamed with joy into his black, muscular chest.<br />Evelyn just closed her eyes and sobbed, engulfed in a swirling vortex of the darkest shame she had ever known.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 13<br /><br />Evelyn’s breasts bounced with salacious freedom on her denuded chest as she walked home from the beach. Oddly enough it hardly bothered her. She had been so traumatized by the very public anal rape she had undergone that her mind was in a kind of fog. Yet there was one thing she found to be the most degrading factor of all. She had actually had an orgasm from it. Her mind was assailed with the ugliest self-recriminations, and she felt literally dirty, fouled with the shame of her own depravity. All Evelyn wanted to do was go home and take a bath.<br />The next day was Sunday, and Julie arrived as usual to walk with her to church, which they were required to attend.<br />The church service was like none other that Evelyn had ever attended. She and all the other white women were seated on the floor in an open area at the rear of the main sanctuary. All of them were bare breasted and wore only the waist kanga, dressed in the traditional manner of African women. Their clothing however, was clean and colorful, and obviously meant for exclusive Sunday use.<br />Many of the white women held half-black infants, and some were breastfeeding openly. Evelyn watched as Julie fed her baby. Her breasts were heavy, and the brown baby sucked greedily at her darkened and enlarged, extended nipple.<br />The black congregation sat in padded pews. The men wore tailored suits, the women were dressed in demure finery, very conservative, as befitted church attendance in a European or American service. Their clothing was modern, but still with a distinctive African cut and look.<br />There were hymns, but they were sung in African dialects and Evelyn didn’t recognize the melodies. There was an odd sort of chanting, also not in English. Then it was the doctor who preached, mostly in an African language but also in some English. Evelyn noted that he said nothing about God, the bible, or the classic Christian doctrine she was familiar with. Instead, the sermon had strong racial/mystical/political overtones. Kamwego spoke of Africa, and her noble black sons and daughters. He told of her great history in ancient times, and of the evil and corrupt white man who had ruled and had tried to impose his culture as well at his will. The spirits of African ancestors were restless and calling for revenge on the whites and retribution for their sins.<br />Finally, he talked about what white men had done to African women; raping them, enslaving them, forcing them to westernize and accept white traditions. Even Evelyn was appalled.<br />At the end of the service, a beautiful blond white woman sang another African hymn in English. The song praised the doctor and his church. Evelyn was mesmerized with the girl’s lovely voice as she stood before the church dressed only in her waist wrap.<br />When the service was over, the black congregation rose. The white women went to their knees, and stayed there until the last black person had left. Then they stood, and Julie walked Evelyn home.<br /><br />For the next three days, Nabela was waiting for Evelyn when she arrived home. He would take her around to the back of the house and rape her anally, sometimes as she bent over grasping her ankles, sometimes as she crouched on all fours on the dirt. She learned not to resist him in any way, and to loosen her sphincter muscles as he entered her.<br />Nabela was something of a sadist. He would slap her around before and after every anal union. The beatings were rather mild, leaving no bruises or permanent marks, but Evelyn was sure they would become much more serious if she made any attempt to thwart him. He would bait her, berating her as frigid one minute and as a wonton whore the next. But he made it clear he was enjoying the abuse of her body. “If N’Gono doesn’t want you, I will claim you, women!” he had rasped into her ear after cumming in her bowels.<br />To Evelyn’s chagrin and horrified wonder, she was gaining the lubricous orgasm every time, but the sessions were demeaning in the extreme. And she hated the cruel Nabela.<br />Then a day of deliverance. Julie had been told that N’Gono would be home that night, and shared this news with Evelyn. Even to Evelyn’s surprise, this prospect made her oddly nervous. With N’Gono in his own hut again, he would surely protect her from Nabela. In that instant, she went from hoping he would not return before the embassy got them out, to worrying that N’Gono would reject her.<br />Sure enough, Nabela was nowhere to be seen when she padded up to her house that night. N’Gono was not there either, so Evelyn busied herself preparing for his arrival. She tidied up the house, and tried to cook a vegetable and goat meat dish the way she knew he liked it.<br />She checked herself in the mirror. She and Julie had spent much of the day, washing each other’s hair, re-braiding it, and replacing the beads. The cornrows on her head were clean, neat, and very “African Negroid” looking. Her tattoos were almost fully healed, and had turned out well; crisp and un-smeared, and now very permanent.<br />Then she heard his car and went to the window. Evelyn’s adrenaline rushed when she saw it was N’Gono. The doctor had given him one of his older luxury sedans to drive to and from his village, to impress the native people and spread the influence of the church.<br />Evelyn quickly removed her top, and straightened out the kanga at her hips. She assumed the posture Julie had taught her. She had told Evelyn that N’Gono would expect it upon his return. Kneeling, spreading her legs widely but decent and placing her hands on her knees, Evelyn held her breath, hoping he would be pleased. When she heard his key in the door, she thrust her bare breasts out and lowered her eyes.<br />Then the door opened and he was there, and the room seemed to fill with his masculine presence.<br />Evelyn did not look directly into his face, but he seemed even taller now. His 6’5” frame was clad in a western style suit that seemed to actually augment his muscular physic. The suit spoke of power and worldly sophistication. That was the craving of every young African male and one of the lures by which the doctor would recruit the Dinka tribesman. Another lure was the gift of beautiful young, white women.<br />Evelyn felt his hand under her chin. He lifted her face, and she saw he was smiling. Her heart soared with the knowledge that he was pleased with her appearance and behavior.<br />Evelyn was convinced he would demand sex, and was fully prepared for it. There was still a twinge of guilt with regard to Rick and her vows, but she suppressed her conscience with the conviction that she had no choice. It made no difference, she told herself. She still loved Rick and thought nothing could change that. But these things she had to do to stay out of that horrible prison and gain the protection of a strong male. She was sure Rick would understand.<br />But in point of fact, N’Gono didn’t drag her straight to his bed. He sat down to enjoy a soccer match on television and aside from accepting his dinner and ordering her to fetch a beer from time to time, he totally ignored her. Evelyn went back into the kitchen to wash dishes.<br />Evelyn’s guilt began to creep back into her conflicted mind. Was it right that she should be anticipating sex with him this way? Yes, for the moment she had little choice in the matter, but how could going to bed with any man, save Rick, be anything but wrong? And she wondered further; why during the past few days did she yearn so for N’Gono’s return and not her husband’s. Why did N’Gono, instead of Rick, represent safety and security?<br />She was startled out of her thoughts when she suddenly felt his hand on her breasts, and recognized he was standing behind her.<br />“You very pretty now,” he whispered, biting her earlobe with his thick, black lips. “Look like African girl.”<br />“I… Yes,” she stammered. “The shaman woman from your clan… She, um, did things to me. To make me… look like African girls… The other women fixed my hair.”<br />“N’Gono like how white woman look,” he breathed, pinching her nipples. “You flesh bear the markings of N’Gono clan. Come, N’Gono take you.”<br />He clasped her hand and led her down the hall to the bedroom. There he gathered her in his arms. His lips found hers and he pulled her naked upper body to his, feeling her nipples like pebbles through his shirt. He released the kanga at her waist, letting the wrap fall to the floor, and his hands roamed freely over her naked, white flesh.<br />Presently, he stepped back, and Evelyn knew he was telling her to undress him. She tentatively removed his coat and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off. He sat on the bed and she knelt before him to remove his shoes and socks. She looked up at him, feeling an inner surge of lust mixed with guilt. He was so muscular and manly and confident, so unlike Rick. But Rick was her husband, and doubt and conscience gnawed at her.<br />They stood again. Evelyn closed her eyes and unbuckled his belt. Not able to bear his gaze she lowered her eyes as she slid his pants down his legs. He lifted his feet and she turned away from him, folding the expensive slacks on the back of a chair.<br />She sighed, and looked at his shorts, the last of his garments, bulging with his throbbing manhood. The tip of his erection was poking obscenely out the fly, and Evelyn’s hands trembled as she tugged the elastic bands and eased them down his hips.<br />Then it was there before her, 10 inches, glorious and uncovered. It throbbed with his heartbeat, black as the African night and stiff as a Dinka spear. Fear and anticipation charged through Evelyn’s loins and she felt the wetness seeping from her hairless sex.<br />A sob wracked her throat and she turned away from him. Before her was the bed and N’Gono stood silently at her side. The other times she’d had no choice, and little warning. This was different. She was alone with this man, quietly preparing to go to bed with him for the purpose of making love. No matter what her predicament, this was a deliberate, methodical violation of vows made to a husband she loved. Evelyn’s nuptial loyalty fought with her libido and female instincts, and her soul was the battleground.<br />She stiffened and balked. She couldn’t do this! Not in this way. Why did he have to be so gentle and seductive? Why couldn’t he take her as he had before? Just as the doctor and Nabela had, raping her quickly and brooking no resistance? This was the most savage and devastating attack of all. He was arousing her genuine passion for him. He was making her feel- love.<br />She felt his hand gliding lightly over the tattoo on her lower back and she closed her eyes as her libido bubbled and frothed. But thoughts of Rick, and her family, and precepts of her upbringing stiffened her shoulders, and her resolve. She pulled away from his hand and stood holding her breath, waiting for the inevitable punishment for her rebellion. A slap or the lash of a whip- which didn’t come.<br />“In my land, strong man take what he want from weak man,” said N’Gono, softly.<br />“I’m a woman, not an object,” whispered Evelyn.<br />“N’Gono speak of women.”<br />He turned her by the shoulders slowly, until she faced him, and Evelyn beheld the strength of will in his Negroid face. She backed up, terrified of him and wanting to bolt from the room. But he had her cornered now with her legs against the foot of the bed. He took hold of her arm, his grasp gentle yet as strong as steel.<br />“This house mine now,” he whispered in her ear. “N’Gono claim you also, woman.”<br />“Please, I know your customs are different here, but I’m American, and a married woman. I can’t… voluntarily make…”<br />“You in Africa now. In Dinka man’s house. You follow Dinka customs.”<br />With wide eyes she shook her head slowly, but he could sense her doubt and female need.<br />His mouth met hers and he pushed backwards gently, falling with her as she tumbled onto the bed. So naked, and so small, sprawled under him, so weak did she feel, held down by his entangling limbs- a living cage of black sinew. Evelyn was pushed onto her back, her suntanned, peaches and cream complexion crushed by his covering black from. Though her legs clamped tightly shut, he brought his knee between them, separating them with brute force. Yet she could not think of him as a brute.<br />He was slow but unstoppable, wedging his legs between hers and twisting, irresistibly spreading her creamy thighs and placing himself in position to mount her. Evelyn realized he could have simply whipped her or beat her until she complied. But he wanted to take her with pure physical force. Her will did not matter, and her straining was in vain. Her thighs relaxed.<br />N’Gono settled his hips from side to side, then he was home, his blunt African javelin at the threshold of her mons, once more battering the gateway to her virtue.<br />“No…” she gasped feebly, yet already her soft white hands were grasping the massive muscles of his back, and her knees were drawing up to cradle his hips. She felt her female lips parting and gazed down to see his huge manhood disappear slowly, pushing- into her lightly tanned belly.<br />“Ahhh, uuuuuuuunh, so big!” Evelyn panted as she saw her own smooth, white legs wrap around his back while he sank deeper. She looked into his African face, and her gray eyes pleaded for mercy, begging him to stop. Begging him to go on. And still the great black shaft bore downward, and her vaginal walls pushed outward, until his heavy scrotum nestled onto her anus. Then, with but a few more of her faltering shallow breaths, the last of her resistance vanished- and ecstasy replaced it.<br />It was true! What the shamaness had said was the truth. She could feel now with incredible vividness his skin and pubic hair as they contacted her denuded crotch. It was driving her wild! He was holding himself almost still; the act of possessing her frozen in time as she lay impaled and conquered.<br />“N’Gono, uunnnhhh,” she grunted. Her vagina was adjusting to his girth faster this time, having already been forced to take it twice before. Then he began moving very slowly, withdrawing and thrusting, in and out, bursting through space and time.<br />In their previous encounters she had been terrified and consumed with the shame of rape and adultery. Now she sensed that although N’Gono might not give her any choice in the matter of sleeping with him, he would not hurt her out of cruelty. He saw her as his woman and expected to use her body. But he was not like Nabela. He did not take pleasure from her pain. Furthermore, his strength of will and body meant she simply had no hope of resisting. That realization soothed her doubts, even as her lust and need surged.<br />Now, having sex with him for a third time, Evelyn could relax after a fashion and examine her own psyche. What was she feeling where they were joined between her legs? What was it like to have sex with another man besides Rick? What was it like to be with N’Gono? Truly his. It was wonderful!<br />Evelyn’s soft white limbs held him in a tightening embrace. Her body knew its needs. But though her flesh might respond, her heart still languished under a yoke of guilt. It brought to her mind the fear of Nabela, and the horrors of the prison. They were waiting for her, should she lose the favor of N’Gono. Only her flesh would buy his continued protection, and Rick would never know.<br />Rick was her husband, but no longer master of her bed. And for the first time, Evelyn wondered if he would ever be again. She knew in her heart that he could never give her the feelings she enjoyed with N’Gono. Rick was too civilized, too timid- and his cock was too small. But then N’Gono settled into his rhythm, and all thoughts of Rick and her marriage, good or ill, faded.<br />Her black lover was pumping now, and Evelyn was rutting back, grinding her pubic mound up to him. The bed began to creak with the cadence of their mating, and they writhed, fused as one corporeal being.<br />It felt so wonderful, so right. Being beneath N’Gono and infused by him slowly chased away the shadows of self-doubt and the specter of Nabela’s abuse. N’Gono was giving her his full length with every plunge, kissing her cervix with his glans. It went on forever, or so it seemed to the white woman, as he glided in and out with graceful ease.<br />“Tell N’Gono to fuck you. Beg Dinka man!” he breathed.<br />She sighed, but her brain was too glutted with pleasure to respond.<br />He smiled and bent to kiss her, and this broke the spell.<br />“Fuck me,” she gushed against his thick, dark lips. “Fuck me, N’Gono.”<br />“N’Gono put little Dinka in you belly,” he rasped, giving her exceptionally deep lunges. “Beg N’Gono for his child!”<br />“Yes,” she replied, too far-gone to care what she was saying. “Give me your baby! N’Gono… I love you!”<br />Evelyn was wholly his now, lying helpless and open beneath his swarthy body, even as his manhood pounded in and out, ranging its full prodigious length. It was so wild, so good. It seemed so natural to be with this powerful man, ardently making love. At last she felt him make his deepest thrust yet. He held himself still and his body became as a steel envelope. Evelyn heard him grunt loudly and shout something in Dinka. Then she felt the torrent of his fecund sperm, shooting into her womb with the force of a geyser.<br />“N’Gono!” she screamed, clinging to him as her orgasm detonated in her mind and body. “N’GONO, CUM IN ME! Fuck your white woman… FUCK ME!”<br />Evelyn thought the deluge would never end, and imagined that her uterus must be filling with his essence. Finally, she felt him relax, and his weight descended onto her. They were gasping for breath, still entwined and sweating in the warm African evening.<br />N’Gono took her twice more that night; once with Evelyn on top, squatting over his loins, and once more on her back. It was not until the early morning that she was able to sleep, profoundly content, and cuddled next to him in his bed.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 14<br /><br />The following day, Evelyn was once again summoned to the villa. Al-wani was there, and made her lay on the padded table again. Because of the frightening previous session in that room, Evelyn was very nervous, but she was even more fearful of angering the old woman, and risking punishment at the hands of the doctor.<br />However, Julie reached for Evelyn’s hand and smiled, telling her that this time there was nothing to worry about. “It will feel so good, Evelyn, and it will help you adjust to your new life in Africa.”<br />The old witchdoctor showed Evelyn a small gold, pear shaped object the size of the tip of her little finger. It had a silver wire running through the center of the top lobe.<br />“This was you white man’s rings,” said the shamaness. “Dinka melt and change them. New spells on them now, make you hot for you new Dinka man. Hot for N’Gono.”<br />The old woman placed the tiny shape on the slit that had been cut into Evelyn’s clitoral hood. The wound had healed, but the little flap of skin had been permanently cleaved, and the silver rings were still in place. Al-wani’s dark fingers carefully joined the wires on the object to the silver rings piercing either side of Evelyn’s clitoral cover. The procedure was relatively painless, and when the white woman stood, she found the heavy gold shape dangled precisely over the most sensitive nub of her pleasure button.<br />“Ohhh!” she gasped her eyes wide. Her hips wiggled involuntarily at the surprise sensation. “Ahhh, aaahhh!” She gushed with each movement. The slightest motion caused the heavy little object to dance over her clit, stimulating her exactly as if a knowing finger were lightly rubbing it.<br />“Aaa, aaauuummmm… aaahhhHHH! Take it off, please! Ahhnnnhh… It’s so indecent.”<br />The shamaness laughed. “White woman feel like she should now, when Dinka men near. Think about fuck-fuck all day.”<br />Evelyn turned to Julie, but she too was chuckling with approval as well. “You’ll get used to it after awhile, Evelyn, but the stimulation remains constant in your sub-conscious. It keeps you on edge, like being in heat all the time.”<br />Evelyn groaned as she put her kanga back on. She was relieved that the woman had not done something else to hurt her, yet she felt as if one more violation had just been perpetrated on her person. She was being forced to experience sexual arousal, and the knowledge that she could do nothing about it caused shivers down her spine and a secret masochistic thrill in her brain. Whether magic or supernatural, or not, the old witch doctor woman had power over her sex, and it made Evelyn’s knees weak.<br />Al-wani was grinning from ear to ear when Evelyn left on unsteady legs, and the rest of the day the white woman tried to cope with the unwanted feelings. It was especially powerful when she walked. On the way back to her house Evelyn had three orgasms, and had to hang onto a bemused Julie for support. There was no remedy to the sensation. Even when she tired to hold the tiny ball still with her fingers, Evelyn only succeeded in pressing it even harder onto her joy knob. After a few days she did learn to control her feelings, just as they had said, but the stimulation was always there and made it hard to concentrate. She could no longer look at a man without her mind flashing with an image of his black cock pounding into her. And when N’Gono returned each night she was already primed, as if she had been masturbating and thinking about him all day.<br />The man from the U.S. Embassy did not call in the coming week. But Evelyn was allowed to meet with him the week after. He told her that nothing had been resolved with the Sudanese government, and that it might be several weeks or more before he could effect release for them. She would have to be patient. He had talked to her parents and Rick's. They were trying to work with the Sudanese Ministry of Justice, but had so far been stonewalled by the bureaucracy.<br /><br />Evelyn continued to adjust into the routine as weeks, and then months passed, working alongside Julie and the other girls in the grand villa and around the church’s very extensive compound.<br />N’Gono had demanded sex from her every night after he had returned, but after a few days, Evelyn became accustomed to it. They were living as husband and wife, and each night in his arms, her guilt progressively diminished. Soon she was looking forward eagerly to their couplings, without the slightest thought of Rick, who seemed more and more distant and irrelevant in her life. She did however, continue to take her birth control pills religiously, and she never lost hope she would be together with her husband again.<br />N’Gono was a strict and relentless disciplinarian. Over the next three months Evelyn learned, under his careful tutelage, what was expected of an African wife. It became second nature for her to remove her top in his house, and after a few more forgetful infractions, he did not have to punish her for the sinful, rebellious act of hiding her breasts from him again. His lovely white woman, who was on her knees when he opened the door and on her back whenever she was told, met him each night after work.<br />Evelyn grew darkly and evenly tanned, like the other white women.<br />Her labia grew darker and thicker and much more pronounced, due to the daily insertion of his very large African manhood, and her vagina’s adjustment to it.<br />Her body had changed a great deal in other ways as well, and it concerned her. How would Rick react to it when they finally got out of the Sudan? For that matter, how would she react to returning to her old, sexually prosaic life with him? Evelyn had grown accustomed to sex with N’Gono, physically, mentally and emotionally. Her vagina had stretched to fit him perfectly. She doubted she would even be able to feel Rick’s tiny white organ, and she wondered if she could go without the thrill and pleasure of N’Gono’s big black man-shaft.<br />She had admitted to herself over the months that N’Gono was a superior man in every way. Once she had gotten over her initial, ingrained racism, she had subconsciously become more attracted to black men, and had come to regard Negroid features as especially handsome. The truth was, Rick no longer attracted her sexually, aesthetically, or as a stable life partner. She no longer thought of him as protector, or even, as time went by, as husband. N’Gono had filled those roles for some time now, and the concept was solidifying in her mind.<br />Could she go back to Iowa with Rick, never to see N’Gono again? Even as she knew that was what she should be hoping for, the thought she might have to choose filled her with dread.<br /><br />One morning, when Evelyn was working in the villa, she met a new girl. Her name was Sharon, and none of the other white women liked her, because, as Julie said, she was a “complete slut.”<br />Evelyn thought it odd, since all of them were acting similarly with their own black men. But there was something different about Sharon. She seemed to take whoredom to a whole new plane.<br />She was perhaps 16 or 17, and never wore clothing, except for a leather anklet on her right leg. She almost hurried from house to house, to clean and entertain, but spent much time in the grand villa as well. Jayant seemed to be mounting her more or less continually, at least two or three times a day. For that at least, the white women were grateful, as it occupied the old butler’s time and lust.<br />She didn’t do much work, which was the primary source of consternation between her and the others. She sought out any man in the villa; whether it was the doctor, Jayant, or any other elder, brother, or guest, for sex. It might be in one of the rooms on a bed, or on a sofa, or the floor. It might be in a hallway, but Sharon was fucked at least six to ten times a day. Practically every time Evelyn saw her for the first few days, she was coupled with a black man.<br />Evelyn first managed to speak to her on an afternoon when she had finished cleaning the staterooms. Julie and Deanna were scrubbing the veranda deck, and Sharon had just drained Jayant’s balls for the second time. The old black butler would not be able to get it up for another few hours.<br />“You’re… you’re Sharon?” asked Evelyn. “You’re American, right?”<br />“Yes,” said Sharon. “I was American.” There was semen running down her naked legs, bite marks on her nipples, and red spots on her skin where she had obviously been roughly handled by the man.<br />“I… I wanted to meet you,” said Evelyn. “I’m sorry the other girls don’t like you.”<br />“They’re just jealous because I’ve fucked their men better than they could.”<br />Evelyn looked taken aback.<br />“Oh, it’s not their fault,” said Sharon. “I’m a trained whore. They aren’t.”<br />“Are you here, because of the doctor?” asked Evelyn.<br />“Of course,” said Sharon. “We’re all here to serve the doctor and his church.”<br />“My husband and I were convicted of crimes we didn’t commit,” said Evelyn. “But we’re waiting for the American government to have us released.”<br />Sharon nodded, though she frowned as if she had heard it all before. “You better be careful. If your friends see you talking to me they might shun you as well.”<br />Evelyn shrugged. “You look as though you could use someone to talk to.”<br />Evelyn saw the expression on the younger girl’s face soften and she nodded as tears began to flow. Evelyn was the first sympathetic person she had met in months.<br />The two girls went outside and sat in the shade of a thicket where they could talk in private. They told each other their stories and shared some of their experiences.<br />“You’re so lucky to be N’Gono’s woman,” said Sharon. “I have never been given to anyone, so I’m considered communal property. Any man can fuck me at time, in any way he chooses.”<br />“Why didn’t the doctor give you to someone?” asked Evelyn.<br />“He mold’s our lives in the way that most amuses him,” said Sharon. “For most of the white women, he takes pride in breaking up their white marriages and families, and offering them to his fellow Africans. That is the way he builds his church and the method he uses to gain revenge on the white race. None of the women ever go back to their white husbands. He alters their lives forever, just as the white man raped and altered Africa.”<br />“I have never been married,” continued Sharon. “I was an innocent 16 year old exchange student from America’s Bible belt. I was a virgin from a very fundamentalist family. The doctor decided to alter my life by turning me into a whore.”<br />“I spent several months as his personal body slave, Then he sent me to the brothels in Khartoum, where I’ve learned my trade for the past year. When he thought I was sufficiently broken he had me returned. Now I serve him and the members of his church.”<br />“I know he tries to break us,” said Evelyn. “He left me in the prison for a week. The men there are so evil and cruel. They’ll rape a woman any chance they get! The doctor and the men have trained all of us with the whip, and the threat of punishment. He’s tried to drive out my love for my husband…” Evelyn’s voice trailed off. She had suddenly realized that the doctor had been largely successful in that regard.<br />“It’s like that in the brothels- only much worse,” said Sharon, bitterly. She looked away from Evelyn, deeply ashamed. “You hate it and try to fight it. You try to tell yourself you feel nothing as the strange men fuck you. But it kills you inside to lie to yourself, and they make you act like you enjoy it anyway.”<br />“Someday you may go back to the States, back to your family,” said Evelyn, trying to sooth teenager, “no one will know about all this. You can meet a nice boy and get married…”<br />“I’ll always be a slut, Evelyn,” said Sharon, her voice trebling as she shook her head. “Even if he lets me go. You don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like in an African whorehouse! No woman does who hasn’t experienced it. It’s not like a simple rape back in America. It isn’t like being violated in a dark alley, then left to return home and recover. You lay back and spread your legs two, three, four times a night or more- with a different man each time. At first you try to resist and the customers or the brothel keepers hurt you terribly. Then you try to keep your mind pure by sacrificing your body and gritting your teeth and fighting the feelings. But then every time they take you it’s rape, and you feel filthy and abused. Then you try to tell yourself it’s not your fault. You’re really a good girl. Your soul is still virgin, regardless of what they’re doing to your body… But you can’t… can’t… because it’s all a lie!”<br />Sharon broke down, sobbing. Evelyn held her tight but said nothing. In a few moments the teen was able to speak again.<br />“It’s the feelings,” she said. “Every time a man enters you. Every time he pushes that stiff shaft in to the balls- you know the truth. You enjoy it! You finally admit to yourself. YOU ENJOY IT! The more you love it the sweeter it becomes and the sharper the pleasure, the greater the need for it. Then your customer cums and his passion is spent. But you remember what it was like and the feeling that it brought.”<br />“When he’s gone you lie there alone, hating yourself. You take a shower and try to clean yourself, but it doesn’t cleanse your mind. You lay on the bed and try to tell yourself you were forced. But you remember you’re waiting for the next man and the feelings come back. The door opens and your next lover enters. He might be short or tall, young or old, fat or thin, handsome or ugly, Black or Arab. But he gets a hardon when he sees you, and that makes you wet all over again- knowing that it’s you he wants and you have no choice. It becomes an overpowering addiction.”<br />“You can lie to yourself all you want,” said Sharon. “But sooner or later you can’t take the shame and the pleasure anymore, and you give in; your brain and your body accept it and you truly give in. At the last you know it in your heart that you can never escape it. You become a whore to save yourself, because your mind can’t take the pain, but you can never go back. You will always be that way! I can never, ever go back- because I can’t live without black cock!”<br />Evelyn stroked the girl’s cheek and pushed back the strands of hair from her face. She tried to comfort Sharon, but her own mind was reeling. The doctor had won. He had turned the girl into a nymphomaniac!<br />“That’s what Dr. Kamwego does,” cried Sharon. “He turns your mind and your morality inside out. And you become exactly what he wants you to be.”<br />Evelyn sat holding the distraught young girl in her arms. But the force of Sharon’s sobs caused the little gold shape to bounce against Evelyn’s clit. A sadistic thrill shot through Evelyn as she thought about Sharon’s new life, and what the doctor had done to a previously innocent, white virgin. It was all she could do to bite her tongue, as her mind swirled, and her loins shuddered in orgasmic fury.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 15<br /><br />“I have bad news Mrs. Kvindlog,” said the embassy man. “I’m afraid the United States government can offer you no further assistance in this matter.”<br />The news hit Evelyn like a brick wall. She almost fainted. She had waited so long, and been so convinced that the embassy man would get her released. It had kept her hopes alive despite what she had been compelled to do to receive N’Gono’s protection. Her faith had never faltered.<br />That morning, the doctor had come to N’Gono’s hut. He had instructed her to prepare to meet with the U.S. embassy representative, and she had been allowed to put on modern, Western clothing. Kamwego had driven her up to the villa and hope had soared in her mind that the American government had effected their release. They were going back to the States!<br />Now in the space of a few seconds, the hope that had sustained her and provided a mental and emotional lifeline to her marriage and her old life had been swept aside.<br />“But… but the last time you were here, Mr. Schwartz, you said you could help us! You said it was only a matter of time…”<br />He was nodding his head sadly. “I said it would take time. I made no promises. But the Sudan has recently made strong peace overtures to the U.S., and progress in combating the drug trade. The State Department has decided not to risk antagonizing them by pressing them on the subject of your case. It would be very awkward for the United States government to insist that the Sudanese crack down on their own nationals for drug crimes, while trying at the same time to get Americans convicted of drug trafficking released.”<br />“But we’re not guilty!” shouted Evelyn.<br />“Mrs. Kvindlog, as I told you during my last visit, the Sudan is a sovereign country. You and your husband were given due process and convicted. We cannot interfere with their system of justice.”<br />“What about my parents, and Rick’s parents? Have they been able to talk with someone here with the power to help us?”<br />The embassy man sighed. “They’ve been denied visas. And your Sudanese attorney has told me that he has exhausted all further avenues of appeal. Perhaps in two or three years, when relations between the U.S and the Sudan have congealed…”<br />“Two or three years!” gasped Evelyn. “But I can’t… You don’t know what it’s like here. I’ve been raped and abused… I’m living with a native man whose not… not my husband… because he protects me…”<br />Shwartz was looking at her incredulously. “Actually, Mrs. Kvindlog, we think you’ve very fortunate to have been allowed a parole with Dr. Kamwego and his church. It is true that African prisons are no place for a white woman. In this compound you will be safe, and can be rehabilitated in a moral atmosphere.”<br />“You don’t understand,” said Evelyn “This place is not a church, it’s a…”<br />Suddenly Kamwego appeared through the door, and smiled tightly at Evelyn. She recognized the warning in his eyes.<br />The embassy man shrugged. “You and your husband are simply going to have to serve out your sentences, Mrs. Kvindlog. If I were you, I’d make the best of it with Dr. Kamwego, and be grateful for his help.”<br />Evelyn’s heart fell. She knew she could say nothing further with the doctor there, and it was obvious that there would be no help coming from the American Embassy anyway.<br />Terribly distraught, Evelyn left the room with her head down, without saying goodbye to Schwartz. As she passed Jayant in the hallway, he told her in a low voice; “The doctor said for you to go back to N’Gono’s hut. He has discovered your rebellion, and your punishment will be severe.”<br />Evelyn did not know what he was talking about, and she didn’t care. Her mind was numbed and her thoughts disjointed. All the way back she vacillated between denial and despair, unable to accept or comprehend that the life she had known was over. She might never see Rick or her family again.<br />So lost she was in her own malaise that she forgot to remove her American clothing when she entered the house. Kamwego and N’Gono were waiting for her, and she suddenly realized she was standing before them wearing shoes, and with her breasts covered. So conditioned was she to be dressed ‘properly’ before African men, that a feeling of intense guilt immediately washed over her. And she could sense an overpowering anger in her protector.<br />“You sinful, haughty white woman!” shouted the doctor. “Now your man will deal with you!”<br />Without a word, N’Gono leapt to his feet. He seized her and began ripping her clothes off. Evelyn began whimpering and crying weakly, trying to apologize. She began to remove her garments, but he was using his dagger now to cut through the straps of her shoes. He slapped her hands away, as if the tell her that she was not to undress herself. She was to be stripped!<br />He sliced her socks away and made short work of her blouse and skirt, terrifying her with the speed in which he worked the razor sharp blade. When her bra and panties were cut loose and thrown aside, she went trembling to her knees, sobbing and contrite, utterly broken. The news that the U.S. government was abandoning her had put her mind in emotional flux. Now she was terrified by the violence of the men who held her in their power.<br />She lowered her eyes and spread her legs, assuming the proper posture and hoping against hope that N’Gono might be satisfied with her display of submission. But the ambiance of rage did not abate. There seemed to be something else he was upset about beside her ‘sinful’ garments. Some further way that she had earned his wrath.<br />Kamwego grasped her by her the hair and pulled her head back violently. He held a little plastic box before her eyes, and Evelyn’s blood froze with shock and dread. Her birth control pills!<br />“Tell N’Gono what these are,” snapped the doctor.<br />“I… they… I was only… ahhhhh!”<br />The doctor slapped her brutally on the face.<br />“Tell him, you white bitch,” shouted Kamwego. “Tell him how you rebelled and betrayed him! How you rejected his seed! What do these pills do?”<br />“They… Please…”<br />“Tell him!”<br />“They keep me from conceiving…” gasped Evelyn. “So I won’t have a baby… I’ve been taking them since before we came to Africa. Please, I’m sorry, N’Gono!” She looked up at him, imploring him for mercy, but saw only the hard, flinty set of hurt and rage in his face.<br />Evelyn’s African man seized her by her slender neck and lifted her from the floor. Holding her bent over he dragged her to the bathroom over the toilet, and forced her to kneel. He thrust the box into her hands.<br />“Throw them in shit hole,” he growled, tightening his grip on her neck and squeezing until she could hardly breathe.<br />Evelyn obeyed, emptying the contents of the box into the toilet.<br />“Doctor say you have more.” demanded N’Gono. “You hide more?”<br />Capitulating totally now, Evelyn showed him the remaining supply of her contraceptives that she had hidden, and dumped them also into bowl. Then he flushed the toilet, and she watched the little tablets swirl in the current before they disappeared. She would no longer have any protection from insemination.<br />Evelyn felt hollow, guilty, afraid, and confused, but her punishment had just begun. N’Gono pulled her out to the old tree in the desert, slapping and beating her all the way. He chained her to it and left her there with only a gourd of water, for the remainder of the day and all through the night.<br />When he returned in the morning, Evelyn was on her knees, begging abjectly for forgiveness- but he said nothing. It was a Sunday, and Evelyn was marched, just as she was, naked and filthy, in a long, barefoot walk to the church. She was forced into a heavy iron collar used to restrain black slaves in the region’s past. This was attached to a thick chain, which secured her to the floor at the feet of the doctor, before the entire assembly.<br />Kamwego gave an entire sermon, basing it on her, calling everyone to see the wretched state of a white woman who had rebelled against her man and murdered the seed placed within her. All present looked on her with contempt as the doctor described her crime, and condemned her for her Caucasian pride. When he has finished, even Evelyn was ashamed at what she had done.<br />After the service, Evelyn was taken outside, still with the iron collar about her neck. The black men formed a large circle and she was thrust within it. N’Gono appeared with a long, stiff whip, made from the hide of the hippo. Evelyn had seen it used on Sharon. It did not break the skin or cause scars, but its blunt effect was brutal, and agonizing. She knelt in the sand in mortal fear.<br />“Ple… please, N’Gono… Please forgive me… no… I can’t take that… please, no… AAAAAAAIIIIEEEEEEEEE!”<br />He landed the first blow, and the pain exploded with terrible vibrancy onto her naked flesh. In bland panic, she bolted onto her feet and tried to flee, but the circle of black men would not let her out.<br />“AAAAAGGHHHHHH!” she screamed as another lash fell on her buttocks.<br />“N’Gono, please… N’Gono pleeeese… AAAHHHHHHAAAAAA.”<br />“White woman kill my seed,” he snarled.<br />“NOOOOOOOO,” screamed Evelyn. “Please it hurts too much I can’t stand… AAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAAAA!”<br />“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH, AAAAAiiieeehhh… AAAHHHHHHAAAAAA, stop pleeeeeease… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEE.”<br />She wailed and ran around inside the circle, vainly trying to escape his whip. She attempted to cover herself with her hands and whimpered pathetically, alternately pleading with N’Gono for mercy and entreating the men to let her out. No one relented. She was taunted by everyone present, including the white women who stood outside the circle and hurled abuse on the white female who had refused her destiny to carry a black baby.<br />Hysteria drove out all conscious thought, drove out even her humanity. It was a terrified, naked animal that scampered about before her black captors now. And still the pain mounted in red, blinding sheets before her eyes, unlike anything she had known.<br />Now his arm was falling and retracting with horrible rapidity and her anguished screeches ran together. “AAAAAHHH N’GOONOOO PLEASE AAAAAAHHHHHHHH I CAAAN’T… OH GOG N’GOONOO AAAAAHHHHHHGGGGGGHHHHHH, AAAHHHGGG, AAAHHHHH, AAAAAAAHHEEEIIIIIIIEEE!”<br />Evelyn lost control of her bladder and the bright yellow liquid sprayed everywhere with her frantic movements. Still the blows came and the screams tore from her rasping throat. Several times she tried with adrenaline saturated desperation to breach the wall of black men, but was thrown back into the center of the ring, where N’Gono continued to flail savagely at her helpless flesh.<br />“White woman kill my seed!” yelled N’Gono, as he continued to lash her over and over.<br />Evelyn was babbling now; crying, screaming, swearing to obey him, professing remorse and a new desire to have his baby- if only he would stop the punishment. But all of it was barely coherent. From the agony she was feeling, she thought he must be literally flaying the skin from her back and belly, yet there was no blood. The slave whip did not scar its victims bodies, only their spirits.<br />Finally, as unconsciousness neared, she collapsed into the dirt. She lay there, panting, twitching, only vaguely aware that he had stopped whipping her. Her cries died slowly but the world seemed unreal, the pain soaking into her very soul as the dust of the ground caked her sweat drenched body. She discovered she had vomited, and this had at last stilled her screams, but the sting of the lash yet lingered everywhere on her flesh.<br />Somehow she knew now that that pain would never disappear from her mind. It would haunt her forever, and she could never disobey him again. Evelyn’s very soul had been beaten.<br />The rest of the congregation was gone. N’Gono forced her, exhausted as she was, to walk back to his house. There he dragged her to the back of the dwelling and raped her over and over on the little sand hill, roughly and without affection, or the slightest regard for her sensations. But Evelyn’s libido exploded with climax after climax, glorying with inexpressible joy each time he spewed his gushes of fecund semen into her now unprotected belly. Her being was broken, and she was being remade into his white African woman. N’Gono had enslaved her by his hand and his strength and his manly black cock. Incredibly, he had forced her to love him even more.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 16<br /><br />After Evelyn had her period three weeks later, the doctor had summoned her to the villa, where he gave her medication that would enhance her fertility. She was told to take one pill every evening, without failure, and since N’Gono was now hyper-sensitive to any recalcitrance on her part regarding his efforts to impregnate her, Evelyn didn’t dare refuse to take them. If fact, on the doctor’s instruction, N’Gono dissolved each of the tablets in a glass of water and forced her to drink it before each of their nightly sexual encounters.<br />Also, Al-wani had returned to cast a fertility spell on Evelyn, rubbing her naked sex with the pungent, oily contents of a fetish bag, and likewise forcing her to drink a bitter herbal concoction; a traditional Dinka remedy for barren women. Julie told her that several of the white women who had been holding out on their black men had become pregnant after being treated with the witch woman’s fetishes. The Dinka had been dealing with such women for thousands of years, inuring them to the tribe and their men. They had become strong by selecting the best women from among their enemies and transforming them into Dinka mothers. It was said that the most reluctant women, those previously married to husbands from other tribes eventually became the most prolific producers of Dinka sons- and the most loyal to their new Dinka mates.<br />The shamaness was a very well respected medical practitioner among her people. Evelyn, like Julie before her, was coming to believe in the power of African drugs and traditional remedies. She realized, with a mixture of despair and resignation, that it was only a matter of time before she would be carrying N’Gono’s child. They were, after all, having sex at least every night, and sometimes during the day. But even now, there was a small voice within her, a feeling charged by her developing attraction toward N’Gono. It was a growing conviction that having his baby was not only inevitable, it was desirable. She had always wanted a child, dreamed about it even before her marriage to Rick. That desire had never gone away, but she had always assumed of course, that Rick would be the father. Now the little voice inside her mind was telling her that need not be the case. It might not be the case at any rate. Then the inescapable progression- it should not be the case.<br />N’Gono was bigger, much stronger, much more manly. He was her protector here in Africa while Rick was absent and there was no telling if she would ever see her husband again. Who then was her true husband? Should it not be the man who was providing for her, the man in whose house she lived in and who now ruled her daily life? The man who infused her with his maleness each night? Her basic female instincts were beginning to connect her love for N’Gono, the superior male, with her want and need for a child.<br />Also like Julie, Evelyn was slowly developing a taste and preference for black African features and physical traits. Gone were her inhibitions, ingrained by her upbringing in a racist home, against interracial sex and love. The months spent in Africa and the exclusive contact with Negro males had conditioned her to find them far more attractive than white men, who seemed weak, effeminate, and untrustworthy by comparison.<br />The more Evelyn thought about it, the more sure she became. She was in love with N’Gono. At the same time, she realized that she was no longer in love with Rick. It was N’Gono, who should be her husband, N’Gono who should rightfully give her a baby.<br />But her hopes and her vows were stubborn, and still clung to life. She still retained the core identity of a mid-western American woman. If she did escape back to America, a black child would be an onerous burden, especially considering her racist family. They would never accept her back, and they and Rick would demand that she adopt out the baby, something she was equally sure she could not do. She would never part with her firstborn. Evelyn would be in a soul-rending quandary.<br /><br />Still, life continued. She still made love with N’Gono every night, with ever increasing enthusiasm. She still thrilled to his magnificent body and being, churning on the end of his phallus with her own explosive orgasms. Still took the fertility drugs religiously, and still thought about becoming pregnant with the deepest spiritual conflict. She could not go on this way, and Evelyn knew the issue would soon be decided. Deep in her soul, she also knew what that decision had to be.<br />But N’Gono was required to travel to his village to convert more Dinka to the Church, and receive honors bestowed by the local chief. He had been unable to have relations with Evelyn during the critical time frame, and Evelyn’s period came. Despite N’Gono’s copious earlier efforts, her womb remained empty of a Dinka child.<br />Now, a month later, Evelyn was entering her fertile time of the month, and N’Gono was as determined as ever. She had a feeling, almost a premonition that insemination was going to take place. N’Gono had also been informed of Evelyn’s impending fecundity by Al-wani, who had been examining her regularly.<br />N’Gono was fucking her vigorously now, three or four times a day, gushing himself directly into her with each encounter. He wanted her pregnant on this monthly cycle, so that he could begin to share her with the other men of the church. It would enhance his social standing and allow him to sample their white women as well.<br />One morning, after N’Gono had left to tend the church grounds, Evelyn was busy doing her chores around the house. Her black lover had plied her with his manhood for nearly two hours after they had awakened, and given her convulsive climaxes that had seemed to electrify her very soul. He had also twice given her prodigious draughts of his potent essence. Each instance, as per the shamaness, instructions, he had ordered her into positions, which would allow his liquid seed to run up into her womb, where a maximum amount would be retained. When he had cum in her the first time he had placed two pillows under her lower back, and held her legs aloft for some time. Evelyn could actually feel the soothing warmth of his jism as it slithered purposefully into her uterus.<br />Then they had engaged in sex again, and when the act had been consummated N’Gono placed her on her knees, pushing her head to the sheets so that her belly sloped downward. Again she could feel his viscous load moving, seeping deeper into her belly. He was making sure that his semen was coating the inside of her womb completely.<br />In the afternoon, N’Gono told her, he would they would repeat the procedure, then it would happen again at least twice more after they went to bed that evening. Whenever her next egg descended, it would be bathed in a pool of his sperm.<br />Now after N’Gono had gone, Evelyn cleaned the bathroom. She was still naked, a little dazed from the power of her own only partially sated libido and she looked again at herself in the mirror.<br />The skin of her face and chest was flushed slightly, and there were red marks on her breasts from his bites and pinches. Her nipples were erect, as they usually were these days, and her labia puffy and flowered open. After months of taking N’Gono’s manhood, her vagina had been permanently stretched so that it fit him perfectly. The little gold ball which hung over her clit seemed to throb and pulse of its own accord, along with her sex lips so swollen by frequent eager clasping around her man’s huge black organ. It kept her excited and aroused- thinking about N’Gono all the time, just as Al-wani had said.<br />She sighed. Life was so different now, and her old life seemed increasingly distant and unreal. She wondered at that moment whether she could go back to America with Rick, even if she had the chance. She doubted she could live without the feelings that the big African gave her, and she was conscious of her growing psychological dependence on his discipline.<br />It was all so different from the world she had known in America and the way she had been raised. But Africa was tangible and alive. It was almost as if the land itself was drawing her, transforming her, fixing her in a new reality. Then the cloudy fluid running down her legs reminded her of what was real and relevant. N’Gono would have her pregnant very soon. And that would bind her to him forever.<br />Suddenly there was a knock at the front door, and Evelyn was jolted out of her revere.<br />She quickly went to answer it, thinking that it must be Julie, because N’Gono would not have knocked. She wrapped the kanga around her waist and padded to the entryway. Upon opening the door, Evelyn stiffened with surprise. On the doorstep was a disheveled, ragged white man who stood hunched and looking about nervously. Evelyn took him for a beggar, but she could not figure how he could have gotten into the church compound.