"SOLD" 

   CHAPTER 1 The first day of my vacation would show to be my last day as a
free man.  Or so it seems.  I've given up any hope of being released or
rescued.  My ankles and wrists are sore and aching and I don't even know
what month it is.  I've got a foul taste in my mouth, and I shiver with
fear every time I hear steps in the stairs leading down to my dungeon,
halfway to hell.

   My name is Franz Kuntz, I'm a German national you might have heard or
read about me.  In the month of July, I vanished from the face of the
earth, during what was supposed to be a wonderful and well deserved
vacation in Brazil, after almost two years of constantly working overtime
as a reporter and editor at the local newspaper.  I thought of myself as a
free man, recently divorced from my former classmate and lover, Jannike. 
We met at the age of fourteen in school and had been a couple since then -
a couple of months short of fifteen years.  Our marriage faded the last few
years, so we both agreed to go separate ways, still with a great respect
for one another - lovers turned into companions.  And so we did.  At the
age of twenty-nine, I still felt young and curious of life's mysteries. 
There was a world out there that I hadn't seen much of.  I decided to start
with South America and only a short visit, since I had to be back in the
beginning of August to my ball and chain.  Everything was set up, and I
didn't bother to learn anything about the country; I was going there as a
tourist, so why should I waste my time reading boring articles about
agriculture and rural traditions and so on?  I know it's pretty arrogant,
but I'd taken some time off from being a nice guy with a correct mind.

   I fell in love with the country right away, at the airport.  It was my
first trip outside of Europe and just about everything seemed exotic.  The
classy black, white, brown or bronze-colored women moved their bodies in a
different dimension than German women did.  Every step of these ladies was
gracious, proud and...  Sexy.  And, remember: I was still at the airport,
among business-people.  I could only imagine how the more natural,
down-to-earth women in the real world would turn out to be.  And I got my
share of that in the taxi to my hotel.  I was stunned.  OK, it's not that I
haven't seen beautiful females before.  But never in my life had I seen
such an army of delicious, mind-blowing creatures.  My hotel was located in
the northern part of the town, within walking distance from the beach,
according to the tourist brochure.  It wasn't much, but it was kinda
charming and clean.  And not so big.  I hate enormous buildings.  The staff
was casual and friendly as I signed in.  My room was on the ground level.
Great!  No stairs to climb, in case I got home awfully drunk one night, I
thought.  I showered, lay down naked on the bed and felt a rush of desire
pumping through my veins.  A desire for hot, exotic food, cold beer and
those gorgeous felines that seemed to be everywhere.  My penis started to
grow and rise.  It's swollen, purple head swayed gently over my stomach,
reaching almost nine inches from my groin.  I decided not to waste any
precious seed here in solitude, so I got dressed and hit the streets.

   It was late in the afternoon.  I had just finished a large, tasty meal
and ordered a second beer, when a company of three well-dressed and
good-looking middle-aged women sat down at the table right in front of me.
They didn't take any notice of my existence, so I studied them for a while
in secret.  The one facing me, about three meters away, had the darkest
skin I'd ever seen.  She was strikingly beautiful and held her head high
and proud.  After only five minutes or so, it was quite clear that she was
the "leader" of the three, the way she took command of the humorous
discussion, and the way the other two watched and talked to her.  She had
large, brown, jewel-like eyes, with only a stain of cruelty in them, and
thick, sensual lips, painted with blood-red lipstick.  Her curly hair was
held by a knot at the back of the head.  She was dressed in a thin,
multi-colored cotton dress that didn't leave much for the imagination.  Her
breasts were big and heavy, heaving majestically when she breathed.  Her
dress revealed lots of naked flesh, including one third of her delicious
breasts.  The nipples rose hard against the thin cotton.  Her gracious legs
were crossed under the table.  She wore pink, high-heeled shoes.  A really
classy lady!  40 years old, I guessed, married to some successful,
soon-to-be very rich and powerful man who never settled for the second
best. I tried to imagine her in bed, soaked in sweat, moaning and charging,
with me kissing and licking her shining black skin all over that mature and
gorgeous body - and realized that I wasn't just horny, I was getting drunk,
too.

   Over my third beer I glanced at the one sitting on her left, from my
point of view.  Possibly 43 years old, with skin that was lighter than
mine. She was pale and she was cold, or at least, that's what I thought. 
Sophisticated middleclass, no doubt.  Dull sex with her fat husband once a
week.  Or maybe not, I was usually wrong about people.  She was good
looking, all right, but no knockout.  Everything about her looked normal -
or a bit prettier than normal, but nothing to remember her by, if you
hadn't seen her for a couple of years.  A charming smile once in a while,
but no passion.  I turned my attention to the third woman.  Her mouth ran
all the time, except when her dark friend opened her mouth to speak.  Then
she stopped, even if she was in the middle of a sentence.  As if she was
afraid of her.  And a minute later they all laughed together.  Strange. 
Motor mouth had light brown skin and huge breasts.  She might have been 45,
or she might have been 50, it was hard to tell.  As the other two, she was
well preserved and healthy-looking.  Definitely sexier than the cold blond,
but way back in the shadow of the black beauty.  Like her pale friend, she
was more or less commonly dressed, with ordinary brown sandals to go with
it.  Probably divorced and looking for a stud at least twenty years younger
than herself.  For a night or two.

   I gave up my bizarre guessing game and turned my attention to the
streetlife outside of the window.  The first day of my vacation, and I
deserved it.  I was about to call the waiter, to get my bill, when I heard
a cool, deep voice from the other table: "You look very lonely, mister." I
blushed.  The dark beauty walked towards my table and sat down beside me.
"You do not mind, mister?" Her voice was hypnotic, spellbinding.  The smile
didn't leave her face as she lit a cigarette.  I felt like a fool, unable
to say something that wouldn't make me look even more stupid.  "No, of
course not!  Be my guest!" "Your guest?  You want take me to your place?"
Still smiling.  But was she teasing me, or...  "No, I meant..." I tried to
find the right words.  "No?  You no want?  You no like me, mister?" So much
for my guessing.  A classy lady with a wealthy husband.  Right.  And she
turned out to be a hooker.  "Only joking, mister.  I no bad woman.  Have
money.  But you look very nice, and I need practice English.  I work in
office, and need practice English, please." She showed me a ring on her
finger.  "See, I married." I sighed in relief and we laughed together.  The
ice was broken.  "I'm sorry, Mrs..." "Mrs?  You call me Rosita, please."
"OK, Rosita.  I'm sorry.  I was thinking about something else." "Else?  Is
OK!"

   And so the conversation continued for a while.  Her friends kept quiet
in the background, while me and Rosita had our first English-lesson.  I
tried to explain that I wasn't the perfect teacher, but she didn't
understand, and that was fine by me.  She smiled at me in a way that made
me wonder how much that wedding ring really meant to her.  And after more
than two hours of chatting I was quite sure that tonight was going to be
very special.  But I couldn't even in my wildest fantasies imagine what I
had coming to me.

   The clerk at the reception just smiled at me when the four of us
entered. He handed me my key and checked out my company.  I wondered what
was in his head at that moment.  I had just agreed to show the women my
room, and maybe offer them some of the tax-free Vodka.  There would be no
sleazy group sex, but how was he to know?  And how was I to know that I was
about to be robbed, raped and sold as a slave?  Rosita's two friends, Maria
and Maria, found the Vodka-bottle, two cans of Tonic-water and four glasses
and mixed the drinks while I and Rosita discussed the German pension
system. I couldn't wait for the other two to leave, so that I could get to
know her a bit better.  Her eyes and her mouth didn't speak the same
language, that's for sure.  A few drinks later, Maria and Maria went to the
bathroom together.  And that was what we both had been waiting for.  We
kissed with wide-open mouths, feeling out each others bodies with clumsy,
drunken movements.

   Half crazy by lust, I undressed her in a couple of seconds, and she lay
naked before me.  I must've behaved like a horny teenager as I buried my
head between her legs and kissed her hairless, juicy cunt.  I sucked and
licked the black and purple and pink flesh, and I didn't care about
anything else in this world: disease, her friends in the bathroom, the fact
that I was probably acting like a worthless lover - I just couldn't care.
She moaned and whispered sexy words in Portuguese as I drank the love
juices that flowed freely from her beautiful sex.  Dizzy with desire, I
started massaging her clit with my tongue.  Her whole body was working its
way towards the climax.  The black skin was shining with sweat.  She dug
her fingernails into my shoulders.  The sharp pain made me groan, but I
continued to take her all the way, like a humble servant.  When she reached
the orgasm, she wrapped her legs around my neck and started squeezing with
tremendous power.  She cut off the oxygen supply, and I didn't have the
strength to part her legs.  The last thing that went through my head before
everything went black was: -I'm being strangled by a woman!