<br />“Can I help you?” she asked.<br />The man said nothing, but his blue eyes flashed and he ogled her naked breasts with undisguised lust, and obvious confusion. Evelyn thought perhaps he was mentally deficient but as she looked closer, she decided he was not so old as he appeared, just partially infirmed by abuse and hard life. And there was something oddly familiar about him.<br />“Hello Evelyn,” he said, finally.<br />Evelyn could not suppress a gasp as she stared in horror at the pathetic figure on her porch. “Rick?” she asked tentatively. “Is… is that you?”<br />“Yes,” he replied, with a tight, pained smile. “It’s me.”<br />The young wife beheld her husband, and shuddered at how he had changed. His body was stooped and very gaunt, and his hair was long- unkempt and unwashed. He had a thin, dark beard, which bristled ugly and coarse from his chin. His skin was sallow, almost pasty white. Apparently he had been cell bound for a very long time, away from sun, open air and exercise.<br />“I… how… did they set you free?” asked Evelyn, at a loss. She too was looking up and down the street nervously, as she remembered that contact with a white man was strictly forbidden by the church. Dr. Kamwego said it was sinful. But she was also nervous about bringing him in. If she were caught inside the house with her husband, a white man at that, she knew N’Gono would severely punish her. At the moment however, no one was around, so Evelyn quickly usured him over the threshold and into the living room. At least there, they could talk without being seen.<br />Up close now, she was even more appalled at the condition of the man she had once thought of as so handsome and desirable. His prison uniform was filthy and ill fitting, and he stank with the horrible stench of a man who had not bathed for months. But his eyes were still bright in a shifty way, like a half-starved, caged animal. He was a man beaten by his environment, subdued by the African prison in which he had spent the last six months. Evelyn was filled with pity for him- and revulsion.<br />He reached for his wife, to embrace her, but Evelyn, on instinct, shied away. In her sub-conscious she was now N’Gono’s woman, the touch of a white man was taboo. And Rick seemed so- ugly.<br />He looked puzzled again at her physical rejection, but he needed to talk to her, and there was little time. The doctor had required him to report back to the villa in a half-hour.<br />“What are you doing in that getup?” he asked, staring at her naked breasts with open lust. He had not had a woman in the six months he had spent in the prison. Masturbation had been his only joy, keyed to the fading memory of his wife’s lovely form.<br />“Oh, ah… I’m… Just puttering around the house,” she replied.<br />“What’s all this stuff?” Rick asked, referring to the African furniture and the trappings of N’Gono’s tribe and warrior status which hung from the walls. He went over to the couch to sit and gazed about the room with a quizzical expression.<br />“It’s… it’s good to see you again, Rick,” she stuttered, trying to hide her discomfort. “Have they… treated you all right in the prison?” She saw him wince.<br />“I’m alive, honey… they…”<br />Evelyn could not meet his eyes. She could only imagine how he had been abused there.<br />“The doctor tells me you were released a week or so after your sentence,” he said. “You’ve been living here and working for him.”<br />“Yes… I frequently work at the villa.”<br />“Have you found some women friends? I’m told there are other white women here.”<br />“Yes, ah… Julie Krutzberg’s here. Remember her in college? Julie ‘the prude?’”<br />“Yeah, she married Tom. They were going to change the world. How are they?”<br />“Ah… fine. Julie’s remarried… and not so uptight anymore,” Evelyn said, trying to deflect the subject.<br />Rick laughed, but Evelyn noticed the strain in his face.<br />“Did your white girlfriends fix your hair like that? I’ve never seen that on you before. Looks like a black African woman.”<br />“Ah… yes,” Evelyn replied. “The white women in the compound all wear their hair this way. It’s much cooler.”<br />The small talk was running out and they were both very uncomfortable. There was so much to say, but each felt the other was like a stranger. An awkward silence ensued, but finally Rick forced himself to say what he had come to say.<br />“Evelyn, the prison is killing me. It’s a hell in there and I can’t survive it much longer. Dr. Kamwego says he’ll intercede for me and have me released- if I divorce you.”<br />Evelyn’s jaw dropped, “you… divorce me?”<br />“Evelyn… I still love you…”<br />“But you’re ending our marriage…?” Evelyn could scarcely believe what she was hearing. She felt a sting in her heart of betrayal and rejection and turned away to look at the wall. “Are you… Rick, are you going to do it?”<br />He nodded. “I don’t have any choice, Evelyn. The doctor says I have to file in both the U.S. and the Sudan. I don’t know why. It’s just part of this sick trap he’s snared us in. But I have no hope of getting out otherwise. I filed last month and the papers have come. I signed them. That’s why he is allowing me out to see you. You’ll have to sign them at the villa tomorrow.”<br />Evelyn began to cry softly. After all the dreams they had before coming to Africa. After their drug convictions and prison, the months of hope and faith that they would be together in the end. After all the anguish over her sexual responses and affection for N’Gono. Rick was going to divorce her. She knew intellectually why he was doing it, but deep inside the pain was still there. He was planning to leave the Sudan, apparently without her. He had abandoned his vows. Now he had abandoned her.<br />“Evelyn, it doesn’t mean a thing,” he tried to add. “Once I get back to the states I’ll expose Kamwego’s church. I’ll come back to get you out and we can be married again, home in America.”<br />The young white woman’s eyes were filled with tears now.<br />“Evelyn, please… It’s the only way. It will take a few months… but I promise I’ll be back to…”<br />“Rick,” she whispered, choked with despair. “I’ll be pregnant by then!”<br />Rick was stunned. He looked as if he had been slapped in the face.<br />“N’Gono,” she said. “He lives here now. The doctor has given me to him.”<br />Rick’s paper-white face darkened with his old jealousy. Only now it was sharper, uglier. “Who’s N’Gono? What the hell are you talking about?”<br />“Remember the gardener, Rick? The one you told me not to worry about? That’s N’Gono. He’s a church member,” she said, looking away from his face. “I’ve been living with him for… for almost six months.”<br />She could see the shock and pain on his pale, drawn face. He seemed much older now than the young man she had married, and she could hear the hate in his voice. He was disgusting; so alien and coarse- and so angry.<br />“You’re… living with another man?” he spat. “While I’ve been rotting in that hole?”<br />“Yes…” she admitted, unable to look at him but trying to remain calm.<br />“He lives here… and you… you dress like that for a… a black man?” he asked.<br />Evelyn hung her head. She took a deep breath and decided to tell him all. “Yes. Rick… I have no choice… the doctor has given me to a Dinka man. This how N’Gono wants me to dress, as a Dinka women dresses.”<br />Desolation washed over the already defeated young man. “Do you… Does he…?<br />“Rick, please. Forgive me. I told you I didn’t have any choice!”<br />“All these months I thought about you,” he said. “All I wanted was to get out of that shit-hole and go back home to my faithful Christian wife. Did you…?”<br />“Yes, Rick,” she cried finally. “He’s fucking me all the time. What do you expect? I’m his woman now! And every month in my fertile time he takes me two or three times a day!”<br />Impotent rage played across his face. But the months in prison had cowed him and taught him caution. He still loved her, and found her more beautiful than ever. Her kanga and African hairstyle made her look exotic, anathema of the decorous mid-western woman he had known. But he wanted her. The men in prison had raped him many times, and now he wanted back what was his- to feel like a man again. His anger was converting to passion, and he moved to embrace her.<br />“Rick, stop it! Rick, no…” she said, moving away again.<br />“Evelyn… I want… Please, I don’t know how long they’ll let me stay out. Please, let me make love to you…”<br />“No, Rick, we can’t. Please, N’Gono might come back any minute!”<br />“N’Gono? You’re my wife! Mine,” he shouted, seizing her in a desperate grip of need and wounded pride and lust. “Evelyn, I want you… It’s been so long!”<br />“Noooo!” she shouted, twisting from his fevered grasp. “Rick, don’t you understand. N’Gono would kill you!”<br />Undeterred, he lunged for her again, once again latching on and pushing his lips forcefully to hers. She smelled his fetid breath and heard his excited panting. But he was much weaker than N’Gono, and she could sense it.<br />She slapped him across the face to prevent his mouth from touching hers and he recoiled with astonishment. It seemed to sober him, but Evelyn could see the rage building within him.<br />“Damn it, you’re my wife!” he shouted. “I want to make love to you!”<br />“I’m not your wife anymore,” she said bitterly. “You divorced me!”<br />“That’s only a formality.”<br />“Is it?” she asked.<br />“I said I’d come back for you.”<br />“How will you get me out?” she asked, incredulously.<br />“I’ll… I don’t know… But I’ll…<br />“How will you deal with N’Gono, Rick? You’re no match for him and he’ll never give me up.”<br />“I… I’ll get help…” he replied, unconvincingly.<br />“And what will I do with a black, Dinka baby in Iowa?” she asked.<br />“What about your contraceptive pills?”<br />“N’Gono made me flush them down the toilet. The doctor is forcing me on fertility drugs now.”<br />“Then have it aborted.”<br />Evelyn gasped. “You know I could never do that. A child I’ve carried? Besides, N’Gono and the doctor would never allow it.”<br />Again he grimaced. The mention of her black lover’s name and her tacit acceptance of his authority infuriated him. “Allow it? I’m your hus…” he caught himself as she glared at him. “We’ll have it adopted out when we get back!”<br />“Rick, you don’t understand. My baby would be part of me forever. I just couldn’t do that.”<br />“You don’t think I’m going to raise a nigger baby!” he snarled.<br />“No…” she whispered, now looking down at her bare feet. She knew this was the moment she would have to make a decision. “I don’t think you’ll have to. I will be loyal to the father of my child.”<br />He stared in disbelief. “What are you…? Are you saying you’re going to stay here voluntarily if that big nigger makes you pregnant?”<br />There was a long pause, then she whispered, “yes.”<br />He just stared at her, and she could see a glint of thwarted male possessiveness, along with the deep hurt, in his eyes. Suddenly he could endure no more and his rage exploded.<br />“You bitch!” he hissed. “So you’ll be loyal to whoever fathers your brat! Then I’ll just have to make sure it’s mine!”<br />Then he was on her, ripping away her kanga and trying to pull his prison uniform off. He saw the tattoos on her belly and back and it enflamed his anger even more.<br />“What’s this shit on you?” he shouted.<br />“N’Gono’s mark,” she wailed. “The sign of his house. I told you, I belong to him now. Please go before he comes back!”<br />“Bitch!” Once again he felt the paradox of jealousy and arousal. Though he was horrified by the markings and their implication, it seemed to drive his lust and passion even more, and he latched onto her with new determination. She tried to push him away but he cornered her and forced her onto the couch on her back.<br />“Rick… please… RICK STOP IT!” she screamed. “N’Gono could come home any time!<br />“Your Negro lover’s not going to stop me!” he screamed maniacally. “You’re mine. My wife. You’re going to have my baby!”<br />“Rick, you don’t know what you’re doing! N’Gono could kill you! Aaaaahhhhh…”<br />He backhanded her across the face. Momentarily stunned by the blow, Evelyn simply lay there panting with exertion. She saw him pulling the filthy prison suit off, and her eyes fixed on his coral pink manhood, fully erect but still only four inches long. He looked so pathetic to her eyes now, so pedantically cruel and selfish. She wondered at that moment what she had ever seen in him. Suddenly the very thought that he might penetrate her with his odious little white manhood sickened her, and she redoubled her efforts to escape his grasp.<br />“You’re my wife,” he shouted petulantly. “I’m going to make you pregnant and you’re going back with me!”<br />“You brought me here”, she snapped. “All this is your fault! You’re foolish ambition. YOU PUT ME IN HIS BED! AAAAGGGHHHHHH.”<br />He slapped her again, viciously, and climbed between her thrashing legs. “Shut up, bitch! I’m going to fuck you now!”<br />“Noooooooo…” she screamed. He plunged into her with his stiff four inches. Though she could scarcely sense his narrow shaft in her vagina, accustomed as it was to N’Gono’s huge phallus, she could feel the light, clammy touch of his small scrotum as it grazed her sex lips. He was in her to the balls, pumping his hips like a male rodent and wheezing with exertion.<br />“Gonna cum,” he snarled. “Gonna make you mine again, Evelyn… With a white baby!”<br />“Noooooo,” she heaved. “I hate you! I hate you! You bastard! NOOOOOOO!”<br />She pounded on his chest with her fists, and desperately tried to twist out from beneath him or dislodge his penis. But the strength in his atrophied limbs was borne of adrenaline and demented lust. He remained firming inside her, and she sensed he was indeed about to ejaculate.<br />A wave of nausea struck her at the prospect of receiving his loathsome slime, but she could not throw him off. With a groan of revulsion she tensed for the foul moment of his orgasm, when this weak, inferior white man would fill her with his rape child. Evelyn had never felt so defiled!<br />Suddenly Rick tensed and his eyes seemed to bulge. Thinking he was cumming, Evelyn had shut her own eyes tight, not wanting to look into his ugly, pale face while it was happening. But Rick emitted a painful gasp and stopped pumping. She opened her eyes and saw a big, black hand encircling his throat from behind.<br />“OOOGGGGhhhhh, hhaaaaaahhhh!” he choked.<br />Rick was pulled from her body like a limp doll, and Evelyn felt his thin, little organ slip from the warmth of her sex. N’Gono was holding him from behind by the neck; lifting him off the floor. With his other hand, Evelyn could see he was grasping the white man by the balls, squeezing them and preventing his imminent ejaculation. Rick was thrashing about helplessly, gasping for breath, his face blood red. His mouth was moving but there was no sound except for strangled gulps for air. Then N’Gono released his testicles and Rick’s semen gushed forth, squirting from his shaft as his arms and legs flailed around. The seed intended for Evelyn’s womb splashed harmlessly onto the floor, to lay inertly under N’Gono’s trampling feet.<br />Rick gazed with terror into the black man’s face, managing only one word before N’Gono hurled him to the floor like a lifeless rag.<br />“Please…” he gasped. But the African was kicking him, landing swift blows to his abdomen and crotch whenever he tried to get up. UUUGG, AAHHHHhhhh… Ummmpphh… AAAAhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…<br />In desperation the much smaller white man tried to make it to the door, but N’Gono felled him with a savage blow to his solar plexus. Thereafter, began a methodical beating. Rick didn’t even try to fight back.<br />“Please… MMMMuuuu… AAAAhhhh, Gguuuuuhhh… I’m sorry… AAAAGGGGHhhh!<br />Evelyn watched as the punishment continued, saw her ex-husband grovel and plead for mercy between each shattering impact on his pasty white body. She was filled with revulsion for white men, and gratitude to N’Gono, for his dominance and his justice, and his defense of his woman. But at length he lifted the hapless white man off his feet and pinned him against the wall.<br />Rick felt two iron black hands tightened about his throat and pure panic roiled in his popping eyeballs. Evelyn could see that N’Gono meant to finish him off.<br />“No… N’Gono, please don’t kill him!” she cried, leaping from the couch to entreat with her lover. “Please, N’Gono…”<br />The black man looked down at her as she knelt, and clasped his massive black leg. He stopped, and she could see his manly, African face. His coal dark eyes narrowed.<br />“Please, N’Gono, I’m yours now…” she said softly. “He’s not worth your wrath. Please let him live…”<br />N’Gono loosened his grip and Rick sank to the floor in a naked heap of sweaty, bleeding white flesh.<br />Evelyn embraced her African victor, but N’Gono pushed her back onto the couch, spreading her legs. Then he seized Rick by the neck again and thrust his face into Evelyn’s sex.<br />“Lick her out,” he commanded. “In case any you poison get in her!”<br />Rick did not display the slightest resistance. Though none of his semen had reached her, he began to clean her thoroughly with his tongue in order to placate his tormenter. After a few minutes he felt the black man’s hand lift him by the hair and toss him to the floor again.<br />“Lick up you white seed from my house!”<br />Again Rick obeyed, terrified that the beating might resume. When he was finished he looked up to see that N’Gono was holding a whip.<br />He was not even allowed to retrieve his prison uniform as the African lashed him back out the front door. Thinking only of freedom and safety now, he ran from the house, fleeing naked and whimpering back to the doctor’s villa. He did not look back.<br />Inside, N’Gono’s house Evelyn knelt, trembling, waiting for the inevitable punishment she was due for the sin of being touched by a white man.<br />She heard his heavy footsteps approach, but kept her eyes down, steeling herself for the first sting of his whip.<br />It never came. Instead, he picked her up tenderly and carried her to their bed, laying her gently on her back. Her legs opened with quiet acceptance as he mounted her with his great frame. He impaled her with one thrust of his massive, black manhood, sinking into her welcoming tightness with silent confidence. He was master of all he surveyed, claiming his woman in the age-old way of his tribe. And as Evelyn dissolved into the fierceness of his rut, the last scraps of feeling or regard for Rick morphed into a new and even deeper love for N’Gono, and a gratitude for his allowing the pathetic white male to live.<br />If he had died, Rick might have haunted her forever, now her heart and soul belonged to her African man. When she felt N’Gono’s seed gushing into her, Evelyn cherished it, sealing as it did the most profound submission of her life.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 17<br /><br />The events immediately subsequent to Evelyn’s near rape by Rick seemed to pass with a blur. The next day at the villa she was given the divorce papers by the doctor, who watched as she signed them. He had them notarized and informed Evelyn that they had become official with her signature of no contest. Rick was no longer her husband.<br />As they worked in the mansion, Evelyn talked with Julie. Her friend had gradually gotten over her resentment towards Evelyn for having used contraceptives, and the two women were now talking again.<br />Evelyn told her about the visit from Rick, about his outburst and his attempt to force himself on her. She also told Julie that just as she had predicted, she no longer found white men to be the least bit attractive. On the other hand, she found nearly all black men handsome now.<br />“I told you,” laughed Julie. “Al-wani’s spells are working.”<br />They both giggled, but Evelyn still had a heavy heart.<br />Julie tried to comfort her. She told Evelyn that her divorce from Rick was the right thing.<br />“Your marriage to a white man had no standing within the church,” she said. “But your vows to Rick were affecting your subconscious, inhibiting your relationship with N’Gono. It was weighing on your mind, Evelyn.”<br />Evelyn nodded, feeling miserable.<br />“Now you’re free to learn how to please N’Gono,” said Julie. “You’re on your way to becoming a Dinka man’s woman.”<br />“But what about my family in America? Will I ever see them again?”<br />Julie put her arm around her friend’s shoulder. “Evelyn, for thousands of years women have left their families for men. Your black man is your first loyalty. And until you have his child, N’Gono is your only loyalty. Do you think you’re pregnant yet?”<br />“No… no, I’m just now coming into my most fertile period, this week. But he’s been trying!”<br />Both girls laughed again, and as the day wore on, Evelyn began to feel better about her future.<br />Sharon was having a busy day fucking Jayant and a couple of other church officials, but she too was able to talk with Evelyn, and had much the same take on things. She had never been married, but couldn’t imagine being with a white man. It just seemed so- immoral.<br /><br />It was that night that N’Gono made the announcement that shocked Evelyn to her toes, and was to change her life profoundly and forever.<br />He was going to marry her the next day. She was to become his sixth wife, and his third minor wife. But his first white woman. He told her to prepare herself. The wedding would be in the afternoon.<br />Per tradition, N’Gono did not touch her that evening. Evelyn spent a restless night on the floor, in a lonely corner of the house. In the morning, she was led to the villa by Deanna and Julie, who had already heard the news and were giddy as schoolgirls.<br />They knelt before the shamaness for an hour as the old woman hung odd smelling fetishes about Evelyn’s neck and cast a series of spells onto her flesh; Dinka spells, binding her to N’Gono and his will. There were also spells enhancing her fertility, the health of her womb and breasts, and her desire for him.<br />Then the other white women took Evelyn to one of the bathrooms to prepare. She showered and was given a new kanga. Her hair was washed and freshly cornrowed in the east African style. A dark lipstick was applied to her facial lips and her nipples were rouged. All the while they talked incessantly about Evelyn’s new life and how lucky she was. She had been very uncertain as she had started the day, now she truly felt like a bride, and her happiness grew as she anticipated her wedding to N’Gono. Even the fact that he had five other wives did not dampen her joy. That was simply one more thing about Africa and Dinka culture she would have to adapt to. She was becoming his woman for real now.<br />Many black men and women from the church, as well as relatives and friends from his Dinka clan came to see N’Gono claim another wife. They were dressed in colorful African finery, and traditional clothing, and everyone from N’Gono’s village found it especially impressive and provocative that he was taking a wife from among the whites, away from her white husband. As the doctor had intended, it increased N’Gono’s standing within his clan immeasurably, and made recruitment into the church far more efficient.<br />A Dinka wedding, particularly one incorporating a captured woman from another tribe was full of traditions going back hundreds of years, with much symbolism. The ceremony took place outside the church, but though the doctor did give a message encouraging his fellow African men to claim white women, the actual wedding was to be conducted by the shamaness.<br />N’Gono and his party were on hand for several hours before the ritual, greeting guests and sharing food and libation. The only whites present were the women of the church, dressed in their kangas and bare breasted, who kept shyly in the background. By mid afternoon it was time for the ceremony to begin.<br />N’Gono stood before Al-wani, looking noble and dashing in his regalia. He wore a traditional leopard-skin shoulder wrap, with a loincloth of fine linen. Trinkets of real gold hung about his neck, and at his side were an ivory scabbard and dagger. His upper body was oiled and his muscles rippled beneath his ebony skin. He was the image of an African man- a Dinka prince.<br />A clanking of chains was heard as one of the church elders led two whites forward to the witchdoctor’s presence. One was a lovely young woman, dressed only in a new kanga wrapped about her waist. Her skin had been oiled so that her flesh gleamed in the sunlight. The other was a male- a naked, wretched creature, beaten and stooped, and looking around fearfully at the many black faces surrounding them both.<br />The doctor owned slave chains and harnesses dating back to the time when the slave trade was the Sudan’s main form of wealth. These were to be part of the trappings of the ceremony. Rick and Evelyn were coffled together, just as captured slaves.<br />They were released from their shackles, and the young white man was dragged roughly before the doctor.<br />Evelyn had been told what was about to happen. Rick was to be ritually beaten. It was considered to be a mere formality, but at weddings such this, the former husband was to be afforded the traditional conflict. It was Rick’s last chance to keep his wife, though in reality, he had already lost her. He was terribly afraid, and hoped only that by groveling abjectly before N’Gono, he might escape serious injury.<br />Evelyn watched him carefully, curious as to how he would react. He swallowed hard, and Evelyn could see the fear in his eyes. He looked away from her and she sensed his shame. There was still a spark of pride about him and Evelyn knew he still loved her. But did he have the courage to resist the black giant who now claimed her? Would he try at the last, at the risk of his own body, to keep her?<br />N’Gono came to stand beside him as the doctor made a short speech in some African dialect. The shamaness pronounced a blessing on N’Gono, and both he and Rick were given blunt clubs of polished ebony, traditional Dinka weapons. Then the two men squared off before the entire assemblage.<br />From the start it was an unequal battle. Evelyn knew that N’Gono harbored no hatred for Rick, and that the blows he was inflicting were primarily for show and ceremony. But they were real. Rick tried to fight back at first, but he had virtually no chance. N’Gono was much larger than he was and his African physic was vastly more formidable. The Dinka man was experienced in hand to hand conflict, while Rick had never won a fight in his life.<br />Soon Rick had given up any pretext to fighting and had collapsed into a ball, simply covering his head. He was crying, his pleas for mercy becoming ever more plaintive and pathetic. But N’Gono did not relent. He landed savage punches that slammed into the now unresisting white male’s body. Evelyn heard the painful gasps and groans as each blow fell, followed by abject entreaties from the naked white man- white boy, as Evelyn now thought of him. For several minutes N’Gono methodically thrashed Evelyn’s former mate.<br />Evelyn was surprised at the sense of pride she felt at Rick’s beating. A small part of her was sorry for his suffering and humiliation, but she was N’Gono’s woman now. Her African man was powerful and knew how to keep her and protect her. It brought a thrill to her spine and a heat to her loins.<br />Finally, N’Gono ceased to pound the hapless Rick with the club. The symbolism then changed from one man confronting another, to a victor demonstrating his dominance. From a contest of wills, to a master, punishing an errant slave. Rick no longer merited punishment from an African warrior’s weapon. Now he would receive the whip, like the subjugate beast he was.<br />Evelyn watched with bated breath as N’Gono slowly uncoiled the feared leather whip made from the hide of the water buffalo, and used for millennia to punish slaves.<br />“Please…” the white boy whined, looking frantically about at the many black faces surrounding him. “Please, I did like you said. I divorced her! I give her to you! Please let me go…”<br />“The white man took black woman as slaves. He stole the black daughters of Africa from their fathers and husbands.” boomed the voice of Kamwego. “Watch now. You are powerful, my children. My church has given the white man into your hands. See now how he is to treated!”<br />Then N’Gono began. The first lash brought a scream from Rick. The second, a shriek of panic and desperation. He bolted, trying to make a run for it. But N’Gono bore down on him and brought him to ground. He seized the white boy by the neck, as he had many times with Evelyn, and pulled him back to the slave harness that lay in the dust. He replaced the collar back on Rick’s neck while the frightened boy whimpered and cried, then he resumed the punishment with a vengeance, striking relentlessly at the naked white body groveling at his feet.<br />“AAAGGHHHHH…” pleaded Rick. “Please… Oh god! AAAAAGGGHHHHHH… Please take her… AAAAAHHHHHHHHAAAAA! They said you wouldn’t hurt me if I gave her to you! AAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH… Please take her, she’s yours!”<br />N’Gono continued to whip Evelyn’s already beaten former husband as the rest of the assembly looked on. There was no expression on his face; no anger or exertion, simply the determination to perform the ritual of symbolically and literally taking the white man’s bride.<br />Again, Evelyn watched with mixed emotion but general approval. She did not so much want to see Rick suffer, as she wanted N’Gono to feel legitimized and empowered. This ancient ceremony would do that, and Rick would simply have to endure it, just as she had endure the past months in the futile hope that Rick would come for her. She had been his wife, and he had not protected her.<br />At length, the white boy had been reduced to a twitching, cringing, chastened, slave, afraid to lift his head for fear of angering the giant black man. As he lay still, face down and moaning, N’Gono raised his fist in triumph to the shouts of everyone present.<br />Attention now passed to the wedding ceremony proper. A broom was placed on the ground in front of Dr. Kamwego, and Evelyn was led to the witch woman and N’Gono’s side. She knelt before them and bowed her head reverently, recognizing the solemnity of the ritual. Al-wani then grasped a handful of her braided hair.<br />“This white woman yours,” she said to N’Gono. She bring much pleasure to your bed, bear many sons for the Dinka, and work in your household. You accept this woman?”<br />“Yes,” replied N’Gono.<br />“Jump de broom,” said the shamaness.<br />The old woman pulled Evelyn’s hair back to scowl into her face. She showed Evelyn a small anklet of colored glass beads. “This you wedding band, bind you to N’Gono, you Dinka master. White man put it on you. Last time he touch you.”<br />Rick had been compelled to crawl to them. Still on his knees he took the band from the shamaness and placed it around Evelyn’s left ankle. Then he crawled away, hoping the ordeal was over.<br />Evelyn looked up at N’Gono, her eyes shinning with love. She was crying with joy. This strong black man loved her and she was about to become his wife. Even as a minor wife she felt so fortunate.<br />“This man you master,” said the shamaness. “You his woman. Forget all you old tribe and clan. You Dinka now. You soul Dinka. You womb Dinka. Jump de broom.”<br />Rick looked up now. He watched as N’Gono placed his hand under Evelyn’s chin and lifted her to her feet. He took her in hand and together they jumped over broom than lay in the dry African dust. The crowd roared with approval as he wrapped the heavy steel chain around her neck symbolically and led her away.<br />The young white boy cried and turned away in shame and humiliation. The woman he loved was now the wife of another man.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 18<br /><br />N’Gono swaggered triumphantly to his home, greeting his black African peers with aplomb and accepting their congratulations on the acquisition of his latest wife. Evelyn, as befitted an African bride, followed several steps behind, barefoot, bare-breasted and demonstrating a reserved humility. Inside however, she was elated. She was married now! To a dominant male who would cherish and protect her. She felt, for the first time since coming to Africa, that she was safe and secure, and in her proper place. She was home.<br />“I’m married!” she whispered over and over to herself with relish. “I’m Evelyn, wife of N’Gono! I’m married to a real African man!”<br />Behind them ran Rick, naked and bruised, driven forward by three small mulatto boys bearing whips who playfully herded him this way and that. They generally tended toward N’Gono’s house, but enjoyed showing off their charge over the “white beast.” Rick was so cowed by the beatings and threats of N’Gono and the other black men at the wedding, that he made no resistance, daring only to try and shield his buttocks from their relentless lashes and beg for mercy from the laughing children.<br />Arriving at his house, N’Gono grasped a handful of the cringing white boy’s hair and dragged him into the bedroom, where he was secured to the floor, kneeling in a dark corner. N’Gono wrapped the heavy chain about his neck and pointed his finger at him, as if chiding an errant child.<br />“You watch N’Gono take his new wife,” ordered the big black man. It was the final act of wife capture, to be completed in accordance with Dinka tradition. When possible the consummation of the marriage must take place before the woman’s ex-husband, shaming him and removing all doubts of the female as to whose woman she now was.<br />“You not make sound. You not move,” said N’Gono, reaching down between Rick’s legs and grasped the white boy’s genitals. “N’Gono geld you like done to slave in old days!” he warned, pulling on the testicles. “Feed these to dogs. You catch?”<br />Rick’s eyes widened, knowing the black man was both physically and temperamentally capable of castrating him.<br />“Ye… yes…” Rick gulped. “I won’t do anything.”<br />N’Gono was seemingly satisfied and left the bedroom.<br />Near the front door Evelyn knelt with legs spread and back straight, her breasts thrust forward on display. She was awaiting N’Gono’s permission to rise and following the instructions of Al-wani. Evelyn wanted to behave as the perfect Dinka bride.<br />He stood before her and smiled down at her kindly, placing his large, black palm under her chin. “Come now,” he said simply, and headed to the bedroom.<br />Evelyn scrambled to her feet, eagerly padding behind him, excited as a young girl-child and feeling a sharp tingle of anticipation between her legs. ”I’m married,” she kept whispering to herself. “My new husband is going to make love… No,” she thought, “My new Dinka husband is going to ‘fuck me’! Captured white wives are fucked, not ‘made love to.’”<br />She followed him into the room, scarcely noting the naked, servile Rick in the corner, near the foot of the bed.<br />N’Gono took Evelyn in his arms and they shared the first kiss of their nuptials, a lengthy tongue entwining affair that left her breathless. N’Gono glided his black hands over the skin of her nude back, pulling his petite white bride forcefully to his chest. He moved them lower, and kneaded the pale flesh of her buttocks like dough. After long communal moments, the black man turned and sat on the bed. He was smiling with confidence and glancing at the kneeling Rick, who looked on despite himself, with rapt and morbid interest.<br />Before her new husband, Evelyn removed her kanga and knelt again to bare the desires of her heart. She wished to be a wife of simple devotion to him, and she pledged her obedience henceforth, and forever.<br />Clasping her hands before her in the manner of a suppliant, she spoke with breathy soft voice and lowered eyes. A feeling of absolute peace came upon her. Nothing existed at that moment but N’Gono, and the joy of belonging and submission to him.<br />She pulled the boots from his feet, pausing unbidden to kiss each of them in an act of personal devotion.<br />“My master, my husband… Please, N’Gono, my love… Show me your ways and the ways of your people,” she said clearly, but with every measure of her femininity. “Teach me your language, your customs, your religion. Make me a woman of the Dinka in every way. Start now by filling me with a Dinka son!”<br />N’Gono smiled, and placed his bare foot between her legs. He rubbed his big toe against the apex of her sex, and the little gold ball over her clitoral hood was pressed into her pleasure bud. She gasped, and was instantly aroused to an even higher pitch. It was a small act of male condescension, but one very typical of an African man with his new wife.<br />They rose and Evelyn finished undressing her new husband. For the first time, Rick saw the size of N’Gono’s manhood, and a devastating feeling of innate inferiority struck him. This man’s organ was more than twice the size of his own, in every dimension. He had been fucking Evelyn for months. Any illusion or expectation Rick might have harbored of getting her back someday crumbled to dust. N’Gono was in all ways, a bigger, better man.<br />The two lovers kissed again, and Rick could sense the genuine affection the couple had for one another. Though in his mind, he knew that he had lost his wife, in his heart, Rick could still not quite accept it. He kept waiting subconsciously for Evelyn to push the black man away with disgust, and declare her loyalty to her old husband. She was a well-brought up Christian girl. Even now, would she not feel something for the husband of her own race and faith? But the young woman’s expression held nothing but love and regard for her new man, and it struck Rick that she no longer shared their faith, or the desire for any white man.<br />Now the consummation of their vows was at hand. The new husband and wife were primed for each other, and without further preamble or foreplay the bride lay back on the bed, breathing evenly and gradually spreading her legs. There was an oddly languid urgency about her. She had all night to savor N’Gono’s love, yet she needed to unite with him in flesh as she had in matrimony. She needed it so badly.<br />As Rick watched in silent horror, the huge African moved to mount her, and she received him with slow but eager greed. With her small, white hands she guided the massive black shaft to her sex, gasping with pleased anticipation as he gently but firmly lowered his hips, thrusting it gradually into her core.<br />“UUUUNNgggghhhhhhhh, yes… Oh, N’Gono, my love!” sighed Evelyn.<br />From his vantage, Rick could see the purple head of his penis disappear into her folds, the massive black cock seemed to stiffen and grow, even as it filled her, stretching her dark red neither lips around its girth. As he bottomed out, his dark balls lay draped on her anus. Heavily laden with seed, they seemed to undulate with life, hanging over Evelyn’s helpless belly. Soon their contents would be released, to flow with obscene purpose into her fecund womb.<br />“UUUnnnggghhhhhh,” grunted Evelyn, embracing her lover’s back with her arms and legs. In was such a beautiful moment, and she felt as if she had never really been married before, and that this was her first and only wedding night. Her relationship with Rick seemed so distant and so trite; her life was truly beginning here and now- in this African prince’s bed.<br />“Ohhhh! UUUUnnnnhhhhh…” cried Evelyn as N’Gono withdrew himself slowly. And then, “UUUgggghhhh, uuuhhhhh… soooo biiiig,” as he pushed himself back in. Though he had been taking her for months this moment was special. Now they were copulating for the first time as man and wife.<br />But she always felt stuffed at his initial entry. No matter how much she had been stretched he was still huge, still glorious. “AAAHHHHUUUUMMMM,” she cooed at the next insistent entry, and tightened her grasp on his body.<br />N’Gono pushed in again, and the black shaft descended, now slick with their mingled secretions and glittering in the soft light of the bedroom. It vanished once more, slowly sinking into her belly to bottom out again in her depths.<br />“UUUUNNNGGGG… soooo deeeeep… grunted Evelyn with earthy urgency. She could feel his glans fitting against the cervical cup of her uterus, a place even he had not touched before. Evelyn knew that his manhood was larger this moment than she had ever known. His excitement was as high as hers. He withdrew again to begin a rhythm, thrusting very methodically but ardently.<br />“Unnnggghhhh, white woman,” he breathed. “Take you Dinka man.”<br />“Yes, N’Gono… yeeeesssss,” she replied. As they began the ancient dance in earnest. In and out, in and out, with measured slowness at first, then building with intensity.<br />From his place, kneeling silently at the foot of the marriage bed, Rick could hear and watch Evelyn’s ultimate and final surrender to her African man. The profane, grinding spectacle of their union continued to gain energy as the Dinka man commenced to rut for real. Evelyn sighed, and wriggled, and kissed. Wanting to wallow in her bliss. She saw herself as a white virgin, given to a powerful, passionate warrior. A young Caucasian girl, being admitted to the secret chamber of African sexuality.<br />Rick bit his tongue. He could see the massive, glistening black cock reciprocated in and out of Evelyn’s ravaged white cunt, straining taut her vaginal lips. He remembered bitterly how he had enjoyed his wife’s virginal tightness. Even around his small organ she had felt so snug. Now he knew she had been stretched forever to accommodate her black man.<br />They continued on and on, heedless to time and space. The mating seemed an eternal thing, driven by N’Gono’s masterful strokes. It was the only event in the universe, their fulfillment, its only purpose. Evelyn’s voice was alive with girlish, half-audible whispers and plaintive gasps of joyful discovery. The bedsprings squeaked, keeping time with the flexing of his ebony back, and the spasmodic motions of Evelyn’s bare feet as they waved, suspended over his pumping buttocks. As never before, Rick’s heart ached with the realization of how truly lovely she was. Even from this angle he marveled at the trim lines of her legs and ankles, her shapely gams, the delicate pink soles of her feet. As N’Gono worked, her soft heels caressed the ruddy skin of his black ass, seeming to parody the gentle rubbing of their hands.<br />Rick had not seen Evelyn with another man, and though he knew she had been intimate with N’Gono and the other black men of the church for several months, he had never really been able to conceptualize his conservative and chaste wife with one of them. He had steeled himself to witness her ravishment by an African, knowing he could do nothing to stop it; but he had not expected her to respond with enthusiasm and affection- with love.<br />Now seeing her with this brute of a man, performing with just as much raw sexual need, his mind went numb with impotent rage and humiliation. The difference in their body sizes was compelling, Evelyn at 5’4”, looked so small and helpless, almost crushed beneath his heroic frame. The contrasting color of their skins and the meter of their intercourse became almost hypnotic; a synergy of horror and startling beauty before Rick’s tortured gaze. He was witnessing sex the way it was meant to be, between a superior human male and a submissive female. And he cried, for he knew he would never have this woman again, and could never feel the depth of their love- with a mere four inches of manhood.<br />“AAAhhh, haaaa, baby… aahhh, N’Gono… yes, take me, darling. Sooo gooood!” Somehow Evelyn knew. She would be impregnated that night. Here in this bed, in this very moment she would conceive the baby that her foolish loyalty to Rick had denied. She would atone for her sins, and be given a life to cherish.<br />“UUUUGGG,” grunted N’Gono again holding her tight now and pounding her with ever increasing intensity. His thick shaft gored her with its full length, and he could feel the clinging need in her stretched labia. Evelyn hung on, her mind swirling with delight, staccato cries of passion bursting from her throat. Each deep thrust brought the insistent kiss of his spongy glans to the doorway of her inmost chamber of life, and reminded the new bride of her black husband’s goal, her insemination. It was with infinite joy that she felt the now familiar stiffening of his muscular frame and the suddenly frenzied thrusting of his rut- the telltale precursors of his ejaculation.<br />“Yessss, yessss, my love…” breathed Evelyn, her voice tremulous with passion. “Fill me… please fill me… Aaaahhhh.”<br />“AAAGGGHHHH,” shouted N’Gono. His back spasmed and he drove himself onto her with every ounce of his weight, pressing his manhood with brutal force just past the threshold of her cervix and into her fertile womb.<br />The lovers screamed in unison, climaxing as they held each other in an embrace as strong as life itself. Between their legs, Rick saw N’Gono’s black balls pulse and throb, and his scrotum tense with impending release. Evelyn’s vaginal lips tighten about his shaft. And he heard the woman he still loved beg.<br />“UUUUGGGGHHHH YES! NOW!” She panted, wanting both N’Gono and Rick to hear. “FILL ME WITH YOUR BABY! FUCK ME, N’GONO!”<br />At last, Evelyn felt the first gush of his fecund sperm, flooding like a torrent into her welcoming grotto of motherhood. For an instant, her being was saturated with orgasmic bliss, and the profundity of her new identity. Then she screamed- The craving of her soul. “YESSS… YESSSSS… I can feel it! Your son! Your baby, N’Gono, my love! YEEEESSSSSS… YOOOOUUUUR BAAAAY BEEEEEE!”<br />She was N’Gono’s forever now.<br />Rick sensed it too. As the interracial couple on the bed lay in sweating, gasping, post orgasmic exhaustion, he sobbed silently with a soul rending torment of emotions. Jealousy and outrage and overwhelming humiliation coursed through him and his spirit withered. Evelyn belonged to another man now- and she would carry his child.<br />It seemed like an eternity before N’Gono rose, rolling off Evelyn’s maculated form.<br />Unbidden, she raised her legs and clamped her vulva closed, in order to keep the full measure of her new husband’s draught in her belly.<br />N’Gono unchained the desolate white boy who still knelt forlornly at the foot of the bed. Now that Dinka tradition had been satisfied and white beast’s marriage spells to the woman were finally and utterly broken, Rick’s presence was no longer necessary.<br />Without even speaking to him, N’Gono dragged him outside, to the lone tree where Evelyn had spent the nights of her punishment.<br />Rick was terrified, weeping and pleading, thinking that N’Gono intended to kill or geld him after all.<br />“Please, she’s yours,” he cried. “I did what you said. I watched and did nothing while you took her! Please…”<br />N’Gono did not reply, but kicked Rick’s feet out from under him and locked the heavy chain around his neck. Rick struggled to kneel, but did not resist. He was resigned now, crying softly and waiting for the ritual blow of N’Gono’s dagger that would end his life. But the big Dinka merely checked to make sure he was secured to the grizzled tree trunk. Then he left, and headed back to the house to enjoy the fervent embrace of his new bride.<br />Naked and alone in the African night, Rick’s imminent fear of death slowly faded. Extreme frustration forced tears to his eyes as he knelt there motionless, cursing his own weakness. He knew that the African intended to fill Evelyn with his essence over and over as long as the night endured. But he was physically and emotionally beaten. Tied as he was there was nothing he could do. Even if he had been free, he knew that if he interfered in any way he would certainly receive a severe beating. Or the big African might make good on his threat to castrate him, or kill him with his bare hands. The craven inside Rick finally won out, and he buried his head in his hands.<br />He was safe now, and she was no longer his wife. Evelyn had been unfaithful anyway.<br />In the darkness of the African night, Rick finally took stock of himself. He had been shown what fucking was all about. And deep down he now realized the terrible truth. He never had, and never would elicit those cries of passion from Evelyn, or any other woman. He simply was not man enough, not well endowed enough- not black enough.<br />But he was male, and he had needs too. He had watched N’Gono claim Evelyn with genuine outrage, but the power of their passion nevertheless had moved him. Dead to all shame or pride Rick moved his hands down to his genitals, folded his fingers loving over the pink little shaft and began to pump it. Immediately, visions of Evelyn writhing under N’Gono’s potent thrusts, filled his mind.<br />Looking wistfully back to the house, Rick remembered a time when she was his wife, when she had wanted his children. Memories were all he had left now, but it did give pleasure. Real sexual pleasure- and he needed it so badly. He closed his eyes and smiled, picturing Evelyn’s beauty- and imagined himself a big black man, rutting masterfully in her warm, receptive cunt.<br /><br /><br /><br />Epilogue<br /><br />After Evelyn’s wedding, Sharon was returned to the doctor’s bed for a time. She realized now the answer to the mystery. Why had the Dr. Kamwego turned her into a whore?<br />She was a symbol of the white race to him. Her perpetual defilement was the essence of his spiritual journey. He took her violently, several times each day, raping her and having her raped in his presence; slapping and beating her no matter how servile and pliant her responses.<br />Now the cycle began again. A new white couple arrived in the compound. A young husband with a luscious, willowy blond wife. Sharon was sent back to the brothel with instructions that she was to be well used, but as before, only by men of color.<br />Sharon had cried. She so wanted to become a mother and the wife of one black man, instead of a rutting slut for thousands. But she knew the truth even then.<br />As the cycle turned, and the doctor acquired more white women for his church, Sharon returned to the brothel each time. To woo the sons of Africa into the doctor’s religion, her degradation became a sacrament, her body a holy chalice for the semen of countless men. She was the church’s example of the perfect white female. Prostituted to the common black man- the future of all white women.<br />And at last, whore was what Sharon knew she was. Not that it had been her nature. She had not been born to it, or wanted it. But it was what the doctor had made her into, and it was natural to her now. She was a whore with every fiber of her existence and could never be anything else. Eighteen years old and of surpassing beauty, she had a whole life ahead of her, to be what she had to be- A WHORE!<br />Dr. Kamwego had won, she thought. He always won- and turned people into what he wanted them to be.<br /><br />Evelyn’s instincts had been correct. She did indeed conceive on her wedding night. Not knowing this however, she and N’Gono continued their intensive efforts throughout the month. Evelyn rejoiced when she failed to menstruate, but it was not until the following month, and her next missed period that N’Gono finally ceased his three or four times a day mating schedule and cut back to pure enjoyment sex once a night.<br />Evelyn had dreaded the day when N’Gono would begin sharing her with the other black men. But when it came, and he himself switched the beaded anklet from her left leg to her right, she felt a sense of elation and pride. Now everyone would know she was carrying N’Gono’s baby. And she would be increasing her husband’s standing in the church community.<br />Evelyn also found that she liked fucking the other men. She reveled in the freedom she had as a Dinka wife, and it didn’t even bother her that N’Gono was sampling her white sisters. It was the way of Africa, and was just part of learning to become African.<br />In the coming months Evelyn’s belly swelled with the evidence of her submission to N’Gono, and she seemed to glow with happiness. She liked the fact that her breasts were swelling and filling with milk, and her once delicate pink nipples were enlarging into bloated teats and turning dark red. Al-wani told her that the spells and the baby’s black Dinka blood were the cause, and Evelyn’s sex became moist whenever she thought about it. N’Gono’s love was changing her even physically.<br />When Evelyn gave birth to a healthy, chocolate brown son, it was the proudest moment of her life. And seeing N’Gono holding him, she felt an even greater bond with her husband. She was closer to him than she had ever been to anyone. She was white by birth, but African by choice, Negro by injection. A Dinka mother and wife.<br /><br />The doctor had kept his word to Rick, having him released to the custody of the church. But Rick’s assumption that he would be allowed to return to America had been in error. He was not allowed to leave the church grounds and was told that any attempt at escape would result in his return to the prison.<br />He wandered about aimlessly for a while, sleeping on the ground among the landscaping. N’Gono found him a few times and rousted him out. Finally he found a little cave on the lakeshore. It was private and he had a feeling of security, but no means of support. He was soon reduced to begging for scraps of food, and scavenging through trashcans at night.<br />But then he received an unexpected act of kindness. As N’Gono was now needed full time to take over the church’s work among the Dinka, he offered to allow Rick to take over his job tending the grounds of the compound. The doctor agreed. But Rick would be paid only in food, and had to strictly observe the church’s rules; work hard, obey the black elders, and absolutely no contact with the women, white or black. Rick agreed to the terms.<br />He was given a simple, tattered cloth to wear around his loins, and became darkly tanned, working in the sun. Being out of the prison and working the African soil did him much good, and he was soon healthier and fitter than anytime in his life.<br />His one joy was masturbation. He loved to hide among the manicured hedges and thickets, watching the white women as they passed. Sometimes he even saw Evelyn walking with Julie, her belly seeming to protrude more prominently each day.<br />Often the black men would bring white women down to the shore of the lake. Rick would creep in the shadows, stroking himself while they fucked in the sun. He even saw Evelyn there at times, walking hand in hand with N’Gono, or sometimes other black men. Down on the beach she would remove her wrap and spread it on the sand. And they would make passionate love under the African sky.<br />Latter, sleeping on the floor of his little cave he would pretend that it was he who had made love to the girl, and driven her to orgasmic ecstasy. But it was a bitter thing seeing his seed on his hands, or spewed onto the ground after he had gushed himself into an imaginary Evelyn, or Julie, or Deanna, or Vicky.<br />That was the irony that ate at his soul like acid. If he had not brought Evelyn to Africa, it would be his babies she would be carrying. He would be lying with her each night, instead of N’Gono, and his own sperm would be living, thriving in the warmth of Evelyn’s womb, becoming his child. Instead, it was dying forlornly outside the body of a woman, in the cold dirt of the cave floor.<br />Rick knew what the African men were enjoying every night, and longed to feel the flesh of a woman’s body. He imagined himself taking the white women, raping them in the bushes. Perhaps, he fantasized; they would like it and not report his crime. But fear of the doctor stopped him. The story of Julie’s husband was much like his own.<br />Tom had been imprisoned also, and had undergone the same Dinka rituals involving the taking of his wife. But after his release he had been unable to accept that Julie now belonged to her new black husband. He had tried to rape her, but she had thwarted his advance by running out of the house screaming. Julie’s black husband had not been as kind as N’Gono. He had reported the incident publicly, and the doctor had decided to make an example of the white man in front of his ex-wife, and the entire church. As punishment, he had Tom’s testicles and penis surgically removed, and sent him to a brothel in Khartoum.<br />Since Rick had heard of this, he had been deathly afraid of sharing the man’s fate. Though he worked in the compound and saw everything that went on, he never tried to approach Evelyn, or any of the other white women. He still burned with jealousy at times; especially when he spied Evelyn being fucked on the beach, or walking on the paths, suckling a black baby openly on her bare breast and cooing tenderly. But as months and then years passed, his psyche seemed to become inured, even content.<br />Each of Evelyn’s successive pregnancies bothered him less and less. She seemed genuinely happy in her new life, as did the other white woman.<br />At last, Rick became almost like a voyeuristic phantom, adept at hiding, sneaking, and cumming. As the doctor brought in new white couples, Rick discovered the sadistic and masochistic joy of watching while each new white wife was taken from a white husband, and forcibly joined to an African man. The church grew, as did the white women’s bellies. The progression was similar, and the result was always the same. The white woman submitted to the black man, the white man disappeared. Rick saw and enjoyed it all.<br />In the end, Rick accepted and embraced his fate as completely as the white women accepted theirs. Such was the bittersweet destiny of the racially inferior male.<br /><br />EndMy Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-77388082803886431172007-09-30T13:50:00.000-07:002007-09-30T13:51:29.512-07:00Bound For Africa Pqart 4 by Gordon Kerr“Stop… Owwww, ooooohh, please, ouchhh! Why are you going this!”<br /> “To make you more attractive to N’Gono of course,” said Julie. “None of the women of his tribe have pubic hair. This treatment is given to them before they are married. Body hair on a woman is considered uncouth.”<br />“OOUHH! AAAAHHH…! AAAAAGHH…!”<br />“Stop screaming, white woman,” snapped Dr. Kamwego.<br />“I can’t help it. It hurts, it hurts!” whined Evelyn, pulling at her bonds once more.”<br />“Ohhh, ahhh… AAAAAAIIIEEEEEHHHHHHHHH!”<br />Kamwego slashed her across the breasts with a short riding whip. “I told you to stop screaming!” he shouted. “You white women are so weak. I’ll give you something to scream about!”<br />The old woman continued to pluck for at least half an hour, while Evelyn tied to stifle her cries. Soon the witchdoctor had succeeded in removing all of Evelyn’s pubic hair, and the small amount of hair in her armpits. Then she took a flask of thick, strong smelling liquid from her pouch, and mixed it in one of the bowls. Spreading it over her hands she worked it into the area of Evelyn’s skin that she had depilated. It burned horribly at first and Evelyn’s resurgent screams filled the room, despite repeated applications of the doctor’s crop. The sting however, gradually faded.<br />“This ointment will ensure that none of the hair grows back,” said Julie.<br />Evelyn looked down at the juncture between her legs. The slight swell of her pudenda was now very evident, as well as the delicate pink color. But she noticed an even more pronounced gaping of her hole, and protruding of her inner labia. The insertion of N’Gono’s very large male organ had already stretched and changed her vagina somewhat inside and out. The old shamaness laughed and began chattering with glee in her own language.<br />The doctor laughed as well. “She says you look like a civilized woman now. She says white woman have hair like apes!”<br />The old woman continued chattering excitedly, smiling and gesturing at Evelyn.<br />“She says now you will really feel N’Gono’s pubic hair tickle your lips and clit while he fucks you,” said the doctor. “She says it will make you rut like a monkey.”<br />Evelyn flushed and pouted with disgust. But the old woman reached over and began caressing her vulva, lightly stroking the now hairless skin surrounding it. Evelyn bucked her hips and gasped with surprise. It was more sensitive!<br />“Please… it… don’t do that…” cried Evelyn. The old woman continued to yammer in broken English and Dinka, while lightly stroking Evelyn’s clitoris.<br />“Aahhh, ahhhh, ahhhh, ahhhha, please, hhhh, hhhh, hhhhhhhh,” Evelyn’s hips humped, as if responding to an invisible man on top of her. Al-wani knew exactly how to touch her.<br />The doctor was very amused and conversed back and forth with the old woman for a minute or two. All the while, Evelyn endured the expert manipulation of her vaginal lips, anal ring and love bud. She continued to squirm and buck, and emit little involuntary huffs of pleasure. Finally, the woman entered her with her long middle finger. She massaged an ultra sensitive spot inside Evelyn’s vagina, behind her clitoris, while working the little nub from the front with her other hand.<br />Evelyn’s sex instantly exploded into a powerful orgasm. Her eyes rolled back and her hips rocked violently. “AAAHHH, AAAAAAHHHH, AAAHHH, UUHHHHHHH, AAAAAHHHHHHH, pleeeaaasssee.” For an instant, Evelyn lost consciousness. She came to with the sound of the doctor’s laugher.<br />The native woman was preparing to do something else between Evelyn’s legs, but the white woman suddenly noticed that Julie was no longer in the room. She groaned and her anxiety mounted again. She had unconsciously been relying on her friend for strength and comfort.<br />Evelyn became aware of a pungent odor about her, and she thought it must be coming from the little leather fetish pouch that the woman was holding near Evelyn’s sex. A thick, oily goo poured reluctantly from the pouch, onto the white woman’s labia, falling in a glop over her clitoral hood. Bony, deft fingers worked the substance into the folds, bathing her pink pleasure nub in the warm, slightly stinging liquid.<br />After a few minutes, Evelyn felt a deadening of nerves in her pubic area. She watched in silent horror as the woman took a silver knife, and began cut away a small incision in the skin of her clitoral hood, cleaving it apart. It was quite painless because of the ointment, but Evelyn feared she was being disfigured and tied to squirm within her bonds. The old woman looked up angrily, and Kamwego snapped, “don’t move. Or you’ll injure yourself.”<br />Evelyn held her breath and clenched her fingers and toes. There was a minute amount of bleeding, but it was stanched by the ointment.<br />The shamaness took a tiny silver ring and pierced the two edges of Evelyn’s now separated clit hood. She inspected her work and nodded with satisfaction. Then she and the doctor released Evelyn from her restraints and ordered her down on all fours, resting her abdomen over a stool on the floor. Al-wani sat behind her on another stool. Evelyn looked back to see her opening another leather bag, which held many implements.<br />Evelyn hung her head and wondered when the nightmare was going to end. She felt a sting on her lower back over her spine, and something snagging her skin- suddenly she realized that she was being tattooed.<br />Evelyn’s mind once again exploded with panic. For some reason the thought of being marked like Julie and the other white women filled her with an overwhelming sense of revulsion. She bolted to her feet and ran, making it all the way to the door before it opened and she collided with Jayant.<br />He seized her by the throat, holding her in place in the steely grasp of his old, black hands.<br />The doctor spoke in his pseudo calm voice. “You’re going to be tattooed, bitch. You’re going to carry the marks of the Dinka and your master, N’Gono. I am giving you to him, to welcome him to the church.”<br />“No… I’m an American woman. I love my husband.”<br />“Bend over the stool and hold still!” he snarled.<br />“Please,” begged Evelyn. But the hesitation merely earned her a nasty slap on the face.<br />“Do as your told, slut. Down on the stool!”<br />“No,” cried Evelyn hysterically. “This is horrible and violating… I won’t… I won’t bear the marks of a pagan man! A man who’s not my husband!” <br />The doctor simply smiled, and calmly reached up to grasp a handful of Evelyn’s hair. “I’ll call the warden and tell him you’re not cooperating. You’ll be shipped out to the rape camp within an hour. Then there’ll be hundreds of men who’ll play with your cunt and asshole. In a week you’ll have prison tattoos covering your body. They’ll brand you with irons. Each man who fucks you will apply his mark to you. It is the tradition here among criminals!”<br />Evelyn broke down sobbing. She was defeated and she knew it. Her mind numbed with defeat, she went to her knees, and crawled to the stool.<br />Al-wani began to work again, and this time Evelyn did not resist. For three hours she felt the shamaness making the tiny cuts with a tool and working the ink under her skin. She couldn’t see it, but it felt as though they were applying an image similar to Julie’s, across her lower back from hip to hip.<br />When at last the old woman was done, Evelyn felt limp and drained. She had undergone a violation similar to rape. In some ways it was even more profound. The act of rape was transitory. The marks on her back were permanent.<br />They ordered her up, seated on the edge of the table again. Now the Al-wani proceeded to apply a smaller tattoo to her belly, on the flat plane just above her sex. The old woman began chanting while sprinkling more of her mysterious ointments and powders onto Evelyn, and rubbing them into her flesh in the affected areas. Finally the shamaness stood up. <br />“Now you fit for N’Gono,” she smiled, pleased with her handiwork. “Powerful spells on you flesh now. You Dinka property.”<br />The old witchdoctor spoke to Kamwego before she left. Evelyn slumped on the table, weeping and desolate.<br />Dr. Kamwego sat beside her after the old woman had left. He spoke to her gently, almost compassionately.<br />“You will adapt,” he said. “A woman’s heart turns quickly to a strong man. The man who has captured her. Soon your white husband will fall out of your desires, your hopes, and finally your memory. You belong to N’Gono, now.”<br />Evelyn did not react to him.<br />“Al-wani gave you a great complement,” said the doctor. “She said you have a mother’s body and a whore’s heart. And you are much to old not to have children. I told her your white husband was a weakling who couldn’t get you pregnant and that N’Gono has taken you into his hut now. She says she expects to see you many more times. She is a midwife also.”<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 12<br /><br />Julie, Deanna, and Vicky accompanied a very tired Evelyn back to her house. They doted on her all the way, solicitous of her feelings and offering advice based on their own experience of what she had been through.<br />“Make sure you don’t smudge or damage the tattoos,” said Deanna.<br />“Oh, I hate them, they’re disgusting. ” said Evelyn. “Maybe if I soak them with hot water they’ll fade!”<br />“No,” said Deanna. “I tried that, Evelyn. Dr. Kamwego whipped me mercilessly when he found out! And he’ll just bring you right back. “He’ll have that witch woman Al-wani apply them all over again.”<br />“They what am I going to do!” cried Evelyn. “How can I face Rick?”<br />“You’re not going to do anything, Evelyn,” said Julie. “The tattoos will stay.”<br />“You’ll get used to them very soon,” said Deanna. “You’ll be proud to carry N’Gono’s mark.”<br />“The designs mean something?” asked Evelyn.<br />“The tattoos on your back are N’Gono’s tribal and clan markings,” said Julie. “The tattoo on your belly is his personal mark. Everyone who fucks you from now on will see it and know you belong to him.”<br />That statement brought on new misery for Evelyn. “What will Rick think when the American Embassy gets him released. It’ll be right on my belly when we… if we… if he sees me in our bedroom.”<br />When they reached Evelyn’s house, the other three women entered without waiting for an invitation from their host. All Evelyn wanted was a quiet evening alone to recover, but the girls insisted there were many more things to do.<br />They took Evelyn into the bathroom and washed her hair thoroughly. Then they set her down, and began to meticulously plait her long, silky brown tresses, interweaving dozens of beads into the braids. As they worked, Evelyn began to feel much better. Soon she was talking and laughing with her three companions as they shared stories and jokes.<br />It took them a couple of hours, but when they were finished they brought Julie a mirror. She was astonished at the transformation. The radical change in hairstyle had altered her appearance drastically. It was much more “African” now, like that of the other girls.<br />The women talked until almost dark, then anxious to get home to their men, all three of Evelyn’s guests took their leave.<br />When they were gone, Evelyn went into the bathroom, to look at herself in the full-length mirror. As she dropped her kangas, she couldn’t believe what she saw! The woman before her seemed so alien, almost pagan! Besides her hair and face, she could now clearly see the changes to her body. The loss of her thick pubic bush made her sex lips much more prominent. The tattoo above her slit almost glowed with iniquitous maculation. It was about three or four inches around, and featured small, colorful animal figurines done in African motif. At its center was the unmistakable shape of a black phallus, pointing directly down to her womanhood.<br />She turned, and saw some of her back in the mirror. Evelyn gasped. The African tribal tattoo spanned her back with a bold, black and white geometric design. Like Julie’s it ran from hip to hip and seemed shaped like a flower with the stem leading to her crack. The skin under both tattoos was swollen and very sore. She blushed with the thought of what people would say when she returned to Iowa. She would have to be very careful what she wore if she went out in warm weather. Still, though horrifying, it gave her an odd sort of tingle in her loins to see her own body changed and marked by the hands of black natives.<br /><br />Over the next three days, Julie and Evelyn finished scrubbing the veranda. They moved on to other jobs, including weeding, feeding the guard dogs, and washing the doctor’s many automobiles. All of the chores were menial, but Evelyn found that the work was never overwhelming. She had grown up in a conservative, rural part of America and had worked hard as a child and teenager, but the Africans seemed more laid back about work. Even in their subservient roles, the white women were not pushed too hard, as long as they got a reasonable amount done.<br />They occasionally saw Vicky and Deanna, and met a few other white girls. They were always dressed the same, in the traditional African garb; barefoot, wearing only the kanga about their waists and the smaller kanga on their breasts if they were outside. In the villa proper, they were invariably bare-breasted. The majority were either pregnant, or nursing black babies, or both. Some even had a toddler or two in tow. <br />Evelyn began to fall into the routine. She had not been told when N’Gono would return, and she was beginning to become hopeful that her family, or the U.S. Embassy would be able to resolve the situation, and get she and her husband out of the country before she was sexually assaulted again. As far as the tattoos and other modifications of her body, she would just have to hope Rick would understand. Her skin was healing and the tattoos were set now, but perhaps they could be removed or masked once she got home to Iowa. She knew her body hair would never grow back, but she would have to live with that- a perpetual reminder of Rick’s foolish venture in Africa.<br />The next day was Saturday, which was, Julie informed Evelyn, a day off. On Saturdays, the church members met on the lakeshore for fun and relaxation on the beach.<br />Evelyn was excited. She had recovered somewhat from the shocking events earlier in the week, and had decided that perhaps things were not quite as bleak as they seemed. She was anxious to meet more people, especially the other white women who she might relate to.<br />Julie collected Evelyn in the morning, and they made their way down to the beach. Evelyn was thankful it was a little overcast, and not an extremely hot day. She had been told to wear her bikini top and a thong under her kanga, and had been worried about getting too much sun.<br />When they arrived at the shoreline, Evelyn could see there were perhaps a hundred or more people there. The white women numbered thirty or thirty-five. The remainder were black, mostly men, but with several black woman mixed in. There were no white males. It was a very casual gathering. There were a few fires and lots of beach chairs and towels lying about on the sand. Evelyn stuck close to Julie. Ayang was sitting in one of the chairs, idly conversing with two other black men. Julie went and sat down cross-legged on the sand in front of his chair. She motioned for Evelyn to sit on the ground beside her, in front of one of the black men. Reluctantly, Evelyn complied.<br />Only after she had set down did she notice that the man behind her was the one whom she had rebuffed days before on the road. Evelyn felt a chill of fear, wondering if he might still be angry, but fortunately, he was ignoring her. She wondered if he remembered the incident. <br />Evelyn studied the beach-goers. The black women were all dressed in loose, modern clothing, or fairly conservative one-piece bathing suits. They seemed aloof, almost snobbish toward the whites. The white women by contrast, wore the traditional kangas, or very minimal thong-type swimwear. Some of the white women had even removed their tops! All were like Julie, without a hint of tan lines across their breasts.<br />Evelyn saw other differences too. The black women sat in chairs. The white women all sat on the sand, or in the black men’s laps. The white women seemed much more flirtatious than the black women, who were by comparison demure, independent and sophisticated.<br />Evelyn tried to relax and enjoy the sunshine. The men seated behind her were speaking in an African dialect and seemed unconcerned about the girls sitting at their feet. Evelyn had just closed her eyes with the warmth of the African sun on her face when Julie nudged her with an elbow.<br />Evelyn turned to see that her friend had removed the kanga top, and her man Ayang was idly caressing her naked back with his black hand.<br />“Evelyn, take off your top,” she whispered.<br />Evelyn frowned. With great reluctance, she reached up and removed her small kanga. The bikini top was so skimpy that she blushed, and had to fight the urge to cover her chest with her hands. She got up to walk around. There was a cooler close by, filled mostly with beer and ice, but with a few soft drinks as well. Evelyn took one and stood, watching the party.<br />Soon things were developing in a blatantly sexual direction. Here and there were couples, carousing between drinks, seemingly oblivious to everything but each other. Black hands fondling tan white breasts, and sneaking under bikini bottoms; quiescent feminine giggles and gasps.<br />The men were engaging both black and white women. But the black women were more modest. That activity seemed to invariably retire to the little beach houses for privacy, while most of the sexual antics involving the white women were unfolding in the bold sunlight, right out on the sand! Only a few feet away a black man and a white woman were laying on a towel, both naked and in the midst of rather advanced foreplay.<br />Evelyn looked with disgusted shock at the little orgies that were developing on the beach. Julie was still seated in front of Ayang’s chair. His big hand was now kneading her bare breast as he chatted with the other black men. Julie suddenly looked back at Evelyn with concern, as if to warn her that her that antisocial behavior was rebellious and “sinful,” It was unacceptable, and if she persisted there would be dire consequences. For the moment, however, the black men seemed to be ignoring her.<br /> Suddenly Evelyn felt her head wrenched back and she was looking into the angry scowl of Dr. Kamwego himself. His voice was tight and threatening. “Go back over there and sit in front of brother Nabela as Julie is doing. Do as he tells you. I’m not going warn you again.” Then the doctor let go of her hair.<br />Defeated, Evelyn emitted a little sniffle, then padded back across the sand and sat next Julie again, in front of Nabela’s chair.<br />Julie smiled at her reassuringly. The girl seemed almost totally at ease, as if she and Evelyn were just two young women alone on a beautiful beach. Her winsome smile almost made it seem to Evelyn that all this was normal. But then Evelyn felt the big, black hand stroking her slender neck!<br />“Take off your bikini top now,” whispered Julie again.<br />Evelyn shook her head again, staring straight out to the water with a determined look. It was bad enough to have to be here, watching all this happen. There was no way she was going to remove her top, this place was simply too public.<br />She breathed a small sigh of relief when Ayang and Nabela got up and walked over to the water’s edge. A few feet from them a fat, African man in his mid fifties had removed the panties of a petite, red-haired young white girl, who looked to be in her late teens. He mounted the unresisting female and immediately began to energetically pound her into the sand, rutting his big manhood into and gripping her form roughly by the shoulders. The girl grunted with his huge intrusion into her belly, but did not resist. In fact she curled her soft legs around his back and made a strained effort to smile up at the man.<br />Ayang and Nabela stood chatting and smiling next to them, seemingly oblivious to the lewd spectacle transpiring at their feet. Evelyn shook her head with disgust. Never had she dreamed such depravity could exist, especially within a church gathering. She closed her eyes tight, trying to shut out the shocking and threatening world around her. <br />“Take off your top, Evelyn!” hissed Julie, urgently.<br />“No,” whispered Evelyn through clenched teeth.<br />“You have to,” replied Julie. “All of the other white women are bare breasted. Brother Nabela expects it and the doctor will punish your racist pride if you keep it on.”<br />“It’s not racist pride,” spat Evelyn, trying to keep her voice to a whisper. “It’s a matter of modesty!”<br />“Not in Africa,” said Julie.<br />“But the black women aren’t topless,” whined Evelyn.<br />“Dr. Kamwego says we whites have to accept African ways and the authority of his church and his elders if we are to be forgiven for our race’s past oppressions. Going bare breasted at church functions is one way of demonstrating that. Submitting to any African man’s advances is another.”<br />Evelyn starred slack jawed at her young friend. “You mean… make… have… have sex with them? Right here? I… I couldn’t… I couldn’t do that! Besides, it’s so immoral!”<br />Julie shook her head. “It’s not sinful if the doctor tells us to do it. It’s a sin to disobey him. Take off your top!”<br />Once again Evelyn shook her head and set her jaw, trying to concentrate on the lake and the surf. She was a married, Christian woman. Submitting to one black man behind closed doors, until she could escape the country, was one thing. This was something else. She did not have to participate in such illicit activities.<br />So determined was she to remain aloof and ignore her surroundings, she did not hear the doctor’s quiet footsteps behind her. Suddenly she felt a slight tug on her top. She turned to see him sitting on the chair behind her. Then she felt a cold, sharp object at her back. The strap parted and the cups of her bikini top fell away from her chest! She gasped with shock and outrage as the cool lake air played lightly over her now exposed nipples and her face flushed with an even deeper color. She instinctively tried to look down and find the sheer cloth, but he seized her neck in an iron grip. He would not allow her to move her head and she whimpered with the familiar feeling of helplessness at his hands. Knowing she was now completely bare above the waist, she bought up her arms, again with purely modest instinct.<br />The doctor pushed her hands violently away then slapped her face. “Leave your arms down,” he growled, reaching down and snatching up the remnants of her top.<br />Still utterly shocked, Evelyn gasped for words. “Please… I… I… can’t… ouch… oh, I can’t… please… ahhhggghh…” she rasped, as he twisted her hair.<br />“Quiet,” he snapped. Then he leaned down to whisper beside her reddened face. “Keep your hands and arms down and push your chest out, or I’ll have the fattest, ugliest brother rape you right here on the sand! Is that clear?”<br />Now cowed, Evelyn sniffled with defeat. “Ye… yes… please don’t hurt me!”<br />He released his hold on her and walked off, satisfied for the moment. Evelyn sobbed quietly and hung her head with shame for a few minutes, but she did not try to hide her breasts.<br />“I told you to take them off,” said Julie, with mixed sympathy and vindication. “Now you will go all the way back to the house topless. Everyone’s going to see your tits.”<br />“No…” whimpered Evelyn.<br />“Oh yes! Every guest, brother and elder is going to get an eyeful, because you were disobedient.”<br />“Please… I didn’t know… I can’t go back like this.”<br />“Evelyn, that’s the least of your problems. Nabela is still annoyed at your little stunt on the path a few days ago. I heard them talking and they’re going to teach you a lesson.”<br />“But… I didn’t mean to…”<br />“Just grit your teeth and bear it, Evelyn, you’ll survive. But don’t give brother Nabela anymore trouble or he’ll probably whip you raw, right here on the sand in front of everyone. I’ve seen him do it to other girls, so you better calm yourself down and do what it takes to please him.”<br />A few moments latter, Nabela and Ayang returned to their beach chairs behind the two white wives.<br />Evelyn screwed her eyes shut, hoping against hope that whatever they had planned would somehow not occur. Fear of the two big, African males and what they might do kept her from moving. She tensed with a small gasp when she felt the large, callused hand again, but this time it was not caressing. It had taken a cruel grip on her upper arm.<br />Nabela rose, pulling Evelyn up with him and dragging her over to one of two open beach towels.<br />“Get that kanga off,” he barked. “And the thong! On your knees… On all fours.”<br />When Evelyn began to protest weakly he punched her savagely in the belly. She doubled over onto the cloth, temporarily unable to breathe and frozen with fear as he pulled the kanga from her waist and ripped the thong from her body.<br />“Spread your legs!” he snarled.<br />“All right… ugghh…” cried Evelyn, still trying to catch her breath. But he did not wait for her volition. He kicked her thighs apart with his sandal-clad foot and slapped her rear cheek with a loud crack.<br />“White bitch. You’ll never push me away again!” he said. He knelt behind her and brought his hand to her puckered anus. “N’Gono doesn’t use this hole. But I do!”<br />An intense spasm of fear and revulsion ripped through Evelyn’s very soul. This man intended to perform that unnatural, unspeakable act that she had only heard about in the vilest of contexts. He was going to sodomize her!<br />“Oh god no! Please no! I’m sorry for pushing you away!”<br />He slapped her hard again on the rump. “Shut up, bitch!”<br />“Please, sir,”<br />Evelyn was suddenly aware of Julie kneeling beside her before the angry black man. “Please sir, use this. It will make it easier for you to fuck her asshole, sir. Please let me give it to her.”<br />Nabela grunted his assent. <br />Julie moved over to Evelyn and presented her with a tube of sexual lubricant.<br />Evelyn’s eyes were wide and she shook with hysteria. “He wants to… to… Sodomize… NOOOO!” she shrieked.<br />Julie slapped her face, trying to calm her frenzied panic. “Evelyn, listen. Listen to me. He’s going to fuck your ass! Now use this jelly so he doesn’t tear you. Squirt some up your anus and work it around. Then spread some on his cock. Hurry and lube yourself!”<br />“No… no… not there,” Evelyn kept sobbing and whimpering. But she was using the tube, squeezing the viscous gel into her rectal cavity and pushing it in with a finger. She kept looking at Julie desperately, begging with her trembling voice. “Please… not there… he can’t do it there!”<br />“Shhhhh,” said Julie, her voice as soothing as possible. “He’s going to fuck you there, Evelyn. Now turn around and coat the stuff on his cock.”<br />Evelyn, in an almost catatonic state, obeyed. She grasped his big, black organ timidly and squirted the lubricant onto it. It wasn’t as big as N’Gono’s, but it was still much larger than Rick’s. <br />“Now get back down there,” said Nabela. “Reach back and pull your cheeks apart.”<br />Evelyn complied, wishing fervently that the earth would open and swallow her up.<br />“Try to relax your anal muscles and let it happen,” said Julie.<br />Then Evelyn felt the head of his penis. He pushed, and the slick jelly allowed him to enter her smoothly, though her anal ring resisted and there was some pain.<br />“Aahhh, ahhhh, ahhh, ooohhhh,” panted Evelyn pathetically. Her face was buried in the towel and her hands were clawing at it. She felt him push again and his cock went deep.<br />“OOOHHHHH! Please, it hurts!”<br />He paused for a moment, allowing her muscles to adjust. Then he began a slow pumping motion and Evelyn gritted her teeth. The pain of his initial invasion had faded, but it still felt gross and unnatural. She lifted her face and looked around, once more aware that she was in a very public place. People were casually watching, smiling, or just walking past. None of them acted as though the public anal rape of a white woman by an African man was anything out of the ordinary.<br />The minutes seemed to have slipped by and Evelyn realized he was thrusting fast, about to climax. Before he did so he reached around and touched the bud of her clit. Instantly a weird, cloying heat suffused her loins, like an orgasm burning slowly instead of exploding. She felt him groan and stiffen, and his balls were twitching as they hung against her vulva.<br />“Ahhgg, yes… take it, woman.”<br />She could feel his semen as it pulsed into her vitals. The masking pleasure dissipated quickly for Evelyn after he pulled out and she lay face down and unmoving while her anal ring tried to recover.<br />Nabela was already laughing and joking with another black man, and sat back down as though nothing had happened. But for Evelyn, it was beyond rape, beyond humiliation. She was sure her mind and body would never be the same. She felt dead inside, filthy, and utterly defiled.<br />A few feet away she heard a female voice permeated with rapturous bliss. She turned her head to see Julie on her back, being ferociously fucked by Ayang and thrusting her loins up to meet his with equal vigor. As Evelyn watched, their pleasure crested. Ayang shouted in triumph and pinned her to the sand, pumping, filling, possessing his white woman, as Julie screamed with joy into his black, muscular chest. <br />Evelyn just closed her eyes and sobbed, engulfed in a swirling vortex of the darkest shame she had ever known.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 13<br /><br />Evelyn’s breasts bounced with salacious freedom on her denuded chest as she walked home from the beach. Oddly enough it hardly bothered her. She had been so traumatized by the very public anal rape she had undergone that her mind was in a kind of fog. Yet there was one thing she found to be the most degrading factor of all. She had actually had an orgasm from it. Her mind was assailed with the ugliest self-recriminations, and she felt literally dirty, fouled with the shame of her own depravity. All Evelyn wanted to do was go home and take a bath.<br />The next day was Sunday, and Julie arrived as usual to walk with her to church, which they were required to attend.<br />The church service was like none other that Evelyn had ever attended. She and all the other white women were seated on the floor in an open area at the rear of the main sanctuary. All of them were bare breasted and wore only the waist kanga, dressed in the traditional manner of African women. Their clothing however, was clean and colorful, and obviously meant for exclusive Sunday use.<br />Many of the white women held half-black infants, and some were breastfeeding openly. Evelyn watched as Julie fed her baby. Her breasts were heavy, and the brown baby sucked greedily at her darkened and enlarged, extended nipple.<br />The black congregation sat in padded pews. The men wore tailored suits, the women were dressed in demure finery, very conservative, as befitted church attendance in a European or American service. Their clothing was modern, but still with a distinctive African cut and look.<br />There were hymns, but they were sung in African dialects and Evelyn didn’t recognize the melodies. There was an odd sort of chanting, also not in English. Then it was the doctor who preached, mostly in an African language but also in some English. Evelyn noted that he said nothing about God, the bible, or the classic Christian doctrine she was familiar with. Instead, the sermon had strong racial/mystical/political overtones. Kamwego spoke of Africa, and her noble black sons and daughters. He told of her great history in ancient times, and of the evil and corrupt white man who had ruled and had tried to impose his culture as well at his will. The spirits of African ancestors were restless and calling for revenge on the whites and retribution for their sins.<br />Finally, he talked about what white men had done to African women; raping them, enslaving them, forcing them to westernize and accept white traditions. Even Evelyn was appalled.<br />At the end of the service, a beautiful blond white woman sang another African hymn in English. The song praised the doctor and his church. Evelyn was mesmerized with the girl’s lovely voice as she stood before the church dressed only in her waist wrap.<br />When the service was over, the black congregation rose. The white women went to their knees, and stayed there until the last black person had left. Then they stood, and Julie walked Evelyn home.<br /><br />For the next three days, Nabela was waiting for Evelyn when she arrived home. He would take her around to the back of the house and rape her anally, sometimes as she bent over grasping her ankles, sometimes as she crouched on all fours on the dirt. She learned not to resist him in any way, and to loosen her sphincter muscles as he entered her.<br />Nabela was something of a sadist. He would slap her around before and after every anal union. The beatings were rather mild, leaving no bruises or permanent marks, but Evelyn was sure they would become much more serious if she made any attempt to thwart him. He would bait her, berating her as frigid one minute and as a wonton whore the next. But he made it clear he was enjoying the abuse of her body. “If N’Gono doesn’t want you, I will claim you, women!” he had rasped into her ear after cumming in her bowels.<br />To Evelyn’s chagrin and horrified wonder, she was gaining the lubricous orgasm every time, but the sessions were demeaning in the extreme. And she hated the cruel Nabela.<br />Then a day of deliverance. Julie had been told that N’Gono would be home that night, and shared this news with Evelyn. Even to Evelyn’s surprise, this prospect made her oddly nervous. With N’Gono in his own hut again, he would surely protect her from Nabela. In that instant, she went from hoping he would not return before the embassy got them out, to worrying that N’Gono would reject her.<br />Sure enough, Nabela was nowhere to be seen when she padded up to her house that night. N’Gono was not there either, so Evelyn busied herself preparing for his arrival. She tidied up the house, and tried to cook a vegetable and goat meat dish the way she knew he liked it.<br />She checked herself in the mirror. She and Julie had spent much of the day, washing each other’s hair, re-braiding it, and replacing the beads. The cornrows on her head were clean, neat, and very “African Negroid” looking. Her tattoos were almost fully healed, and had turned out well; crisp and un-smeared, and now very permanent.<br />Then she heard his car and went to the window. Evelyn’s adrenaline rushed when she saw it was N’Gono. The doctor had given him one of his older luxury sedans to drive to and from his village, to impress the native people and spread the influence of the church.<br /> Evelyn quickly removed her top, and straightened out the kanga at her hips. She assumed the posture Julie had taught her. She had told Evelyn that N’Gono would expect it upon his return. Kneeling, spreading her legs widely but decent and placing her hands on her knees, Evelyn held her breath, hoping he would be pleased. When she heard his key in the door, she thrust her bare breasts out and lowered her eyes.<br />Then the door opened and he was there, and the room seemed to fill with his masculine presence.<br />Evelyn did not look directly into his face, but he seemed even taller now. His 6’5” frame was clad in a western style suit that seemed to actually augment his muscular physic. The suit spoke of power and worldly sophistication. That was the craving of every young African male and one of the lures by which the doctor would recruit the Dinka tribesman. Another lure was the gift of beautiful young, white women. <br />Evelyn felt his hand under her chin. He lifted her face, and she saw he was smiling. Her heart soared with the knowledge that he was pleased with her appearance and behavior.<br />Evelyn was convinced he would demand sex, and was fully prepared for it. There was still a twinge of guilt with regard to Rick and her vows, but she suppressed her conscience with the conviction that she had no choice. It made no difference, she told herself. She still loved Rick and thought nothing could change that. But these things she had to do to stay out of that horrible prison and gain the protection of a strong male. She was sure Rick would understand.<br />But in point of fact, N’Gono didn’t drag her straight to his bed. He sat down to enjoy a soccer match on television and aside from accepting his dinner and ordering her to fetch a beer from time to time, he totally ignored her. Evelyn went back into the kitchen to wash dishes.<br />Evelyn’s guilt began to creep back into her conflicted mind. Was it right that she should be anticipating sex with him this way? Yes, for the moment she had little choice in the matter, but how could going to bed with any man, save Rick, be anything but wrong? And she wondered further; why during the past few days did she yearn so for N’Gono’s return and not her husband’s. Why did N’Gono, instead of Rick, represent safety and security?<br />She was startled out of her thoughts when she suddenly felt his hand on her breasts, and recognized he was standing behind her. <br />“You very pretty now,” he whispered, biting her earlobe with his thick, black lips. “Look like African girl.”<br />“I… Yes,” she stammered. “The shaman woman from your clan… She, um, did things to me. To make me… look like African girls… The other women fixed my hair.”<br /> “N’Gono like how white woman look,” he breathed, pinching her nipples. “You flesh bear the markings of N’Gono clan. Come, N’Gono take you.”<br />He clasped her hand and led her down the hall to the bedroom. There he gathered her in his arms. His lips found hers and he pulled her naked upper body to his, feeling her nipples like pebbles through his shirt. He released the kanga at her waist, letting the wrap fall to the floor, and his hands roamed freely over her naked, white flesh.<br />Presently, he stepped back, and Evelyn knew he was telling her to undress him. She tentatively removed his coat and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off. He sat on the bed and she knelt before him to remove his shoes and socks. She looked up at him, feeling an inner surge of lust mixed with guilt. He was so muscular and manly and confident, so unlike Rick. But Rick was her husband, and doubt and conscience gnawed at her.<br />They stood again. Evelyn closed her eyes and unbuckled his belt. Not able to bear his gaze she lowered her eyes as she slid his pants down his legs. He lifted his feet and she turned away from him, folding the expensive slacks on the back of a chair.<br />She sighed, and looked at his shorts, the last of his garments, bulging with his throbbing manhood. The tip of his erection was poking obscenely out the fly, and Evelyn’s hands trembled as she tugged the elastic bands and eased them down his hips.<br />Then it was there before her, 10 inches, glorious and uncovered. It throbbed with his heartbeat, black as the African night and stiff as a Dinka spear. Fear and anticipation charged through Evelyn’s loins and she felt the wetness seeping from her hairless sex.<br />A sob wracked her throat and she turned away from him. Before her was the bed and N’Gono stood silently at her side. The other times she’d had no choice, and little warning. This was different. She was alone with this man, quietly preparing to go to bed with him for the purpose of making love. No matter what her predicament, this was a deliberate, methodical violation of vows made to a husband she loved. Evelyn’s nuptial loyalty fought with her libido and female instincts, and her soul was the battleground.<br />She stiffened and balked. She couldn’t do this! Not in this way. Why did he have to be so gentle and seductive? Why couldn’t he take her as he had before? Just as the doctor and Nabela had, raping her quickly and brooking no resistance? This was the most savage and devastating attack of all. He was arousing her genuine passion for him. He was making her feel- love.<br />She felt his hand gliding lightly over the tattoo on her lower back and she closed her eyes as her libido bubbled and frothed. But thoughts of Rick, and her family, and precepts of her upbringing stiffened her shoulders, and her resolve. She pulled away from his hand and stood holding her breath, waiting for the inevitable punishment for her rebellion. A slap or the lash of a whip- which didn’t come. <br />“In my land, strong man take what he want from weak man,” said N’Gono, softly.<br />“I’m a woman, not an object,” whispered Evelyn.<br />“N’Gono speak of women.”<br />He turned her by the shoulders slowly, until she faced him, and Evelyn beheld the strength of will in his Negroid face. She backed up, terrified of him and wanting to bolt from the room. But he had her cornered now with her legs against the foot of the bed. He took hold of her arm, his grasp gentle yet as strong as steel.<br />“This house mine now,” he whispered in her ear. “N’Gono claim you also, woman.”<br />“Please, I know your customs are different here, but I’m American, and a married woman. I can’t… voluntarily make…”<br />“You in Africa now. In Dinka man’s house. You follow Dinka customs.”<br />With wide eyes she shook her head slowly, but he could sense her doubt and female need.<br />His mouth met hers and he pushed backwards gently, falling with her as she tumbled onto the bed. So naked, and so small, sprawled under him, so weak did she feel, held down by his entangling limbs- a living cage of black sinew. Evelyn was pushed onto her back, her suntanned, peaches and cream complexion crushed by his covering black from. Though her legs clamped tightly shut, he brought his knee between them, separating them with brute force. Yet she could not think of him as a brute.<br />He was slow but unstoppable, wedging his legs between hers and twisting, irresistibly spreading her creamy thighs and placing himself in position to mount her. Evelyn realized he could have simply whipped her or beat her until she complied. But he wanted to take her with pure physical force. Her will did not matter, and her straining was in vain. Her thighs relaxed.<br />N’Gono settled his hips from side to side, then he was home, his blunt African javelin at the threshold of her mons, once more battering the gateway to her virtue. <br />“No…” she gasped feebly, yet already her soft white hands were grasping the massive muscles of his back, and her knees were drawing up to cradle his hips. She felt her female lips parting and gazed down to see his huge manhood disappear slowly, pushing- into her lightly tanned belly.<br />“Ahhh, uuuuuuuunh, so big!” Evelyn panted as she saw her own smooth, white legs wrap around his back while he sank deeper. She looked into his African face, and her gray eyes pleaded for mercy, begging him to stop. Begging him to go on. And still the great black shaft bore downward, and her vaginal walls pushed outward, until his heavy scrotum nestled onto her anus. Then, with but a few more of her faltering shallow breaths, the last of her resistance vanished- and ecstasy replaced it. <br />It was true! What the shamaness had said was the truth. She could feel now with incredible vividness his skin and pubic hair as they contacted her denuded crotch. It was driving her wild! He was holding himself almost still; the act of possessing her frozen in time as she lay impaled and conquered.<br />“N’Gono, uunnnhhh,” she grunted. Her vagina was adjusting to his girth faster this time, having already been forced to take it twice before. Then he began moving very slowly, withdrawing and thrusting, in and out, bursting through space and time.<br />In their previous encounters she had been terrified and consumed with the shame of rape and adultery. Now she sensed that although N’Gono might not give her any choice in the matter of sleeping with him, he would not hurt her out of cruelty. He saw her as his woman and expected to use her body. But he was not like Nabela. He did not take pleasure from her pain. Furthermore, his strength of will and body meant she simply had no hope of resisting. That realization soothed her doubts, even as her lust and need surged.<br />Now, having sex with him for a third time, Evelyn could relax after a fashion and examine her own psyche. What was she feeling where they were joined between her legs? What was it like to have sex with another man besides Rick? What was it like to be with N’Gono? Truly his. It was wonderful!<br />Evelyn’s soft white limbs held him in a tightening embrace. Her body knew its needs. But though her flesh might respond, her heart still languished under a yoke of guilt. It brought to her mind the fear of Nabela, and the horrors of the prison. They were waiting for her, should she lose the favor of N’Gono. Only her flesh would buy his continued protection, and Rick would never know.<br />Rick was her husband, but no longer master of her bed. And for the first time, Evelyn wondered if he would ever be again. She knew in her heart that he could never give her the feelings she enjoyed with N’Gono. Rick was too civilized, too timid- and his cock was too small. But then N’Gono settled into his rhythm, and all thoughts of Rick and her marriage, good or ill, faded.<br />Her black lover was pumping now, and Evelyn was rutting back, grinding her pubic mound up to him. The bed began to creak with the cadence of their mating, and they writhed, fused as one corporeal being. <br />It felt so wonderful, so right. Being beneath N’Gono and infused by him slowly chased away the shadows of self-doubt and the specter of Nabela’s abuse. N’Gono was giving her his full length with every plunge, kissing her cervix with his glans. It went on forever, or so it seemed to the white woman, as he glided in and out with graceful ease.<br />“Tell N’Gono to fuck you. Beg Dinka man!” he breathed.<br />She sighed, but her brain was too glutted with pleasure to respond.<br />He smiled and bent to kiss her, and this broke the spell.<br />“Fuck me,” she gushed against his thick, dark lips. “Fuck me, N’Gono.”<br />“N’Gono put little Dinka in you belly,” he rasped, giving her exceptionally deep lunges. “Beg N’Gono for his child!”<br />“Yes,” she replied, too far-gone to care what she was saying. “Give me your baby! N’Gono… I love you!”<br />Evelyn was wholly his now, lying helpless and open beneath his swarthy body, even as his manhood pounded in and out, ranging its full prodigious length. It was so wild, so good. It seemed so natural to be with this powerful man, ardently making love. At last she felt him make his deepest thrust yet. He held himself still and his body became as a steel envelope. Evelyn heard him grunt loudly and shout something in Dinka. Then she felt the torrent of his fecund sperm, shooting into her womb with the force of a geyser.<br />“N’Gono!” she screamed, clinging to him as her orgasm detonated in her mind and body. “N’GONO, CUM IN ME! Fuck your white woman… FUCK ME!”<br />Evelyn thought the deluge would never end, and imagined that her uterus must be filling with his essence. Finally, she felt him relax, and his weight descended onto her. They were gasping for breath, still entwined and sweating in the warm African evening.<br />N’Gono took her twice more that night; once with Evelyn on top, squatting over his loins, and once more on her back. It was not until the early morning that she was able to sleep, profoundly content, and cuddled next to him in his bed.<br /> <br /><br /><br />Chapter 14<br /><br />The following day, Evelyn was once again summoned to the villa. Al-wani was there, and made her lay on the padded table again. Because of the frightening previous session in that room, Evelyn was very nervous, but she was even more fearful of angering the old woman, and risking punishment at the hands of the doctor.<br />However, Julie reached for Evelyn’s hand and smiled, telling her that this time there was nothing to worry about. “It will feel so good, Evelyn, and it will help you adjust to your new life in Africa.”<br />The old witchdoctor showed Evelyn a small gold, pear shaped object the size of the tip of her little finger. It had a silver wire running through the center of the top lobe.<br />“This was you white man’s rings,” said the shamaness. “Dinka melt and change them. New spells on them now, make you hot for you new Dinka man. Hot for N’Gono.”<br />The old woman placed the tiny shape on the slit that had been cut into Evelyn’s clitoral hood. The wound had healed, but the little flap of skin had been permanently cleaved, and the silver rings were still in place. Al-wani’s dark fingers carefully joined the wires on the object to the silver rings piercing either side of Evelyn’s clitoral cover. The procedure was relatively painless, and when the white woman stood, she found the heavy gold shape dangled precisely over the most sensitive nub of her pleasure button.<br />“Ohhh!” she gasped her eyes wide. Her hips wiggled involuntarily at the surprise sensation. “Ahhh, aaahhh!” She gushed with each movement. The slightest motion caused the heavy little object to dance over her clit, stimulating her exactly as if a knowing finger were lightly rubbing it.<br />“Aaa, aaauuummmm… aaahhhHHH! Take it off, please! Ahhnnnhh… It’s so indecent.”<br />The shamaness laughed. “White woman feel like she should now, when Dinka men near. Think about fuck-fuck all day.”<br />Evelyn turned to Julie, but she too was chuckling with approval as well. “You’ll get used to it after awhile, Evelyn, but the stimulation remains constant in your sub-conscious. It keeps you on edge, like being in heat all the time.”<br />Evelyn groaned as she put her kanga back on. She was relieved that the woman had not done something else to hurt her, yet she felt as if one more violation had just been perpetrated on her person. She was being forced to experience sexual arousal, and the knowledge that she could do nothing about it caused shivers down her spine and a secret masochistic thrill in her brain. Whether magic or supernatural, or not, the old witch doctor woman had power over her sex, and it made Evelyn’s knees weak. <br />Al-wani was grinning from ear to ear when Evelyn left on unsteady legs, and the rest of the day the white woman tried to cope with the unwanted feelings. It was especially powerful when she walked. On the way back to her house Evelyn had three orgasms, and had to hang onto a bemused Julie for support. There was no remedy to the sensation. Even when she tired to hold the tiny ball still with her fingers, Evelyn only succeeded in pressing it even harder onto her joy knob. After a few days she did learn to control her feelings, just as they had said, but the stimulation was always there and made it hard to concentrate. She could no longer look at a man without her mind flashing with an image of his black cock pounding into her. And when N’Gono returned each night she was already primed, as if she had been masturbating and thinking about him all day. <br />The man from the U.S. Embassy did not call in the coming week. But Evelyn was allowed to meet with him the week after. He told her that nothing had been resolved with the Sudanese government, and that it might be several weeks or more before he could effect release for them. She would have to be patient. He had talked to her parents and Rick's. They were trying to work with the Sudanese Ministry of Justice, but had so far been stonewalled by the bureaucracy.