   . . .  From a far distance I heard female voices in a strange language
that I didn't understand.  I felt hands all over my body, pushing and
tearing off my clothes.  They turned me around and nailed me to the bed
with the weight of their bodies.  Somebody sat on my head, pressing
pressing my face down into the soft pillow.  As I regained consciousness, I
realized that they were about to tie my hands behind the back.  My efforts
to break free were weak and useless.  I heard them laughing at me, scornful
and cruel, and thought about all the money and travelers cheques - close to
a months salary, about to fly out of the window.  I didn't know that was
the least of my concerns, how could I?  They tied my feet together with
black leather straps and eased the pressure.  My capturers were all naked.
It was the same women I had met at the restaurant, yet three completely
different persons.  They were predators, killers.  I felt a cold wave of
fear running through my helpless body.

   Then, all of a sudden, the light brown Maria jumped me and slapped my
face several times before she spat me in the eyes.  I felt my cock growing
hard, and before I knew it, she shoved it into her warm and wet cunt.  She
taunted and hit me with closed fists in the face a couple of times as she
fucked me.  The other two cheered her, as if they were watching some street
fight.  My eyes filled with tears when one of the punches landed on my
nose. The moment later, the blond Maria was sitting on my face, ordering me
in a self-confident voice: "Now, lick my ass, or you die!" I hesitated for
a second, disgusted but also at the same time horny as an animal and scared
half to death.  I felt the pleasure of a soon-to-come giant orgasm under
the other Maria's humping, and stretched out my tongue.  The blond Maria
sighed loudly when I licked the crack of her ass.  I was like a slave,
eager to satisfy his cruel master.  I let the tongue run up and down, up
and down, light and slow at first, tickling her firm and muscular anus,
moistening it with my saliva.  The taste was bitter, but not very strong,
and nowhere near as repulsive as one might think.  The darker Maria let out
a shriek as she came on top of me.

   Her blond friend gave me new directions: "Fuck my asshole, and don't
stop before I tell you to!" Without second thoughts, I penetrated her
light-brown muscle with the tip of my tongue.  Bit by bit, I drove it
further up, further into her tight asshole.  Then I exploded in a furious
orgasm, shooting my sauce into Maria, the rapist.  The blond Maria moaned
as if in agony every time I buried my wet tongue in her ass, and sighed
every time I pulled it out.

   CHAPTER 2 The three ladies took turn in raping my slippery face.  They
sat on me one by one, forcing me to lick them in the ass, while they
masturbated.  The cruel afro-queen stayed for an eternity, while the other
two went through my belongings, spreading clothes, books and other personal
stuff on the floor.  They giggled in excitement when they found more than
one thousand US-dollars in traveler's cheques and cash.  That is: I heard
all this, but I didn't see any of it, because my face was covered with
Brazil's sexiest groin.  I saw some steaming black flesh and a part of the
ceiling.  My tied wrists and ankles hurt a great deal and they bled.  But
my major concern was the fact that I was being robbed of all my money
during my first day in Brazil.  Thinking about it nowadays: What a joke!  A
young, naive European tourist being tricked by some sexy, street-smart
native women, and all he could think of is his hard-earned cash!

   I hurt all over.  Even my tongue was sore from all the perverted
licking. They treated me worse than a dog, and they knew they could get
away with it.  Then, with a voice that wouldn't take no for an answer, the
queen ordered me to go inside.  And so I did.  She had a very firm grip of
my tongue, and I had to fight to please her.  She told me to go deeper, and
I did.  When I was as deep inside her tight and bitter-tasting cave as I
could come, she started squeezing.  I froze and panicked.  She was about to
strangle me again, but this time I was even more helpless.  She embraced my
struggling body with astonishing strength, and glued me to the bed, while
working on my soft tongue with her shining black anal muscle.  For a moment
I was sure she was going to chop it off, and leave a part of me buried deep
inside the back of her gorgeous body.  But after a few minutes, that felt
like hours, her body started shivering as she reached the climax.  The
pressure from her stranglehold eased, and I was able to slip my aching
tongue out of her ass, out of harms way.