<br /><br />Evelyn continued to adjust into the routine as weeks, and then months passed, working alongside Julie and the other girls in the grand villa and around the church’s very extensive compound.<br />N’Gono had demanded sex from her every night after he had returned, but after a few days, Evelyn became accustomed to it. They were living as husband and wife, and each night in his arms, her guilt progressively diminished. Soon she was looking forward eagerly to their couplings, without the slightest thought of Rick, who seemed more and more distant and irrelevant in her life. She did however, continue to take her birth control pills religiously, and she never lost hope she would be together with her husband again. <br />N’Gono was a strict and relentless disciplinarian. Over the next three months Evelyn learned, under his careful tutelage, what was expected of an African wife. It became second nature for her to remove her top in his house, and after a few more forgetful infractions, he did not have to punish her for the sinful, rebellious act of hiding her breasts from him again. His lovely white woman, who was on her knees when he opened the door and on her back whenever she was told, met him each night after work.<br />Evelyn grew darkly and evenly tanned, like the other white women. <br />Her labia grew darker and thicker and much more pronounced, due to the daily insertion of his very large African manhood, and her vagina’s adjustment to it.<br /> Her body had changed a great deal in other ways as well, and it concerned her. How would Rick react to it when they finally got out of the Sudan? For that matter, how would she react to returning to her old, sexually prosaic life with him? Evelyn had grown accustomed to sex with N’Gono, physically, mentally and emotionally. Her vagina had stretched to fit him perfectly. She doubted she would even be able to feel Rick’s tiny white organ, and she wondered if she could go without the thrill and pleasure of N’Gono’s big black man-shaft. <br />She had admitted to herself over the months that N’Gono was a superior man in every way. Once she had gotten over her initial, ingrained racism, she had subconsciously become more attracted to black men, and had come to regard Negroid features as especially handsome. The truth was, Rick no longer attracted her sexually, aesthetically, or as a stable life partner. She no longer thought of him as protector, or even, as time went by, as husband. N’Gono had filled those roles for some time now, and the concept was solidifying in her mind. <br />Could she go back to Iowa with Rick, never to see N’Gono again? Even as she knew that was what she should be hoping for, the thought she might have to choose filled her with dread.<br /><br />One morning, when Evelyn was working in the villa, she met a new girl. Her name was Sharon, and none of the other white women liked her, because, as Julie said, she was a “complete slut.”<br />Evelyn thought it odd, since all of them were acting similarly with their own black men. But there was something different about Sharon. She seemed to take whoredom to a whole new plane.<br />She was perhaps 16 or 17, and never wore clothing, except for a leather anklet on her right leg. She almost hurried from house to house, to clean and entertain, but spent much time in the grand villa as well. Jayant seemed to be mounting her more or less continually, at least two or three times a day. For that at least, the white women were grateful, as it occupied the old butler’s time and lust.<br />She didn’t do much work, which was the primary source of consternation between her and the others. She sought out any man in the villa; whether it was the doctor, Jayant, or any other elder, brother, or guest, for sex. It might be in one of the rooms on a bed, or on a sofa, or the floor. It might be in a hallway, but Sharon was fucked at least six to ten times a day. Practically every time Evelyn saw her for the first few days, she was coupled with a black man. <br />Evelyn first managed to speak to her on an afternoon when she had finished cleaning the staterooms. Julie and Deanna were scrubbing the veranda deck, and Sharon had just drained Jayant’s balls for the second time. The old black butler would not be able to get it up for another few hours.<br />“You’re… you’re Sharon?” asked Evelyn. “You’re American, right?”<br />“Yes,” said Sharon. “I was American.” There was semen running down her naked legs, bite marks on her nipples, and red spots on her skin where she had obviously been roughly handled by the man.<br />“I… I wanted to meet you,” said Evelyn. “I’m sorry the other girls don’t like you.”<br />“They’re just jealous because I’ve fucked their men better than they could.”<br />Evelyn looked taken aback.<br />“Oh, it’s not their fault,” said Sharon. “I’m a trained whore. They aren’t.”<br />“Are you here, because of the doctor?” asked Evelyn.<br />“Of course,” said Sharon. “We’re all here to serve the doctor and his church.”<br />“My husband and I were convicted of crimes we didn’t commit,” said Evelyn. “But we’re waiting for the American government to have us released.”<br />Sharon nodded, though she frowned as if she had heard it all before. “You better be careful. If your friends see you talking to me they might shun you as well.”<br />Evelyn shrugged. “You look as though you could use someone to talk to.”<br />Evelyn saw the expression on the younger girl’s face soften and she nodded as tears began to flow. Evelyn was the first sympathetic person she had met in months.<br />The two girls went outside and sat in the shade of a thicket where they could talk in private. They told each other their stories and shared some of their experiences.<br />“You’re so lucky to be N’Gono’s woman,” said Sharon. “I have never been given to anyone, so I’m considered communal property. Any man can fuck me at time, in any way he chooses.”<br />“Why didn’t the doctor give you to someone?” asked Evelyn.<br />“He mold’s our lives in the way that most amuses him,” said Sharon. “For most of the white women, he takes pride in breaking up their white marriages and families, and offering them to his fellow Africans. That is the way he builds his church and the method he uses to gain revenge on the white race. None of the women ever go back to their white husbands. He alters their lives forever, just as the white man raped and altered Africa.”<br />“I have never been married,” continued Sharon. “I was an innocent 16 year old exchange student from America’s Bible belt. I was a virgin from a very fundamentalist family. The doctor decided to alter my life by turning me into a whore.”<br />“I spent several months as his personal body slave, Then he sent me to the brothels in Khartoum, where I’ve learned my trade for the past year. When he thought I was sufficiently broken he had me returned. Now I serve him and the members of his church.”<br />“I know he tries to break us,” said Evelyn. “He left me in the prison for a week. The men there are so evil and cruel. They’ll rape a woman any chance they get! The doctor and the men have trained all of us with the whip, and the threat of punishment. He’s tried to drive out my love for my husband…” Evelyn’s voice trailed off. She had suddenly realized that the doctor had been largely successful in that regard.<br />“It’s like that in the brothels- only much worse,” said Sharon, bitterly. She looked away from Evelyn, deeply ashamed. “You hate it and try to fight it. You try to tell yourself you feel nothing as the strange men fuck you. But it kills you inside to lie to yourself, and they make you act like you enjoy it anyway.”<br />“Someday you may go back to the States, back to your family,” said Evelyn, trying to sooth teenager, “no one will know about all this. You can meet a nice boy and get married…”<br />“I’ll always be a slut, Evelyn,” said Sharon, her voice trebling as she shook her head. “Even if he lets me go. You don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like in an African whorehouse! No woman does who hasn’t experienced it. It’s not like a simple rape back in America. It isn’t like being violated in a dark alley, then left to return home and recover. You lay back and spread your legs two, three, four times a night or more- with a different man each time. At first you try to resist and the customers or the brothel keepers hurt you terribly. Then you try to keep your mind pure by sacrificing your body and gritting your teeth and fighting the feelings. But then every time they take you it’s rape, and you feel filthy and abused. Then you try to tell yourself it’s not your fault. You’re really a good girl. Your soul is still virgin, regardless of what they’re doing to your body… But you can’t… can’t… because it’s all a lie!”<br />Sharon broke down, sobbing. Evelyn held her tight but said nothing. In a few moments the teen was able to speak again.<br />“It’s the feelings,” she said. “Every time a man enters you. Every time he pushes that stiff shaft in to the balls- you know the truth. You enjoy it! You finally admit to yourself. YOU ENJOY IT! The more you love it the sweeter it becomes and the sharper the pleasure, the greater the need for it. Then your customer cums and his passion is spent. But you remember what it was like and the feeling that it brought.”<br />“When he’s gone you lie there alone, hating yourself. You take a shower and try to clean yourself, but it doesn’t cleanse your mind. You lay on the bed and try to tell yourself you were forced. But you remember you’re waiting for the next man and the feelings come back. The door opens and your next lover enters. He might be short or tall, young or old, fat or thin, handsome or ugly, Black or Arab. But he gets a hardon when he sees you, and that makes you wet all over again- knowing that it’s you he wants and you have no choice. It becomes an overpowering addiction.”<br />“You can lie to yourself all you want,” said Sharon. “But sooner or later you can’t take the shame and the pleasure anymore, and you give in; your brain and your body accept it and you truly give in. At the last you know it in your heart that you can never escape it. You become a whore to save yourself, because your mind can’t take the pain, but you can never go back. You will always be that way! I can never, ever go back- because I can’t live without black cock!”<br />Evelyn stroked the girl’s cheek and pushed back the strands of hair from her face. She tried to comfort Sharon, but her own mind was reeling. The doctor had won. He had turned the girl into a nymphomaniac!<br />“That’s what Dr. Kamwego does,” cried Sharon. “He turns your mind and your morality inside out. And you become exactly what he wants you to be.”<br />Evelyn sat holding the distraught young girl in her arms. But the force of Sharon’s sobs caused the little gold shape to bounce against Evelyn’s clit. A sadistic thrill shot through Evelyn as she thought about Sharon’s new life, and what the doctor had done to a previously innocent, white virgin. It was all she could do to bite her tongue, as her mind swirled, and her loins shuddered in orgasmic fury.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 15<br /><br /> “I have bad news Mrs. Kvindlog,” said the embassy man. “I’m afraid the United States government can offer you no further assistance in this matter.”<br /> The news hit Evelyn like a brick wall. She almost fainted. She had waited so long, and been so convinced that the embassy man would get her released. It had kept her hopes alive despite what she had been compelled to do to receive N’Gono’s protection. Her faith had never faltered.<br />That morning, the doctor had come to N’Gono’s hut. He had instructed her to prepare to meet with the U.S. embassy representative, and she had been allowed to put on modern, Western clothing. Kamwego had driven her up to the villa and hope had soared in her mind that the American government had effected their release. They were going back to the States!<br />Now in the space of a few seconds, the hope that had sustained her and provided a mental and emotional lifeline to her marriage and her old life had been swept aside.<br /> “But… but the last time you were here, Mr. Schwartz, you said you could help us! You said it was only a matter of time…”<br /> He was nodding his head sadly. “I said it would take time. I made no promises. But the Sudan has recently made strong peace overtures to the U.S., and progress in combating the drug trade. The State Department has decided not to risk antagonizing them by pressing them on the subject of your case. It would be very awkward for the United States government to insist that the Sudanese crack down on their own nationals for drug crimes, while trying at the same time to get Americans convicted of drug trafficking released.”<br /> “But we’re not guilty!” shouted Evelyn.<br /> “Mrs. Kvindlog, as I told you during my last visit, the Sudan is a sovereign country. You and your husband were given due process and convicted. We cannot interfere with their system of justice.”<br /> “What about my parents, and Rick’s parents? Have they been able to talk with someone here with the power to help us?”<br /> The embassy man sighed. “They’ve been denied visas. And your Sudanese attorney has told me that he has exhausted all further avenues of appeal. Perhaps in two or three years, when relations between the U.S and the Sudan have congealed…”<br />“Two or three years!” gasped Evelyn. “But I can’t… You don’t know what it’s like here. I’ve been raped and abused… I’m living with a native man whose not… not my husband… because he protects me…”<br />Shwartz was looking at her incredulously. “Actually, Mrs. Kvindlog, we think you’ve very fortunate to have been allowed a parole with Dr. Kamwego and his church. It is true that African prisons are no place for a white woman. In this compound you will be safe, and can be rehabilitated in a moral atmosphere.”<br />“You don’t understand,” said Evelyn “This place is not a church, it’s a…”<br />Suddenly Kamwego appeared through the door, and smiled tightly at Evelyn. She recognized the warning in his eyes.<br />The embassy man shrugged. “You and your husband are simply going to have to serve out your sentences, Mrs. Kvindlog. If I were you, I’d make the best of it with Dr. Kamwego, and be grateful for his help.”<br />Evelyn’s heart fell. She knew she could say nothing further with the doctor there, and it was obvious that there would be no help coming from the American Embassy anyway. <br />Terribly distraught, Evelyn left the room with her head down, without saying goodbye to Schwartz. As she passed Jayant in the hallway, he told her in a low voice; “The doctor said for you to go back to N’Gono’s hut. He has discovered your rebellion, and your punishment will be severe.”<br />Evelyn did not know what he was talking about, and she didn’t care. Her mind was numbed and her thoughts disjointed. All the way back she vacillated between denial and despair, unable to accept or comprehend that the life she had known was over. She might never see Rick or her family again.<br />So lost she was in her own malaise that she forgot to remove her American clothing when she entered the house. Kamwego and N’Gono were waiting for her, and she suddenly realized she was standing before them wearing shoes, and with her breasts covered. So conditioned was she to be dressed ‘properly’ before African men, that a feeling of intense guilt immediately washed over her. And she could sense an overpowering anger in her protector.<br />“You sinful, haughty white woman!” shouted the doctor. “Now your man will deal with you!”<br />Without a word, N’Gono leapt to his feet. He seized her and began ripping her clothes off. Evelyn began whimpering and crying weakly, trying to apologize. She began to remove her garments, but he was using his dagger now to cut through the straps of her shoes. He slapped her hands away, as if the tell her that she was not to undress herself. She was to be stripped!<br />He sliced her socks away and made short work of her blouse and skirt, terrifying her with the speed in which he worked the razor sharp blade. When her bra and panties were cut loose and thrown aside, she went trembling to her knees, sobbing and contrite, utterly broken. The news that the U.S. government was abandoning her had put her mind in emotional flux. Now she was terrified by the violence of the men who held her in their power.<br />She lowered her eyes and spread her legs, assuming the proper posture and hoping against hope that N’Gono might be satisfied with her display of submission. But the ambiance of rage did not abate. There seemed to be something else he was upset about beside her ‘sinful’ garments. Some further way that she had earned his wrath. <br />Kamwego grasped her by her the hair and pulled her head back violently. He held a little plastic box before her eyes, and Evelyn’s blood froze with shock and dread. Her birth control pills!<br />“Tell N’Gono what these are,” snapped the doctor.<br />“I… they… I was only… ahhhhh!”<br />The doctor slapped her brutally on the face.<br />“Tell him, you white bitch,” shouted Kamwego. “Tell him how you rebelled and betrayed him! How you rejected his seed! What do these pills do?”<br />“They… Please…”<br />“Tell him!”<br />“They keep me from conceiving…” gasped Evelyn. “So I won’t have a baby… I’ve been taking them since before we came to Africa. Please, I’m sorry, N’Gono!” She looked up at him, imploring him for mercy, but saw only the hard, flinty set of hurt and rage in his face.<br />Evelyn’s African man seized her by her slender neck and lifted her from the floor. Holding her bent over he dragged her to the bathroom over the toilet, and forced her to kneel. He thrust the box into her hands.<br />“Throw them in shit hole,” he growled, tightening his grip on her neck and squeezing until she could hardly breathe.<br />Evelyn obeyed, emptying the contents of the box into the toilet.<br />“Doctor say you have more.” demanded N’Gono. “You hide more?”<br />Capitulating totally now, Evelyn showed him the remaining supply of her contraceptives that she had hidden, and dumped them also into bowl. Then he flushed the toilet, and she watched the little tablets swirl in the current before they disappeared. She would no longer have any protection from insemination.<br />Evelyn felt hollow, guilty, afraid, and confused, but her punishment had just begun. N’Gono pulled her out to the old tree in the desert, slapping and beating her all the way. He chained her to it and left her there with only a gourd of water, for the remainder of the day and all through the night.<br />When he returned in the morning, Evelyn was on her knees, begging abjectly for forgiveness- but he said nothing. It was a Sunday, and Evelyn was marched, just as she was, naked and filthy, in a long, barefoot walk to the church. She was forced into a heavy iron collar used to restrain black slaves in the region’s past. This was attached to a thick chain, which secured her to the floor at the feet of the doctor, before the entire assembly.<br />Kamwego gave an entire sermon, basing it on her, calling everyone to see the wretched state of a white woman who had rebelled against her man and murdered the seed placed within her. All present looked on her with contempt as the doctor described her crime, and condemned her for her Caucasian pride. When he has finished, even Evelyn was ashamed at what she had done.<br />After the service, Evelyn was taken outside, still with the iron collar about her neck. The black men formed a large circle and she was thrust within it. N’Gono appeared with a long, stiff whip, made from the hide of the hippo. Evelyn had seen it used on Sharon. It did not break the skin or cause scars, but its blunt effect was brutal, and agonizing. She knelt in the sand in mortal fear.<br />“Ple… please, N’Gono… Please forgive me… no… I can’t take that… please, no… AAAAAAAIIIIEEEEEEEEE!”<br />He landed the first blow, and the pain exploded with terrible vibrancy onto her naked flesh. In bland panic, she bolted onto her feet and tried to flee, but the circle of black men would not let her out.<br />“AAAAAGGHHHHHH!” she screamed as another lash fell on her buttocks.<br />“N’Gono, please… N’Gono pleeeese… AAAHHHHHHAAAAAA.”<br />“White woman kill my seed,” he snarled.<br />“NOOOOOOOO,” screamed Evelyn. “Please it hurts too much I can’t stand… AAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAAAA!”<br />“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH, AAAAAiiieeehhh… AAAHHHHHHAAAAAA, stop pleeeeeease… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEE.”<br />She wailed and ran around inside the circle, vainly trying to escape his whip. She attempted to cover herself with her hands and whimpered pathetically, alternately pleading with N’Gono for mercy and entreating the men to let her out. No one relented. She was taunted by everyone present, including the white women who stood outside the circle and hurled abuse on the white female who had refused her destiny to carry a black baby. <br />Hysteria drove out all conscious thought, drove out even her humanity. It was a terrified, naked animal that scampered about before her black captors now. And still the pain mounted in red, blinding sheets before her eyes, unlike anything she had known.<br />Now his arm was falling and retracting with horrible rapidity and her anguished screeches ran together. “AAAAAHHH N’GOONOOO PLEASE AAAAAAHHHHHHHH I CAAAN’T… OH GOG N’GOONOO AAAAAHHHHHHGGGGGGHHHHHH, AAAHHHGGG, AAAHHHHH, AAAAAAAHHEEEIIIIIIIEEE!”<br />Evelyn lost control of her bladder and the bright yellow liquid sprayed everywhere with her frantic movements. Still the blows came and the screams tore from her rasping throat. Several times she tried with adrenaline saturated desperation to breach the wall of black men, but was thrown back into the center of the ring, where N’Gono continued to flail savagely at her helpless flesh.<br />“White woman kill my seed!” yelled N’Gono, as he continued to lash her over and over.<br />Evelyn was babbling now; crying, screaming, swearing to obey him, professing remorse and a new desire to have his baby- if only he would stop the punishment. But all of it was barely coherent. From the agony she was feeling, she thought he must be literally flaying the skin from her back and belly, yet there was no blood. The slave whip did not scar its victims bodies, only their spirits.<br />Finally, as unconsciousness neared, she collapsed into the dirt. She lay there, panting, twitching, only vaguely aware that he had stopped whipping her. Her cries died slowly but the world seemed unreal, the pain soaking into her very soul as the dust of the ground caked her sweat drenched body. She discovered she had vomited, and this had at last stilled her screams, but the sting of the lash yet lingered everywhere on her flesh.<br />Somehow she knew now that that pain would never disappear from her mind. It would haunt her forever, and she could never disobey him again. Evelyn’s very soul had been beaten.<br />The rest of the congregation was gone. N’Gono forced her, exhausted as she was, to walk back to his house. There he dragged her to the back of the dwelling and raped her over and over on the little sand hill, roughly and without affection, or the slightest regard for her sensations. But Evelyn’s libido exploded with climax after climax, glorying with inexpressible joy each time he spewed his gushes of fecund semen into her now unprotected belly. Her being was broken, and she was being remade into his white African woman. N’Gono had enslaved her by his hand and his strength and his manly black cock. Incredibly, he had forced her to love him even more.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 16<br /><br />After Evelyn had her period three weeks later, the doctor had summoned her to the villa, where he gave her medication that would enhance her fertility. She was told to take one pill every evening, without failure, and since N’Gono was now hyper-sensitive to any recalcitrance on her part regarding his efforts to impregnate her, Evelyn didn’t dare refuse to take them. If fact, on the doctor’s instruction, N’Gono dissolved each of the tablets in a glass of water and forced her to drink it before each of their nightly sexual encounters.<br />Also, Al-wani had returned to cast a fertility spell on Evelyn, rubbing her naked sex with the pungent, oily contents of a fetish bag, and likewise forcing her to drink a bitter herbal concoction; a traditional Dinka remedy for barren women. Julie told her that several of the white women who had been holding out on their black men had become pregnant after being treated with the witch woman’s fetishes. The Dinka had been dealing with such women for thousands of years, inuring them to the tribe and their men. They had become strong by selecting the best women from among their enemies and transforming them into Dinka mothers. It was said that the most reluctant women, those previously married to husbands from other tribes eventually became the most prolific producers of Dinka sons- and the most loyal to their new Dinka mates.<br />The shamaness was a very well respected medical practitioner among her people. Evelyn, like Julie before her, was coming to believe in the power of African drugs and traditional remedies. She realized, with a mixture of despair and resignation, that it was only a matter of time before she would be carrying N’Gono’s child. They were, after all, having sex at least every night, and sometimes during the day. But even now, there was a small voice within her, a feeling charged by her developing attraction toward N’Gono. It was a growing conviction that having his baby was not only inevitable, it was desirable. She had always wanted a child, dreamed about it even before her marriage to Rick. That desire had never gone away, but she had always assumed of course, that Rick would be the father. Now the little voice inside her mind was telling her that need not be the case. It might not be the case at any rate. Then the inescapable progression- it should not be the case.<br />N’Gono was bigger, much stronger, much more manly. He was her protector here in Africa while Rick was absent and there was no telling if she would ever see her husband again. Who then was her true husband? Should it not be the man who was providing for her, the man in whose house she lived in and who now ruled her daily life? The man who infused her with his maleness each night? Her basic female instincts were beginning to connect her love for N’Gono, the superior male, with her want and need for a child.<br />Also like Julie, Evelyn was slowly developing a taste and preference for black African features and physical traits. Gone were her inhibitions, ingrained by her upbringing in a racist home, against interracial sex and love. The months spent in Africa and the exclusive contact with Negro males had conditioned her to find them far more attractive than white men, who seemed weak, effeminate, and untrustworthy by comparison.<br />The more Evelyn thought about it, the more sure she became. She was in love with N’Gono. At the same time, she realized that she was no longer in love with Rick. It was N’Gono, who should be her husband, N’Gono who should rightfully give her a baby.<br />But her hopes and her vows were stubborn, and still clung to life. She still retained the core identity of a mid-western American woman. If she did escape back to America, a black child would be an onerous burden, especially considering her racist family. They would never accept her back, and they and Rick would demand that she adopt out the baby, something she was equally sure she could not do. She would never part with her firstborn. Evelyn would be in a soul-rending quandary.<br /> <br />Still, life continued. She still made love with N’Gono every night, with ever increasing enthusiasm. She still thrilled to his magnificent body and being, churning on the end of his phallus with her own explosive orgasms. Still took the fertility drugs religiously, and still thought about becoming pregnant with the deepest spiritual conflict. She could not go on this way, and Evelyn knew the issue would soon be decided. Deep in her soul, she also knew what that decision had to be.<br />But N’Gono was required to travel to his village to convert more Dinka to the Church, and receive honors bestowed by the local chief. He had been unable to have relations with Evelyn during the critical time frame, and Evelyn’s period came. Despite N’Gono’s copious earlier efforts, her womb remained empty of a Dinka child.<br />Now, a month later, Evelyn was entering her fertile time of the month, and N’Gono was as determined as ever. She had a feeling, almost a premonition that insemination was going to take place. N’Gono had also been informed of Evelyn’s impending fecundity by Al-wani, who had been examining her regularly.<br />N’Gono was fucking her vigorously now, three or four times a day, gushing himself directly into her with each encounter. He wanted her pregnant on this monthly cycle, so that he could begin to share her with the other men of the church. It would enhance his social standing and allow him to sample their white women as well.<br />One morning, after N’Gono had left to tend the church grounds, Evelyn was busy doing her chores around the house. Her black lover had plied her with his manhood for nearly two hours after they had awakened, and given her convulsive climaxes that had seemed to electrify her very soul. He had also twice given her prodigious draughts of his potent essence. Each instance, as per the shamaness, instructions, he had ordered her into positions, which would allow his liquid seed to run up into her womb, where a maximum amount would be retained. When he had cum in her the first time he had placed two pillows under her lower back, and held her legs aloft for some time. Evelyn could actually feel the soothing warmth of his jism as it slithered purposefully into her uterus.<br />Then they had engaged in sex again, and when the act had been consummated N’Gono placed her on her knees, pushing her head to the sheets so that her belly sloped downward. Again she could feel his viscous load moving, seeping deeper into her belly. He was making sure that his semen was coating the inside of her womb completely.<br />In the afternoon, N’Gono told her, he would they would repeat the procedure, then it would happen again at least twice more after they went to bed that evening. Whenever her next egg descended, it would be bathed in a pool of his sperm.<br />Now after N’Gono had gone, Evelyn cleaned the bathroom. She was still naked, a little dazed from the power of her own only partially sated libido and she looked again at herself in the mirror.<br />The skin of her face and chest was flushed slightly, and there were red marks on her breasts from his bites and pinches. Her nipples were erect, as they usually were these days, and her labia puffy and flowered open. After months of taking N’Gono’s manhood, her vagina had been permanently stretched so that it fit him perfectly. The little gold ball which hung over her clit seemed to throb and pulse of its own accord, along with her sex lips so swollen by frequent eager clasping around her man’s huge black organ. It kept her excited and aroused- thinking about N’Gono all the time, just as Al-wani had said. <br />She sighed. Life was so different now, and her old life seemed increasingly distant and unreal. She wondered at that moment whether she could go back to America with Rick, even if she had the chance. She doubted she could live without the feelings that the big African gave her, and she was conscious of her growing psychological dependence on his discipline. <br />It was all so different from the world she had known in America and the way she had been raised. But Africa was tangible and alive. It was almost as if the land itself was drawing her, transforming her, fixing her in a new reality. Then the cloudy fluid running down her legs reminded her of what was real and relevant. N’Gono would have her pregnant very soon. And that would bind her to him forever.<br />Suddenly there was a knock at the front door, and Evelyn was jolted out of her revere.<br />She quickly went to answer it, thinking that it must be Julie, because N’Gono would not have knocked. She wrapped the kanga around her waist and padded to the entryway. Upon opening the door, Evelyn stiffened with surprise. On the doorstep was a disheveled, ragged white man who stood hunched and looking about nervously. Evelyn took him for a beggar, but she could not figure how he could have gotten into the church compound.<br />“Can I help you?” she asked.<br />The man said nothing, but his blue eyes flashed and he ogled her naked breasts with undisguised lust, and obvious confusion. Evelyn thought perhaps he was mentally deficient but as she looked closer, she decided he was not so old as he appeared, just partially infirmed by abuse and hard life. And there was something oddly familiar about him. <br />“Hello Evelyn,” he said, finally.<br />Evelyn could not suppress a gasp as she stared in horror at the pathetic figure on her porch. “Rick?” she asked tentatively. “Is… is that you?”<br />“Yes,” he replied, with a tight, pained smile. “It’s me.”<br />The young wife beheld her husband, and shuddered at how he had changed. His body was stooped and very gaunt, and his hair was long- unkempt and unwashed. He had a thin, dark beard, which bristled ugly and coarse from his chin. His skin was sallow, almost pasty white. Apparently he had been cell bound for a very long time, away from sun, open air and exercise.<br />“I… how… did they set you free?” asked Evelyn, at a loss. She too was looking up and down the street nervously, as she remembered that contact with a white man was strictly forbidden by the church. Dr. Kamwego said it was sinful. But she was also nervous about bringing him in. If she were caught inside the house with her husband, a white man at that, she knew N’Gono would severely punish her. At the moment however, no one was around, so Evelyn quickly usured him over the threshold and into the living room. At least there, they could talk without being seen.<br />Up close now, she was even more appalled at the condition of the man she had once thought of as so handsome and desirable. His prison uniform was filthy and ill fitting, and he stank with the horrible stench of a man who had not bathed for months. But his eyes were still bright in a shifty way, like a half-starved, caged animal. He was a man beaten by his environment, subdued by the African prison in which he had spent the last six months. Evelyn was filled with pity for him- and revulsion. <br />He reached for his wife, to embrace her, but Evelyn, on instinct, shied away. In her sub-conscious she was now N’Gono’s woman, the touch of a white man was taboo. And Rick seemed so- ugly.<br />He looked puzzled again at her physical rejection, but he needed to talk to her, and there was little time. The doctor had required him to report back to the villa in a half-hour.<br />“What are you doing in that getup?” he asked, staring at her naked breasts with open lust. He had not had a woman in the six months he had spent in the prison. Masturbation had been his only joy, keyed to the fading memory of his wife’s lovely form.<br />“Oh, ah… I’m… Just puttering around the house,” she replied.<br />“What’s all this stuff?” Rick asked, referring to the African furniture and the trappings of N’Gono’s tribe and warrior status which hung from the walls. He went over to the couch to sit and gazed about the room with a quizzical expression.<br />“It’s… it’s good to see you again, Rick,” she stuttered, trying to hide her discomfort. “Have they… treated you all right in the prison?” She saw him wince.<br />“I’m alive, honey… they…”<br />Evelyn could not meet his eyes. She could only imagine how he had been abused there.<br />“The doctor tells me you were released a week or so after your sentence,” he said. “You’ve been living here and working for him.”<br />“Yes… I frequently work at the villa.”<br />“Have you found some women friends? I’m told there are other white women here.”<br />“Yes, ah… Julie Krutzberg’s here. Remember her in college? Julie ‘the prude?’”<br />“Yeah, she married Tom. They were going to change the world. How are they?”<br />“Ah… fine. Julie’s remarried… and not so uptight anymore,” Evelyn said, trying to deflect the subject.<br />Rick laughed, but Evelyn noticed the strain in his face.<br />“Did your white girlfriends fix your hair like that? I’ve never seen that on you before. Looks like a black African woman.”<br />“Ah… yes,” Evelyn replied. “The white women in the compound all wear their hair this way. It’s much cooler.”<br />The small talk was running out and they were both very uncomfortable. There was so much to say, but each felt the other was like a stranger. An awkward silence ensued, but finally Rick forced himself to say what he had come to say. <br />“Evelyn, the prison is killing me. It’s a hell in there and I can’t survive it much longer. Dr. Kamwego says he’ll intercede for me and have me released- if I divorce you.”<br />Evelyn’s jaw dropped, “you… divorce me?”<br />“Evelyn… I still love you…”<br />“But you’re ending our marriage…?” Evelyn could scarcely believe what she was hearing. She felt a sting in her heart of betrayal and rejection and turned away to look at the wall. “Are you… Rick, are you going to do it?”<br />He nodded. “I don’t have any choice, Evelyn. The doctor says I have to file in both the U.S. and the Sudan. I don’t know why. It’s just part of this sick trap he’s snared us in. But I have no hope of getting out otherwise. I filed last month and the papers have come. I signed them. That’s why he is allowing me out to see you. You’ll have to sign them at the villa tomorrow.” <br />Evelyn began to cry softly. After all the dreams they had before coming to Africa. After their drug convictions and prison, the months of hope and faith that they would be together in the end. After all the anguish over her sexual responses and affection for N’Gono. Rick was going to divorce her. She knew intellectually why he was doing it, but deep inside the pain was still there. He was planning to leave the Sudan, apparently without her. He had abandoned his vows. Now he had abandoned her.<br />“Evelyn, it doesn’t mean a thing,” he tried to add. “Once I get back to the states I’ll expose Kamwego’s church. I’ll come back to get you out and we can be married again, home in America.”<br />The young white woman’s eyes were filled with tears now.<br />“Evelyn, please… It’s the only way. It will take a few months… but I promise I’ll be back to…”<br />“Rick,” she whispered, choked with despair. “I’ll be pregnant by then!”<br />Rick was stunned. He looked as if he had been slapped in the face.<br />“N’Gono,” she said. “He lives here now. The doctor has given me to him.”<br />Rick’s paper-white face darkened with his old jealousy. Only now it was sharper, uglier. “Who’s N’Gono? What the hell are you talking about?”<br />“Remember the gardener, Rick? The one you told me not to worry about? That’s N’Gono. He’s a church member,” she said, looking away from his face. “I’ve been living with him for… for almost six months.”<br />She could see the shock and pain on his pale, drawn face. He seemed much older now than the young man she had married, and she could hear the hate in his voice. He was disgusting; so alien and coarse- and so angry.<br />“You’re… living with another man?” he spat. “While I’ve been rotting in that hole?”<br />“Yes…” she admitted, unable to look at him but trying to remain calm. <br />“He lives here… and you… you dress like that for a… a black man?” he asked.<br />Evelyn hung her head. She took a deep breath and decided to tell him all. “Yes. Rick… I have no choice… the doctor has given me to a Dinka man. This how N’Gono wants me to dress, as a Dinka women dresses.”<br />Desolation washed over the already defeated young man. “Do you… Does he…?<br />“Rick, please. Forgive me. I told you I didn’t have any choice!”<br />“All these months I thought about you,” he said. “All I wanted was to get out of that shit-hole and go back home to my faithful Christian wife. Did you…?”<br />“Yes, Rick,” she cried finally. “He’s fucking me all the time. What do you expect? I’m his woman now! And every month in my fertile time he takes me two or three times a day!”<br /> Impotent rage played across his face. But the months in prison had cowed him and taught him caution. He still loved her, and found her more beautiful than ever. Her kanga and African hairstyle made her look exotic, anathema of the decorous mid-western woman he had known. But he wanted her. The men in prison had raped him many times, and now he wanted back what was his- to feel like a man again. His anger was converting to passion, and he moved to embrace her.<br />“Rick, stop it! Rick, no…” she said, moving away again.<br />“Evelyn… I want… Please, I don’t know how long they’ll let me stay out. Please, let me make love to you…”<br />“No, Rick, we can’t. Please, N’Gono might come back any minute!”<br />“N’Gono? You’re my wife! Mine,” he shouted, seizing her in a desperate grip of need and wounded pride and lust. “Evelyn, I want you… It’s been so long!”<br />“Noooo!” she shouted, twisting from his fevered grasp. “Rick, don’t you understand. N’Gono would kill you!”<br />Undeterred, he lunged for her again, once again latching on and pushing his lips forcefully to hers. She smelled his fetid breath and heard his excited panting. But he was much weaker than N’Gono, and she could sense it.<br />She slapped him across the face to prevent his mouth from touching hers and he recoiled with astonishment. It seemed to sober him, but Evelyn could see the rage building within him.<br />“Damn it, you’re my wife!” he shouted. “I want to make love to you!”<br />“I’m not your wife anymore,” she said bitterly. “You divorced me!”<br />“That’s only a formality.”<br />“Is it?” she asked.<br />“I said I’d come back for you.”<br />“How will you get me out?” she asked, incredulously.<br />“I’ll… I don’t know… But I’ll…<br />“How will you deal with N’Gono, Rick? You’re no match for him and he’ll never give me up.”<br />“I… I’ll get help…” he replied, unconvincingly.<br />“And what will I do with a black, Dinka baby in Iowa?” she asked.<br />“What about your contraceptive pills?”<br />“N’Gono made me flush them down the toilet. The doctor is forcing me on fertility drugs now.”<br />“Then have it aborted.”<br />Evelyn gasped. “You know I could never do that. A child I’ve carried? Besides, N’Gono and the doctor would never allow it.”<br />Again he grimaced. The mention of her black lover’s name and her tacit acceptance of his authority infuriated him. “Allow it? I’m your hus…” he caught himself as she glared at him. “We’ll have it adopted out when we get back!”<br />“Rick, you don’t understand. My baby would be part of me forever. I just couldn’t do that.”<br />“You don’t think I’m going to raise a nigger baby!” he snarled.<br />“No…” she whispered, now looking down at her bare feet. She knew this was the moment she would have to make a decision. “I don’t think you’ll have to. I will be loyal to the father of my child.”<br />He stared in disbelief. “What are you…? Are you saying you’re going to stay here voluntarily if that big nigger makes you pregnant?”<br />There was a long pause, then she whispered, “yes.” <br />He just stared at her, and she could see a glint of thwarted male possessiveness, along with the deep hurt, in his eyes. Suddenly he could endure no more and his rage exploded.<br />“You bitch!” he hissed. “So you’ll be loyal to whoever fathers your brat! Then I’ll just have to make sure it’s mine!”<br />Then he was on her, ripping away her kanga and trying to pull his prison uniform off. He saw the tattoos on her belly and back and it enflamed his anger even more.<br />“What’s this shit on you?” he shouted.<br />“N’Gono’s mark,” she wailed. “The sign of his house. I told you, I belong to him now. Please go before he comes back!”<br />“Bitch!” Once again he felt the paradox of jealousy and arousal. Though he was horrified by the markings and their implication, it seemed to drive his lust and passion even more, and he latched onto her with new determination. She tried to push him away but he cornered her and forced her onto the couch on her back. <br />“Rick… please… RICK STOP IT!” she screamed. “N’Gono could come home any time!<br /> “Your Negro lover’s not going to stop me!” he screamed maniacally. “You’re mine. My wife. You’re going to have my baby!”<br /> “Rick, you don’t know what you’re doing! N’Gono could kill you! Aaaaahhhhh…”<br /> He backhanded her across the face. Momentarily stunned by the blow, Evelyn simply lay there panting with exertion. She saw him pulling the filthy prison suit off, and her eyes fixed on his coral pink manhood, fully erect but still only four inches long. He looked so pathetic to her eyes now, so pedantically cruel and selfish. She wondered at that moment what she had ever seen in him. Suddenly the very thought that he might penetrate her with his odious little white manhood sickened her, and she redoubled her efforts to escape his grasp.<br /> “You’re my wife,” he shouted petulantly. “I’m going to make you pregnant and you’re going back with me!”<br /> “You brought me here”, she snapped. “All this is your fault! You’re foolish ambition. YOU PUT ME IN HIS BED! AAAAGGGHHHHHH.”<br />He slapped her again, viciously, and climbed between her thrashing legs. “Shut up, bitch! I’m going to fuck you now!”<br /> “Noooooooo…” she screamed. He plunged into her with his stiff four inches. Though she could scarcely sense his narrow shaft in her vagina, accustomed as it was to N’Gono’s huge phallus, she could feel the light, clammy touch of his small scrotum as it grazed her sex lips. He was in her to the balls, pumping his hips like a male rodent and wheezing with exertion.<br /> “Gonna cum,” he snarled. “Gonna make you mine again, Evelyn… With a white baby!”<br /> “Noooooo,” she heaved. “I hate you! I hate you! You bastard! NOOOOOOO!”<br /> She pounded on his chest with her fists, and desperately tried to twist out from beneath him or dislodge his penis. But the strength in his atrophied limbs was borne of adrenaline and demented lust. He remained firming inside her, and she sensed he was indeed about to ejaculate.<br /> A wave of nausea struck her at the prospect of receiving his loathsome slime, but she could not throw him off. With a groan of revulsion she tensed for the foul moment of his orgasm, when this weak, inferior white man would fill her with his rape child. Evelyn had never felt so defiled!<br /> Suddenly Rick tensed and his eyes seemed to bulge. Thinking he was cumming, Evelyn had shut her own eyes tight, not wanting to look into his ugly, pale face while it was happening. But Rick emitted a painful gasp and stopped pumping. She opened her eyes and saw a big, black hand encircling his throat from behind.<br /> “OOOGGGGhhhhh, hhaaaaaahhhh!” he choked.<br /> Rick was pulled from her body like a limp doll, and Evelyn felt his thin, little organ slip from the warmth of her sex. N’Gono was holding him from behind by the neck; lifting him off the floor. With his other hand, Evelyn could see he was grasping the white man by the balls, squeezing them and preventing his imminent ejaculation. Rick was thrashing about helplessly, gasping for breath, his face blood red. His mouth was moving but there was no sound except for strangled gulps for air. Then N’Gono released his testicles and Rick’s semen gushed forth, squirting from his shaft as his arms and legs flailed around. The seed intended for Evelyn’s womb splashed harmlessly onto the floor, to lay inertly under N’Gono’s trampling feet.<br /> Rick gazed with terror into the black man’s face, managing only one word before N’Gono hurled him to the floor like a lifeless rag.<br /> “Please…” he gasped. But the African was kicking him, landing swift blows to his abdomen and crotch whenever he tried to get up. UUUGG, AAHHHHhhhh… Ummmpphh… AAAAhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…<br /> In desperation the much smaller white man tried to make it to the door, but N’Gono felled him with a savage blow to his solar plexus. Thereafter, began a methodical beating. Rick didn’t even try to fight back. <br /> “Please… MMMMuuuu… AAAAhhhh, Gguuuuuhhh… I’m sorry… AAAAGGGGHhhh!<br /> Evelyn watched as the punishment continued, saw her ex-husband grovel and plead for mercy between each shattering impact on his pasty white body. She was filled with revulsion for white men, and gratitude to N’Gono, for his dominance and his justice, and his defense of his woman. But at length he lifted the hapless white man off his feet and pinned him against the wall.<br />Rick felt two iron black hands tightened about his throat and pure panic roiled in his popping eyeballs. Evelyn could see that N’Gono meant to finish him off.<br /> “No… N’Gono, please don’t kill him!” she cried, leaping from the couch to entreat with her lover. “Please, N’Gono…”<br /> The black man looked down at her as she knelt, and clasped his massive black leg. He stopped, and she could see his manly, African face. His coal dark eyes narrowed.<br /> “Please, N’Gono, I’m yours now…” she said softly. “He’s not worth your wrath. Please let him live…” <br /> N’Gono loosened his grip and Rick sank to the floor in a naked heap of sweaty, bleeding white flesh.<br />Evelyn embraced her African victor, but N’Gono pushed her back onto the couch, spreading her legs. Then he seized Rick by the neck again and thrust his face into Evelyn’s sex.<br />“Lick her out,” he commanded. “In case any you poison get in her!”<br />Rick did not display the slightest resistance. Though none of his semen had reached her, he began to clean her thoroughly with his tongue in order to placate his tormenter. After a few minutes he felt the black man’s hand lift him by the hair and toss him to the floor again.<br />“Lick up you white seed from my house!”<br />Again Rick obeyed, terrified that the beating might resume. When he was finished he looked up to see that N’Gono was holding a whip.<br />He was not even allowed to retrieve his prison uniform as the African lashed him back out the front door. Thinking only of freedom and safety now, he ran from the house, fleeing naked and whimpering back to the doctor’s villa. He did not look back.<br />Inside, N’Gono’s house Evelyn knelt, trembling, waiting for the inevitable punishment she was due for the sin of being touched by a white man.<br />She heard his heavy footsteps approach, but kept her eyes down, steeling herself for the first sting of his whip.<br />It never came. Instead, he picked her up tenderly and carried her to their bed, laying her gently on her back. Her legs opened with quiet acceptance as he mounted her with his great frame. He impaled her with one thrust of his massive, black manhood, sinking into her welcoming tightness with silent confidence. He was master of all he surveyed, claiming his woman in the age-old way of his tribe. And as Evelyn dissolved into the fierceness of his rut, the last scraps of feeling or regard for Rick morphed into a new and even deeper love for N’Gono, and a gratitude for his allowing the pathetic white male to live.<br />If he had died, Rick might have haunted her forever, now her heart and soul belonged to her African man. When she felt N’Gono’s seed gushing into her, Evelyn cherished it, sealing as it did the most profound submission of her life.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 17<br /><br />The events immediately subsequent to Evelyn’s near rape by Rick seemed to pass with a blur. The next day at the villa she was given the divorce papers by the doctor, who watched as she signed them. He had them notarized and informed Evelyn that they had become official with her signature of no contest. Rick was no longer her husband.<br />As they worked in the mansion, Evelyn talked with Julie. Her friend had gradually gotten over her resentment towards Evelyn for having used contraceptives, and the two women were now talking again.<br />Evelyn told her about the visit from Rick, about his outburst and his attempt to force himself on her. She also told Julie that just as she had predicted, she no longer found white men to be the least bit attractive. On the other hand, she found nearly all black men handsome now.<br />“I told you,” laughed Julie. “Al-wani’s spells are working.”<br />They both giggled, but Evelyn still had a heavy heart.<br />Julie tried to comfort her. She told Evelyn that her divorce from Rick was the right thing.<br />“Your marriage to a white man had no standing within the church,” she said. “But your vows to Rick were affecting your subconscious, inhibiting your relationship with N’Gono. It was weighing on your mind, Evelyn.”<br />Evelyn nodded, feeling miserable.<br />“Now you’re free to learn how to please N’Gono,” said Julie. “You’re on your way to becoming a Dinka man’s woman.”<br />“But what about my family in America? Will I ever see them again?”<br />Julie put her arm around her friend’s shoulder. “Evelyn, for thousands of years women have left their families for men. Your black man is your first loyalty. And until you have his child, N’Gono is your only loyalty. Do you think you’re pregnant yet?”<br />“No… no, I’m just now coming into my most fertile period, this week. But he’s been trying!”<br />Both girls laughed again, and as the day wore on, Evelyn began to feel better about her future.<br />Sharon was having a busy day fucking Jayant and a couple of other church officials, but she too was able to talk with Evelyn, and had much the same take on things. She had never been married, but couldn’t imagine being with a white man. It just seemed so- immoral.<br /><br />It was that night that N’Gono made the announcement that shocked Evelyn to her toes, and was to change her life profoundly and forever.<br />He was going to marry her the next day. She was to become his sixth wife, and his third minor wife. But his first white woman. He told her to prepare herself. The wedding would be in the afternoon.