   For the moment, at least.  Then, all of a sudden, she got up and started
to dress.  The blond Maria made a quick call on her mobile phone.  I didn't
understand a word, so I had no idea what was coming next.  Almost an hour
passed.  During that time, the darker Maria fucked me twice, while the
other two smoked and listened to the radio.  The bitch made me eat my own
cum from her cunt after she finished the first ride.  I hadn't been so
humiliated in all my life, and that was still nothing compared to what my
future life as a slave would turn out to be like.  Then there was a knock
on the door.

   Rosita opened and let a huge, leather-dressed, mean-looking woman in her
late thirties in.  Her head was shaven and her skin color something between
deep, dark brown and black.  She moved her body like a panther.  If she'd
been a head or two shorter and fifty pounds lighter, she would have been
really cute.  If it wasn't for those killer-eyes.  They valuated me in a
second, and then decided I was a piece of garbage, and the worst part was
that she was right.  Those eyes struck me down, made me shrink, made me
surrender...  Without saying a word, she handed Rosita a wad of bills, and
the three rapists left the room with my money and cheques.  It took my slow
brain a while to realize that they had sold me.  Sold me!  Like a piece of
meat.

   My owner or whoever she was sat down and stared me straight in the eyes.
For a long time.  She slapped my face with shocking power everytime I tried
to look away.  Those black leather gloves came down on me like the fists of
Mike Tyson.  She was demonstrating her power, but it was needless.  I had
already surrendered.  When she seemed certain that I was under her spell,
she untied my hands, still without taking her eyes off me.  Her big,
leather-clad breasts pressed against the head of my abused penis, and gave
it new life.  When she felt the growing, hardening flesh against her
nipples through the soft leather, she almost smiled.  At least the hangman
charm left her face for a second.  When she untied my feet, she squatted
over my stomach, and revealed a delicious, fully-grown ass, gently squeezed
by the soft and thin black leather trousers.  It was quite clear that she
wasn't wearing any panties.  Like she wanted me to know what was close, but
still way out of reach.  Just like my freedom.

   This fabulous amazon must've outweighed me with at least twenty pounds
(about ten kilos), and I estimated she was close to a head taller than I
was.  That meant she had to be over six feet tall (two meters).  Her big
and heavy breasts, and her large and firm buttocks looked very effeminate
and beautiful.  Her thick, sensual lips could have given any heterosexual
man sweet and wet dreams, if it wasn't for that cruel and self-reliant
expression.  She got up and threw my clothes at me.  I dressed in silence,
horrified of what she had in mind for me, but too stunned to even think
about attempting an escape.  She looked in disgust at the mess on the
floor, so I got down on my knees and picked my scattered belongings up. 
She threw my large bag at me, and I started filling it.  After half an hour
there were absolutely no signs of me left in the room.  And she still
hadn't uttered a single word.  At the door, on our way out, she crossed her
strong arms over her bosom and looked down at her feet.  I knelt, with an
unfamiliar sensation burning in my guts, and kissed her shining biker
boots. Then we left the room and my past behind.

   CHAPTER 3 Exactly three months after the abduction of Franz Kuntz, Nikki
Yakomoto, a 43-year old Japanese author, landed in Rio de Janeiro.  The
last couple of months she had been collecting some extremely hard-to-get
information about a bizarre and exclusive sex-resort right in the middle of
the Brazilian jungle, guarded by a small and armed female militia.  The
work to gather the pieces had been very time demanding and difficult, and
would have been impossible without her invaluable contacts around the
world. Her husband and three children thought she had gone here to make
some studies for her next novel.  And that was partly true.  Only, she
hadn't told them anything about the subject.  What they didn't know
wouldn't hurt them.