<br />Per tradition, N’Gono did not touch her that evening. Evelyn spent a restless night on the floor, in a lonely corner of the house. In the morning, she was led to the villa by Deanna and Julie, who had already heard the news and were giddy as schoolgirls.<br />They knelt before the shamaness for an hour as the old woman hung odd smelling fetishes about Evelyn’s neck and cast a series of spells onto her flesh; Dinka spells, binding her to N’Gono and his will. There were also spells enhancing her fertility, the health of her womb and breasts, and her desire for him.<br />Then the other white women took Evelyn to one of the bathrooms to prepare. She showered and was given a new kanga. Her hair was washed and freshly cornrowed in the east African style. A dark lipstick was applied to her facial lips and her nipples were rouged. All the while they talked incessantly about Evelyn’s new life and how lucky she was. She had been very uncertain as she had started the day, now she truly felt like a bride, and her happiness grew as she anticipated her wedding to N’Gono. Even the fact that he had five other wives did not dampen her joy. That was simply one more thing about Africa and Dinka culture she would have to adapt to. She was becoming his woman for real now. <br />Many black men and women from the church, as well as relatives and friends from his Dinka clan came to see N’Gono claim another wife. They were dressed in colorful African finery, and traditional clothing, and everyone from N’Gono’s village found it especially impressive and provocative that he was taking a wife from among the whites, away from her white husband. As the doctor had intended, it increased N’Gono’s standing within his clan immeasurably, and made recruitment into the church far more efficient.<br />A Dinka wedding, particularly one incorporating a captured woman from another tribe was full of traditions going back hundreds of years, with much symbolism. The ceremony took place outside the church, but though the doctor did give a message encouraging his fellow African men to claim white women, the actual wedding was to be conducted by the shamaness.<br />N’Gono and his party were on hand for several hours before the ritual, greeting guests and sharing food and libation. The only whites present were the women of the church, dressed in their kangas and bare breasted, who kept shyly in the background. By mid afternoon it was time for the ceremony to begin.<br />N’Gono stood before Al-wani, looking noble and dashing in his regalia. He wore a traditional leopard-skin shoulder wrap, with a loincloth of fine linen. Trinkets of real gold hung about his neck, and at his side were an ivory scabbard and dagger. His upper body was oiled and his muscles rippled beneath his ebony skin. He was the image of an African man- a Dinka prince.<br />A clanking of chains was heard as one of the church elders led two whites forward to the witchdoctor’s presence. One was a lovely young woman, dressed only in a new kanga wrapped about her waist. Her skin had been oiled so that her flesh gleamed in the sunlight. The other was a male- a naked, wretched creature, beaten and stooped, and looking around fearfully at the many black faces surrounding them both.<br />The doctor owned slave chains and harnesses dating back to the time when the slave trade was the Sudan’s main form of wealth. These were to be part of the trappings of the ceremony. Rick and Evelyn were coffled together, just as captured slaves.<br />They were released from their shackles, and the young white man was dragged roughly before the doctor.<br />Evelyn had been told what was about to happen. Rick was to be ritually beaten. It was considered to be a mere formality, but at weddings such this, the former husband was to be afforded the traditional conflict. It was Rick’s last chance to keep his wife, though in reality, he had already lost her. He was terribly afraid, and hoped only that by groveling abjectly before N’Gono, he might escape serious injury.<br />Evelyn watched him carefully, curious as to how he would react. He swallowed hard, and Evelyn could see the fear in his eyes. He looked away from her and she sensed his shame. There was still a spark of pride about him and Evelyn knew he still loved her. But did he have the courage to resist the black giant who now claimed her? Would he try at the last, at the risk of his own body, to keep her? <br />N’Gono came to stand beside him as the doctor made a short speech in some African dialect. The shamaness pronounced a blessing on N’Gono, and both he and Rick were given blunt clubs of polished ebony, traditional Dinka weapons. Then the two men squared off before the entire assemblage.<br />From the start it was an unequal battle. Evelyn knew that N’Gono harbored no hatred for Rick, and that the blows he was inflicting were primarily for show and ceremony. But they were real. Rick tried to fight back at first, but he had virtually no chance. N’Gono was much larger than he was and his African physic was vastly more formidable. The Dinka man was experienced in hand to hand conflict, while Rick had never won a fight in his life.<br />Soon Rick had given up any pretext to fighting and had collapsed into a ball, simply covering his head. He was crying, his pleas for mercy becoming ever more plaintive and pathetic. But N’Gono did not relent. He landed savage punches that slammed into the now unresisting white male’s body. Evelyn heard the painful gasps and groans as each blow fell, followed by abject entreaties from the naked white man- white boy, as Evelyn now thought of him. For several minutes N’Gono methodically thrashed Evelyn’s former mate.<br />Evelyn was surprised at the sense of pride she felt at Rick’s beating. A small part of her was sorry for his suffering and humiliation, but she was N’Gono’s woman now. Her African man was powerful and knew how to keep her and protect her. It brought a thrill to her spine and a heat to her loins.<br />Finally, N’Gono ceased to pound the hapless Rick with the club. The symbolism then changed from one man confronting another, to a victor demonstrating his dominance. From a contest of wills, to a master, punishing an errant slave. Rick no longer merited punishment from an African warrior’s weapon. Now he would receive the whip, like the subjugate beast he was.<br />Evelyn watched with bated breath as N’Gono slowly uncoiled the feared leather whip made from the hide of the water buffalo, and used for millennia to punish slaves. <br />“Please…” the white boy whined, looking frantically about at the many black faces surrounding him. “Please, I did like you said. I divorced her! I give her to you! Please let me go…”<br />“The white man took black woman as slaves. He stole the black daughters of Africa from their fathers and husbands.” boomed the voice of Kamwego. “Watch now. You are powerful, my children. My church has given the white man into your hands. See now how he is to treated!”<br />Then N’Gono began. The first lash brought a scream from Rick. The second, a shriek of panic and desperation. He bolted, trying to make a run for it. But N’Gono bore down on him and brought him to ground. He seized the white boy by the neck, as he had many times with Evelyn, and pulled him back to the slave harness that lay in the dust. He replaced the collar back on Rick’s neck while the frightened boy whimpered and cried, then he resumed the punishment with a vengeance, striking relentlessly at the naked white body groveling at his feet. <br />“AAAGGHHHHH…” pleaded Rick. “Please… Oh god! AAAAAGGGHHHHHH… Please take her… AAAAAHHHHHHHHAAAAA! They said you wouldn’t hurt me if I gave her to you! AAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH… Please take her, she’s yours!”<br />N’Gono continued to whip Evelyn’s already beaten former husband as the rest of the assembly looked on. There was no expression on his face; no anger or exertion, simply the determination to perform the ritual of symbolically and literally taking the white man’s bride.<br />Again, Evelyn watched with mixed emotion but general approval. She did not so much want to see Rick suffer, as she wanted N’Gono to feel legitimized and empowered. This ancient ceremony would do that, and Rick would simply have to endure it, just as she had endure the past months in the futile hope that Rick would come for her. She had been his wife, and he had not protected her. <br />At length, the white boy had been reduced to a twitching, cringing, chastened, slave, afraid to lift his head for fear of angering the giant black man. As he lay still, face down and moaning, N’Gono raised his fist in triumph to the shouts of everyone present.<br />Attention now passed to the wedding ceremony proper. A broom was placed on the ground in front of Dr. Kamwego, and Evelyn was led to the witch woman and N’Gono’s side. She knelt before them and bowed her head reverently, recognizing the solemnity of the ritual. Al-wani then grasped a handful of her braided hair.<br />“This white woman yours,” she said to N’Gono. She bring much pleasure to your bed, bear many sons for the Dinka, and work in your household. You accept this woman?”<br />“Yes,” replied N’Gono.<br />“Jump de broom,” said the shamaness.<br />The old woman pulled Evelyn’s hair back to scowl into her face. She showed Evelyn a small anklet of colored glass beads. “This you wedding band, bind you to N’Gono, you Dinka master. White man put it on you. Last time he touch you.”<br />Rick had been compelled to crawl to them. Still on his knees he took the band from the shamaness and placed it around Evelyn’s left ankle. Then he crawled away, hoping the ordeal was over.<br />Evelyn looked up at N’Gono, her eyes shinning with love. She was crying with joy. This strong black man loved her and she was about to become his wife. Even as a minor wife she felt so fortunate.<br />“This man you master,” said the shamaness. “You his woman. Forget all you old tribe and clan. You Dinka now. You soul Dinka. You womb Dinka. Jump de broom.”<br />Rick looked up now. He watched as N’Gono placed his hand under Evelyn’s chin and lifted her to her feet. He took her in hand and together they jumped over broom than lay in the dry African dust. The crowd roared with approval as he wrapped the heavy steel chain around her neck symbolically and led her away.<br />The young white boy cried and turned away in shame and humiliation. The woman he loved was now the wife of another man.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 18<br /><br /> N’Gono swaggered triumphantly to his home, greeting his black African peers with aplomb and accepting their congratulations on the acquisition of his latest wife. Evelyn, as befitted an African bride, followed several steps behind, barefoot, bare-breasted and demonstrating a reserved humility. Inside however, she was elated. She was married now! To a dominant male who would cherish and protect her. She felt, for the first time since coming to Africa, that she was safe and secure, and in her proper place. She was home.<br /> “I’m married!” she whispered over and over to herself with relish. “I’m Evelyn, wife of N’Gono! I’m married to a real African man!”<br /> Behind them ran Rick, naked and bruised, driven forward by three small mulatto boys bearing whips who playfully herded him this way and that. They generally tended toward N’Gono’s house, but enjoyed showing off their charge over the “white beast.” Rick was so cowed by the beatings and threats of N’Gono and the other black men at the wedding, that he made no resistance, daring only to try and shield his buttocks from their relentless lashes and beg for mercy from the laughing children.<br /> Arriving at his house, N’Gono grasped a handful of the cringing white boy’s hair and dragged him into the bedroom, where he was secured to the floor, kneeling in a dark corner. N’Gono wrapped the heavy chain about his neck and pointed his finger at him, as if chiding an errant child.<br /> “You watch N’Gono take his new wife,” ordered the big black man. It was the final act of wife capture, to be completed in accordance with Dinka tradition. When possible the consummation of the marriage must take place before the woman’s ex-husband, shaming him and removing all doubts of the female as to whose woman she now was.<br />“You not make sound. You not move,” said N’Gono, reaching down between Rick’s legs and grasped the white boy’s genitals. “N’Gono geld you like done to slave in old days!” he warned, pulling on the testicles. “Feed these to dogs. You catch?”<br />Rick’s eyes widened, knowing the black man was both physically and temperamentally capable of castrating him.<br />“Ye… yes…” Rick gulped. “I won’t do anything.”<br />N’Gono was seemingly satisfied and left the bedroom.<br />Near the front door Evelyn knelt with legs spread and back straight, her breasts thrust forward on display. She was awaiting N’Gono’s permission to rise and following the instructions of Al-wani. Evelyn wanted to behave as the perfect Dinka bride.<br />He stood before her and smiled down at her kindly, placing his large, black palm under her chin. “Come now,” he said simply, and headed to the bedroom.<br />Evelyn scrambled to her feet, eagerly padding behind him, excited as a young girl-child and feeling a sharp tingle of anticipation between her legs. ”I’m married,” she kept whispering to herself. “My new husband is going to make love… No,” she thought, “My new Dinka husband is going to ‘fuck me’! Captured white wives are fucked, not ‘made love to.’”<br />She followed him into the room, scarcely noting the naked, servile Rick in the corner, near the foot of the bed.<br />N’Gono took Evelyn in his arms and they shared the first kiss of their nuptials, a lengthy tongue entwining affair that left her breathless. N’Gono glided his black hands over the skin of her nude back, pulling his petite white bride forcefully to his chest. He moved them lower, and kneaded the pale flesh of her buttocks like dough. After long communal moments, the black man turned and sat on the bed. He was smiling with confidence and glancing at the kneeling Rick, who looked on despite himself, with rapt and morbid interest.<br />Before her new husband, Evelyn removed her kanga and knelt again to bare the desires of her heart. She wished to be a wife of simple devotion to him, and she pledged her obedience henceforth, and forever.<br /> Clasping her hands before her in the manner of a suppliant, she spoke with breathy soft voice and lowered eyes. A feeling of absolute peace came upon her. Nothing existed at that moment but N’Gono, and the joy of belonging and submission to him.<br /> She pulled the boots from his feet, pausing unbidden to kiss each of them in an act of personal devotion.<br /> “My master, my husband… Please, N’Gono, my love… Show me your ways and the ways of your people,” she said clearly, but with every measure of her femininity. “Teach me your language, your customs, your religion. Make me a woman of the Dinka in every way. Start now by filling me with a Dinka son!”<br /> N’Gono smiled, and placed his bare foot between her legs. He rubbed his big toe against the apex of her sex, and the little gold ball over her clitoral hood was pressed into her pleasure bud. She gasped, and was instantly aroused to an even higher pitch. It was a small act of male condescension, but one very typical of an African man with his new wife.<br /> They rose and Evelyn finished undressing her new husband. For the first time, Rick saw the size of N’Gono’s manhood, and a devastating feeling of innate inferiority struck him. This man’s organ was more than twice the size of his own, in every dimension. He had been fucking Evelyn for months. Any illusion or expectation Rick might have harbored of getting her back someday crumbled to dust. N’Gono was in all ways, a bigger, better man.<br /> The two lovers kissed again, and Rick could sense the genuine affection the couple had for one another. Though in his mind, he knew that he had lost his wife, in his heart, Rick could still not quite accept it. He kept waiting subconsciously for Evelyn to push the black man away with disgust, and declare her loyalty to her old husband. She was a well-brought up Christian girl. Even now, would she not feel something for the husband of her own race and faith? But the young woman’s expression held nothing but love and regard for her new man, and it struck Rick that she no longer shared their faith, or the desire for any white man.<br />Now the consummation of their vows was at hand. The new husband and wife were primed for each other, and without further preamble or foreplay the bride lay back on the bed, breathing evenly and gradually spreading her legs. There was an oddly languid urgency about her. She had all night to savor N’Gono’s love, yet she needed to unite with him in flesh as she had in matrimony. She needed it so badly.<br />As Rick watched in silent horror, the huge African moved to mount her, and she received him with slow but eager greed. With her small, white hands she guided the massive black shaft to her sex, gasping with pleased anticipation as he gently but firmly lowered his hips, thrusting it gradually into her core. <br />“UUUUNNgggghhhhhhhh, yes… Oh, N’Gono, my love!” sighed Evelyn.<br />From his vantage, Rick could see the purple head of his penis disappear into her folds, the massive black cock seemed to stiffen and grow, even as it filled her, stretching her dark red neither lips around its girth. As he bottomed out, his dark balls lay draped on her anus. Heavily laden with seed, they seemed to undulate with life, hanging over Evelyn’s helpless belly. Soon their contents would be released, to flow with obscene purpose into her fecund womb. <br />“UUUnnnggghhhhhh,” grunted Evelyn, embracing her lover’s back with her arms and legs. In was such a beautiful moment, and she felt as if she had never really been married before, and that this was her first and only wedding night. Her relationship with Rick seemed so distant and so trite; her life was truly beginning here and now- in this African prince’s bed.<br />“Ohhhh! UUUUnnnnhhhhh…” cried Evelyn as N’Gono withdrew himself slowly. And then, “UUUgggghhhh, uuuhhhhh… soooo biiiig,” as he pushed himself back in. Though he had been taking her for months this moment was special. Now they were copulating for the first time as man and wife.<br />But she always felt stuffed at his initial entry. No matter how much she had been stretched he was still huge, still glorious. “AAAHHHHUUUUMMMM,” she cooed at the next insistent entry, and tightened her grasp on his body.<br />N’Gono pushed in again, and the black shaft descended, now slick with their mingled secretions and glittering in the soft light of the bedroom. It vanished once more, slowly sinking into her belly to bottom out again in her depths.<br />“UUUUNNNGGGG… soooo deeeeep… grunted Evelyn with earthy urgency. She could feel his glans fitting against the cervical cup of her uterus, a place even he had not touched before. Evelyn knew that his manhood was larger this moment than she had ever known. His excitement was as high as hers. He withdrew again to begin a rhythm, thrusting very methodically but ardently.<br />“Unnnggghhhh, white woman,” he breathed. “Take you Dinka man.”<br />“Yes, N’Gono… yeeeesssss,” she replied. As they began the ancient dance in earnest. In and out, in and out, with measured slowness at first, then building with intensity.<br />From his place, kneeling silently at the foot of the marriage bed, Rick could hear and watch Evelyn’s ultimate and final surrender to her African man. The profane, grinding spectacle of their union continued to gain energy as the Dinka man commenced to rut for real. Evelyn sighed, and wriggled, and kissed. Wanting to wallow in her bliss. She saw herself as a white virgin, given to a powerful, passionate warrior. A young Caucasian girl, being admitted to the secret chamber of African sexuality.<br />Rick bit his tongue. He could see the massive, glistening black cock reciprocated in and out of Evelyn’s ravaged white cunt, straining taut her vaginal lips. He remembered bitterly how he had enjoyed his wife’s virginal tightness. Even around his small organ she had felt so snug. Now he knew she had been stretched forever to accommodate her black man.<br />They continued on and on, heedless to time and space. The mating seemed an eternal thing, driven by N’Gono’s masterful strokes. It was the only event in the universe, their fulfillment, its only purpose. Evelyn’s voice was alive with girlish, half-audible whispers and plaintive gasps of joyful discovery. The bedsprings squeaked, keeping time with the flexing of his ebony back, and the spasmodic motions of Evelyn’s bare feet as they waved, suspended over his pumping buttocks. As never before, Rick’s heart ached with the realization of how truly lovely she was. Even from this angle he marveled at the trim lines of her legs and ankles, her shapely gams, the delicate pink soles of her feet. As N’Gono worked, her soft heels caressed the ruddy skin of his black ass, seeming to parody the gentle rubbing of their hands.<br />Rick had not seen Evelyn with another man, and though he knew she had been intimate with N’Gono and the other black men of the church for several months, he had never really been able to conceptualize his conservative and chaste wife with one of them. He had steeled himself to witness her ravishment by an African, knowing he could do nothing to stop it; but he had not expected her to respond with enthusiasm and affection- with love.<br />Now seeing her with this brute of a man, performing with just as much raw sexual need, his mind went numb with impotent rage and humiliation. The difference in their body sizes was compelling, Evelyn at 5’4”, looked so small and helpless, almost crushed beneath his heroic frame. The contrasting color of their skins and the meter of their intercourse became almost hypnotic; a synergy of horror and startling beauty before Rick’s tortured gaze. He was witnessing sex the way it was meant to be, between a superior human male and a submissive female. And he cried, for he knew he would never have this woman again, and could never feel the depth of their love- with a mere four inches of manhood.<br />“AAAhhh, haaaa, baby… aahhh, N’Gono… yes, take me, darling. Sooo gooood!” Somehow Evelyn knew. She would be impregnated that night. Here in this bed, in this very moment she would conceive the baby that her foolish loyalty to Rick had denied. She would atone for her sins, and be given a life to cherish.<br /> “UUUUGGG,” grunted N’Gono again holding her tight now and pounding her with ever increasing intensity. His thick shaft gored her with its full length, and he could feel the clinging need in her stretched labia. Evelyn hung on, her mind swirling with delight, staccato cries of passion bursting from her throat. Each deep thrust brought the insistent kiss of his spongy glans to the doorway of her inmost chamber of life, and reminded the new bride of her black husband’s goal, her insemination. It was with infinite joy that she felt the now familiar stiffening of his muscular frame and the suddenly frenzied thrusting of his rut- the telltale precursors of his ejaculation.<br /> “Yessss, yessss, my love…” breathed Evelyn, her voice tremulous with passion. “Fill me… please fill me… Aaaahhhh.”<br /> “AAAGGGHHHH,” shouted N’Gono. His back spasmed and he drove himself onto her with every ounce of his weight, pressing his manhood with brutal force just past the threshold of her cervix and into her fertile womb.<br />The lovers screamed in unison, climaxing as they held each other in an embrace as strong as life itself. Between their legs, Rick saw N’Gono’s black balls pulse and throb, and his scrotum tense with impending release. Evelyn’s vaginal lips tighten about his shaft. And he heard the woman he still loved beg.<br />“UUUUGGGGHHHH YES! NOW!” She panted, wanting both N’Gono and Rick to hear. “FILL ME WITH YOUR BABY! FUCK ME, N’GONO!”<br />At last, Evelyn felt the first gush of his fecund sperm, flooding like a torrent into her welcoming grotto of motherhood. For an instant, her being was saturated with orgasmic bliss, and the profundity of her new identity. Then she screamed- The craving of her soul. “YESSS… YESSSSS… I can feel it! Your son! Your baby, N’Gono, my love! YEEEESSSSSS… YOOOOUUUUR BAAAAY BEEEEEE!”<br />She was N’Gono’s forever now. <br /> Rick sensed it too. As the interracial couple on the bed lay in sweating, gasping, post orgasmic exhaustion, he sobbed silently with a soul rending torment of emotions. Jealousy and outrage and overwhelming humiliation coursed through him and his spirit withered. Evelyn belonged to another man now- and she would carry his child.<br /> It seemed like an eternity before N’Gono rose, rolling off Evelyn’s maculated form.<br />Unbidden, she raised her legs and clamped her vulva closed, in order to keep the full measure of her new husband’s draught in her belly.<br />N’Gono unchained the desolate white boy who still knelt forlornly at the foot of the bed. Now that Dinka tradition had been satisfied and white beast’s marriage spells to the woman were finally and utterly broken, Rick’s presence was no longer necessary.<br /> Without even speaking to him, N’Gono dragged him outside, to the lone tree where Evelyn had spent the nights of her punishment.<br />Rick was terrified, weeping and pleading, thinking that N’Gono intended to kill or geld him after all.<br />“Please, she’s yours,” he cried. “I did what you said. I watched and did nothing while you took her! Please…”<br />N’Gono did not reply, but kicked Rick’s feet out from under him and locked the heavy chain around his neck. Rick struggled to kneel, but did not resist. He was resigned now, crying softly and waiting for the ritual blow of N’Gono’s dagger that would end his life. But the big Dinka merely checked to make sure he was secured to the grizzled tree trunk. Then he left, and headed back to the house to enjoy the fervent embrace of his new bride. <br />Naked and alone in the African night, Rick’s imminent fear of death slowly faded. Extreme frustration forced tears to his eyes as he knelt there motionless, cursing his own weakness. He knew that the African intended to fill Evelyn with his essence over and over as long as the night endured. But he was physically and emotionally beaten. Tied as he was there was nothing he could do. Even if he had been free, he knew that if he interfered in any way he would certainly receive a severe beating. Or the big African might make good on his threat to castrate him, or kill him with his bare hands. The craven inside Rick finally won out, and he buried his head in his hands.<br />He was safe now, and she was no longer his wife. Evelyn had been unfaithful anyway.<br />In the darkness of the African night, Rick finally took stock of himself. He had been shown what fucking was all about. And deep down he now realized the terrible truth. He never had, and never would elicit those cries of passion from Evelyn, or any other woman. He simply was not man enough, not well endowed enough- not black enough.<br />But he was male, and he had needs too. He had watched N’Gono claim Evelyn with genuine outrage, but the power of their passion nevertheless had moved him. Dead to all shame or pride Rick moved his hands down to his genitals, folded his fingers loving over the pink little shaft and began to pump it. Immediately, visions of Evelyn writhing under N’Gono’s potent thrusts, filled his mind.<br /> Looking wistfully back to the house, Rick remembered a time when she was his wife, when she had wanted his children. Memories were all he had left now, but it did give pleasure. Real sexual pleasure- and he needed it so badly. He closed his eyes and smiled, picturing Evelyn’s beauty- and imagined himself a big black man, rutting masterfully in her warm, receptive cunt.<br /><br /><br /><br />Epilogue<br /><br />After Evelyn’s wedding, Sharon was returned to the doctor’s bed for a time. She realized now the answer to the mystery. Why had the Dr. Kamwego turned her into a whore?<br />She was a symbol of the white race to him. Her perpetual defilement was the essence of his spiritual journey. He took her violently, several times each day, raping her and having her raped in his presence; slapping and beating her no matter how servile and pliant her responses.<br />Now the cycle began again. A new white couple arrived in the compound. A young husband with a luscious, willowy blond wife. Sharon was sent back to the brothel with instructions that she was to be well used, but as before, only by men of color.<br />Sharon had cried. She so wanted to become a mother and the wife of one black man, instead of a rutting slut for thousands. But she knew the truth even then.<br />As the cycle turned, and the doctor acquired more white women for his church, Sharon returned to the brothel each time. To woo the sons of Africa into the doctor’s religion, her degradation became a sacrament, her body a holy chalice for the semen of countless men. She was the church’s example of the perfect white female. Prostituted to the common black man- the future of all white women. <br />And at last, whore was what Sharon knew she was. Not that it had been her nature. She had not been born to it, or wanted it. But it was what the doctor had made her into, and it was natural to her now. She was a whore with every fiber of her existence and could never be anything else. Eighteen years old and of surpassing beauty, she had a whole life ahead of her, to be what she had to be- A WHORE!<br />Dr. Kamwego had won, she thought. He always won- and turned people into what he wanted them to be.<br /><br />Evelyn’s instincts had been correct. She did indeed conceive on her wedding night. Not knowing this however, she and N’Gono continued their intensive efforts throughout the month. Evelyn rejoiced when she failed to menstruate, but it was not until the following month, and her next missed period that N’Gono finally ceased his three or four times a day mating schedule and cut back to pure enjoyment sex once a night.<br />Evelyn had dreaded the day when N’Gono would begin sharing her with the other black men. But when it came, and he himself switched the beaded anklet from her left leg to her right, she felt a sense of elation and pride. Now everyone would know she was carrying N’Gono’s baby. And she would be increasing her husband’s standing in the church community.<br />Evelyn also found that she liked fucking the other men. She reveled in the freedom she had as a Dinka wife, and it didn’t even bother her that N’Gono was sampling her white sisters. It was the way of Africa, and was just part of learning to become African.<br />In the coming months Evelyn’s belly swelled with the evidence of her submission to N’Gono, and she seemed to glow with happiness. She liked the fact that her breasts were swelling and filling with milk, and her once delicate pink nipples were enlarging into bloated teats and turning dark red. Al-wani told her that the spells and the baby’s black Dinka blood were the cause, and Evelyn’s sex became moist whenever she thought about it. N’Gono’s love was changing her even physically.<br />When Evelyn gave birth to a healthy, chocolate brown son, it was the proudest moment of her life. And seeing N’Gono holding him, she felt an even greater bond with her husband. She was closer to him than she had ever been to anyone. She was white by birth, but African by choice, Negro by injection. A Dinka mother and wife.<br /><br />The doctor had kept his word to Rick, having him released to the custody of the church. But Rick’s assumption that he would be allowed to return to America had been in error. He was not allowed to leave the church grounds and was told that any attempt at escape would result in his return to the prison.<br />He wandered about aimlessly for a while, sleeping on the ground among the landscaping. N’Gono found him a few times and rousted him out. Finally he found a little cave on the lakeshore. It was private and he had a feeling of security, but no means of support. He was soon reduced to begging for scraps of food, and scavenging through trashcans at night.<br />But then he received an unexpected act of kindness. As N’Gono was now needed full time to take over the church’s work among the Dinka, he offered to allow Rick to take over his job tending the grounds of the compound. The doctor agreed. But Rick would be paid only in food, and had to strictly observe the church’s rules; work hard, obey the black elders, and absolutely no contact with the women, white or black. Rick agreed to the terms.<br />He was given a simple, tattered cloth to wear around his loins, and became darkly tanned, working in the sun. Being out of the prison and working the African soil did him much good, and he was soon healthier and fitter than anytime in his life.<br />His one joy was masturbation. He loved to hide among the manicured hedges and thickets, watching the white women as they passed. Sometimes he even saw Evelyn walking with Julie, her belly seeming to protrude more prominently each day.<br />Often the black men would bring white women down to the shore of the lake. Rick would creep in the shadows, stroking himself while they fucked in the sun. He even saw Evelyn there at times, walking hand in hand with N’Gono, or sometimes other black men. Down on the beach she would remove her wrap and spread it on the sand. And they would make passionate love under the African sky.<br />Latter, sleeping on the floor of his little cave he would pretend that it was he who had made love to the girl, and driven her to orgasmic ecstasy. But it was a bitter thing seeing his seed on his hands, or spewed onto the ground after he had gushed himself into an imaginary Evelyn, or Julie, or Deanna, or Vicky.<br />That was the irony that ate at his soul like acid. If he had not brought Evelyn to Africa, it would be his babies she would be carrying. He would be lying with her each night, instead of N’Gono, and his own sperm would be living, thriving in the warmth of Evelyn’s womb, becoming his child. Instead, it was dying forlornly outside the body of a woman, in the cold dirt of the cave floor.<br />Rick knew what the African men were enjoying every night, and longed to feel the flesh of a woman’s body. He imagined himself taking the white women, raping them in the bushes. Perhaps, he fantasized; they would like it and not report his crime. But fear of the doctor stopped him. The story of Julie’s husband was much like his own.<br />Tom had been imprisoned also, and had undergone the same Dinka rituals involving the taking of his wife. But after his release he had been unable to accept that Julie now belonged to her new black husband. He had tried to rape her, but she had thwarted his advance by running out of the house screaming. Julie’s black husband had not been as kind as N’Gono. He had reported the incident publicly, and the doctor had decided to make an example of the white man in front of his ex-wife, and the entire church. As punishment, he had Tom’s testicles and penis surgically removed, and sent him to a brothel in Khartoum.<br />Since Rick had heard of this, he had been deathly afraid of sharing the man’s fate. Though he worked in the compound and saw everything that went on, he never tried to approach Evelyn, or any of the other white women. He still burned with jealousy at times; especially when he spied Evelyn being fucked on the beach, or walking on the paths, suckling a black baby openly on her bare breast and cooing tenderly. But as months and then years passed, his psyche seemed to become inured, even content.<br />Each of Evelyn’s successive pregnancies bothered him less and less. She seemed genuinely happy in her new life, as did the other white woman.<br />At last, Rick became almost like a voyeuristic phantom, adept at hiding, sneaking, and cumming. As the doctor brought in new white couples, Rick discovered the sadistic and masochistic joy of watching while each new white wife was taken from a white husband, and forcibly joined to an African man. The church grew, as did the white women’s bellies. The progression was similar, and the result was always the same. The white woman submitted to the black man, the white man disappeared. Rick saw and enjoyed it all.<br />In the end, Rick accepted and embraced his fate as completely as the white women accepted theirs. Such was the bittersweet destiny of the racially inferior male.<br /><br />EndMy Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-16056292515995737892007-09-30T13:48:00.000-07:002007-09-30T13:49:56.290-07:00Bound For Afica Part 2 by Gordon KerrHe turned Evelyn’s head and crushed his mouth to hers, invading it with his tongue. When she tried to twist away to breathe he grasped the now naked woman again by the neck and threw her backwards, sprawling onto the bed.<br />“Lay back,” he ordered. “Spread your legs.”<br />Then a new kind of panic erupted in the traumatized girl. RAPE! She thought. He was going to rape her. Take by brutal force what she shared only with Rick. Her psyche screamed with the sudden realization of her imminent violation. ‘Not with him’, her spirit raged. ‘Oh god! NOT WITH HIM’!<br />He was removing his own clothes in a casual manner, which belied the outraged turmoil in Evelyn’s mind. He finally took off his pants and shorts, and turned to face her. Then, for the first time she saw the instrument of her defilement. His huge manhood, erect and throbbing now at a full, thick eight inches.<br />“You are mine, woman, to use or give away as I please. I’m going to claim you now.”<br />Evelyn was too afraid to move from the bed, but she was shaking her head slowly, as if mesmerized by his hugeness, his blackness- and the enormity of his organ. Again he was uncoiling the whip.<br />“Surrender. Open to me,” he said. “Spread your legs and fold your knees back.”<br />Evelyn curled into a ball and screwed her eyes shut with anguish, and a second later felt the merciless black leather across her naked, pale back. “AAAAAHHHHGGGGGGG!” She reached back with her arm to rub the punished area, unwittingly exposing her smooth, soft belly. “AAAAAGGHHHHHH!”<br />“Open yourself, white woman,” he said, his voice incongruously quiet, his calm demeanor seeming to return. “Offer yourself to me.”<br />“Please let me go,” Evelyn panted. “I can’t break my vows… AAAAAAHHHH… Nooo…”<br />“Your vows to your white man are meaningless here. Spread your legs.” There followed another lash and scream, then another. At last, unable the bear the sheer agony, Evelyn lay flat on her back and brought her knees up. Her thighs slowly fell open as she wept with shame. She had closed her eyes to shut out the horrible moment that lay in store, but she felt the bed move when the black doctor knelt on the edge of it, near her feet. Her eyelids fluttered again, opening to see him crawling to position himself between her legs. Her body went ridged when she felt his black fingers lightly stroking her delicate, pink pudenda.<br />Evelyn whimpered, and made a feeble attempt to squirm away. But the doctor took one of the folds of her labia and pinched it until she stilled. With the middle finger of his other hand he traced the line of her tight slit, caressing slowly and nimbly along its length.<br />“This looks almost unused,” he said. “Your white husband must be very small, or very negligent. Which is it? Or is it both?” he laughed softly.<br />When she didn’t respond he pinched her lips again. “Answer me. Look at my cock, woman,” he said, heavily. “Is your husband’s half the size of mine? Don’t lie.”<br />Evelyn didn’t lie. She had no experience with larger penises and had no reason to believe Rick’s was inferior. In fact, she regarded Kamwego as a freak. “No,” she said. “He… he has a normal size…”<br />He laughed again. “Normal for a white boy. About four or five inches.”<br />It was more a statement than a question, but she answered anyway. “Yes. Please, let me get up… Oohhh.”<br />His roving digit found the top of her cleft, and pushed in to make contact with her clitoris. Evelyn felt bright sparks of dark pleasure suddenly course through the pit of her belly.<br />“Ahhh… what are you… Uuuaahh…”<br />“Summoning your spirit,” he whispered, leering at her as her light skin flushed. “A white woman’s soul dwells in her womb, it breaths and feels through her clit, but only a black man’s cock can reach deep enough into her pussy to touch her soul. You will learn this Evelyn. Tonight.”<br />The young white wife understood little of what he was saying. It was all she could do to suppress the compulsion to buck her hips up to his skillful fingers.<br />Evelyn closed her eyes and turned her face away, clawing at the sheets with unwanted sensation. She was wet now, her body secreting the fluid meant to ease the entry of the male. She gasped, and tried to regain control of her emotions. But the feeling was too strong, his fingers too insistent. He was building a fever in her, a wave that was surging and flowing, about to break… and then he stopped.<br />Evelyn hung on the precipice of a mind-bending climax as she saw him lower his hips and prepare to mount her. Her body was screaming, aching for his manhood. But as the head of his massive penis grazed the outer lips of her vagina, Evelyn’s virtue surfaced, and her loyalty to her husband found a voice.<br />“Plleeaaasssee, don’t do this…” she moaned. “Aaaahhh… doctor…”<br />He leaned forward, holding his huge frame up with his arms as he loomed over her defenseless body. He drank in the lush, warm pink of her nipples and the vibrant white of her flesh. She was a beauty. As lovely as any woman he had ever taken into the church- or into a bed.<br />He reached down to guide the head of his black cock to the soft folds of her labia, slowly dragging it along the tight slit, back and forth. Evelyn brought her hands up to his chest as if to push him away, but lay them at her side as memories of the whip blocked her volition. He was being gentle now, once again the smooth, sophisticated leader. “Just relax, Evelyn,” he intoned. “Obey me. Welcome me and the pain will fade.”<br />“Please,” she whispered, hardly daring to speak lest she disturb his current gentle mood. Dr. Kamwego. I can’t… it’s wrong…”<br />“Shhhh,” he soothed her. “Lay quietly and feel what I’m doing to you.”<br />He brought his thumb to the top of her sex and began to stroke her clitoris softly again. At once, Evelyn sensed the return of the warm glow radiating from her love button into her belly. She simply could resist no more. The fear and the pain and the pleasure had overtaken her. Now there was an acquiescence in her subconscious to accept his hands. They were not wielding a whip.<br />The doctor was caressing her clitoris with knowing circular stokes of his thumb. He leaned forward to lay his heavy black phallus on her vaginal trough, reaching his other hand up to idly play with her nipples. He began pumping his hips ever so slowly, dragging his organ along the outside of her sex. He looked down and smiled when he felt the warm, slippery liquid, now seeping copiously between her lips. She was wet and growing wetter.<br />Evelyn looked up into his face, meeting his smoldering eyes. She held her breath, trying to will the strange and unwanted feelings from her body. She made another belated effort to wriggle from underneath him, but he kept her in place with the weight of his obese black body. Still he gazed at her, reveling in this moment of moments- the first rape of a new woman, a white man’s wife. The first of many more by the men of his church, though the couplings would cease to be rapes soon.<br />She was primed now, and looked down between her legs through moistened eyes. He began to press his hips downward, and Evelyn’s fear returned when she thought about his immense size. Surely he could not work that huge thing into her! He was more than twice the size of Rick.<br />Kamwego watched her face intently. He wanted to hurt her, but not damage her. He intended to give her pleasure as well. Melding the pain and pleasure in her mind and psyche so that she would associate forever the pain of his discipline and the sweet pleasure of climax. He wanted to rape her spirit as well as her body.<br />And it did hurt. As he kept pushing it deeper and deeper, Evelyn wondered when he would stop. She felt sure he would never get the entire length into her.<br />The bulbous head disappeared, and her vagina was stretched and opened like never before as he pressed downward, inward, deeper into her core. And with each passing second Evelyn could feel the displacement of her vaginal walls as the huge cock pushed them aside, straining them as never before. He would stop and let her adjust, then pull it out a bit- only to send it ever deeper with the next thrust. Deeper, as she gasped. Deeper, as she whimpered. Deeper still, six inches, seven, eight, as she felt him in places Rick had never gone. Then he drew back, slowly, slowly, until only the head was lodged, and reversed course again to press inward, even deeper still.<br />Evelyn lay beneath him, taking short breaths and quailing inside at the slow implement of her womanhood. When he bottomed out, she could feel his massive scrotum resting against her rear cheeks.<br />“AAHHH… doctor,” she gasped. As she lay still the pain gave way to a feeling of being stuffed. She was adjusting to his size and Kamwego held himself there for several minutes.<br />By the time he began to move, Evelyn’s discomfort had eased, and her love canal was fully accommodating his big organ. He began with deliberate, measured strokes. The contortions in her face eased and he started a rhythmic cadence, In and out, in and out, slowly. The young white wife could feel his glans and the massive uncircumcised head gliding along her vaginal walls- and at the end of each in stroke it kissed her cervix. His hands grasped her now at the shoulders, clamping his strong arms to her torso.<br />Evelyn felt the relentless building of the strange and terrible pleasure, spiking with a double spark at the end of each downstroke, when his cock nudged the opening to her womb and the base grazed her clit.<br />A mist seemed to envelope her consciousness, blotting out all the fear and humiliation she felt from his treatment of her. He was pistoning inside her with vigor now and she was responding, bringing her arms up to his back and lifting her legs over his pumping buttocks. Why did this feel so good? This was a horrible rape, yet sex with her husband had never given her pleasure like this!<br />“Doctor… please…”<br />“Fuck… I’m fucking you, Evelyn. Say it.”<br />“Ah, please… it’s too strong… ah…”<br />He slapped her face again and she was brought back to the reality of the situation. She had to obey him or he would start hurting her again. "Ah pl“... please make love to me…”<br />He was shaking his head. “Not like that. Use the language fit for a white woman. Say ‘fuck me,’ sir.<br />Evelyn groaned. She never used words like that. But the unaccustomed drug of pure lust was surging through her veins, getting hotter with each thrust of his cock. And she was afraid of being slapped again.<br />“Fuck me…” she whispered.<br />“Louder, he growled. They were pumping fast now, their rut becoming a furious race to fulfillment. He was determined to make her cum, knowing what effect climaxing with her rapist would have on her mind. He knew white women well.<br />“Fuck me,” she said clearly. “Fuck me, sir!”<br />“Yes, you bitch. Take it from your man’s balls, you white whore!”<br />He was pounding her wildly now. They were fused but for the action of his manhood, churning into her relentlessly. As Evelyn’s belly spasmed with her climax, the big black man peaked. He could feel the young wife convulsing beneath him and he slammed forward into her depths with all his great weight. She felt the head of his cock press tightly against her cervix, even finding the little cup, which led into her baby chamber. “White woman,” he bellowed. “I’m cumming in your soul!”<br />His own orgasm flashed and he held himself deep inside her as his semen gushed and splattered into her belly, even into her uterus itself. The feel of this hot, wet violation of her very womb sent Evelyn into another level of sustained orgasm, cumming and cumming on his black rod.<br />They remained locked together for awhile, Kamwego wanting to keep her impaled on his staff while he spoke to her. His authoritarian persona was returning. “White woman. I will be back tomorrow and I will fuck you again. I will bring you clothing appropriate to your station here.”<br />Evelyn had come down from her orgasmic high and was weeping at what she had done. She had been forced, but she’d felt good. She’d enjoyed it. In a way she had cheated on Rick, and she felt so filthy. So used.<br />He pulled out of her at last. Too ashamed even to move, Evelyn simply lay there, naked on bed while he dressed. She cried and shuddered, while thick globs of semen seeped from her ravaged sex.<br />“Tomorrow you will be ready for me, and your training will begin,” he said. “If you wish to avoid the whip you will obey. You will remember that you belong to the church now- and to me.”<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 6<br /><br />Exhaustion overtook Evelyn after he left, and she slept. But her rest was disturbed with the traumas inflicted on her that day. In the morning when she awoke, the bright sun was streaming through the bedroom window. She remembered a horrible nightmare of the night before and tried to get up. That was when she noticed she was naked.<br />She wondered how that could be. She always slept in a nightgown. She was conscious of a dull ache in her crotch and looked down to find her labia red and swollen. A thick, white liquid was seeping from her sex and at that moment, the events of the previous evening came crashing down into her consciousness.<br />She had been raped. RAPED! Oh god, that Dr. Kamwego! He had thrown her on the bed and forced that terrible thing of his into her, and she had liked it. She had liked it!”<br />She was afraid she was going to retch on the bedroom floor.<br />Julie had tried to warn her, but Evelyn had been too frightened to act. Now she was too afraid not to. She remembered that the doctor had told her he was coming back. The thought of his return haunted her with dread. She had to escape!<br />Evelyn began packing a small bag. She didn’t want to leave without Rick, but she couldn’t face the possibility of the big, black doctor’s return. Julie’s words kept echoing in her mind. “Get out while you can.” Was it too late already?<br />Evelyn quickly formed a plan. Taking the road was no good. They were too heavily patrolled and she didn’t have a car. If she could get to the airport she might find someone to fly her out. She felt guilty about abandoning Rick, but once she was back in America she could arrange help for him.<br />Evelyn whimpered with shame at the memory of the doctor’s huge, sweaty body, heavy and rutting on top of her. She had the presence of mind to take one of her contraceptive pills before she left. Then she slung the travel bag on her shoulders and headed out the front door. She looked up at the villa fearfully, hoping no one was watching her. Then she headed on foot for the main road.<br />She made it. The air was already getting hot, and she knew the airport was several miles away. But it was also on this road. If she could somehow get there quickly she might get a flight out before anyone knew what was happening.<br />Evelyn decided she would have to risk hitchhiking. If she saw a military truck or police car she would try to hide, though the desert was flat and there was not much cover. As luck would have it, the first vehicle to approach was civilian- a decrepit flatbed loaded with poultry.<br />The driver stopped and looked at her with surprise, but motioned her to get in.<br />Evelyn was afraid she might be sexually assaulted again, but the man driving was an ancient looking Arab who spoke broken English. He called her memsahib and treated her like a lady. She had no choice but to trust him, and when she explained her predicament nodded in sympathy.<br />When he dropped her off at the airport terminal without laying a hand on her, she was so overjoyed that she kissed him on the lips. His eyes were still shinning when she waved goodbye.<br />Evelyn knew better than to try to book a commercial flight without money or passport. She would have to find a private flight and make some sort of arrangement.<br />It was a small airport, and she walked around the building to the charter hangers. At first they seemed deserted, and Evelyn began to worry, lest she be discovered by a patrolling guard. But after a little searching she spied a tall white man, working in one of the hangers on a twin engine.<br />“Excuse me,” she said. “Are you flying out anytime soon?”<br />The man pulled his head from under the cowling and saw Evelyn.<br />“Sure am, love. Down to Nairobi this afternoon.”<br />“I… I would like to fly with you…” Evelyn tried in vain to keep the agitation from her voice.<br />“I’m only going one way,” he said. “Won’t be back for at least a fortnight or so.”<br />“That’s fine,” she blurted.<br />She saw his eyes narrow. “Ah, alright. 300 American. Up front.” <br />“I… I can’t pay it right now. I can get you some money in Nairobi…”<br />He was shaking his head. “No sweet. No free rides.”<br />“Please,” she begged, looking around shiftily. “I… I need to get to Kenya.”<br />“You with that church? Dr. Kanwego’s outfit?”<br />She considered lying. But if he saw through it she realized he might not take her out of The Sudan. Then again, perhaps he knew about the doctor and would help her. He was a white man after all and Evelyn was sure he wouldn’t want to see a white woman alone and abused. “Ye… yes,” she said.<br />Evelyn thought she could see a faint smile on his handsome, weathered face, but it faded quickly.<br />“Right. Why don’t you come sit in the office where we can talk and make arraignments”<br />She followed him, thankful to be out of sight for a bit.<br />“My name’s Ian McHolst,” he said over his shoulder.<br />“Evelyn… Evelyn Kvindlog.”<br />“Well,” he said, sitting in a chair behind a desk. “How are you going to pay for your trip?”<br />“I have a bank account in Nairobi,” she lied. “I can pay you then…”<br />“I don’t take IOUs love. Not with the price of petrol in this sandbox.”<br />“Please… I don’t have any…” her voice trailed away as she saw him unzipping his pants. She looked at his face in disbelief.<br />“Come down here, sweet. Earn your trip.”<br />Evelyn was shaking her head. “Ple… Mr. McHolst… I’ve never…”<br />“It won’t hurt you Evelyn,” he said, beckoning with his hand.<br />“But… I’m married…” she knelt in front of him. “I love my husband.”<br />“Hubby doesn’t have to know about this, Evelyn.” He reached for her head and guided it gently but firmly to his groin.<br />“I… I don’t know how…”<br />“Put it in your mouth love, I’m clean… and I’m a white man. You must have done this for those kaffirs.”<br />“I’ve never done it,” said Evelyn her eyes pleading.<br />“But you were part of that church…” he said.<br />“My husband and I just moved here. Now he’s accused of smuggling. The doctor… he…” she couldn’t go on. She was simply too ashamed to admit to a white man that she had had sex with a black African- even if it was rape.<br />“Put it in your mouth, Evelyn. If you want me to take you to Nairobi, then suck my wank.”<br />Evelyn closed her eyes. There was nothing she could do but perform the obscene act and get it over with.<br />She slipped it into her mouth, closing her lips and moving her head back and forth. Her only knowledge of oral sex was from the few whispered, giggling conversations of other girls in a college locker room. She wanted to die of shame, but she applied suction with her lips and worked the shaft with serendipitous skill.<br />“Not bad. Not bad, sweet,” he groaned. “Lick it. Under my shaft. There’s a good girl.”<br />She was bobbing her head on it now and he was building fast. The sight of this beautiful, distressed woman loving him with her mouth- her virgin mouth, was too much. In seconds his maleness erupted and his viscous semen trickled onto her tongue. Evelyn fought hard to keep from vomiting, though the taste was not at all unpleasant. She didn’t swallow, but got up and raced to the restroom to spit it out. Ian followed her.<br />He was chuckling. “Well, not spectacular, but I think you have the instinct.”<br />“Please,” she said, starting to cry again. “Just get me out of here.”<br />“All right,” he said. “It’ll take me about an hour to finish the plane. You can stay in here so no one sees you.”<br />Then he left Evelyn alone. She washed her mouth out for several minutes, then returned to the office to wait.<br />She felt so dirty and ashamed, but at least she had made it. She was going to escape from the Sudan. Later she could get Rick released and they would put this horrible experience behind them. She wondered if she would ever be able to tell her husband about her rape at the hands of Kamwego, or even if she would ever be able to fully come to grips with it. The very fact that she had been in carnal union with a Negro man filled her with a racist revulsion. She wanted so bad to forget. To return to America with Rick so they could start a family and live normal lives.<br />Suddenly the door to the office opened, and in walked the black sergeant and two other men!<br />Evelyn squealed and jumped up, but they grabbed her by the hair, laughing and cuffing her hands behind her.<br />When Ian came in looking rather contrite, Evelyn knew she had been betrayed.<br />“I… I trusted you,” she gasped. “You said you’d help me if I… If I…”<br />“Sorry sweet. I do a lot of business with Dr. Kamwego and I can’t afford to have him pissed off at me. It’s a rum go for you, but there it is.”<br />Evelyn was trembling as the officers led her out. “Please, Ian,” she pleaded in desperation. “You said you’d help me to get home.”<br />He stopped them for a moment, reached up and gently wiped a tear from her face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I think you are home, love.”<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 7<br /><br />Evelyn was sitting in the interrogation room of the prison once more, feeling very alone and very apprehensive. She was worried about how the doctor would react to her escape attempt, and how it would effect her court case for that matter.<br />She thought again about what the doctor had done to her, and recoiled at the memory of being physically joined to the fat African. It was obvious that his church was simply a front, designed to cloak a system of religious patronage that had nothing to do with traditional Christianity. But she was appalled also by what Ian had done to her. She was shocked and dismayed that a white man would turn her over so easily to a group of corrupt blacks. It had destroyed an illusion she had kept subconsciously from her upbringing. Namely that white men were somehow more brave and chivalrous. She knew she was over-generalizing, but deep inside her image of the men of her own race had been tarnished by Ian’s duplicity.<br />She jumped when the door to the room opened. In walked Dr. Kamwego. His face was expressionless, and she couldn’t gauge his mood.<br />“Stand up,” he said evenly.<br />Evelyn complied.<br />“You left the compound and tried to leave the Sudan. I did not give you permission.”<br />“Please, sir. I was just trying to…”<br />“Be silent,” he snapped. “I’m going to teach you the folly of your actions. I think it would be a good lesson for you to remain in this prison for awhile, so that you may appreciate the dispensations of the church.”<br />Evelyn felt a slight sense of relief. She didn’t like the idea of spending time in a jail cell. But at least she wouldn’t be going back to where he could brutalize her again.<br />“Can you give me any news of Rick?” she asked. She was totally caught off guard by what happened next.<br />He delivered a vicious slap that sent her reeling. “That’s for touching a white man. You will never again talk to or attempt to make any contact with a white man without permission. Any white man. You will not talk about your white husband. Is that understood?”<br />“Yes,” she gasped, checking her mouth for blood.<br />“When I feel you’ve been properly chastened I’ll have you released from here. Then you will learn the rules of the church.”<br />He turned and left. A guard came and took her to other offices where she was processed, then to a room where she was ordered to change into the prison garb. He escorted her down to the cellblocks. Before she even arrived she knew she was in trouble. All around were men yelling and laughing, issuing obscene threats and catchalls. Evelyn tried to put up a brave front but was crying by the time she reached her cell.<br />There was no special facility for women. She was alone in her own room, but all around men were laughing and catcalling, hurling abuse and lewd comments at her. Her cell had open bars on three sides, and was visible to most of the others. Prisoners, all of them filthy and unkempt watched with sadistic amusement while the sheltered young wife cowered. There was no bed, only a raised section of concrete. She had been given a prison tunic to wear, but no underwear and no shoes. Her bare legs were drawn up in front of her and she was trying to make herself as small as possible. <br />As she sat curled up in terror, Evelyn was actually thankful for the bars that imprisoned her. They were the only things separating her from the dozens of rough, frightening, male inmates. So many violent men, she thought. And they were expressing such hatred of her, such vile intentions! She was sure she would be raped or murdered in an instant if she were put in with any of them.<br />“Wait ‘til they put you in with me, love,” said the emaciated, gray-haired ruin in the next cell. He looked Indian and there was a cruel glint in his eye. His twisted smile was distorted by several missing and broken teeth. “We’ll have a good time on my mat, white woman,” he snickered, snatching through the bars at her with his scrawny brown arms. She was just out of reach of his grasp. He could probe her with his fingertips, but no more.<br />“Stop it,” she cried weakly, trying to move away. “Don’t touch me!”<br />“You’re not a whore,” he breathed the black man in the opposite cell. A horrible scar ravaged his face, as if someone had mangled it with a knife in years past. “You’re a fine lady. Why are you here?”<br />“I… I don’t know,” she choked, weakly. “They said they found drugs in my husband’s car.”<br />Again the Indian man laughed. “I don’t know why those bastard guards put her in here, but she’s got the look of a lady.”<br />“Fine ladies make the best whores,” shouted the black man lunging for her. Evelyn was just out of his reach as well, but she cowered back from his groping hand, bringing her within the grasp of the Indian.<br />“AAIIIE!” she screamed had he took a firm hold of her ankle and pulled her against the steel bars.<br />“I want to feel that pussy,” he growled.<br />“Help me. Please, someone!” shouted Evelyn hysterically, flailing her legs and trying to kick him. Her soft bare feet had little effect.<br />“Quiet, you,” said the Indian. He held her foot tightly against the steel barrier. Evelyn could see he had something sharp in his hand and he stuck it painfully between the sensitive skin between her toes.<br />“Ahhh… Aaaagghhhh… don’t, please.” she begged pathetically.<br />“Stop kicking,” he said, pushing the blunt end of the shank even harder into her foot. “You shout again and I’ll slice your toes off!”<br />“Don’t hurt me… don’t hurt me,” Evelyn pleaded.<br />“Take off the smock,” he said, grinning in triumph.<br />She sat up and groaned in protest but complied, terrified that he would cut her. She saw his bloodshot eyes light up as she bared her luscious body.<br />“That’s right. Now face the bars and put your legs and arms through. Hurry, before someone comes!”<br />Evelyn obeyed his demand and threaded her legs and arms through the space between the bars.<br />“All the way,” he grunted, seizing her legs with an iron grip and pulling until her torso was fast against the steel. Her breasts spilled between the bars too, and her face and head fit snuggly between. She shook with sobs now, too afraid even to cry out.<br />“Pink, soft pussy,” he whispered, pressing his callused fingers into her most intimate flesh. He was not hurting her now, but the shame of being so utterly exposed to this gross, ugly stranger was mortifying in the extreme. Even Rick had not seen the very secret part of her body like this! Her vagina was now open; totally vulnerable, totally displayed. Closing her legs was impossible.<br />Evelyn gasped as he probed her so boldly. “If only you were in here,” he said. “I’d fuck your white cunt ‘till it bubbles red.”<br />Evelyn shook and sobbed softly. She wanted to disappear and hide as the man stroked her slit and played his fingers over her clitoris. A few hours before she had been comfortable and secure in her own home, a chaste, conservative wife. Now she was a prisoner, about to be sexually defiled on the floor of an African jail.<br />“You suck me,” said the Indian, rising and opening his prison pants and winding his hand around her soft neck. “Drink my seed.”<br />Evelyn’s eyes grew round as saucers as she realized he wanted the same unspeakably filthy thing that Ian had demanded. But where Ian had been white and handsome, this man was old and ugly, and Indian. She had been disgusted when she’d heard of other women doing it. Now she would have to do it with strangers, twice in one day. She felt his grip tighten on her throat as he sensed her resistance.<br />“Take it out,” he whispered evenly. “Put it in your mouth and suck on it.”<br />“Noooo… please, I can’t, I can’t! AAAAGGHHHHH! Please, I can’t bre… breath… please… AAAGGGG.”<br />“Take it out, woman.”<br />She reached into the odious man’s pants and gingerly took hold of his penis. She gasped with astonishment. It was very big and very long, much larger than Rick’s and even Ian’s.<br />“Do it now!” said the Indian man, impatiently, once again squeezing her neck.<br />Evelyn had no choice. She pulled the huge organ out of his pants, and it seemed even larger in her small, white hands. She hesitated again, unable to bring herself to actually put his unclean manhood in her mouth.<br />“Suck me,” he ordered through clinched teeth. “Open your mouth!”<br />She grimaced and closed her eyes tight, trying to shut out the intense shame of what was happening to her. His strong, bony hand held her head rigidly in position. She felt his thumb at the corner of one of her eyes.<br />“I’ll gouge it out,” he warned. “Open your mouth.”<br />Evelyn parted her lips. She wanted to gag as the man forced his manhood in. Instinctively she tried to pull away as she felt the shaft slide past her teeth, but he held her head unmoving and kept the thumb to her eye socket.<br />“Suck,” he breathed, moving himself in and out. “Use your tongue.”<br />Evelyn wanted to die and melt through a crack in the floor as the man started to hump her face. His old balls in their crinkled brown sac bounced against her chin. She heard the hoots of the other prisoners mingling with the man’s groans of pleasure, and such was her fear that she did hollow her cheeks and work her tongue on the bottom of his shaft. It seemed unreal, like some obscene nightmare.<br />It did not take the Indian man long to bring himself to fulfillment. In a couple of minutes he was wheezing, pressing his foul-smelling crotch tightly to her face and bellowing with joy. “Yes… ahhh, yes, white whore… suuuccckkk iiitttt!”<br />Then Evelyn felt the pulse of his shaft and the squirts of his vile load as he came, filling her mouth with his scum. He relaxed his hold on her head but still firmly grasped a fistful of her hair. She pulled away, and the still spurting manhood launched a last ejaculation behind her pretty teeth. Nauseated and fearing she would retch, the white wife frantically spat out his load on the concrete floor. <br />“Let me have her now,” said the black man in the adjacent cell.<br />“Yea,” laughed the Indian. “Slide your foot back over to him,” he ordered Evelyn. She did so and the black man grabbed her foot, pressing his own shank into it.<br />“Suck me, too,” he muttered.<br />Evelyn just wanted the horrible interlude to end. She held her head steady as the black man raped her mouth as well. Again, in a short time he began to orgasm, just as the Indian man had. He kept the rhythm of his pelvis steady until he too came, sending another load into her mouth. Evelyn took it all, but made to pull away again to spit his foul essence from her mouth. This time, he continued to hold her head and drew himself from her slack jaw, then clamped his other hand tight over her lips. “Drink it white bitch,” he gasped, “Swallow it!”<br />A feeling of complete revulsion swept over her as she was forced to swallow. The black man watched her throat muscles bob and smiled, satisfied.<br />“Make her press her ass up to the bars,” suggested the Indian. “Then we can fuck her from behind!”<br />It wasn’t courage that gave Evelyn the impetus to move. It was her panic at the realization that she was about to be raped for real. While the black man was still catching his breath from having cum in her mouth, she suddenly twisted away, slipping from his grasp. She cowered back against the block wall, just out of reach of both men, whimpering and trying to wipe the excess semen from her lips.<br />“You stupid Baaff,” shouted the Indian. “You let her go!”<br />“She bolted on me,” said the black man furiously.<br />“Next time hold her fast,” said the Indian.<br />Evelyn’s only garment, the prison smock was still on the floor. But she was too afraid to pick it up, since she would have to move within grabbing distance of the Indian. So she sat huddled in the corner, naked, trying to cover her bare charms from the other hooting prisoners.<br />She felt so alone. She needed the protection and strength of a husband. “Oh Rick,” she whispered, shaking. “If only you were here. I need you so bad. I need you!”<br /><br />“I’m sorry, Mrs. Kvindlog, there’s really not much the United States government can do to help at the moment, beyond finding a local solicitor for you.”<br />Evelyn had spent a long night in the ugly, concrete cell after she had escaped the other convict’s grasp. She had slept in fits, holding onto hope that American embassy would intercede and have her released. But the short, greasy white man sitting across the table didn’t inspire much confidence.<br />“You must get us released,” cried Evelyn. “Last night I was assaulted.”<br />“I can ask the Sudanese Ministry of Justice to investigate,” said the man. “But the United States has recently urged the government here to crack down on drug trafficking. We can’t ask them to simply turn loose one of our own nationals who has been caught running drugs. I’m sure we can get you and your husband back to America, Mrs. Kvindlog. But diplomacy takes time.”<br />“But Rick and I are innocent,” she protested. “We shouldn’t be in prison at all. Can’t you do anything? Tell them to let us see each other.”<br />“The Sudan is a sovereign country, Mrs. Kvindlog, we can’t tell them anything. You must realize that you’re going to be tried in their courts and be subject to their justice. We can lean on them a bit, but there are other considerations between the U.S. and the Sudan besides your case. It could take weeks to resolve your problem through channels. In the mean time, you could consider cutting a deal.”<br />“What do you mean?”<br />“Plead guilty in exchange for a light prison term. Cooperate. You might get better treatment while we work to get you out.”<br />Evelyn was outraged. “We’re not guilty! They… They’ve assaulted me sexually. They want me to…” She could not keep her face from flushing with shame. “Cheat on my husband… With black… With them.”<br />The embassy representative shrugged. “That’s about all I can suggest. Drug money was found in your husband’s car, and drugs were found in your house. The prosecutor has a very good case against you.”<br />“I can’t stay here!” said Evelyn desperately. “I was almost raped last night.”<br />“African prisons are no place for a woman,” said the little man. “Particularly young and attractive white woman. I wish I could help, but there’s really nothing we can do in the immediate future. You must be patient, Mrs. Kvindlog.”<br />He left, and Evelyn was taken back to her cell. Her Sudanese attorney arrived later that day, but he was even less sanguine about her chances than the embassy man, and he too was unable to effect her release.<br /> During the next few days Evelyn was put out on a prison work detail, cleaning the floors and toilet stalls. No one assaulted her, but the male inmates were constantly watching for a chance to get at her, and she knew it was only a matter of time before they did.<br />The young wife had not been allowed to see, or even talk to her husband, and Evelyn’s anxiety was increased by worry for him. Was he safe? Was he being subjected to the same treatment as she was? Those were the questions that tormented her.<br />The work was backbreaking and hard, and the conditions were miserable, but she made it through, clinging to the hope that at her trial she would be found innocent.<br />Evelyn’s trial was an afternoon affair. It was held before a judge, who decided guilt or innocence. There was no jury. She was overjoyed to see Rick there, and she was allowed to sit with him in court. He seemed very worn by his days in the prison, and although Evelyn longed to talk to someone sympathetic, she did not want to burden him further by telling him how she had been abused.<br />“Rick, what happened? How did they find drugs in the car?”<br />“I don’t know,” he answered. “We’ve been set up somehow, I don’t know why. The man from the embassy said our parents have been barred from entering the country. Again, I don’t know why.”<br />“Oh Rick, why did we come here,” she cried. “What’s going to happen to us?”<br />“I don’t know,” he said, his head hanging. “I hope we’ll be acquitted, but… I don’t know, Evelyn.”<br />After that they were separated, and events seemed a blur. Court procedures were observed and evidence was submitted. Rick had been stopped at the border. In the trunk of his car was a brief case full of millions of Kenyan shillings, and $200,000 U.S. dollars. The house had been searched after Evelyn had been arrested, and the police had found a large cache of high-grade hashish, refined opium and other contraband, thus implicating her.<br />Rick and Evelyn were allowed to speak in their own behalf, but their testimony to the court was met with incredulity. They were found guilty in less than two hours, and the judge pronounced sentences immediately.<br />Rick received life in prison, and he broke down, crying like a child and pleading for mercy.<br />Evelyn nearly fainted when her sentence was read. Twenty years to life. Both terms were to be at hard labor. She sobbed into her hands as she saw the officers take custody of Rick. No tower of strength now, he did not even look at Evelyn as he was led away. <br /><br />Evelyn Kvindlog was sure her life was over. She had seen the husband she loved led away to life in a filthy Sudanese prison, and herself sentenced to a minimum 20 years. That had been several days ago. Since then, she had spent mostly sleepless nights in her cell, just out of reach of the male inmates. She had been processed, and was going to be sent to a work camp. Though she had avoided being raped so far the inmates and guards alike had taunted her with the declaration that the camp she was headed for was “Rape City” and she had better learn the skills of a whore sooner than later.<br />The night before she was to be taken to the prison camp, she was summoned to the warden’s office without explanation. A guard escorted her to the door, unlocked it and pushed her in, leaving her behind and locking the door.<br />Evelyn sat and waited, nervously wondering what it was all about but thankful to be out of her terrifying cell, even for a few moments. She was startled by the sound of a key in the door- even more startled when the person who entered was Dr. Kamwego.<br />Hope, dead for the past week, sprang to new life in Evelyn’s heart. Though she feared and hated the man for what he had done to her, in the situation she was in, he now seemed like a savior.<br />“Dr. Kamwego… I… I…”<br />The large black man ignored her and sat in the warden’s chair, across from the desk. “Come here, Evelyn,” he said. “Kneel in front of me.”<br />Evelyn obeyed. She hated to have to grovel to this man, but she would do anything to avoid being sent back to the hell of her prison cell. Or perhaps worse, the rape camp. “Please doctor… Please help us. Rick and I have been wrongly convicted as…”<br />“Quiet,” snapped Kamwego. “At my request, and in light of your young age, the judge had decided to give you a chance at rehabilitation. You’re being released to church custody tonight. There are a few conditions for your release,” he said.<br />Evelyn knew that he undoubtedly would want sex from her, and she knew that by agreeing to his terms she would be tacitly submitting to his advances. She also knew she had no choice. One week in a Sudanese prison had convinced her that even being exposed to the doctor’s sexual abuse was far better than the rape camp. Biting her lower lip, she nodded and lowered her eyes in submission. “What do I… what do I have to do?” she asked finally, resignation and defeat in her voice.<br />“You must agree to obey all the laws of the church. They will be taught to you by one of your kind. A white woman who has learned her place. If you violate the rules of the church, I will punish you or send you back to prison at my discretion. Do you understand this?”<br />“Yes. Yes, sir,” she choked, still on her knees. <br />He reached down to lift her chin. “You are quite beautiful. Let’s get you out of this shit-hole, then we shall decide how you can best serve the church.”<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 8<br /><br />When Evelyn was dropped off at her house that night, she was so tired that all she wanted was a shower and sleep.<br />When she walked through the door however, she found things moved around and changed. Some of the furniture was gone, and there were several new pieces. She and Rick’s personal effects were missing. At first she thought that someone must have burglarized the house. But what thief would bring in new items?<br />The entire decoration of the house was much more ‘African” in flavor. A large woven-grass rug featuring African motifs covered much of the living room floor. Everywhere there was African art and ornamentation. She went to the bedroom to see if anything was missing, and stopped dead in the doorway. The huge gardener was there, lying on the bed. He was wearing only a wrap about his waist, and Evelyn could clearly see the extraordinary quality of his physic. It did not appear that she had awakened him, so she quietly left the room.<br />As threatened as she felt with the gardener in the house, Evelyn knew she couldn’t leave. She was in no mood to brave the African outdoors overnight. And if she got caught, the doctor might think she was trying to escape again. There way no way that she was in a condition to confront him, and she was not going to force this huge brute of a black man to leave the house. She decided to sleep on the couch in the living room for the night, and see what could be done about more permanent accommodations later. N’Gono seemed to be sleeping deeply in the bedroom, so she thought it was all right to take a shower. After several days in the prison she was desperate for one.<br />The bathroom seemed undisturbed by whoever had made the changes. She removed her smock, turned on the water and stepped into the stall. Evelyn was at last alone with time to think. The events of recent days had left her mind spinning, her psyche off balance. She had expected the doctor to take her back to the villa and rape her again, and had done her best to steel herself for that eventuality. She had been puzzled when he’d simply taken her home, but too fatigued to think much on it.<br />Then Evelyn thought she heard a rustling outside the shower. She was about to stick her head around the curtain when it opened. Evelyn startled and caught her breath. There, standing before her was N’Gono. He was naked, in all his black, savage glory.<br />“N’Gono like rain room,” he said, smiling. Before she could protest he stepped into the shower with her.<br />“White woman is welcome in my house,” he said. As the hot water streamed over them he put his hands behind his head and flexed his incredible muscles.<br />Evelyn stood amid the rising steam, too afraid to protest and covering her breasts and mons as best she could. Her eyes however, were involuntarily drawn to his heroic manhood, dangling from the juncture of his legs. It was uncircumcised and huge. Though flaccid it was still much larger than Rick’s when his was erect.<br />N’Gono seemed mildly perturbed at her demure. “You not try to hide you body, woman. You in African man’s house.”<br />“Please… you don’t understand, N’Gono. I’m married. My vows to Rick… HHHaaaaaaa!”<br />He slapped her hard in the face. Evelyn’s blood ran cold. It was the first time this enormous man had done anything violent to her.<br />“Woman not speak of white man. He gone. White woman belong to N’Gono now! Drop arms. White woman behave properly in N’Gono’s house.”<br />Frightened and wide-eyed, Evelyn obeyed.<br />N’Gono smiled. The storm of his anger had passed as suddenly as it had appeared. “Woman bathe N’Gono now.”<br />Fearful of sparking his anger again, Evelyn took the soap and began to tentatively rub it on his shoulder. She was very uncomfortable using her hands on his body, but there was no wash cloth in the shower. She worked the soap over his chest raising the suds and lathering his torso and arms. He turned slowly and Evelyn knew he wanted her to wash his back as well.<br />His muscles were so hard, and so smooth, his skin so black. The contrast of her white hands moving over it intrigued her. There was almost an aura of power that exuded from the man, and Evelyn felt a bit lightheaded. She was naked and alone with him, and he could do exactly as he pleased with her.<br />Evelyn finished his back and he turned again. She knelt and lathered his sinuous legs from top to bottom. She reached down to wash his feet and he lifted each to help her. Everything about him was so big and tough and strong. She knew this man could easily crush the life from Rick, even if he were here to protect her.<br />At last, Evelyn looked up to work on the one part of his anatomy she had not washed, his massive genitals. She stood, pausing with apprehension and expecting a slap or other admonishment for stopping. None came. She looked up into his face and saw he was staring at her naked chest. He slowly brought his hand up to touch her right breast and the nipple hardened instantly under his fingers. <br />“N’Gono never have white woman before,” he said softly.<br />Evelyn was trying to breathe evenly. Intellectually she knew he intended to have sex with her. She had resigned herself to sex with the doctor as the price of staying out of prison until help came from her family or the U.S. embassy. Now she was faced with the demands of this man. Her mind reeled with conflicting emotions. N’Gono was much more attractive than Kamwego. But if she submitted to him she would then have cheated on Rick with two different men, and somehow that seemed worse. A second later she was shocked by the way she had been thinking. I don’t find any black men attractive, she told herself. I don’t! N’Gono was just an ugly savage like Kamwego- wasn’t he?<br />What deeply troubled her was the reaction she’d had with the doctor- the same reaction that was building within her now. She could live with being forced into sex. But enjoying the act seemed like even more of a betrayal of her vows. She couldn’t let N’Gono make her feel the same things the doctor had. <br />He palmed her breast, and Evelyn felt his fingers kneading it. His touch was strong and insistent, yet in no way brutal. She saw his face and knew in that moment that this man would not hurt her without reason. He did not require her to feel pain, only to serve him. She gasped when he brought his other hand to her sex. He delved through the crease gently and found her wetness, slicker than the water. He knew how she was responding to him.<br />“You good woman. Have needs like Dinka woman. You need Dinka cock.”<br />Then she touched it. It twitched in her hand and she could actually feel it swelling, stiffening in her tenuous grasp. Evelyn felt another pang of guilt. She was married and there was no way she should be doing this. But she had no choice, she told herself. And when she and Rick gained release, he would never have to know.<br />She soaped her hands and applied the suds to N’Gono’s manhood. It was now throbbing, erect and pointing directly at her navel. His testicles hung low, heavy and potent as she washed them gently with her soft fingers.<br />The showerhead was on a hose and Evelyn detached it from the wall. She directed the stream all over his body, washing the soap away and rinsing herself as well. When she was finished she replaced the hose and turned, intending to shut the water off and step out. But his hand on her shoulder stopped her. She felt him lift her chin, then was astonished when he leaned down and kissed her tenderly on the lips.<br />She stepped back and looked at his ebony face through round eyes. He was so overpoweringly masculine!<br />Then she saw his thick lips descend to hers once more, but not with tender mildness. This time he clamped his mouth to hers, plundering and devouring with his tongue and teeth ravishing with all the passion of his Dinka soul. He seemed to suck the breath from her lungs as he held her head firmly in the grasp of both hands.<br />“NNNnnn… hhhhmmmmuuuggg…” she grunted, trying to breathe. When he released her she was compelled to gasp for air, dazed and panting.<br />“N’Gono!”<br />He seized her by the hips then, lifting her effortlessly with his powerful arms. He shoved her to the wall roughly, pinning her back to the tile. His great pulsing manhood was poised at her sex, and Evelyn felt the head, pushing, probing at her labia. “N’Gono claim you now, white woman,” he whispered forcefully. “Put N’Gono in!”<br />Evelyn hesitated with a whimper, but his grip tightened with painful warning on the flesh of her hips. She reached down with trembling hands, found his cock and guided the black head to her most secret core. It lodged there between the pink folds.<br />“Get legs around N’Gono,” he ordered. “Now!”<br />Fear of falling as well as fear of his wrath forced Evelyn’s compliance. She wrapped her legs about his sturdy pelvis and placed her hands on his broad shoulders. Then she uttered a long gasp as he relaxed his support of her frame and allowed her to slither down the wall, slowly impaling herself on his dark manhood.<br />“Ah… Aaahhh… aaahhuuhhh… Oh please… it’s so big!”<br />N’Gono was flexing his hips and pushing himself up, even as she sank lower, and his manhood sank deeper. His phallus was the largest she had ever felt. Bigger even than Dr. Kamwego’s.<br />“N’Gono,” Evelyn whined, pressing against his buttocks with her bare heels to try and slow the entry of his shaft. The effort merely clenched her body tighter to his frame.<br />N’Gono’s Negroid face was smiling. He grunted with masculine triumph when the spongy head of his penis pressed into her cervix. The descent ended, and Evelyn felt a hot tingle as her clit contacted the root of his black baton.<br />“You… you’re… in me… All the way now!” she panted.<br />His mouth returned to hers and ravished it even more savagely now. He flexed his lower back downward and withdrew some length from her stretched vagina, only to thrust forward again into her depths.<br />Evelyn groaned, but her sheath was adjusting to his size. His kiss seemed to go on forever while the overstuffed sensation in her vagina faded. With each passing second her libido was awakening again. The feel of his body and cock were charging her needs.<br />He began to rut, moving in and out with methodical rhythm. The warm flow of the shower continued to rain down on them and the stall had become steamy, the air thick like the lust building in Evelyn’s brain.<br />“Haaahhhh,” he breathed into her ear. “White woman need… Dinka cock…”<br />“I can… feel you so deep…” she moaned. “Oh please… N’Gono… hhuuuu… I can’t… soooo deeeep… UUUHHHHH! Take me! Ha, haaa, ahhh. Evelyn convulsed as her mind disintegrated in a shattering orgasm. Her vagina tightened around his African manhood as if it held life itself, while her hips undulated and churned with coital urgency. When her mind cleared enough for conscious thought she gazed into his face again.<br />His smile was still there, and his phallus still rock hard and fully erect inside her. <br />“Woman like Dinka man-cock,” he laughed.<br />Momentarily spent, Evelyn rested her head on his collarbone. But he began to move again, pumping her with long, ardent strokes. She fit his cock perfectly now and they seemed made for each other. Steady now, with a rhythm as ancient and bold as Africa itself, he plied her.<br />Evelyn had never felt so helpless. Trapped against the wall with this giant black native brutally thrusting the full length of his thick maleness in and out of her married white belly. She had never felt such pleasure and desire. It went on and on as he honed her. Time and urgency dissipated in the foggy room as the lovers experienced each other- time marked only by the cadence of his thrusts and the slow rebuilding of her need back to fever pitch.<br />At last, the pace of his thrusts quickened and Evelyn’s climax broke. He stopped, to grind his loins into her with crushing pressure and fasten his hungry lips to hers. Then she felt the liquid explosion in her depths. Evelyn screamed into his enveloping mouth as his semen splashed in searing torrents into her belly.<br />Again the room swirled about her. Evelyn started to go limp, but was forced to cling to his hips with her legs and keep his penis inside of her to avoid collapsing to the hard tile floor. She expected him to put her down, but he held her there for some time, impaled on his still rampant shaft.<br /> He reached behind her to shut off the water, then stepped out of the stall, still hold her mounted on his manhood. Evelyn was still in a daze but marveled at his strength, He handled her so easily, walking into the bedroom and sitting on the bed. Laying back and pulling her on top on him. All without breaking the fusion of their genitals.<br />“Work for it,” he said. “White woman work for more N’Gono seed.” Evelyn was very tired, but he enforced his command by seizing her<br />throat and lifting, forcing her to bring her feet under her to relieve the weight on her neck. As she squatted on him he let go, and Evelyn sank back onto his shaft. She looked at him, her breath heavy and body immobile with indecision. She had never had sex in anything but the missionary position. This obscene posture, squatting like some primitive pre-human, seemed so wanton and bestial. It required her to act, to participate in her own violation. But she worried he would become hostile again, or even throw her out of the house. Biting her lower lip she began to rock coitally, looking into his face to see if he approved.<br /> “Fuck N’Gono,” he growled. “Learn what N’Gono like after hard day work.”<br /> Evelyn’s inhibition vanished as she felt his cock swell. She placed her hands on his ebony chest, and began to lift and drop herself with a fast rhythm. Their mingled cum, frothing white and running lewdly down his shaft provided ample lubrication. Soon Evelyn was bouncing in ecstasy on his length, pumping against the bed with the balls of her feet and digging her toes into the sheets.<br /> N’Gono reached up to cup her breasts as they gyrated with her motions. She came quickly, primed by her two previous orgasms.<br />“Uuhhh! Uuuhh, uuhhh, uuuuhh, my god! UUUUYYYHHHH!” Evelyn threw her head back and the ceiling spun like a vortex as her climax raged and her belly roiled on his stiffness. Then the bright bubble popped.<br />Evelyn crashed onto his black chest, utterly expended. But N’Gono was still hard.<br /> He held the woman by the ribs and rolled over onto her. Then, still mounted, he began to fuck her languid form with savage intensity. Despite her fatigue, Evelyn’s body responded- now open and accepting as never before due to exhaustion. She held onto him, needing to feel his strength and energy. Her hands clasped tightly under his arms, her delicate white feet waving behind his buttocks with each forward lunge of his hips. Evelyn had become the image of the slave girl of Africa’s past. A captured white bride bereft of the husband of her own race and cringing submissively under her new black master. Being broken to the duties of a new life with a massive African cock plundering her very womb.<br /> N’Gono bellowed and Evelyn felt his eruption once again, bloating her already full vagina and spilling into her uterine cavity. Then as a fourth orgasm tore from her lungs the room went dark. Evelyn swooned beneath his weight.<br />She had literally been fucked into unconsciousness.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 9<br /><br />When Evelyn awoke the next morning she was naked, and lying on top of the heavily rumpled bed. N’Gono had gone to work and she was alone.<br />She swung her legs to the floor as waves of the darkest guilt washed over her. She had betrayed Rick again. This time with the black gardener. It was bad enough to have to suffer the advances of other men for a time, but to become caught up as she had last night? What could she do? What if Rick or her family found out? She was so confused! The young white wife buried her head in her hands and cried for half an hour.<br />As memories of the previous night assaulted her mind, it went strangely numb. She staggered into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. The woman who stared back seemed to be a different person. She was not wearing the tidy little nightgown she always slept in and wore in the morning, (even after having sex with Rick she would habitually slip into it). Her hair was a mess, breasts and nipples sore and tingling, and a dull ache throbbed between her legs. On the side of her face she could still see the red mark of N’Gono’s slap, now fading, but still bearing shameful witness to her weakness and capitulation. She gazed on herself with mixed wonder and horror as the events of the night before unfolded in her mind.<br />How could it be? She thought. How could this moment have ever come about? Evelyn Kvindlog regarding herself in a mirror- the morning after she had been raped again! What did she expect to see?<br />It was almost surreal. She’d had sex with another man, another black man! Yet now she was astonished at how normal she looked. The image in the glass was still Evelyn Kvindlog, the same face and body she had always known. But she had been defiled. By that man, and by herself. What right did she have to look the same!<br />Now there were tears flowing down her cheeks. Evelyn hugged herself and wept. She was afraid and ashamed, but managed to pull herself together enough to think. It could never happen again, she thought with determination. Somehow she would find a way to be faithful to Rick from now on and he would never have to know.<br />It was not her fertile time of the month, but her birth-control pills were still in the little box in the medicine cabinet. As a precaution she took one. <br />Then she remembered that someone had changed the house around in her absence. In the bedroom one of the chests of drawers was missing. The other was filled with men’s clothing, mostly heavy work garments. The closets were empty, but there was a small dresser in the corner that contained African women’s clothing; rectangular cloths of varying sizes, a couple of head scarves and some primitive looking leather and bead adornments. There were also some bathing suits, small two piece bikinis and thongs. Evelyn looked at them and decided they would look extremely revealing on a woman. They were not traditional African clothing, but they were very bright, and had something of an African cut to them.<br />With nothing else to wear, Evelyn donned the prison smock and explored the house, bewildered by the changes. She found that the rest of the clothing in the house had been removed, even what had been in boxes. Also curious was the fact there were no shoes or stockings, except a couple of pair of men’s. They were very large and did not belong to Rick.<br />She was still shaking her head, wondering what was going on when she was startled by knocking at the front door. Evelyn went to answer it, hoping it wasn’t the doctor.<br />It was her friend Julie, still wearing the odd African clothes, and carrying a baby on her shoulder in a kind of sling.<br />“Ju… Julie?”<br />“Well, you’re sleeping late,” said Julie sympathetically. “Dr. Kamwego told me to come by and help you- ah, teach you about the church.”<br />“I… ah… come in.” Evelyn was suddenly mindful of her own disheveled condition, but she was thankful to see a friendly face that she knew. She was shocked anew however, when her young friend reached up casually, and pulled her own top off upon entering the house. Her lovely, tan breasts sprung out, obviously swollen with milk.<br />“Evelyn, are you all right? I know how bad that prison is. Some girls are never the same when they get out of there.”<br />“No, I’m… I’m fine. I just don’t know what’s going on here. Someone has changed everything in my house and stolen some of my things… I… I miss Rick and… I wish I were back in America…” she began crying and Julie laid a comforting arm around her shoulders.<br />“I know. I was hard for me too. It’s that way for all of us at first. But you’ll adapt. You’ll learn the rules and how to act. It’s not so bad then.”<br />Evelyn nodded, still confused but grateful for Julie’s sympathy. “Can… can I see your baby?”<br />“Of course,” said Julie proudly. She picked up the child and opened the little cloth sling he was wrapped in. Evelyn thought he was a beautiful boy, obviously of mixed race. “He has my mouth,” said Julie, handing him to Evelyn. “His father’s African genes are dominant everywhere else.”<br />Both girls smiled and giggled. It seemed so unreal to Evelyn, to be talking as Julie stood there bare breasted. Julie acted like there was nothing out of the ordinary, but Evelyn remembered her as such an overly modest girl and wondered how she could expose herself like that. It was disconcerting. Somehow however, the baby had a way of calming tensions and conveying a sense that everything was going to be all right. They watched as he squirmed a little in his sleep, the Negroid features of his tiny face, so serene.<br />Julie tended to the child for a moment, and Evelyn was suddenly very curious.<br />“Julie, what about Tom?” Evelyn was immediately sorry she had asked, because Julie looked away, as if Evelyn had brought up a taboo subject.<br />“I’m sorry,” said Evelyn. “It’s just, last time I saw you, you two were the perfect couple, so much in love. What happened?”<br />“Evelyn, I think it’s time we went over some of the rules. One of them is that we never, ever, talk about, or refer to our white ex-husbands. Especially in the presence of the black men. You’ll get a severe beating if you do.”<br />“But Rick is not an Ex,” said Evelyn.<br />“Evelyn, he’s no longer a part of your life. Dr. Kamwego has given you to N’Gono and you must give your loyalty to him.”<br />Evelyn frowned. “I don’t understand. What do you mean he’s given me to someone?”<br />“N’Gono is a new church member from the Dinka tribe. It’s the doctor’s custom to welcome a new member by giving him a white woman.”<br />Evelyn’s eyes widened. “You mean he… I’m…?”<br />“Yes, Evelyn. You belong to N’Gono now and he will take Rick’s place in your life. You will live with him, serve him, sleep with him, and most of all, fuck him. This is the African way.”<br />“But… I can’t… Rick’s also a member.”<br />Julie was shaking her head. “Rick’s not a member. There are no white men in the church. You might see a few white men around but they aren’t members.”<br />“But I’m married to Rick,” said Evelyn, crying with mixed anger and incredulity. “How can I…?”<br />Julie put a comforting arm around her and pulled her to the couch. “Evelyn,” she said gently. “You must accept that your relationship with Rick is over, just as I had to forget about Tom. I know it’s hard, but you have no choice. It will be for the best, you’ll see.”<br />Evelyn looked up at her friend with tears on her face. She was frightened, but her resolve held. “No. This is only temporary. The American government is going to get us released and we’ll go back to the states. I just have to get by until then…”<br />Julie smiled knowingly. “I know it’s hard to accept. I felt the same way. I was sure Tom and I would…”<br />“Julie, what happened to Tom? Please don’t be angry with me for asking.”<br />Julie didn’t answer; she smiled warmly and enigmatically for a brief moment. “I’ll tell you later, Evelyn. Just don’t ask in front of one of the black men. Right now I need to help you get dressed. You’ve got to get out of that wretched prison rag!”<br />Julie checked her baby, then took Evelyn to the bedroom, and opened the little dresser.<br />“Ah, here we are,” said Julie. She took one of the colorful cloths from the drawer. It was a simple rectangle about half a meter wide by a meter and a half, and made of soft airy cotton. “Take off that smock. I’ll show you how to wear this.”<br />Evelyn pulled the ugly garment over her head. She was a little self-conscious standing in the nude, even though it was only Julie standing there.<br />“This is called a ‘kanga.’ Wrap it around you, like so,” said Julie. “Then tuck it in and tie it off here at the side.”<br />Evelyn copied the girl. “I… I don’t have any panties…”<br />“Underclothes aren’t worn with traditional African clothing,” said Julie. “Here, take the smaller kanga and tie the two ends together. Then place your neck through and bring it down to hold your breasts.”<br />Julie tied it for Evelyn. It fit like a sling around her neck and Julie pulled it down to hold her breasts, adjusting and fitting it so it was comfortable. “There,” she said.<br />Evelyn looked at herself in the mirror. The wrap at her waist covered her legs to just above the knees. But it hung low on her hips. It was the top that gave Evelyn the most concern. “It doesn’t cover much,” she fretted. “My whole back is bare!”<br />Julie shrugged. “You must wear something that is cool, and can be removed easily.”<br />“Why removed easily?” asked Evelyn. “What’s wrong with a blouse and bra?”<br />“You must uncover your breasts when you enter a black man’s house, Evelyn. The top kanga’s only for when you go out. Even then you must take it off when black man tells you to.”<br />Evelyn frowned, but Julie reached up and pulled the material from her friend’s chest and lifted it over her head.<br />“You must have it off in case N’Gono comes home.”<br />Evelyn sighed. There was no way she was going to remove her top all the time in her own house, in front of that black gardener! She tucked the top kanga under her waist wrap the way Julie showed her.<br />“We need to go soon,” said Evelyn. “We have work to do down on the lakeshore.”<br />“All my shoes are gone,” said Evelyn.<br />“We aren’t allowed to wear shoes,” said Julie. “White women are always barefoot. We wear traditional African clothing. Dr. Kamwego says it helps break our pride and our western identities. It promotes a feeling of humility and dependence. We can’t travel far on our own, and we know we belong to Africa because we can feel the heat of the ground and the roughness of the road.”<br />The baby awoke and began to cry. Julie hurried into the living room, picked up the baby and held him to her naked breast. His little carob colored lips found her enlarged, dark red nipple and surrounded it. Evelyn noticed that Julie seemed to coo and hold the child’s head to her breast lovingly. Evelyn was surprised when she headed out the door with the baby still suckling hungrily at her breast.<br />“Shouldn’t we stay here until he’s been fed?” asked Evelyn, putting her own top back on before she opened the door. “You need privacy, Julie.”<br />“White women breastfeed in public here all the time,” said Julie, licking her infant’s head affectionately. “We must hurry. There’s lots of work to do.”<br />Evelyn quickly put her top back on and the women headed down the walkway to the beach. Evelyn was thankful that the gravel on the path was smoothly rounded and did not hurt her feet.<br />The shoreline of the lake was dotted with small beach houses. Shacks really, which consisted of little more than four walls, a roof, and a bed and a toilet. Each had an outdoor shower as well. All of them had been recently used, and the girls set about cleaning the rooms and toilets and putting the beds to order. About mid-day they were joined by two more white women, who brought them lunch.<br />Vicky and Deanna were also white, and dressed the same as Evelyn and Julie. Both of them also had their hair braided and interwoven with beads in the African style. And both of them had the tribal tattoos on their lower backs. Deanna was blonde, about twenty-five. She had a black baby about the same age as Julie’s. Vicky was much younger, sixteen or eighteen at the most and a very lovely, delicate redhead. She was also very pregnant, and her protruding belly often undulated with little kicks from her energetic fetus. The four of them sat in the shade and ate the simple lunch of sandwiches and fruit.<br />“How long have you been in the church?” asked Deanna of Evelyn.<br />“My hus…” Evelyn caught herself. “I got here two weeks ago from the U.S.” said Evelyn.<br />“I’m from Britain,” said Deanna. “Vicky’s from America.”<br />“I came to Kenya to be a nanny,” said the younger girl. “I was working for a white family in Nairobi. One night when my employers were gone I went to sleep, and woke up here. I’ve been here about nine months.”<br />“Deanna’s been here almost two years,” said Julie. “She got here right after I did.”<br />The women talked all through lunch. Evelyn found she was very at ease with them and realized how much she had missed female companionship. They talked about their babies and Vicky’s pregnancy, about the weather and their little huts. But most of all they discussed the black men they were living with. Evelyn did not hear a single word about ex white husbands, although Evelyn suspected that Deanna at least had been married. She wondered if perhaps the women mistrusted each other and feared punishment from the black men. <br />When lunch was over, the four of them worked on the beach huts and finished cleaning them by dusk. Then Julie walked Evelyn back to her house.<br />“Goodnight, Tomorrow we work in the villa,” said Julie, “and work on you.”<br />“Goodnight Julie,” said Evelyn. “Thanks for being a friend.”<br />Her friend smiled and left, but Evelyn wondered what Julie’s last phrase meant.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 10<br /><br />Evelyn walked through the door of her home and discovered N’Gono was not yet there. She was determined to avoid him, partially because she did not trust her own body. She took a shower, and then borrowed a blanket from the bedroom so that she could sleep on the couch.<br />He entered the house while she was still in the living room. Evelyn thought nothing of it and had her back turned when he suddenly grabbed her by the hair and threw her to the floor. Caught totally by surprise, she looked up to see his face a mask of rage.<br />“Wha… what’s wrong… please, I didn’t do anything…” she gasped.<br />“White woman learn respect,” he shouted. “White woman learn obey!” Before she could react, he was tying her hands with a leather cord and running a rope between them. Then he threw a length of the rope over one of the rafters in the living room.<br />“Please. What did I do?” she cried.<br />He ignored her and pulled the rope, hoisting her up by the wrists until she was almost suspended. Then he tied the rope off.<br />N’Gono turned her body to toward him and slapped her face repeatedly.<br />“What’s wrong?” she sobbed. “Please tell me why you’re doing this!”<br />“White woman insult N’Gono! White woman cover her teats in N’Gono house! White woman not kneel when N’Gono enter his house!”<br />Then Evelyn saw that the big black man had a long, thin rod in his hand. He yanked the top over her head, spilling her breasts into the open. Then Evelyn knew. She had failed to take off her top, as Julie had warned her she must.<br />“Please… I didn’t mean to insult you… I didn’t know!