   At the hotel she took a shower and turned on the 28" TV.  The room was
ridiculously expensive, but being a successful, best-selling writer, she
could afford the best.  Nikki had a secret passion that nobody close to
her, including her beloved husband, knew anything about.  She opened a
Japanese book with an ordinary cover that didn't give any hints about what
the book actually contained.  She went to chapter five, where she had last
left off.  It was about a group of slave traders in the jungle of Papua New
Guinea, who had been captured by their "live stock".  The book was so
perverted and cruel that even Japan had banned it.  But everything that had
a market also had producers, and the book was available for everyone who
knew where to look for it.  Nikki loved the part where the village chief's
fat wife, an impressive woman weighing more than 250 pounds, wrestled one
of the terrified slave traders to the ground and slapped him in the face
with her water melon-sized breasts, while four of her daughters held his
arms and legs.  Then she scraped most of the skin off his face.  Their
prisoner almost died of horror and pain during the torture, but remained
conscious until the powerful woman pissed in his massacred face.  Then his
lights went out.

   Nikki ran her tongue over the red lips and spread her legs.  She started
caressing her soft and full breasts with the free hand, as she read about a
young virgin whipping the life out of one of the other traders.  "Serves
them right, those stinking pigs!", Nikki whispered to herself, and sent her
sensitive hand further down, to her thick, black bush.  She stroke the
pubic hair for a few minutes, then the swollen and wet lips, massaging them
gently with a light touch.  She was in no hurry.  A slow, sensual foreplay
in peace and harmony was always followed by a long series of wonderful
explosions.  She had taken masturbation into perfection, and sometimes she
reached so high during her climax that she fainted.

   At 43 years of age, Nikki had never in her life looked better than she
did now.  The short and naked, pale-skinned woman staring back at her from
the mirror was a delight to the eye.  So, she wasn't as firm as she had
been 20 - 25 years ago.  And her breasts were almost twice the size now,
and hung down heavy instead of pointing out, as they had done earlier.  But
she fancied them better like this, mature and fully grown.  She tickled her
nipples with the fingertips and watched bemused how they filled with blood
and stiffened.  Her husband used to call them his "delicate raspberries",
and Nikki loved the comparison.  He could spend more than half an hour
kissing, licking and sucking her breasts, well aware of that it turned her
on tremendously.  But he didn't know what she fantasized about behind her
closed eyes, when he pleased her with his mouth.  He didn't know about the
forbidden scenes that took place within her imagination when he ate her
cunt.

   He called her sex "the most beautiful red rose on the planet".  She
turned around and watched her own ass.  Touched the tasty and elastic
buttocks, that still drew a great deal of attention, especially from young
men and boys.  Men at her own age tended to desire a lot younger flesh, her
husband being a splendid exception to that rule.  The phone rang.  At last!


   The next morning she checked out of the hotel, and took a cab to the
address she'd been given over the phone last night.  A smiling,
bronze-shining lady in her early fifties led Nikki into a small, dark
office on the third floor, where she was questioned again.  It was their
final check on her.  Just to be absolutely sure she was a "safe guest". 
About four hours later, the jeep stopped at the last checkpoint.  There
were three armed women in green camouflage uniforms behind the gate.  One
of them spoke a few words with Nikki's driver, before they opened the gate
and let them through.  Nikki smiled at herself as they closed in on the
jungle mansion.  She was soaked in sweat and longed for a nice, cold
shower. Her ass and thighs stuck to the hot leather seat.  The jeep stirred
up a cloud of dust behind them on the bumpy and narrow road.

   The mansion was enormous.  Nikki had been expecting a large two-storey
house, surrounded by steaming vegetation.  This was awesome.  She gulped in
disbelief as she stepped out of the vehicle.  It was like a medium-sized
convention center right in the middle of the wild and threatening jungle. A
tall black woman with a slender, well-trained body and a marvelous pair of
tits approached Nikki.  She wore a white bodystocking with nothing beneath
it, except for that breathtaking body.

   "Welcome to our resort, Nikki!  Has the trip been comfortable?" Nikki
just smiled.  So did the other woman.  "I guess you're dying to take a
shower, and have something to eat and drink.  That will be arranged.  My
name is Tanya.  If there's anything, and I mean anything, you want, don't
hesitate to let me know.  I hope your stay here will be a pleasant one.  It
was for ten days, I understand." "Yes, that's right", Nikki answered. 
Tanya led her to her room on the ground floor, and then left her alone. 
Finally here, Nikki sighed and dropped the dirty, sweat-drenched clothes to
the floor.  She admired the room.  Everything about it was first class. 
Well, it should be.  She had spent a small fortune for her stay in this
Utopia.