<br />He pulled her waist kanga off, leaving her naked, dangling from her wrists. Evelyn closed her eyes, embarrassed at being so exposed. And he surprised her again. <br />AAAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEE!” The most excruciating pain Evelyn had<br />ever felt exploded onto her chest. She opened her eyes wide as she realized he was actually whipping her for not removing her top! She was so uncomfortable with the idea, and the rule had seemed so trivial that she had simply disregarded Julie’s warning. Now he meant to whip her! With that stiff rod!<br />“White woman obey N’Gono!” he shouted. “White woman never disrespect N’Gono again.”<br />“AAAAIIIIEEEEE!” she screamed with the next lash. “Please, I won’t do it again. I won’t! AAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHH!”<br />He began laying the rod across her sensitive breasts with savage force, punishing the area of her body involved with her infraction. The message was driven home with hideous clarity. She had committed a major breach with her rebellious modesty.<br />“AAAAUUUHHHAAAA! GOD IT HURTS PLEASE I SWEAR N’GONO! Huuaahh… Please, I’ll never… HHAAAAAAAAHHHH!”<br />Evelyn was sobbing hysterically, but he had finally stopped. “Please… I’ll… take my… top… off… Oh please… don’t whip me anymore!”<br />N’Gono grunted and was scowling at her, but she could see his anger was abated. He lowered her arms and released her wrists from the bindings.<br />“I’m sorry. I forgot… about your customs,” she whimpered, trying to catch her breath.<br />His face softened, but there was still and edge to his voice. “Woman not share N’Gono’s bed tonight. Woman must learn.” <br />He dragged her by the hair, outside, into the desert night, as she stumbled and tried to keep her balance. Perhaps a hundred meters from the house he stopped. There was an old tree standing alone with a rusty chain attached to the trunk, apparently intended to restrain a dog. He wrapped the end about Evelyn’s neck and closed the links with a padlock. Then he left and walked went back to the house, leaving her alone and naked in the desert.<br />Evelyn staggered to her feet and looked back wistfully in the<br />direction of the house. The lights were just visible beyond a rise, glimmering in the distance. She watched for a long time, waiting for him to return, telling herself that he certainly wouldn’t abandon her like this.<br />“N’Gono?” She called weakly. “N’Gono… please come back…” There was no answer but the mournful cry of the wind. Bewilderment gradually gave way to panic as she realized he might intend to leave her there, at least for the night.<br />“N’Gono, please. I’ll obey the rules, I promise.” Her voice was small and frightened now, and the vast, dark expanse of wilderness seemed to close in about her.<br />Very frightened, Evelyn wrapped her arms protectively around her soft female body. “N’Gono,” she shouted toward the house. “Please don’t leave me alone!”<br />The lights went out in the house and Evelyn’s panic surged. She stood there for a long time, hoping, pleading to herself that he would come back. She knew there were wild animals about in these parts and kept thinking there were eyes and shadows stalking her. Finally, she sat down, then curled up in a ball beside the old weathered tree.<br />After a time Evelyn tried to sleep, but it was difficult to get comfortable on the hard, unforgiving earth. Her troubled mind kept playing tricks on her. She heard movement in the brush and several times screamed when she thought some ravenous beast was approaching. <br />Evelyn thought about N’Gono and what had happened that night. Her breasts still smarted from his brutal punishment, but strangely enough she did not hate him. In fact she was inexplicably drawn to him. Ironically, she had come home last evening determined to make a stand for her vows with Rick and not to sleep with the big Dinka. Now she longed for the warmth of his bed. And it was N’Gono she thought about, N’Gono she wished to cuddle to, N’Gono who represented security and in whose arms she yearned to be- not Rick.<br />Evelyn held herself closer, shivering. Though it was a balmy African evening, there was a bit of a chill in the air for a naked woman sleeping outside. The night seemed to last forever. She managed to sleep for awhile, but was haunted by fitful dreams, until a hint of dawn shone faint in the eastern sky.<br />She heard footsteps. Evelyn bit her lower lip and closed her eyes, trying to remain perfectly still. Was it N’Gono- or something else coming to devour her?<br />She opened her eyes and gritted her teeth with fear when a large, black figure loomed over her in the dim light. Then she felt the key in the lock and opened her eyes. It was N’Gono!<br />He gave her water from a canteen and unwrapped the chain from her neck. Evelyn impulsively embraced him. She buried her face in his thick black neck, crying wordlessly and clinging to him tightly.<br />He led her back on his muscular, black arm, holding her lest she stumble on stiff legs. Evelyn’s mind cleared slowly as they walked back, but the lesson had been learned. She was a woman, weak and helpless in a wild African land. She needed a man to protect her and provide for her basic needs.<br />At least for now, that man was N’Gono- and no other. <br />They reached the house as the sky was turning red and the stars were fading. Evelyn was still slightly disoriented and did not resist as he bent her nude form over the arm of the couch. He pushed her legs apart and reached under to stroke in circles around nub her clit.<br />Evelyn was instantly wet for him, and his thick manhood seemed to slide in much easier than before. With one thrust he had gored her with his full ten inches. The white woman grunted, feeling him once more at the entrance of her womb.<br />“N’Gono!” she gasped.<br />He reached around to play with her breasts, squeezing and pulling at her tits as if milking them. Inside her belly, his thick, black foreskin dragged her vaginal walls sending sparks up her spine. The sensations were overpowering, but subtly different from their previous coupling. She had never been taken from behind by Rick and the feeling was oddly impersonal and animalistic- and exciting as well. N’Gono’s cock was touching her in places that had never been touched, and causing sensations that had never been sensed. And he was deeper than ever before.<br />Once again she was turning to putty at the end of his black manhood, becoming a mindless shape of female need. He pulled her head back by the hair and began humping her rapidly, causing her nipples to rasp back and forth over the fabric of the couch.<br />“You belong N’Gono, white woman. You obey N’Gono in his house!”<br />“Yes… yes…” she screamed in lust fogged delirium. “I belong to you! N’Gono, I belong to you!”<br />Then Evelyn felt his cock swell, and the floodgates open. He pressed himself fast against her, holding her back by her long hair as he emptied his balls into the clasping confines of her belly. Then he released her, and her face dropped to the seat of the couch. He lay over her, letting his weight settle on her form.<br />He was heavy, but Evelyn was still cold, and the warmth of his upper body on her back felt good. His huge organ was still lodged inside her, and when he withdrew it, Evelyn felt a sense of genuine loss.<br />N’Gono said nothing to her. He merely got up and dressed, leaving her there. After he left a few moments later, she dragged herself to the shower and crashed into the bed, thinking just before she nodded off that the sheets were still warm, and smelled of his manly body.<br /> <br />Two hours latter she was awakened again. Julie was at the front door pounding and shouting.<br />“Evelyn wake up! We have a lot to do at the villa.”<br />Evelyn rose and dressed quickly in her kangas. She felt much better now but was still a bit unsteady when she answered the door.<br />“What’s wrong with you? You look like you slept with the jackals!”<br />Evelyn told Julie what had happened, and her friend was not very sympathetic. “I warned you, Evelyn. African men don’t tolerate any rebellion from their women.”<br />“But I wasn’t rebelling,” said Evelyn.<br />“In his eyes you were. By keeping your top on it was as though you were trying to hide something. Something that belongs to him. He won’t allow that.”<br />Evelyn looked away miserably, but Julie smiled. “Come on. We’ve got to get to the villa. The old shamaness is going to make you look more presentable to N’Gono.”<br />They made their way to the big house on the hill. Julie’s baby was asleep in the sling on her back. On the way he awoke, and the woman once again pulled the top from her breast and held the child to her nipple to feed.<br />A little further on they encountered three black men on the path. Evelyn expected Julie to turn away or cover up until they passed by. But the young mother made no effort to do so; indeed, she stood and greeted them bare-breasted as if it were all very normal.<br />Evelyn felt a little nervous when they stopped.<br />“You’re Ayang’s woman,” said one of the men to Julie as he put an arm around her. “He has you with child again.”<br />“Yes, sir,” said Julie, smiling.<br />The two other men stood beside Evelyn and she stiffened as she felt their hands groping and caressing her naked back.<br />The man beside Julie tousled her hair and palmed her breast for a moment. “Come to my hut tonight, if Ayang approves. He can have Sarah while you’re with me.”<br />“Yes, sir,” said Julie. “I will ask him, sir.”<br />The man kissed Julie passionately on the lips. The white woman embraced him with one arm, still holding her baby in the other, and kissed him back.<br />Evelyn stood by in passive silence. Julie had always been so standoffish in college. Evelyn knew she had never even dated any of the white boys there her first year. And she had never seen Julie with anyone but Tom.<br />As they stood talking, the black men continued to play with Evelyn’s body. One of them pushed his hand under her wrap and was fondling her buttocks. The other was gently squeezing her breast through the thin fabric.<br />“Who is this girl?” asked the man holding Julie.<br />“She’s new. She belongs to N’Gono. Don’t you, Evelyn?”<br />Evelyn was forced to acknowledge the statement, thinking the men might stop feeling her up. It stuck in her throat.<br />“Ah… Yes, I’m with N’Gono.”<br />All the men laughed. “Good,” said one of them. “He’ll have her knocked up soon and we can all share her.”<br />Evelyn had been standing stock stiff trying her best not to react to the black hands that were roaming over her body. When the first man slid his fingers into her rear crease and found her puckered anus however, she groaned and twisted away from him violently.<br />The man seemed shocked. He slapped her across the face and had removed a whip from his belt when Julie spoke.<br />“Please sir, she’s new. She doesn’t know African ways yet.”<br />“I’ll teach her with my whip!” he replied.<br />“Maybe it’d be better to let N’Gono teach her for now,” said the man with Julie. “She’s his woman.”<br />The man’s eyes narrowed. “N’Gono went to his village this week, to recruit more of his clan to the church.”<br />“Still, she’s his woman.”<br />“All right,” Evelyn’s assailant said reluctantly, coiling his whip. “You will learn our ways, woman!”<br />“Stiff-neck white bitch,” said the other man.<br />Julie and the first man kissed goodbye. The men went on their way, and the women continued up to the villa.<br />“That was close, Evelyn,” said Julie. “I thought he was going to thrash you right there.”<br />“But the was touching my… my…”<br />“You don’t disobey the churches rules just because a man wants to finger-fuck your asshole for a bit, Evelyn. You better be prepared. I’m sure N’Gono is going to hear of this when he gets back.”<br />Evelyn felt a chill when she considered N’Gono’s displeasure, but figured with any luck, the U.S. Embassy or her family could get her out of the country by then. She was profoundly embarrassed and wanted to change the subject.<br />“You’re… You’re pregnant, Julie?”<br />“Yes.”<br />“How did he know?”<br />“He saw my anklet,” said Julie.<br />“I don’t understand.”<br />“An African man wants to make sure that a woman who belongs to him bears his child. Once she is confirmed pregnant though, he will trade her or loan her to another black friend or associate. That is the custom in many parts of Africa. An anklet worn on a woman’s right leg is a sign that her man is offering her to others.”<br />Evelyn gasped. You mean any of these men could take… take you to bed?”<br />“Any of these men can fuck me, Evelyn. Get the terms straight. White women are here to fuck. That’s our role in the church.”<br />Evelyn was outraged. “How can they treat us like this. It’s barbaric!”<br />Julie stopped. “Evelyn, that is exactly how the whites treated the Africans here a century ago. Black women were forced into white men’s homes and beds. They were forced to adopt the white’s mode of dress, culture, religion, and government. Dr. Kamwego has said that now that the black man has come into his own, the white woman is to be treated in the same way. We are to adopt African dress and mores. We are to serve in the black man’s homes. The doctor says it’s all a matter of intergenerational social justice. In his church, it is a sin for white women to rebel against the hand of the black man.”<br />They arrived at the villa. Remembering N’Gono’s anger, Evelyn was careful to remove her top before entering.<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 11<br /><br />Evelyn and Julie were met at the servant’s door to the villa by the old black butler, Jayant. He led them to a maintenance closet and gave each of them a bucket of water and a rag.<br />“Scrub the south veranda until you are summoned, white women,” he told them.<br />Julie hurried out, but Jayant took hold of Evelyn’s arm and held her back. He gazed at her for a moment, staring at her naked chest and grinning broadly. “Not so unapproachable now, are you white slut? Not so concerned about showing these white tits, now that your white man is rotting in prison. You need a man, and the African man rules, now!”<br />Evelyn held her breath, but didn’t dare pull away. He leaned close, and his worn, grizzled face and bloodshot eyes repulsed her.<br />“You white bitch. I saw how you spurned me at the party. You didn’t even want me to look at you. But I can do more than look now.”<br />“I… I didn’t mean to offend you…” said Evelyn. There was something about the man, some look in his eye that terrified her.<br />“White woman. I served your kind for 50 years. Now you will serve me.” He reached up to trace the surface of her right areola. Evelyn watched as his very black fingers probed her pristine white mound.<br />“A fine white lady,” he chuckled under his breath. He brought his mouth to her breast and sucked the nipple into it, biting just hard enough to make it swell.<br />“Such elegant nubs, so delicate a shade of pink,” he hissed. “Like your friend Julie’s were once. I enjoyed them also. When you’re suckling N’Gono’s Dinka spawn they’ll turn dark red and bloat like a sow’s teat. The proud white lady.”<br />He sneered with mocking contempt. “I’ll fuck you, woman. I’ve fucked every white woman here and I’ll fuck you too when the time comes. And I’ll see those teats you were trying to hide whenever you come to the villa.” <br />Evelyn stood with her back to the wall, cringing at his hateful words. But a moment later he released her arm. He slapped her breasts and laughed before walking away.<br />Evelyn ran after Julie. She was already working and Evelyn joined her. They toiled on their knees, scrubbing the wooden deck while their breasts danced on their naked chests. Evelyn was very self-conscious and kept looking about to make sure no one could see. Her breasts jiggled and bounced whenever she moved or walked, but without the restraint of a bra or top there was nothing she could do to stop it.<br />They had only scrubbed about a quarter of the veranda by 10AM when Jayant told the women to get up and follow him.<br />He led them to a small room in the villa. There was a padded leather table near the center of the room, and he told Evelyn to remove her wrap and sit on the edge of it.<br />Evelyn was very reluctant to remove her wrap in front of the menacing Jayant, but he merely sneered at her.<br />“I have other duties. Prepare her,” he said to Julie. Then he left.<br />Evelyn saw Julie reach above the table and lower a strange bar that was suspended from the ceiling. The bar had several cuffs and chains attached to it, and Julie began fastening them around her friend’s wrists.<br />“What are you doing!” asked Evelyn in alarm.<br />“Evelyn, it’s all right. You need to be restrained for this.”<br />“But… No!” shouted Evelyn. One of her hands was already secured, but she steadfastly refused to allow Julie to bind her other wrist.<br />“Evelyn, we all had to go through this. It’s part of the doctor’s procedure…”<br />“No, please Julie. What’s happening? I thought you were my friend.”<br />“Evelyn, I am your friend. Now if you don’t let me prepare you I’m going to have to call Jayant to hold you down.”<br />“Please… no, please.”<br />“Then let me have your hand.”<br />Very reluctantly, Evelyn extended her free arm to Julie, who promptly encircled it with the cuff and locked it on the bar. She tried to calm the trembling woman with soothing words. “It’s going to be all right, Evelyn. This part is very painful, but it will be over soon, I promise you.”<br />“What are they going to do to me,” whimpered Evelyn. “Please tell me, Julie.”<br />“The doctor will be here in a few moments, Evelyn. Lie down on your back. Just relax.”<br />Evelyn complied. She looked up and could see that Julie was bringing down another apparatus. This one was very similar to the stirrups used by gynecologists, except there was another bar between the two ankle cuffs. Evelyn allowed Julie to bind her ankles. When her feet were at last restrained the bar was opened telescopically. Her legs were spread and she was quite unable to close them. Julie then ran a strap across Evelyn’s body, just below the ribs, and cinched it off to the table. Now Evelyn was unable to move.<br />Evelyn’s panic returned when the door opened and Dr. Kamwego entered followed by a strange black woman, who looked very old and decrepit.<br />“Hello Evelyn,” said the doctor, pleasantly. “I see that Julie has done the preliminaries and that you’re ready to begin.”<br />“Don’t hurt me,” Evelyn pleaded.<br />The doctor simply smiled and gestured to the old woman. “This woman is Al-wani, a traditional shamaness of the Dinka, N’Gono’s tribe. She is going to perform certain traditional rites on you. Your body is going to be modified. It will make you more attractive to N'Gono, and at the same time, more receptive and tractable toward him.”<br />Evelyn looked at the woman. She was obviously some kind of witchdoctor. She wore a flowing, colorful robe that was encrusted with hundreds of beads and feathers and was adorned with many other items of primitive jewelry. Hanging about her neck were several tiny pouches on leather strips; talismans and fetishes of her art. Her face was marked with the tattoos and raised ritual scaring, denoting her high office, and her hair was braided and set with gold ornate clips. She moved with vigor and alacrity that belied her age, or else she was not as old as she appeared.<br />The odd little woman began to examine Evelyn intently, as if inspecting a piece of livestock before buying. She looked into Evelyn’s eyes, and checked her teeth and hair. She hefted her firm, creamy breasts with her callused hands. She nodded with approval after weighing Evelyn’s mammary, then pinched and milked the nipples to see the response. Both of Evelyn’s pink nubbins swelled, and the white girl’s face flushed bright crimson. Al-wani laughed with delight at Evelyn’s stiff nubs, and made some comment in her native language.<br />The shamaness also studied Evelyn’s navel carefully, kneading her abdomen, poking and prodding at her belly. She mumbled something and pressed her finger into the white girl’s solar plexus. Evelyn frowned and tried to shift under the strap but the band held her fast. <br />Evelyn hated the de-humanizing feeling as she endured the invading and probing of the woman’s bony fingers. She did not understand what was happening and just wanted the humiliating treatment with the creepy woman to be over, but it did not appear to be ending soon.<br />The witchdoctor moved down to observe Evelyn’s ankles and feet, looking them over carefully, checking her toes and the bottom of her foot in minute detail.<br />Then the woman moved back up and began to inspect her pubic area. Evelyn drew in a sharp breath. She felt the steely fingers pinch and explore her vulva, pulling at the pink folds. Al-wani poked at the white girl’s anus, stopping to swab the little puckered hole.<br />Evelyn could not keep from twisting. “Please… please don’t…”<br />“Do not move,” hissed Dr. Kamwego.<br />The woman’s fingertip went higher, raking though the cleft between her neither lips. Then it found the top of the crease, and the little pleasure bud that lay there. Insistent fingers began to pinch the little nub, and Evelyn stiffened.<br />“No… please don’t touch me there,” sniffled Evelyn.<br />The old shamaness ignored her. Taking one of her pouches she dipped her black hand in and coated it with a clear, oily substance. She brought her hand back to Evelyn’s vagina and slowly inserted two of her fingers.<br />Evelyn held her breath. The viscous grease on the woman’s hand burned slightly, and seemed to cause her birth canal to dilate and her labia to flower open. She inserted a third finger, and finally a fourth. The white woman lay there; utterly mortified as the witchdoctor moved her hand in and out slowly, feeling and probing inside her vaginal walls.<br />After half a minute or so, Evelyn could stand it no longer. “Nooo,” she gushed, thrashing within the confines of her bonds and crying with shame.<br />Al-wani withdrew her hand, smiling broadly. “This woman good choice,” she announced. “She small but healthy, wide hips and good limbs. She have no trouble with birth.”<br />“She seems so petite and delicate. And he’s so big. I don’t want my project miscarried- literally.” observed Dr. Kamwego.<br />“Still much room here for Dinka child,” said the old woman, pointing at Evelyn’s belly. “And she drop much milk, I think. See, she have small teats, because never carry child, but puffy suck flesh around teats. When she planted with good Dinka seed her bosom grow, like her belly. Her milk flow like Nile after she drop.”<br />“Excellent,” said the doctor.<br />Evelyn closed her eyes tight, hoping it was all over and they would release her. But no one was moving to do that.<br />For several minutes, Evelyn could hear the doctor and the shamaness talking in an African dialect, seeming to debate something. But she could understand none of it. Then the older black woman stepped in front of her and dangled a shinny object over her face. Evelyn saw immediately they were her wedding rings, hanging from a chain. They had been taken from her when she was incarcerated at the prison.<br />“This from you white man?” asked the old woman, looking at them with distaste. “These symbol of you marriage?”<br />“Ye… yes…” gasped Evelyn. “Please give them back to me.”<br />“Al-wani take them. I break spells and give them to Dinka metalworkers. You take N’Gono’s mark now. You belong to him.”<br /> Julie then brought three small wooden bowls to the padded table and set them just below Evelyn’s buttocks. The bound white wife watched with trepidation as the old woman took several sharp metal tools from one of her little bags and handed them to the doctor. He put them in a steel bowl and poured some liquid into it, which smelled like alcohol.<br /> The witchdoctor woman took what looked like a large pair of tweezers from the bowl, and positioned herself near the juncture of Evelyn’s thighs.<br /> “Now just relax, Evelyn,” said Julie, soothingly. “This will be over soon.”<br /> “What…? What is she…? Ouch, ouww, Aahhh, OWWWWWWW!”<br /> “Evelyn couldn’t believe what was happening. The ugly little shamaness was plucking out her pubic hair a few strands at a time. And the pain was excruciating!”My Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-48086450597169336342007-09-30T13:45:00.000-07:002007-09-30T13:47:46.291-07:00Bound For Africa Part One by Gordon KerrBound For Africa<br /><br />A novel by Gordon Kerr<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Copyright resides with author<br />Available from bdsmbooks.com<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 1<br /><br /> “Aaagghhhuuummmmmmmm.”<br /> Doctor Kamwego applied a sharp flick of his whip across the back of the young white girl, then thrust his dark, fat loins up to feel more of the girl’s slithering tongue on his manhood.<br /> “Swirl it around,” he hissed at the pretty American teen who knelt, laboring between his legs. “You know how I like it!”<br /> The obese black man was lying on his back on his comfortable bed, enjoying the blonde’s oral skill. It was one of the many things the sixteen-year-old exchange student had learned in the past few months. <br /> “Go on, Sharon,” said Kamwego. “Long strokes, you little pig, ahhhh, yes… keep that tongue moving.” He landed another stroke to the girl’s naked back as motivation.<br /> “MMMMMMMuuummmm,” moaned Sharon onto Kamwego’s sex. Her master’s short whip really stung, but she was already doing her best to please the older man. She sucked and kissed the great purple glans, then raked her tongue down to his scrotum, deeply laving at the heavy, pungent folds. She rooted her nose avidly onto and under the black man’s testicles. And she caressed Kamwego’s flabby chest with her hands, just as she had been taught, playing with his nipples with just the right pressure. Yet she still felt the hated leather strap!<br /> “Uuuummm, uuuhhhh, hhhuuuummmm.” Desperate to please, the white girl used her mouth with even more alacrity. She hummed and blew air, and licked her master avidly from his anus to the root of his male organ.<br />“That’s it,” said the doctor. “Keep it up like that or I’ll make your ass red like never before, slut!”<br />The little blonde knew her master’s threat was real and continued to work her mouth with as much apparent enthusiasm as she could muster. Once she would have thought the act she was performing debauched and unthinkably disgusting. Now, though she got some small pleasure from it, she was primarily trying to avoid punishment. Pleasing the cruel man with her mouth seemed a small price to stay the wicked sting of his whip. Her pretty face was slippery with sweat, and she sensed her master’s excitement as she took the head and shaft into her mouth now. She tasted the thick secretions of their bodies, still coating the massive phallus after the violent coupling they had completed a half-hour before.<br />She felt his cum tricking from her sex again, and she reached down to wet her fingers in his seed, and stroke her lubricated clit. She felt his hands behind her head, directing her mouth down onto his huge organ as she actively sucked and licked the underside of his shaft.<br />For a long time the big black man wallowed and writhed on the creaking bed, grasping handfuls of Sharon’s soft, long hair and pulling on her ears. All the while forcing his shank even further down her throat. He moaned with low, husky mouthing; groaning as waves of salacious pleasure rolled through his corpulent, dark belly. He was a glutton for the blonde’s straining mouth, applying the leather liberally at the merest slackening of effort. <br />At last, the black man began to shudder and heave, placing his fat legs on the slender white girl’s back. Sharon felt their weight, and the callused heels dug into the base of her spine. She knew her master was ready to cum. She also knew she had to make the sensation perfect for the man or severe punishment would follow. She played her tongue in sweeping circles around the dark, fleshy pole, curling and rasping at it. She pressed her teeth into the rubbery ridge behind his foreskin, working them with just the right amount of pressure to incite his urge to climax. Then he stiffened, and she pulled back, applying her tongue tip to the little slit in the head of his penis.<br />He bellowed and grasped great handfuls of her hair, trapping her head. She plunged it into her throat again and sucked the black tube for all she was worth, swallowing him as she desperately tried to keep from gagging. With supreme effort she was successful, and pressed her straight, patrician nose into the man’s wiry old pubic hair, just as he erupted with his seminal flow. <br />“Yessss, yesssss, that’s it, you little whore!” he shouted. “Right there! Keep your tongue there! Aaaahhhhhhggggghhh… yes… aaaaahhhhhh… uuuaaahhhhh… right in your mouth, sow!”<br />Sharon continued to work, her throat inundated with Kamwego’s semen, and slowed her tongue only when she was sure her master was spent. She kept her mouth fixed to the big man’s sex while his carnal joy gradually faded. As always, she held her breath, hoping she had not displeased her master with her performance.<br />“Enough,” said the doctor, grasping the girl’s hair again and pulling her face from his crotch. Sharon sprawled back on the bed, naked and struggling to catch her breath. Her face was reddened and wet.<br />“Very good, cream-slut. You are very talented for such a young American girl,” said Dr. Kamwego.<br />“Thank you, master,” said Sharon, being careful to keep her pretty blue eyes down and not look directly at the man. “Thank you for training me.” <br />Some of his juices had escaped the corner of her mouth and were drying on her face and lips. Her mouth was filled with the taste of the old man’s sex. She dared not, however, wipe away the scum or show her disgust. The whip was close at hand.<br />“You may play with yourself, Sharon,” said the doctor.<br />“Thank you master,” said Sharon. She was not enthusiastic about masturbating in front of him, but she had to appear so. She smiled and began to stroke her clitoris.<br />“Yes, you’ve learned a lot, Sharon. And you deserve a reward for pleasing me. You may make yourself cum. Use the tusk.”<br />“Yes master,” said Sharon. Getting up quickly from the bed, she went over to a lacquered box in a corner of room. In it she found a long, curved warthog tusk. It was a smooth, hard black ivory, about eight inches in length and very thick. She sat cross-legged on the polished wood floor, spine straight and breasts thrust out. Bringing the smooth object to her mouth, she licked the length of the tapered shaft. When it had been lubricated with her saliva she brought the tusk to her sex and inserted it slowly into her love tunnel.<br />“Hhhuuuhh,” Sharon gasped as she and her master watched the black object disappear into her delicate pink folds. She hesitated a moment. She was still tight, despite the fact that this was not the first time she had used the implement. It began to hurt a little and she stopped, looking up at the fat man.<br />“All the way in, little sow,” said Kamwego, reaching for his short whip once more. “Get the whole thing in or we’ll put some lines on those breasts again.”<br />Sharon sucked in her breath with the memory of other times she had been compelled to use the tusk. Indeed, she had lost her maidenhead to it here on this very floor, soon after her arrival at the doctor’s villa. That time the black man had overcome the girl’s resistance by thrashing her nipples mercilessly until she could no longer stand the pain. Sharon had ruptured her hymen by her own hand, pushing the ebony colored phallus into her untried sex and sobbing with psychic torment, even as the cruel black man laughed with delight.<br />That had been months ago, and Kamwego had since demanded that she learn to draw real pleasure from the tusk, and shamelessly bring herself to a genuine orgasm.<br />It was very hard at first. Before coming to Africa, Sharon had rarely stimulated herself. She had been a very religious girl, virginal and quite chaste and regarded masturbation as dirty and sinful. And with the black doctor watching, the mortification and humiliation had driven away all arousal. But Kamwego was relentless with the whip, and instilled a desperation to please. Sharon tried to fake orgasms, but found that he could detect any fraud- and punished it with savage slaps to the face and renewed lashes on her nipples.<br />Then drugs were introduced. The doctor gave Sharon herbs, which calmed nerves while heightening the senses. He ordered the girl to lie on her back, keeping her hands above her head and her legs spread. Resistance was quelled with painfully pinched nipples and the threat of further punishment. Then Kamwego himself stimulated the girl, stroking Sharon’s clitoris and neither lips with skilled fingers. <br />“Let yourself go, Sharon,” he whispered into the white girl’s ear. “See my hands between your legs. You know what I can do to you, and make you do! Give in to the pleasure, Sharon, let it go. It feels good to obey me.”<br />It went on night after night. Sharon was thrashed with the leather when she did not respond, and stimulated further when she did. The black man was presenting the clear choice- pleasure or pain. Finally there was a culmination. Whipped to raw exhaustion, her mind fogged with drugs, Sharon’s inhibition crumbled. Kamwego’s strong, black fingers brought her to a gyrating, gasping, masochistic fulfillment. The dam had broken.<br />Since then, the white girl had learned to banish pride and self-consciousness. She could make herself cum at the doctor’s command, with her fingers or the tusk.<br />Sharon sat now, looking up to her master with an open, submissive expression. She began drawing the tusk in and out of her vagina, while simultaneously stroking her clit. As the pleasure flooded into her brain and she felt the hardness and strength of the tool, she surrendered her mind to the doctor’s command and presence. <br />“That’s right,” said Kamwego, his voice breathy, almost hypnotic. “Go deep… soooo deep, white girl. Go on… stroke it… stroke it and feel the tusk… the potency of black Africa in your white belly!”<br />“Ummmmm, uuuhh, uuuummmmm,” Sharon moaned, working its hard length in and out. The room seemed to swirl and she arched her back. Her nipples hardened to points and the phallus moved with ease, lubricated by the flow of his latent discharge oozing from her womb.<br />“Now,” said Kamwego. “Cum now, Sharon. And be grateful to your master- grateful to all black men.”<br />“Yessss,” gasped the young girl, as her mind seemed to explode with carnal joy. “Soooo goooood. Thank you… ahhhh… master! Aahhh, ahhhha, ahhhhhhhha… ahhhhhhhiieeee… uunnnhhh.”<br />Sharon regained awareness slowly. She had fallen on her back and her hands were still at her sex. She could hear the clear, cruel laughter of her master as the black man sat, chuckling with amusement.<br />“You white girls are so sexually repressed. But once the fire’s lit, you’re like a bitch in heat.”<br />Embarrassment now returned to Sharon, who blushed at the black man’s words. But she was glad to have been given permission to take her pleasure. She could only find release when Kamwego allowed it. Sharon sat up again, and gradually her breathing returned to normal.<br />“Give,” said the doctor simply, holding out his hand.<br />Sharon slowly withdrew the warthog tusk from her vagina and handed it to her master. It was scarcely necessary anymore, but the corpulent lecher always checked to make sure that her orgasm was real.<br />He took the tool from Sharon and brought it to his nose, inhaling the rich, heady scent of the white girl’s sex.<br />“Yes,” he laughed, seeing the liquid dripping from the lewd implement. “Just like a bitch- an animal in heat. You have a good mouth, slut. But we don’t want you to become lazy. You need a lot of this, don’t you,” he said, hefting his organ. “You need cock!”<br />“I… Yes… yes master.”<br />Kamwego nodded and smiled, closing his eyes as if in contemplation. “Do you know what you are to me, Sharon? You are a white woman. You are every white women!”<br />Sharon bit her lower lip. She had no idea what he was talking about, but he often spoke philosophically and over her head. It was startling to know he thought of her as a woman, because she still saw herself as a girl. <br />He traced her breast idly with his bare foot. The blonde teen was indeed a luscious little pet. But she had been broken now and the older black doctor was becoming bored. It was time for a new game, a new toy for awhile. Later he would enjoy defiling her further.<br />“You do not understand me. But some day you will, little sow,” he said. “Tomorrow I’m sending you to Khartoum.”<br />Sharon’s eyes grew round and her mouth gaped with terror. Being “sent to Khartoum,” meant a trip to a certain brothel she had become aquatinted with.<br />“Nooo,” cried the girl in despair, earning herself a wicked slap on the face.<br />“Never say no to me, bitch. You know better than that.”<br />“Please forgive me, master. Please don’t send me back there!”<br />“Well, it’s true you’ve become very skilled,” said the black man, patting the girl’s head. “But I think it will be good for you to be fucked by a half dozen different men a day. At least for a few months. It’ll make you appreciate how good you have it here at the church.”<br />Sharon gasped in disbelief. A few months! She had been there twice before, but only for a few days. Even that was enough to coerce from her the most servile obedience upon her return to the doctor’s villa. What had she done to deserve such a punishment?<br />“Don’t be so frightened, little whore,” said Kamwego, squatting and reaching down to stroke the girl’s labia with mock affection. “This pussy will survive, though I doubt it’ll be as tight when you get back here.”<br />“Besides,” said the black man. “I have a new plaything coming this week. One I hope will be as sheltered and innocent as you were. Perhaps later I’ll bring you back to profit from the drama. Now get up and finish scrubbing the floors, you leave in the morning. And,” he said, pinching Sharon’s clitoris painfully. “If you ever say no to me again, white cunt, I’ll cane your ass till it bleeds!”<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 2<br /><br />So beautiful. And so wild.<br /> That was Evelyn’s Vindlog’s first impression of Africa as the plane she was aboard came in low for its final approach to Nairobi. She strained to see from the small window, watching as villages of varying size slipped beneath the descending jetliner. Ahead she could see the sprawling African city; the modern high rises sparkling like a jewel displayed on a pillow of emerald green velvet.<br />Evelyn leaned her head against her husband Rick’s shoulder and squeezed his comforting hand as she watched the lush landscape rising to meet them. This was it. After months of planning and anticipation they were finally arriving in Africa.<br />“We’ll be down in a few minutes,” said Rick. “Better get your things together, honey.”<br />“Oh, yes,” she smiled. She had been so engrossed in the scenery, she had forgotten that Rick had said he wanted to be off the plane and out of the airport quickly. He wanted his pretty, fair-skinned wife to be standing in lines for as short a time as possible, though he had not gone over the reason for that with her yet.<br />Evelyn packed her carryon items neatly in her bag, then turned to look out the window again. She was a sensitive woman, and had led a sheltered life. But now she was far away from her home and parents, from all she had known. She and Rick were in this adventure together, and the land of Africa seemed to beacon. Yes, a city like a jewel, she thought. Set in a land of green and gold.<br />Now the plane was very low and she could make out individual people on the ground. There were markets and foot traffic; and homes, thousands of homes. Suddenly the city was not just a warm, glittering abstract, devoid of life. She could see the inhabitants now and it struck her.<br />The people were black! An instant later she chided herself for such a silly thought. She had known of course that they would be. But the thought was reflex. Evelyn had never lived anywhere but her in little corner of Iowa. She had seen black people on television and even occasionally around town, but she had never had any social contact with them. No person of color had attended her local, private high school. At the small bible college she had attended, interracial relationships were still forbidden, and few of her conservative white friends would have been caught dead dating a black man, anyway. <br />There was no race hatred in Evelyn Kvindlog’s heart. Black people were simply irrelevant in her white, small town, middle-class American life. Africa had been the furthest thing from her mind when she had married Rick while they were still in college. But Rick had studied to be a missionary, and was very ambitious. It was his idea to join a new church in East Africa, and she was following her husband as the good and loyal wife she was. They were in a remote land now, far from her family and friends, among a totally alien culture and people. Seeing so many black people together, it seemed to drive the realization home for the first time- they were really in Africa!<br />The jolt of the plane’s wheels on the runway brought Evelyn out of her musings. Now they were committed. But she trusted Rick and felt safe with him. She reached for his hand.<br />“Well, we’re here,” she said.<br />“Yes,” said Rick, giddy with excitement. “We’re going to be successful here, I know it.”<br />“But breaking with the college’s missionary organization… we’ve certainly burned some bridges,” said Evelyn.<br />“Yes, I know. Dr. Slavik was very upset about me leaving right now. I doubt if he’ll ever speak to me again.”<br />“Rick, Dr Slavik has been your mentor since you started at college. It’s a shame to alienate him.”<br />“True, but this is a fantastic opportunity with this new African church,” said Rick.<br />“Dr. Slavik said he’d never heard of it,” said Evelyn.<br />“Yeah, and they said the Sudan was too dangerous also, but I think they just didn’t want a man as young as me to get the glory of opening a new area.”<br />“I doubt it was that,” said Evelyn.<br />“I don’t,” said Rick, sullenly.<br />Evelyn squeezed her husband’s hand and sighed. That side of him often came up; the tendency to blame his failures on someone else that he thought was just trying to keep him down. She hated the childish attitude but tried to overlook it because she loved him and wanted him to succeed.<br />“In any case,” he said. “I doubt we can use the organization’s resources anymore.”<br />“You didn’t tell me that,” said Evelyn. “That’s a little scary, Rick. It means we’re totally on our own.”<br />“I know. I’m sorry, I know how you and your family are, and I didn’t want to worry you. But it can’t be helped.”<br />They got off the plane and retrieved their bags. The line for Customs was long and paralleled an open corridor with heavy foot traffic. As they stood waiting they were often bumped and jostled by passersby.<br />“Acchh,” Evelyn whirled. “That man pinched me on my… my bottom!”<br />“Stand over on this side,” said Rick, trying to move between his wife and the people filing by.<br />“Aaaaa,” squeaked Evelyn. “Someone touched me again. Oouuhhh…” Evelyn turned and glared at an older black man in a fine tailored suit. “Rick, that man, he… he…”<br />Rick looked a little sheepish. “Honey, I should have warned you. That’s kind of the local custom.”<br />“But… but aren’t you going to do something about it?”<br />“What can I do?” he shrugged.<br />“Aahhhh!” She was trying to slap the offending hands away and shield herself, but they moved too fast. “Rick, do something!”<br />The young husband moved around behind his wife, this seemed to help some, but soon a wave of travelers pushed though the corridor and the press of bodies was so close he couldn’t see down. A minute later they were separated by the moving crowd.<br />“Aaahh, stop it! Ahhhnnnhhh… Ouch!” Now there was a man who had taken advantage of the fact that Rick was now several feet away and temporarily blocked from moving. The man slipped his hand down the back of her pants! When she tired to turn away he had reached up with his other hand and pinched her nipple through her blouse and bra! Worse, it was an older man who Julie felt should have known better. She tried to squirm and twist but the hand on her backside could not be dislodged. Indeed now he was inserting a finger into her crack. “Stop it,” she hissed.<br />The man simply leered down at her, running his tongue over his upper lip suggestively. To Evelyn his black face seemed so savage and hard. She felt him push further with his finger, parting her rear cheeks and rubbing it against her anus. She wanted to scream, but was acutely embarrassed by what he has doing, and would have died if anyone else had seen. “Please,” she said faintly. “Stop it.”<br />Finally, he did, taking his hands away, turning to her and smiling once more.<br />At last, Rick managed to work his way back to her, but the black man was still there. She expected her husband to say something, but he remained silent and the man casually walked away.<br />Evelyn fumed. Though she had been deeply shocked and offended by the liberties taken with her person, she was even more irritated by Rick’s inaction. He had tried to look the other way and pretend he didn’t notice, but Evelyn knew he had.<br />Rick was angry too at having his wife so blatantly groped while standing beside him, but the fact was that none of the African men respected him, and he knew it. There wasn’t much he could do though. If he protested here, it might cause a row that would keep them from being admitted into the country.<br />He couldn’t really blame the men. Evelyn was so beautiful he was often tempted to grope her himself. Her full but petite body and flawless white skin were like a magnet for thick black hands and fingers. Her innocent, expressive face, pink lips, and round gray eyes seemed to broadcast her enticing mixture of elegance and vulnerability. Her hair was a rich dark brown, which hung in a lustrous course down her back. She was any man’s dream. The kind of woman who used to be unreachable for a black man.<br />That thought however served only to increase Rick’s feelings of possessiveness and impotent angst. But fear had been a factor too. The man who had so boldly fondled Evelyn was obviously someone of importance, perhaps a government bureaucrat. It was well in Africa to avoid angering such men. The only thing he and Evelyn could do was endure it and get through the line. Fortunately, they were nearing the office window.<br />“Anything to declare,” asked the Customs official.<br />“Ah, no,” said Rick. “Nothing but our bags.”<br />“And this woman,” said the man, open ogling Evelyn.<br />“Ah, yes… that… she’s my wife… honey, hand him your passport.”<br />“What is the nature of your visit to Kenya?” asked the official.<br />“Missionary work in the north. We’re traveling through to the Sudan.”<br />The official raised his eyebrow slightly. “You are aware that there’s been some small trouble in the north?”<br />“Ah, yes, my wife and I will be working with the African Brethren Church,” said Rick.<br />“I see. Yes, your visas are in order,” said the official, stamping the papers. “Welcome to Kenya.”<br />Evelyn was glad to be out of the line and moving down the corridor where it was harder for men to grope her. But there was something bothering her.<br />“Rick, what did that man mean when he said there was trouble up north?”<br />“Oh, we’ll be across the border with the Sudan,” he said. “There’s always a lot of drug smuggling going on there. The Sudan is a country in turmoil as well, but the church has assured me the area is safe. The little house we’ll be staying in is next door to the villa of the regional head of the Interior Ministry.”<br />On the street in front of the terminal, a black man was standing beside a car and holding a piece of paper scrawled with the name, “Mr. Kvindlog.”<br />“Ah, here we are, honey. You see, they’re waiting for us,” said Rick.<br />The short ride to the bush airport was uneventful. In a few moments they were back in the air, aboard a small charter, headed north. This plane flew much lower, and Evelyn noticed how remote and open the terrain was. They flew for miles over arid desert and spectacular canyons. She saw many villages and squatter’s towns, but few signs of tourism or Western influence.<br />“We are well off the beaten path,” said the black pilot in a delightfully lilting English accent. “Very few foreigners see this part of Kenya.”<br />Their course followed a road, far below. On it, Evelyn could see many military vehicles and checkpoints. Ahead, said the pilot, was the frontier with the Sudan, which was frequently patrolled by the military.<br />“No one drives this close to the border without the authorities knowing about it,” said the driver.<br />To their east lay a vast expanse of blue water, surrounded by desolate desert; a long, narrow lake that stretched for over 100 miles. Evelyn watched the patterns on the surface of the water, reflecting the dazzling sunlight.<br />About an hour latter they landed in Lokitaung. There was another man and car there to meet them and drive them to the church compound, about thirty miles outside of town.<br /> Evelyn and Rick’s new home was certainly not a luxury dwelling, though it had all the amenities thought of as necessities by Westerners. It was adjacent to the minister’s home, which really was a luxury villa.<br />“The house we’ll be staying in was the servant’s quarters in colonial days,” said Rick. “This whole area is owned by the government official I told you about, honey. He’s the leader of the church and will rent it to us very cheaply.”<br />“He must be a man of some means,” said Evelyn.<br />“A billionaire,” said Rick. “And he has influence among the mountain tribes where we want to work. His father was a chief in one of the villages there.”<br />“You mean he’s black?” asked Evelyn.<br />“Of course he’s black,” said Rick, amused and puzzled by her question.<br />“But isn’t that unusual?” asked Evelyn. “A black man who’s that rich?”<br />Rick laughed. He had forgotten that her knowledge of Africa was so limited and outdated. He realized that her mental picture of the continent still revolved around romantic Victorian regimes and primitive mud huts. A quaint land where colonial governments were administered by English accented white men, attended to by black servants.<br />“Honey, the man who hired me is black. The doctor who leads the church is also black. Many of them were educated in Britain and the lived several years in the U.S. They’re very sophisticated, and very cosmopolitan.”<br />“Maybe I could go meet them sometime?” asked Evelyn. Rick noticed a slight frown momentarily crossing her face. For some reason the idea that there might be blacks that were rich and powerful disconcerted her a little. He wanted to ease her anxiety a little.<br />“When we’re settled in I’ll take you to meet some of the expatriate wives,” he said.<br />That brightened her up immediately. She had been afraid she might be lonely in a strange, new land.<br />“Don’t worry,” he told her, clasping her hand. “The elders of the church are very friendly. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind teaching you about Africa.”<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 3<br /><br />The first night in their new home, Rick and Evelyn lay talking in their bedroom. They were both tired from the trip, but the effects of air travel left them wide-awake and jittery.<br />Evelyn got up, and went to the bathroom to shower. They had been traveling for over 24 hours, and she felt she needed one. As the warm water rushed over her body, Evelyn began to think about the new life she was coming to. She loved Rick and would do anything for him, and she was trying to be optimistic about their new home. But she had persistent doubts that simply would not go away.<br />The young wife had not wanted to come to Africa to begin with. She had been warned of Africa’s many dangers. Her family, though they liked her new husband and wanted the best for Rick, had done everything in their power to dissuade him from this trip. There was too much disease and violence. Too much corruption. The land and cultures were too alien for a newlywed couple from Iowa to thrive and be happy there.<br />That had been her family’s reasoning, part of it anyway. Another factor was racism, deeply ingrained in her parent’s attitude. The Gilbreaths were not radicals, and they were not hate mongers. But they were definitely old school and of the opinion that other races, particularly niggers, (as her father was apt to call any person of color), were inferior to the white race. They believed it was beneath their daughter to have contact with black Africans, and to live in what they regarded as a very backward and remote place.<br />Rick however, was so ambitious that he had put off all their concerns. Since he was a boy he had read about Africa and the adventures that missionaries had had there.<br />“This is the chance of a lifetime, to rise fast in the administration of a national church,” he had told Evelyn and her family. “It would take me years to develop a ministry here in the U.S. Africa is new and fertile ground.”<br />Evelyn sighed. She hoped he was right.<br />In the bedroom, Rick lay alone, thinking about what his wife had been subjected to in the airport. While she showered, he spent the moments masturbating idly.<br />He would never admit it to her of course, but seeing her standing there helplessly- watching while man after man, all of them black, took their liberties with her, had extremely aroused him. He didn’t know why, but the thought of Evelyn with one of them had given him an erection that had been difficult to hide while standing in the customs line.<br />He knew it was impossible of course. Evelyn came from a bigoted family and had been brought up to regard interracial relationships as abhorrent. In addition, Evelyn was chaste and upright. Sometimes he wondered if she wasn’t perhaps a little too upright.<br />She dressed very conservatively, always in respectable dresses with hemlines below the knee or long pants. Her necklines of her blouses were buttoned to her collar and she never, ever went without a bra. And yet she had an exquisite figure.<br />Rick was proud of his wife, and sometimes secretly wished that she would loosen up just a little, so he could show her off and make other men jealous.<br />Oh well, he thought, maybe that’s what he got for marrying a girl right out of bible-college. Indeed, her purity and quiet loyalty was one of the things that attracted him the most. She had been, after all, a virgin when they had taken their vows. Rick trusted his wife completely, and felt secure in his marriage. Perhaps it was that very security which allowed him to fantasize, and imagine things he was sure would never happen.<br />There was one man at the airport that Rick remembered in particular. He was a very large, very black African who had fondled Evelyn’s breasts, ignoring her outraged protests and squirming. She had not seen it, but as the press of people had been the thickest he and the man had looked each other in the face. In that instant the African had been pressing against Evelyn from the front, his body and hers in intimate contact. In his eyes Rick had seen both challenge and contempt, as if he were daring the white man to try to stop him. A few seconds later the man had moved on, along with the crowd.<br />Now, in the privacy of his bedroom and with his wife indisposed, Rick allowed his mind to roam freely. He closed his eyes and stroked his erection slowly. He imagined Evelyn with the man. She had become lost, separated from him. The big African had cornered her in a deserted place and forced her to disrobe. Evelyn would struggle and try to escape, but he would be too strong for her. He would slap her a few times until her resistance quailed. Finally he would push her backward onto a bed and she would lie still, perhaps crying, at his mercy.<br />Rick played with himself faster now, his arousal building as his fantasy progressed. The black man climbed onto the bed. With his superior strength he pushed himself between her legs. They lay together now, naked and alone. Rick imagined Evelyn lying beneath him, helpless, so pale and small, trapped under his huge dark form. The man would have a huge cock, and as he guided it to her soft pink sex lips she would feel it, and know its strength and size. He would mount her, holding her in place with his muscular black arms- and Evelyn would whimper. Would she struggle anew as the African began to enter her? Would she respond?<br />She would struggle, Rick decided. But he would slap her again, and threaten to really hurt her. At last Evelyn, knowing she was alone, would be so frightened and overwhelmed that she would surrender. She would cease to resist and he would press the full length of his massive organ into her, slowly, so very slowly so that she would feel every vein and ridge on his proud black shaft. <br />Evelyn would groan as he burrowed deeper. She would remember that she was a loving wife, and she would turn her face from him. But at that instant he would bottom out, all seven inches- no, eight thought Rick. Eight and very thick! She would feel his muscular, dark chest as it settled against her breasts, his heavy scrotal sac as it came to rest on her anus. He would turn her face toward him forcibly and capture her mouth with his.<br />Then he would begin to move, thrusting himself in and out, in and out of her vulnerable form, slowly at first, then building as the passion and lust boiled within him. As the minutes passed he would take her roughly, without regard to her emotions. He would possess her!<br />Then perhaps… yes, just perhaps, Evelyn would respond to him. Yes! Thought Rick. Evelyn would respond! His chaste, pure, petite and religious wife, who had been a virgin when she had married him, would respond! She would have no choice! She would lift her white legs and arms around him and hold him tight. She would match his rhythm and meet his thrusts. His beautiful, loyal wife would scream with orgasmic ecstasy as the big African lunged inside her!<br />Rick was masturbating furiously now. His climax cresting, just like the black man in his imagination. He could sense the man’s ecstasy of triumph over a white woman. Evelyn would get the baby she always wanted! For he was ready to pour his seed into her very womb. Rick could feel it as the potent African’s manhood surged, his balls about to… <br />“Your turn, honey!” Suddenly Rick was startled from his reverie. He yanked his hand from his stiff penis and pulled a pillow over his crotch.<br />“Wha… What?”<br />“I’m done in the shower,” said Evelyn. “It’s your turn now.”<br />“Oh… yea, Okay,” he gasped.<br />“Are you feeling all right, honey?” she asked. “A little tired?”<br />“Ah… no, no I’m fine, fine… I think I’ll take my shower now.” His briefs were bulging as he made his way to the bathroom, but Evelyn was busy drying her lustrous, brown hair and did not notice. As he undressed, it gave his mind a moment to clear. In the shower, Rick chided himself for what he considered immoral thinking. He had never had fantasies about his wife and another man before, let alone his wife with a black man. He was ashamed to think he had found it pleasurable to imagine Evelyn being raped.<br />But he had enjoyed it, and this realization bothered him most of all. He loved Evelyn, and knew she would never cheat on him. She was a virtuous wife. Inwardly appalled at his own thoughts, Rick figured he must have been responding to the stress of the trip and the move to this strange land.<br />But his blood was still at a fever from his near orgasm, and that he couldn’t rationalize. He could however, relieve it. He finished the shower and toweled off. Then he bounded naked into the bedroom.<br />“What are you doing!” asked Evelyn.<br />“What does it look like I’m doing,” he laughed.<br />“Oh Rick, I’m tired.”<br />He ignored her, “Get your pajamas off, sweetie,” he laughed, tugging at her soft nightclothes. “Let’s celebrate our arrival.”<br />“Rick… for goodness sake… careful with my gown!” she protested as he pulled the garment off her shoulders.<br />“Honey, I need you! Oh baby…” He stripped the panties from her legs and mounted her without ceremony, pressing his hips to hers. His four-inch manhood was fully erect and he fumbled about with his usual incompetence. Once he had inserted himself into her vagina, he began pelvic thrusting immediately. <br />His dream flashed back into his mind, firing his libido. Evelyn was beneath him on her back, and he was that big black man, making love to her. No, fucking her. He was fucking her! He was a brutal, immensely strong African male. And he was fucking Evelyn!<br />“Rick… Unnngghhh… slow down and let me warm up a little… Uuunnnngghh, Rick!” Having never had sex with anyone but Rick, and thus little experience, Evelyn had no one to compare him to. But she rarely got much satisfaction from their union, always devoid of foreplay and consisting of little more than his rabbit-like rutting. It was usually brief, lasting only until he gained his own pleasure and dribbled a few thin spurts of discharge into her. <br />“Oh baby, yes… Yes… Evelyn!”<br />“No… wait, Rick, I’m not there ye…”<br />“Ooohhh, unnnggghhhh,” he bellowed, spewing his small but pent up load into her. “Ohhh baby!”<br />Evelyn lay beneath him, seething with frustration. As usual, Rick had cum before she could even begin to reach her own fulfillment. She tried to press her pleasure core up to his loins but it was too late. He had gone soft.<br />Rick rolled off her, as the glow of his climax died. “I… I’m sorry, baby…” he said, smiling sheepishly. “I got a little carried away.”<br />Evelyn sighed and closed her eyes. She did not see how other women drew pleasure from sex. It seemed to her that what they had just done was more a frustrating chore than a joy.<br />“I’m sorry I came so quickly again…” said Rick. “I’m… just a bit fatigued, you know… I…”<br />“Oh, it’s all right honey,” she said, getting up to put her nightgown back on. “I’m tired too. Maybe we better just go to sleep.”<br />“Yea. Goodnight,” he said, rolling over.<br />“Goodnight,” she whispered. Rick turned out the lights and did not see the tears on his wife’s cheeks.<br /><br />The next morning, Evelyn went into the bathroom to take her pill. The medicine cabinet was filled with packages of her contraceptive. There was a supply for over a year since they had been told the drug was unavailable in remote areas of the Sudan. Once again her mind turned to her desire for a child.<br />“Rick,” she said, coming back into the bedroom. “When can we… I mean, this is a lovely home, and you have a good job now. We could start a family…”<br />“Honey, I know how much you want a baby,” said Rick. “But we’ve discussed this. I want to wait until we’re back in the States.”<br />“But there’s a perfectly good hospital in Nairobi, and…”<br />“Honey, our work here is the most important thing. This is my big chance to make it with a small but growing organization. We don’t want any distractions…”<br />“A child is not a distraction,” said Evelyn.<br />“A child is a huge distraction. Honey there’ll be plenty of time to start a family once I’ve made a name here and we return to America.”<br />Evelyn nodded. She knew how Rick felt, and knew she was not going to change his mind. <br /><br />After a few days, when Evelyn and Rick had gotten settled in, Rick went off to assume his new duties. Their personal things and small pieces of furniture arrived from the shippers and Evelyn busied herself putting their new home in order. A week later Rick took her to his office on the church compound and introduced her to his co-workers in the church headquarters. Evelyn noticed that all of the officers of the church were black. She supposed that was reasonable enough as they were in an African country. But they were also introduced, without exception, as government ministers, officials, police and military personnel who just happened to be church members as well. Virtually everyone had some form of government connection. Evelyn thought this was very odd, but had little time to ponder it, being whisked from office to office.<br />On the way home, she was told that the regional minister for the Interior, her next door neighbor, wanted them for dinner that night.<br />Evelyn preened herself as if she were going to a royal banquet. She donned in her best dress and shoes, and tried to appear as poised and sophisticated as possible. She very much wanted to impress the man who Rick had said was very important to their future.<br />They arrived precisely on time, and were admitted to the dinning hall, where Dr. Kamwego was greeting his guests.<br />“Doctor, this is my wife. Evelyn. Minister Kamwego,” said Rick, after they had been shown in.<br />Evelyn looked at the man, then back at her husband in astonishment. Standing before them was an extraordinary individual. His skin was absolutely black, and he was dressed in a formal dinner jacket. Not only was he well over six feet tall, he must have weighed 350 pounds at least! His face had very Negroid features; a flat, wide nose and thick lips, and eyes as black as midnight. His head was bald, shaved and she could tell, even through the dinner jacket that he was heavily muscled. Evelyn was not the least bit attracted to black men, but Dr. Kamwego exuded an air of the superhuman. He was a man of Africa, almost a personification of manhood in an African form. Evelyn felt a shiver in her spine and for a moment stared at him, then she realized that her reaction might be considered rude and looked away, hoping he hadn’t noticed.<br />“Well, Rick,” said Kamwego, “you have a charming wife. She’s so petite. But so lovely as well. Her picture doesn’t do her justice.”<br />“Picture?” asked Evelyn.<br />“Honey, the church requested photos of both of us when I applied for the position, and Dr. Kamwego is an important figure in the church.”<br />“And you have no children?” asked Kamwego, seeming to ignore Rick. He was staring directly at Evelyn in a way that was extremely disconcerting.<br />“Ah… no,” replied Evelyn.<br />“Interesting,” said the doctor. “You’re so small, my dear. When you do carry a child, it will show delightfully, and very early on.”<br />Evelyn was taken aback by the strange line of conversation with a man she had met only seconds before. She wasn’t quite sure what the man was getting at or how to respond.<br />“Well… ah, I think… Rick and I don’t plan to have any children until we return to…”<br />“Of course,” the black doctor interrupted, “the larger the man, the larger the woman’s belly. I should think a good sized African man, perhaps a Dinka from a local tribe, would make you round indeed,” he laughed.<br />Evelyn looked up at Rick again, offended by the man’s ribald suggestions yet unsure if she should say anything. Perhaps, she thought, such talk was common and acceptable among polite company in Africa. But she nonetheless tried to steer the talk to other subjects.<br />“Are you… are you married, Dr. Kamwego?” asked Evelyn.<br />“Oh no, it’s just me and the servants here. I have no need for security, there’s an army garrison right up the hill, and the police are at my disposal.”<br />An old black butler appeared, and informed their host that dinner was ready in the spacious main hall.<br />The dinner was excellent and the doctor did not ask any more awkward questions. The other dinner guests were also from the church, and all were black. The company was quite genteel however, and Evelyn soon felt very at ease. The old butler never spoke, but served the meal with efficiency, apparently gleaned from many years of service. When they were finished eating they toured the villa, which Evelyn discovered was even larger than she had thought. At the back of the house, a magnificent curved veranda looked out over the huge lake that Evelyn had seen when they had first flown in. A beautiful desert beach lay along the shore, a few hundred feet away. Elsewhere on the extensive grounds, Evelyn could see several other small houses like the one she and Rick were staying in. They all belonged to Dr. Kamwego and were being used by servants, and other church members, according to the doctor. There was also a pool, stables, and several outbuildings intended to house equipment used to maintain the landscape of the vast estate.<br />The sun was going down now and the doctor led his guests back into the house for an after dinner tea.<br />“Thank you, Jayant,” said Kamwego, as the elderly man poured out.<br />“Tell me, Evelyn,” asked the doctor. “What do you think of my little corner of the Sudan?”<br />“It’s a lovely house,” said Evelyn.<br />The big black man laughed. “No, I mean southern Sudan, the land beyond the rift as some in Nairobi put it. Do you think you will like living here?”<br />“Well, this is where my husband’s work is… and he needs my…”<br />“Your husband may be away for a long periods at a time,” said Kamwego. Have you thought of what it would be like living here alone?”<br />Evelyn looked at Rick. He hadn’t mentioned he might leave her alone for extended intervals.<br />“I plan to be gone for only a few days at a time,” said Rick. “At least at first.”<br />Kamwego ignored the young husband and continued to stare intently at Evelyn. Once again Evelyn felt uneasy about the strange direction the conversation was taking.<br />“But what if something should happen to Rick? Have you thought about that, Evelyn?” asked the doctor.<br />“I… I try not to worry… I don’t think Rick would have brought me here if it wasn’t safe,” replied Evelyn.<br />Kamwego smiled broadly. “Of course not,” he said. “You feel safe with your husband. That’s the way it should be for a woman like you, Evelyn. You should submit to your man and look to him for protection- whoever he happens to be.”<br />Evelyn frowned and looked at Rick, but he was simply smiling and drinking his tea. Evelyn wondered if she had understood the black man correctly. She was very uncomfortable, and not just because of the cryptic questions from the fat doctor. Evelyn knew she had to be imagining it, but it seemed to her that Jayant’s eyes were fixed on her. He had the same look as the men at the airport. The same leering smile and insolent turn of the lips. She looked away, embarrassed and blushing slightly from his overt ogling. <br />Finally, as the evening grew late, the Kvindlogs said goodbye to their host, and drove the short distance home. Evelyn was still quite disturbed by the big black doctor’s questions, but Rick took it all in stride.<br />“I’m sure he was just trying to reassure you, honey,” he said. “If something should happen to me, he’ll make sure you’re provided for.”<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 4<br /><br />In the following days, Rick and Evelyn established a normal routine. Rick would go to work at his new office in the morning and be back in the evening. Evelyn concerned herself with housework.<br />The novelty of being in a new land and culture wore off quickly for Evelyn. It proved to be a lonely time for the young woman. She had no friends, and there wasn’t much to do in the area in terms of entertainment due to its remote location. So remote in fact, that Evelyn was puzzled. Why would a church be headquartered there? Rick told her that there were plans for an organized church presence in southern Sudan. Now that the civil war had finally ended, the government in Khartoum wanted to provide some national social structure in predominantly non-Moslem areas. This small military town was a logical springboard. It made sense, but still, Evelyn wondered. From the brief research she had done, Evelyn remembered that the government of the Sudan was dominated by Moslems. Why would they want to promote a Christian church? But she also remembered the provinces in the south were autonomous. They must be allowing some degree of religious freedom, she thought.<br />She was also a little disturbed to find out that Rick had been assigned across the border into Chad, and would soon be leaving for several days. She was still not completely at ease in her new environment and wanted the security of having him near. He assured her that everything would be all right and he would be back soon.<br />At least the little house itself was quite comfortable and adequate, though the grand villa next door was somewhat imposing. Evelyn often went for short walks in the gardens and grounds of the compound, sometimes strolling down to the wide, secluded beach, or along the road that connected the servant’s and member’s housing. She wondered about the enigmatic and striking black doctor who lived in the villa. Being white and brought up in a conservative home, she never would have thought of him as handsome, in the romantic sense. In fact, she was revolted by his gross obesity. But there was something about him, a kind of magnetism that any woman would find attractive. She had seen nothing of him since the night she and Rick had been his guests. <br />One day, Evelyn got a glimpse of him from her kitchen window. He was walking along the well-kept path down to the beach in the company of a lovely black woman. Evelyn was intrigued. The doctor had told them that he was single. The woman could be a sister or church associate, but the postures and interaction of the two people seemed a little too intimate for that. In a few seconds they were out of sight and Evelyn returned to her chores.<br />As she became more familiar with her new neighborhood, Evelyn began to take longer walks, and meet more people. They didn’t seem very friendly, however. The black men and women were aloof, almost to the point of being rude. She saw other white women, oddly dressed. But they too seemed to avoid her, scurrying inside their houses when they saw her approach.<br />Evelyn saw the gardener as well. She had been much impressed by the consummate skill and conscientious work that must have been required to keep the grounds in the impeccable condition they were in. He was a great brute of a man, perhaps six foot five and heavily muscled. He seemed to move heavy objects, rocks and gardening equipment with incredible ease. His skin was so dark as to actually shine like jet as he worked in the hot sun without a shirt. Evelyn would have gone out and offered him a glass of water or iced tea, but his physic was so formidable that she was a little afraid of him. Everything about him spoke of raw, savage power. She was to learn more about him that evening from her husband.<br />“They tell me the gardener has quite a colorful past,” said Rick. “It seems he spent some time in prison for killing another man.”<br />“Really, Rick?” Evelyn gasped. “Could he be dangerous?”<br />“Oh, honey, it was probably some tribal or clan feud that has nothing to do with us. It may not even be true.”<br />“Still,” said Evelyn. “It makes me nervous knowing we have a man who may be a murderer working so near. Especially now that you’ll be gone much of the time.”<br />“Honey this compound is very secure. There’s a military base with 5,000 soldiers only a few miles away. And Dr. Kamwego said he’d look after you.”<br />“I know, but this gardener could be a murderer!”<br />“Killing a man may not be murder,” said Rick. “Besides, I’m sure he’s all right. After all, he’s a member of the church, and he works for Dr. Kamwego. I’m sure he checks out.”<br /><br />Early the next morning Evelyn said goodbye to Rick as he left for his weeklong trip to the Sudan. It was before dawn, so she went back to bed after he left. Later she got up, wrapped her robe about her and headed to the kitchen to make breakfast. As she rounded the corner of the hallway and entered the living room she stopped, almost startled out of her skin.<br />Standing motionless in the middle of the room was the huge black gardener! She froze, too shocked to move or speak. An icy cold fear gripped her spine. Why was he here, inside the house, while her husband was gone?<br />“Wha… you… you startled me. What are you…?”<br />“N’Gono like this house,” he said without expression. His coal black eyes seemed to rake over her, but he neither smiled nor moved.<br />“Ah, yes, thank you…” said Evelyn, too frightened to breathe.<br />“You wife of white man, have no children?” he asked.<br />“No… No children… Ah, what are you doing in…?”<br />“N’Gono never live house like this before he work for Dr. Kamwego. N’Gono never have woman like you.”<br />She was very afraid, but he still didn’t seem to be making any threatening moves.<br />“You pretty white woman. Dr. Kamwego very generous. N’Gono take good care of you now that you white husband gone.”<br />“That… That’s very kind of you, Mister… ah, Mr. N’Gono, is it? I’m sure Rick will be very grateful…” Evelyn fought to keep her head. Perhaps in the bush where he was from it was not considered strange or wrong to invade someone else’s home. So far, he seemed harmless, though graceless as well.<br />“I… I think you should go now, N’Gono” she said, trying in vain to keep her voice steady. “My husband will be home soon. I’ll tell him you like our house.”<br />The big black man looked puzzled. “White man gone. Dr. say you belong to church now.” he said.<br />Evelyn’s tension eased slightly. “Ah, yes, I’m… a church member, now.”<br />The big man smiled broadly. His eyes began to roam over her again, as if appraising her body. “Dr. Kamwego is wise man, as well as powerful. You make good church member.”<br />“Ah, thank you, Mr. N’Gono, ah, but I have work to do, and I really must…”<br />“N’Gono must work also. You very pretty white woman. N’Gono come back to his hut later. N’Gono feed you well. You have many sons and be safe here.”<br />Evelyn had no idea what he was talking about. She simply wanted to get the imposing man out of her living room. “Oh, we have no children yet, but perhaps when my husband is here we can come over for dinner, or invite you and your family over.”<br />Again, he looked puzzled, but turned and bounded powerfully from the house. Evelyn sighed with relief.<br />After he left, Evelyn had to sit down and compose herself. Though he had obviously meant no harm, the presence of such a large black man, uninvited in her home had greatly unnerved her. How had he gotten in anyway?<br />Evelyn checked all the doors and found that none of them had been forced. She figured she must have left one of the doors unlocked and promised herself to be more careful in the future.<br />Evelyn was able to busy herself the remainder of the day and her nerves gradually calmed. She went outside on the front lawn briefly, to get some sun, but the gardener was there. He smiled, openly ogling her. She tried to smile back, though she felt very uncomfortable. She stayed inside most of the day after that.<br />All afternoon and evening Evelyn waited for Rick to call her, but the phone was silent. She was not worried. He had said he might not reach his destination until late. She watched a DVD on their small TV set and nodded off to sleep.<br />The next morning, Rick did call. He had been diverted at a small town by the church official he has riding with, and asked to take a crate of materials across the border alone. He had not had a chance to contact her until now.<br />“Have you met anyone in the compound?” he asked. “Any new friends you might be spending some time with?”<br />“Well, I talked to the gardener,” she said, electing not to mention the precise circumstances of their meeting, so as not to worry him.<br />“I meant, have you met any of the other church ladies?”<br />“No, I mostly puttered around the house. Will you be able to call tomorrow?” she asked.<br />“I think so. But don’t let it bother you if you don’t hear from me. Just get to know some of the other church members.”<br />“Okay. Thanks for calling, honey.”<br />“I love you,” he said. “Goodbye.”<br />“Bye.” Evelyn hung up the phone. She was happy that Rick had called, but she had the strangest feeling that something was not right. Perhaps it was intuition, or premonition, but it seemed odd that her husband would be asked to deliver a parcel across an international boundary, driving alone in a strange country. Couldn’t they merely have shipped it?<br />She ate breakfast and decided to take her Rick’s advice to go out and meet the neighbors. She walked along the dusty road that connected the little huts, stopping occasionally to admire the palatial villa higher on the hill. She didn’t see the gardener, or the doctor, but she did come up on a young white woman about her own age, washing a late model Mercedes in her driveway.<br />She was wearing a brightly colored wrap around her waist. It was light and airy, and extended about halfway to her knees. On top, her breasts were clad in a smaller strip of cloth, which tied off around her neck. The garments were traditional African, and since the girl was wearing nothing else Evelyn thought they looked a bit immodest and incongruous on a white girl, particularly in a religious compound. Nevertheless, she was determined to be friendly.<br />“That’s some car you have,” said Evelyn.<br />The woman looked up at Evelyn and seemed startled. “Oh, it isn’t mine. It belongs to my husband.”<br />“Well, whoever owns it has good taste in automobiles,” said Evelyn, holding out her hand.<br />The woman looked at Evelyn and the way she was dressed. “You must be new,” she said, taking the proffered handshake.<br />“Yes, my husband and I just arrived last week and I haven’t really met anyone yet, except Dr. Kamwego. I’m Evelyn. Evelyn Kvindlog.”<br />“Julie,” said the woman with an odd expression, as if she didn’t expect Evelyn to greet her as a stranger.<br />Up close, Evelyn could now see more of her. She was quite an attractive girl with expressive brown eyes and light brown hair, which was plaited tightly and woven with beads. Around her neck was a very close necklace made of black stones. Her skin was clear and vibrant and she was very tan and fit, with a tight, toned body. The only other thing she wore was an anklet, made from the same back stones as her necklace.<br />There was something oddly familiar about the girl, and Evelyn almost felt like she had met her someplace before. She couldn’t place her however, and kept waiting for the girl to be polite and invite her in. But Julie kept looking in the direction of the house a little apprehensively. Evelyn sensed she was not being antisocial. She just seemed to fidget nervously, as if she wanted to talk, but was afraid of something. She moved close to Evelyn and seemed about to say something when Evelyn saw some motion inside the house.<br />Julie saw it too and Evelyn sensed the slight intake of breath and look of concern on the girl’s face, As she turned to hurry along with the washing job, Evelyn could see the tattoo on her lower back. It was an African design that spanned from hip to hip. A geometric/floral motif that Evelyn had seen on some older black women. Quite well done, it seemed to stem from the crack of her cheeks and flow onto her back. Evelyn thought it pagan and strangely immoral, but it was beautiful and vibrant as well, particularly on the girl’s lighter skin.<br />Suddenly Evelyn heard a deep voice from inside the house.<br />“Who is that you’re talking to out there, woman?”<br />“Ah, just a new girl, sir.”<br />“Is my car done?”<br />“N… no, sir.”<br />“Then why are you talking instead of washing?”<br />“I’m sorry, sir,” said Julie. “I’ll have it finished in a minute.”<br />Evelyn was a little offended. She didn’t like the way Julie’s husband treated and spoke to his wife. Also, she wondered why she kept calling him sir. She just assumed the man inside the hut was Julie’s husband. That was until the big black man appeared in the doorway. Instantly the girl hurried over to stand on the steps in front of him.<br />“Bring your friend inside,” he said.<br />“But sir, I was just…”<br />Evelyn was startled when the black man slapped the girl’s face. “You know better than to argue with me,” he snapped. “Bring her in.”<br />Evelyn could not believe what she had just seen. She was outraged, yet felt very intimidated by the big black man. “Julie, ah I really do need to be going…”<br />“No,” insisted the man firmly. “Come in here!”<br />Evelyn felt like bolting, but knew she could not outrun this man. She tried to calm herself and followed Julie through the open door.<br />As they entered the house, Evelyn was astonished when Julie abruptly pulled the cloth from her breasts, lifted it over her head and laid it aside.<br />The man sat down on the couch, and Julie, now topless, sat on the floor beside him with her legs crossed. Evelyn was not offered a seat, and stood awkwardly in front of him.<br />“You know the rules about clothing, white woman,” he said. “In and outside a black man’s house!” It was more an accusation than a question.<br />“She’s new, sir,” squeaked Julie, earning herself another slap.<br />“Please,” said Evelyn, her heart racing. “My husband and I just moved here from the U.S., I was only trying to get aquatinted with Julie.”<br />A fleeting look of rage crossed the man’s face, then he began to laugh with amusement. “You really are new, aren’t you. What’s your name?”<br />“Evelyn Kvindlog,” he had made such an impression on her that she almost said, “sir.”<br />“Are you a church member?”<br />“Ah, yes,” said Evelyn. “My husband and I signed the membership forms before we left America.”<br />“I see,” said the black man, grinning. “And the fool brought you here?”<br />“I… I…” stammered Evelyn. “I don’t know what you mean.”<br />“Why were you talking to my woman?” asked the man.<br />“I… just wanted to make friends. I really should be going,” said Evelyn, biting her lip nervously.<br />The man roared with laughter again, as if she had unwittingly said something funny. “Oh, I think it’s a little late for that, Evelyn. I don’t think the doctor’s going to allow you to leave. We’ll be seeing a lot of you, Evelyn.”<br />He got up and walked from the room.<br />“Finish my car, white girl,” he shouted back to Julie.<br />Thus dismissed, Evelyn walked out the front door, with Julie right behind her. Evelyn was astonished that even outside, on the street, Julie had never bothered to put her top back on. Her well shaped breasts bounced proudly in the sunlight as she moved, nipples large and pronounced. Once they were out of hearing range of the house, Julie whispered urgently. “Evelyn, you and Rick have to get out of here!”<br />Evelyn looked at the girl, quizzically. “How do you know my husband’s name?”<br />“Don’t you know me, Evelyn?” asked Julie.<br />“No, we’ve never met until now.”<br />“At college, Wilmington. We were on the same dorm floor.”<br />Evelyn looked at the girl, still puzzled. Then a light came on in her brain. “Julie? Julie Krutzberg? I mean…”<br />The girl nodded.<br />“You look so different with your hair like that and…” Evelyn’s mind was whirling. “But you married Tom Weiderman… What are you doing here? Why are you dressed like, like…? You look like an African woman.<br />“Evelyn, please listen…”<br />“Where’s Tom? Who’s that man in the house?” continued Evelyn with bewilderment. It was so disconcerting talking to a bare-breasted woman outdoors.<br />Julie tried to wave away her questions. “Evelyn you must get out of the Sudan. Now. Tonight! Take your husband and get on a plane!”<br />“I… I can’t,” said Evelyn. “Rick’s not here.”<br />“Go without him?” said Julie, urgently.<br />“Leave without Rick?” Evelyn gasped. “I can’t do that! He’s on the road to Chad.”<br />Julie was shaking her head. “Then your relationship with him is over now, in any case,” said Julie. “Get out while you can.”<br />“Why…? What are you talking about?” asked Evelyn.<br />“Evelyn!” Julie was almost shaking her, but abruptly stopped. Julie finally sighed, seemingly resigned. “If Rick’s across the border then the doctor has acted. Please, I have to finish washing my husband’s car. It’s probably too late for you to escape now anyway.”<br />“But why? Why do we need to leave?” asked Evelyn.<br />Julie was shaking her head. “Ayang is probably right. We’ll be seeing a lot of you from now on.”<br /><br /><br /><br />Chapter 5<br /><br />Evelyn hurried back to her own home. She had no idea what Julie had been talking about, but the girl’s warning had scared her. She wished that Rick was there and kept hoping to receive his call, but the phone never rang.<br />Evelyn thought back to her college days, five years before. Now that she had recognized the girl, she remembered Julie well. They had been friends, though Julie had been even more the shy, demure type than Evelyn. Even at the conservative bible college they had attended Julie had been looked upon almost as a prude. Evelyn remembered that Julie’s father had been a minister, and that she had been brought up in a very strict household. She had never been allowed to date in high school, and when she had met Tom Weiderman in her sophomore year in college, it had been her first relationship.<br />Julie had been the model of a chaste young woman. She was so modest that she wouldn’t go swimming in her physical Ed class because she felt a one-piece bathing suit was too revealing. She dressed behind a partition in her dorm room, unwilling to expose her body even to her roommate.<br />Yet Evelyn had just seen her topless on the street. In front of a black man! And what about the tattoo and the African clothing? And where was Tom, anyway? Julie said she was married to that horrible black man who had slapped her around.<br />Evelyn shuddered, again recalling Julie’s serious advisory for her to leave the Sudan. She wondered if she should flee, but didn’t know how. She had no car, no money, and her passport was with Rick. She didn’t know which direction to run. Maybe, she thought, easing back onto the bed, it was all some kind of joke they were playing on the new couple. But Julie had seemed so sincere. Evelyn began to cry, hoping against hope that Rick would call. <br />The call never came. She tried to calm her anxiety by reading, then took a shower. It did seem to help and she gradually wound down. She was just settling down for an early evening when there was a loud, insistent knocking on the front door.<br />Once again she was startled; a shudder ran through her as she wondered if it might be the gardener again. She was going to have to speak to Dr. Kamwego about him. Dressing quickly in her robe, she ran to the door, having the presence of mind not to open it. “Who… who is it?” she asked, timidly.<br />“Police!” shouted a harsh voice. “Open the door!”<br />She looked through the peephole and saw two black men, uniformed officers, standing on the porch. She opened the door as ordered.<br />“Are you Mrs. Richard Kvindlog?”<br />“Ah… yes? What’s the matter? Has something happened to Rick?”<br />They immediately pushed their way into the house. “You’re to come with us for questioning.”<br />“Wha… what? I don’t know what you’re… wait!” They had turned her around and were handcuffing her. “Please, I didn’t do anything. This is some kind of mistake…”<br />“It’s no mistake Mrs. Kvindlog,” said one of the men. “Your husband is under arrest for conspiracy to smuggle illegal substances. Come along quietly now…”<br />“But, where… where are you taking me?”<br />“The prosecutor wishes to interrogate you.”<br />“But… Please, my husband’s not involved with drugs!”<br />“You can tell that to the magistrate,” he said.<br />“You don’t need to handcuff me,” she said.<br />“Routine, ma’am.”<br />“But, can’t I get dressed, at least?” she asked.<br />The officer shook his head. “We must detain you and bring you to the prosecutor immediately,” said the officer. “Come along now.”<br />She did not resist as they guided her out to a waiting police vehicle. One of the men drove while the other, who had sergeant’s stripes and looked to be in charge, sat in the back seat of the car with her.<br />Evelyn had always been taught to respect authority, and regard police officers as models of virtue. It came as a very severe shock when the man casually reached over to allow his hand to rest on her leg!<br />Instantly Evelyn stiffened. His big black hand felt heavy on her knee and she was very uncomfortable. But, she reasoned, perhaps he is just trying to reassure me in a fatherly way. She looked out the passenger window and tried to compose herself. Then she felt his hand start to move. It dipped through the part in her robe, and she felt his callused fingers on her bare flesh.<br />“Don’t… don’t touch me,” she pleaded. But the black officer merely grinned, and pushed his hand even further up her leg. With her hands cuffed behind her back she could do little more than squirm ineffectually while he groped her.<br />“Please… not… not like that. I’m a married woman!”<br />He chuckled. “The wife of a white smuggler. And a very pretty one.”<br />“Please, I’m… My husband is not a smuggler. AAAAhhhhh!” Her face turned beet red when his thick fingers reached the cleft at the juncture of her thighs. No man except Rick had ever touched her there. She held her breath as the man’s fingers began to stroke her labia. His middle digit found the bud of her clitoris and began to circle it slowly.<br />“Stop it! You can’t do this,” she whined.<br />Both of the black officers laughed. “We can do as we like, white woman.”<br />They ignored her weak protests, driving several miles past the military base to what looked like a large detention facility. At first, Evelyn had been too confused by what was happening to be very much alarmed about the charges. She assumed that there had been some clerical error, and the officers would take her home after it had been cleared up. She would hear from Rick tomorrow that everything was fine. She was far more disturbed by the indecent liberties they were subjecting her to. But as they parked the police car and usured her into the station her fear was growing by the minute. At least the sergeant had removed his had from her sex.<br />She was taken to an interrogation room, where she was left alone for some time. At length an older man, a high-ranking investigator walked into the room and seated himself at a table across from her.<br />“Mrs. Kvindlog,” he said gently. “Do tell me about your smuggling activities.”<br />“I… Please, I don’t understand what’s going on here. I’m not involved with drugs!”<br />The man smiled. “But your husband is. We stopped him at the border with several million Kenyan shillings in a brief case. There were also traces of opium and hashish in the trunk of his car. He was going to buy drugs in Chad and bring them back to the Sudan to corrupt our youth.”<br />“No!” She said. “There must be some mistake!”<br />“You are making the mistake, Mrs. Kvindlog. Your only chance is to make a full confession and cooperate with us.”<br />“Please, I don’t…”<br />“Tell us about your husband’s activities,” shouted the man. “Is there anyone else involved?”<br />“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” sobbed Evelyn. “We came here only a week ago, as missionaries. Please let me talk to my husband.”<br />“I’m afraid we can’t allow that. We found a large cache of contraband in your house, Mrs. Kvindlog. We know what you and your husband were doing…”<br />Evelyn was shaking her head in disbelief. “It… it must have been there before we arrived. Please, let me call my parents in the U.S., they’ll tell you it’s all a mistake.”<br />“No doubt they would,” said the interrogator, sarcastically. “But we do not allow prisoners to make international phone calls.”<br />Evelyn was crying like a child now. She felt so afraid and alone. If only Rick were here, she thought.<br />The interrogator seemed to soften his tone. “All right, I’ll get you someone from the U.S embassy. But my advice to you Mrs. Kvindlog is work out a deal and tell us everything. You might get a minimal sentence.” He left the room, leaving Evelyn to weep alone.<br />Evelyn sat in the interrogation room for two more hours while her trepidation mounted. Then the door opened and the investigator walked in, followed by Dr. Kamwego.<br />Immediately, Evelyn’s heart was filled with hope that the kindly older man could help her. She was not disappointed when he announced that he had secured her release and was taking her home.<br />Evelyn was crying with relief when they parked in the driveway of her little house. She had never thought she would be so happy to see the modest, run-down dwelling.<br />Dr. Kamwego unlocked the door for her and followed her in.<br />“There will be some hearings for both you and your husband,” he explained, sitting on the couch beside her. “Your passports will of course, be confiscated.”<br />“Doctor, is everything going to be all right?” she asked, looking to him for reassurance.<br />“That depends on you, Evelyn.”<br />“Oh, I’ll do anything,” she said, turning to him, her face open with sincerity. “I’ll cooperate any way I can.”<br />“Good,” said Kamwego. “You can start by taking off your clothes.” <br />Evelyn could not believe she heard him correctly. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”<br />“You know exactly what I mean, my dear,” he said, this time with an unmistakable gleam in his coal black eyes. “Stand up and remove your clothing.”<br />Evelyn felt the panic welling up inside her. She had already been through so much this day and now she had to deal with the indiscretion of her host and husband’s boss. But she fought to remain calm.<br />“Dr. Kamwego, I know that morals are looser here in Africa. But I am a faithful wife…” Her voice trailed off. She had not noticed the black bag he had carried in. Now he opened it, and drew out a long, ugly black leather whip before her terror widened eyes.<br />“Evelyn,” he said calmly. “I know you’re a faithful wife. At least for now. That’s what is going to make this so delicious. Now I want you to start taking off that ‘faithful white wife’ dress of yours. I’m going to start whipping you, and I’m not going to stop until you are naked.”<br /> “Please… you … you don’t understand… my husband… AAAAHHH!” Evelyn’s body jolted with pain and she looked at him with an astonished expression. He had struck her! He had lashed her hard across her upper torso with the whip, and beside the sudden agony was the incredible shock that someone had actually used a whip on her. She instinctively recoiled, and tried to back away.<br />“Please! AAAAHHHHHHGGGG!” He lashed at her again, this time on the shoulders. Evelyn looked into his face for an instant and saw the same raw, hungry lush that she’d seen in the other African men. That had been frightening enough before, but Rick was gone now and she was alone with this man. Suddenly blind panic overwhelmed her and she bolted toward the door. Even with his huge bulk the doctor was too fast for her. He seized her by the arm and pulled her down the hall into the main bedroom, throwing her into a corner.<br />“Please. Why are you doing this?” she babbled. “I’m a married woman, I can’t…”<br />“Strip!” he snarled. His calm, cultured veneer gone. He raised the leather and began to strike her savagely, repeatedly.<br />“Stop… AAaaaaAHH… please… Ahhggggg… You can’t… AAAaaaaHHHHH!” <br />“Do not talk Evelyn,” he demanded. “Strip!”<br />The young wife was terrified at the thought of being physically exposed to this man. But everything was happening so fast, and the pain was so hideous! She was sobbing and trying pathetically to shield herself with her arms. The pain of each blow seemed to compound as his strokes grew even more violent and forceful.<br />“Stop it… AAAAHHHHIIEE, stop it,” she screamed.<br />“Remove your clothing now, white woman.”<br />Evelyn had sagged to the floor and was trying to crawl away. His whip arm descended rapidly now, working the leather over her back, her legs, and even her face. He seemed absolutely deaf to her screeches of pain and pleas for mercy, but kept barking at her to disrobe.<br />She was hysterical now. At last, when the pain became unbearable, Evelyn felt impatient hands ripping at the buttons on her blouse and realized they were her own.<br />“Get it all off. Get up and do it!” He cracked the whip against the floor near her feet and Evelyn jumped up.<br />She stood, still sobbing on wobbly legs. As long as she continued to undress, he merely smacked the leather onto the floor with cruel menace. But when her hands faltered he would bring it down on her body once more, creating ugly red wheals on her face and exposed white skin.<br />“Please… I’m doing it!” she wailed.<br />“Get those shoes off! Hurry!”<br />Evelyn had removed her blouse and was franticly working the straps on her shoes- but was unable to comply with his demand fast enough. Another shrill scream punctured the air when he landed a vicious lash down her back. She managed to pull them off without unclasping the buckles. After that, Evelyn’s socks and pants came off in short order. But her numbed fingers balked at her bra. Even now, with her skin smarting from multiple glowing pink stripes, she could not bring herself to bare her breasts before this violent man of color- he was having none of it.<br />He reached down with his big ebony hand and grasped her cotton bra between the cups. He looked at her frightened face and for an instant they locked eyes. In his black orbs she saw for the first time his strength of mind, his will to dominate. She got no sense that he was intrinsically good or evil, just the iron rigidity of his being and resolve. This man would take what he wanted. This man would be obeyed.<br />Evelyn saw his arm wrench away, felt the material of her brasserie stretch and tear behind her back as the strap gave way and the cups disappeared from her chest. He flung the garment across the room as she reflexively brought her hands and arms up to cover her breast. Then like lightening came the savage open-palmed slap to her face.<br />Evelyn reeled and with one hand he seized a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back. As she staggered to get her balance he took hold of her nipple with his other hand and pinched it painfully.<br />“Get the panties off,” he shouted at her. “Get the panties off!”<br />Trembling now, the young woman reached down with both hands and slid the underwear over the ripe curves of her buttocks. She drew them down to her knees before they slipped from her torpid fingers, falling to the floor around her bare ankles.<br />Kamwego took her head in his massive hands while she shook, breathing in tiny sobs. “You belong to me now, white woman,” he hissed into her ear. “You will forget about your husband, You will serve only me, and my church. And the man I give you to!”My Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-24057687062724595972007-09-30T12:37:00.000-07:002007-09-30T13:36:13.137-07:00For Allison<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ETHZ_nDIFt3A1TKMEED0MvTM5n5naMbzAIrkeQTgAAIHtXGWl5grhDc8hEUMSdmUsItADV5Qe1m9CVcMNRYnkSEWZg-QBK6sB2DO9a-cITW9TWpGsDkLbdCbTKKTUwLSLBZJjoBc5Mdt/s1600-h/DSC07499.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116098686432086418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ETHZ_nDIFt3A1TKMEED0MvTM5n5naMbzAIrkeQTgAAIHtXGWl5grhDc8hEUMSdmUsItADV5Qe1m9CVcMNRYnkSEWZg-QBK6sB2DO9a-cITW9TWpGsDkLbdCbTKKTUwLSLBZJjoBc5Mdt/s320/DSC07499.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzqvSWe8Mg1gfqTlyCEHtTlG6ZIMF_4HEmUndqaYGK_B8q_tjM6bYVQ1YhHzt44AT4U77FbQfAjQzTVmAOhs9mSBt1kzlkDGRBDYVi_gUYtE_ahAW7aHdCbwemZrfkbXI2uXqN9jaEv64/s1600-h/DSC07517.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116098690727053730" style="DISPLAY: block; 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MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzP86iW7uoTHHM-In7sfLKSA7FpnZ8oe7QKCa7IC1BL_vGaNFf9DxHrQSoOAReUmQL6RI7ct6Pet6cb2IGFDzPC37YDN0JrUrYio_E-ZFxpgUIc80tyagIpv-FmeJ6AlbOand7mPQoiY_E/s320/7efb.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjglKxZT8niAuEcRTdrYwQrbRKsWdt2W66kdU2XGRge3sUKnhyHJwV8exItQUQ1whsXRoRcBTd90iKQntGhrdRH_KXB5obMT3jC_kmLTsA3vW2ctJLmeLsChTv6M_hNIky3jFPZjF4pKaFm/s1600-h/7f15.jpg"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrRgeSvKNUsnnQfWuBlnIvcNE94jPsU0IzshpYO1fzOOaFYuE8nZtgxU0y89kFWI7vFjRj70KUVz87euW8DZDM411AhLIUcMgiwQBI3XSupbrty2tagb3vq0I-cyhmGI5JwOS3zvJNJBnj/s1600-h/7fc0.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116083958989226146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrRgeSvKNUsnnQfWuBlnIvcNE94jPsU0IzshpYO1fzOOaFYuE8nZtgxU0y89kFWI7vFjRj70KUVz87euW8DZDM411AhLIUcMgiwQBI3XSupbrty2tagb3vq0I-cyhmGI5JwOS3zvJNJBnj/s320/7fc0.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>My Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-7651067846196358622007-09-30T11:46:00.000-07:002007-09-30T12:33:54.874-07:00For Pet Hellen<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQpNVmC9VEgA6cR3f9tHzS5dqxyoMjJoEv4oHPNjcFKeWjjcNOa8OjJjBtoyNMhwZvLAV8g0DiOnvbBcGTLayXSnFNgx-4ipbHO1sFN-J4wKkFXA3PEIZE3XQJsxL-5jZOVuKDjiN4eKe/s1600-h/7d8b.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116082348376490002" style="DISPLAY: block; 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MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiadcoo9TuGcGPK2G0wQJY4cuq1sazNWBwszGPQrWQ88jZ4ic9Eka2uBPR2A8aswGWdHltJAj97D1XQ2Jh6sPBhW9aa0Q4sYYbKx-hsr-TeEMLVaqz0QEwXldU2EAPSRguhU7UXhKxku6I/s320/BoB_Saphire2653.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWJ1cFZcnhZSwFm_hcljmL3B-YST7lOoLcslvr6ANHUnq-6dQMPWkYp55foBuu3rEtkjgKMNlduX1m2I95UVSndMUDPoL0ik6efANpzGupK_Gl-FDxQNCQt6uZsboWTOVgLS6T0u44nkp/s1600-h/both.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116070820684264674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWJ1cFZcnhZSwFm_hcljmL3B-YST7lOoLcslvr6ANHUnq-6dQMPWkYp55foBuu3rEtkjgKMNlduX1m2I95UVSndMUDPoL0ik6efANpzGupK_Gl-FDxQNCQt6uZsboWTOVgLS6T0u44nkp/s320/both.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdHZ-eAhm_szKwqB7zA0HiKjsurAFTh7e38bzTU8PpwjJWBEaHhfKUqGMq4B4JWdQFerffQUKasMmvPuIEPmBT6RU4UaB2Y1M-zB1_m1K-at6ySUlknoJIgFX3yHa4dF1vEkNlXNtlceyc/s1600-h/bondage1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116070824979231986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdHZ-eAhm_szKwqB7zA0HiKjsurAFTh7e38bzTU8PpwjJWBEaHhfKUqGMq4B4JWdQFerffQUKasMmvPuIEPmBT6RU4UaB2Y1M-zB1_m1K-at6ySUlknoJIgFX3yHa4dF1vEkNlXNtlceyc/s320/bondage1.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>My Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-34971792348629400812007-09-30T11:32:00.000-07:002007-09-30T11:45:05.793-07:00Yes Sir<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7_HfKtp_5R5rYkrolp9s4m4WbLDYY-wZ1-qXiS0_c5TPxBNIvZP5RAxLPp2qwQrUtTJTmqIbwqTDK0sGTUHhoowSG90VbZ6qz_dcKabsRyPRMucquZEcjqgvjoumaigNCIxekgQtbKmcE/s1600-h/BoB_Saphire2628.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116070047590151314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7_HfKtp_5R5rYkrolp9s4m4WbLDYY-wZ1-qXiS0_c5TPxBNIvZP5RAxLPp2qwQrUtTJTmqIbwqTDK0sGTUHhoowSG90VbZ6qz_dcKabsRyPRMucquZEcjqgvjoumaigNCIxekgQtbKmcE/s320/BoB_Saphire2628.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZRGrUP7ctNFIhtrBLp99JrRkcj7roIPSqKJDDh7h-lMrRvJPhMJSeuy6K7TKg91dYijw3agVO4XBSTurJLIh81Kl7CSNPazDqnVpi2JrxrEyHd069612MyOMDDi7SNMImeZ5gxDZsLwV/s1600-h/BoB_Saphire2651.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116070094834791586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZRGrUP7ctNFIhtrBLp99JrRkcj7roIPSqKJDDh7h-lMrRvJPhMJSeuy6K7TKg91dYijw3agVO4XBSTurJLIh81Kl7CSNPazDqnVpi2JrxrEyHd069612MyOMDDi7SNMImeZ5gxDZsLwV/s320/BoB_Saphire2651.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhigI9N-HV9twp5Mhs8DNugtCKtzgzeWnVbhHjCE2net3Rr26Q_jIUc4C3RzhblXI8FkBSsmfYQKUheuTkDUglvSrLNzREKs-4VvpgX2H41gVnAou2zaw-yu8E77QVlKzSfrQu7DN2qZUqa/s1600-h/BoB_Saphire2129.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116069729762571330" style="DISPLAY: block; 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MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4t0lYLwyIF9ztizwt9gLFyz7-bJ5nvwkAf8x7JIGMqMtEgPJlHY7KLgTYHnNXunrJQ5AYLGxitBk7le_VO7pTgbZdAmzJqptAv2pSVgCwPJMC8HYjGqvikJw8T9jLnUu3IhRkaYhTdU4Y/s320/79c1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZUFdmbVy9H0TJb7d8GluMm3NAsG1qCTECd1j-lYd8n21cx-ySsskpWnfYeRwDfg4GX233YF2vjlLOahjyxVlWJvjUAfHLXqp4-qQccWhsROVUmZSL5Dsdbzdyem-WCHfJHWxjThxX9FyT/s1600-h/080.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116067225796637090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZUFdmbVy9H0TJb7d8GluMm3NAsG1qCTECd1j-lYd8n21cx-ySsskpWnfYeRwDfg4GX233YF2vjlLOahjyxVlWJvjUAfHLXqp4-qQccWhsROVUmZSL5Dsdbzdyem-WCHfJHWxjThxX9FyT/s320/080.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>My Tribute To Mr Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13164528182623043681noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711818651894058103.post-28790572790648426612007-09-30T10:41:00.000-07:002007-09-30T11:32:29.549-07:00Lust For The Master<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG2JCIKpeyb1ZbNkVihHbWBwu21JydjmCHHzl8Y_4GTf_s0DRkf4t1zOmjzwvGCwQU0rM9Ay7xyHhEmL57JGA01EmIVECDo2ZC53tN68_mmmCpBp1byqxidQ9wNCMk5LQe0a6JzWS7EhXd/s1600-h/72f4.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116066366803177730" style="DISPLAY: block; 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