   Instead of hitting the shower, Nikki picked up the phone.  "Yes, Miss
Nikki?", answered a cool voice before she had even opened her mouth.  "I
want you to send me a slave who knows how to eat pussy." "They all do, Miss
Nikki." "Well, send me the best there is." Nikki had had to undergo a
thorough medical examination, to prove that she wasn't a bearer of anything
contagious, before she was allowed to come here.  And she knew, from a
reliable source, that the slaves were as clean as virgins.

   About thirty seconds after the phone call, there was a light knock on
her door.  Nikki let him in.  He was pale and ordinary looking, dressed in
red shorts and a T-shirt of the same color.  About 22 years old, she
guessed, and probably American.  A blue-eyed tourist, trapped in something
too big and powerful for him to handle.  Tricked, fucked and sold, she
thought.  Just like that.  She didn't care about his past, and she didn't
care about his future.  He was here to please her.  Period!  "When I was
your age, you weren't even born.  I'm gonna teach you a thing or two.  Get
down on your knees, slave!" He did so in less than a second.  Without being
told so, he started kissing and licking her sweaty feet.  She lifted them,
one at the time, to allow him to suck on her toes.  It was a sweet
sensation to feel his wet mouth around her dirty toes.  Her small feet
shone with his saliva, and the rush of blood to her breasts and groin made
her dizzy.

   She felt the sensation of being in total control over the taller and
stronger man.  She picked up the filthy panties from the floor and stuffed
them into his mouth, forcing him to taste the sweat from her ass and cunt.
Nikki enjoyed herself.  This wasn't just a kinky masturbation fantasy, it
was all for real now.  She laid down on the zebra-skin rug beside the giant
bed and urged him: "Come, lick my pussy clean, you worthless dog!  Make me
fly like I have never flown before...  Take me to the highest mountain...
and stick your fucking tongue into my beautiful cunt, and fuck it...  Fuck
it!" Her humble slave did as he'd been told.  He licked and drank away the
foul taste of the jeep ride, and stripped her down to her delicious and
natural flavor.  It took a while, but he got there.

   About two hours later, she laid totally exhausted on the rug, listening
to the sound of the air conditioner and her own breathing.  She told the
slave to leave.  Day one, she thought.  And she hadn't even started yet. 
Nikki Yakomoto smiled to herself.  "Everything is possible!", she said out
loud and went to the bathroom.

   CHAPTER 4 Janice sat down in the comfortable sofa at the mansion's
lounge, and glanced through the pages of the catalogue.  Most of the men on
the photographs looked all right to her, but they all lacked a certain...
expression.  Then she stopped at page 22.  The young man on the picture had
his wrists tied behind his back.  Strong-looking body, but not too
muscular, and a nice, stiff cock that he probably knew how to use.  But
that wasn't the most interesting part.  He had that expression in his eyes.
Enslaved and tied up by women out in the middle of nowhere, and he still
expressed some kind of male pride.  Only slightly, but she spotted it right
away.  This was the slave she'd been looking for.  Janice returned his
stare and whispered: "You have no idea what you're up against." The man on
the picture looked like he was in his late twenties, or possibly early
thirties.  She guessed that he was a northern European.  Swedish, perhaps.
She smiled, recalling so many things she'd heard about that country.  And
that Swedish porno movie from the seventies, where that woman stuffed an
enormous sausage, thicker than a soda can, into her cunt and started
fucking it.  More than once, she had heard that country being described as
the haven of sin and free sex, with infidelity being the rule rather than
the exception.  She decided that he was Swedish, after all.  And she would
make him pay dearly for his ancestors sins and his own pride.  She read the
short description: "6 foot 2 tall.  8 inches long." And that

   was it.  She smiled again.  Janice got up and walked over to one of the
staff, to make her order.

   It was getting dark outside.  From a distance she heard a male scream of
pain, followed by female laughter.  She felt like a baby girl in a candy
store.  No...  She felt like a million bucks.  The slave was brought to
room 17.  A woman that appeared to be in her mid-forties was standing in
the middle of the room.  The moment he saw her eyes he knew he was up for a
rough treat.  "Get down on your knees!  You are not to stand on your feet
in my presence.  Is that clear to you?" Her pretty lips were bent in a
crooked smile.  "Yes, Madam." He knelt.  "And you are not to call me Madam
either.  It is Your Highness to you, slave!" Janice ran her fingers through
the curly, red hair.  "Yes, Your Highness."

   The slave admired her black leather outfit and her fully-grown body. 
She wore shining boots with spurs (He frowned when he saw them), soft
gloves, reaching all the way up to her armpits and finally a little bit
more than daring bikini, hiding about two thirds of her mature, sexy
breasts, and most of her pubic hair.  The soft, black leather looked good
on her body, the slave thought to himself.  The cute laughing wrinkles in
her face, and her nice features made him think that in another time and
place, she was surely the most kind and charming wife and mother.  But here
and now, he knew not to expect any mercy.  This was not the place for love
and devotion.  She was a female predator, if he had ever seen one.

   Janice felt the anger pumping through her body.  The creep was enjoying
himself.  She could see him staring between her legs, at the curly pubic
hair sticking out of her leather panties.  She turned around and walked to
a cupboard placed between the windows.  He watched her bouncing ass in awe,
sensing approaching danger.  When she returned she held a hunting knife in
her right hand.  Her slave hissed as she placed its razor-sharp edge
against his throat.  He felt as if a cold hand gripped his bowels and
squeezed them into a ball.  Resisting was out of the question.  That would
mean a certain death sentence.  He was well aware of the fact that every
move in each and every room was being registered by candid cameras.  The
armed guards would be here in no-time, striking him down and dragging him
away, or killing him right here, on the spot.  And he knew that she knew.

   Janice put some pressure on the knife and saw the first drop of blood, a
dark red, almost black drop, glimmering on the edge of the lethal steel
blade.  Then came that familiar, warm, bubbling sensation in her stomach
again, as she laid the hand of death on her helpless victim.  She recalled
a hunting trip with her husband about three years ago.  She had shot and
wounded a year-old deer-calf in the woods of Denver, Colorado one early
morning.  Closing in on the stricken prey with a knife in her hand, she
could feel her nipples erecting and her sex moistening from the excitement.
The terrified animal was staring at her in despair.  It let out a shriek
and tried, in vain, to get up and run away.  Janice had placed one of her
boots on the deer's shoulder blade, and put the knife to its throat.  The
moment she had dug the knife blade into its flesh and slit, the rush of
blood to her head, and the strong feeling of being so alive and in control
over life and death was so immense, she had almost orgasmed.

   The sight of the big man about to fall apart before her, filled Janice
with pleasure and sadistic joy.  A narrow stream of blood ran down his bare
throat.  She was in complete power now.  If she only pressed the edge a
little deeper...  Then he started crying.  At first without a sound.  One
tear, then another...  She had broken his resistance and his hard-spotted,
ridiculous macho pride.  He no longer caressed her big tits with his horny
eyes.  He no longer thought of the pleasure in fucking her, or getting
fucked by her on the king-sized bed.  He cried.  When the tears started
pouring down his cheeks, Janice used the knife to slash the clothes off his
body, and then threw it away.  As she'd expected, his swollen 8-inch cock
had reacted in a different manner than its enslaved master.  Janice had
seen this before.

   Without any warning, she kicked him in the ribs, and stopped his
childish sobbing.  When he lay on his back, moaning, in great pain, she put
the sole of her right boot in his face.  "I forgot to wipe the dirt off my
boots when I got back home.  Well, never mind...  That's what your tongue
is for, anyway." So he started licking the soles of her boots.  What else
could he do?  Janice felt the last ounce of anger vanish as her slave
cleaned the dirty rubber under her feet with his own saliva.  After ten
minutes, her leather panties were so soaked in her sex juices, that she
felt as if she had peed in them.  She stripped naked and sat down on his
incredibly hard cock.  She didn't want him to put his dirty tongue inside
her, not now.  For the moment, she just wanted to fuck him into total
submission.  And that she did.  She spat him repeatedly in the face during
the ride.  It turned her on, spitting a man all over his feeble face, while
fucking his brains out.  Being in the prime of her life, Janice had just
turned 47, she expected only the best out of everything, and she knew she
was worth it.  She loved the wet, smacking sound of their sexes meeting and
then parting.  She punched him in the face every time his dick touched her
hard, sensitive clit.  This was fucking at its best.  He started bleeding
from the nose right away.

   Then, as Janice reached the top of the hill and exploded in a series of
mind-blowing orgasms, she landed a sharp punch on his chin and sent him
into the dark regions of unconsciousness.  Standing over his passed out
body, she suddenly felt a strong urge to urinate.  She watched his wide
open, bleeding mouth and wondered if he would choke if she sat down and
pissed in it.  Should she...  Giving it a second thought, she decided to
use the toilet instead.  This time.  "So much for Swedish sin!", she
muttered on her way to the bathroom.

   CHAPTER 5 At the age of 11, her father, an intelligent and educated
spokesman for the blacks, had been arrested by the apartheid henchmen,
never to return again.  She remembered him as a gentle, loving father and a
devoted anti-racist activist.  He used to tell his family about the
teachings of Martin Luther King, who at the same period gathered enormous
crowds in the USA, holding his famous speeches about equality and freedom.
When the word spread that her father had been murdered in custody, she had
cried for several days in a row, swearing to avenge his death.  This was
later confirmed by other inmates, who had witnessed the beasts
"accidentally" drown her father in a tub, during torture.

   One of the prisoners had dragged his own mistreated and broken body to
their home as soon as he was released, and told them the shocking and
tragic news.  When she was 13, six armed white soldiers had kicked in the
door to their small house, and ordered her and her four sisters and two
brothers, aged between 3 and 17, to watch as they stripped the mother naked
and threw her to the floor.  They took turn raping her before the screaming
and crying children's eyes.  When they were finished, they beat up her
brothers real bad, smashed the furniture and left.  A few months later, her
15-year-old brother was shot dead when taking part in a big demonstration
for equal rights.  This was more than she could bear.  The following day,
she had joined an armed guerrilla, no longer believing in her father's
words of forgiveness and understanding.

   The day before her 14th birthday, she had made her first killing.  Her
fraction had raided a small, countryside police station, and completely
taken the uniformed men by surprise.  There was hardly any resistance at
all.  When the group of guerrillas entered the building, after spraying it
with gunfire for over a minute, two of the white men were lying dead on the
floor, bathing in their own blood.  A third one screamed in terrified
agony, with his right arm shot to pieces and a bullet in the chest.  They
all knew he wouldn't last long.  And he didn't.  One of the mature women
put her left foot on his forehead and shot him straight through the heart.

   The fourth man had miraculously remained unhurt, and was standing on his
knees with the arms raised in the air, begging them to spare his life. 
While the male attackers collected the station's guns and ammunition, the
women and the girls, who all had horrible recollections of horror and abuse
from the white men in the police and the army, surrounded the trembling
man. At first, they just stood there, watching him crawl between them to
kiss their naked, dirty feet, while begging for his life.  It was a
thrilling experience for the young virgin Cassandra, to see her own feet
shine with the saliva of a former oppressor.  He was now at their mercy.

   Under gunpoint, they made him lick the dust and the dirt off their feet.
The soft, tickling of his tongue against their black skin made them sense
arousal and superiority.  Soon, those clean and shining feet were all over
him, kicking and stomping.  There was no escape from the furious amazons.
They retaliated everything he stood for, right there in the bloodstained
police station, kicking him into unconditional submission.  When he could
no longer lift a finger to protect himself, a stout and mean-looking woman
somewhere in her forties, with a gigantic pair of breasts, unzipped her
shorts and ordered their fallen foe to open his mouth.  Naked from the
waist down, she squatted over his head, with her large, tasty buttocks
brushing against his already swollen and bruised face.  With a sadistic
laughter, she started pissing right into his wide-open mouth.  Both scared
and beaten half to death as he was, he drank her warm fluid without
hesitation, thankful for every minute they let him live.  After pouring at
least a pint of piss into him, she raised her impressive body and let one
of the others take her "seat".  The short and slender girl, still in her
teens, who covered his sore face with her delicate and firm ass, felt a
strong desire to fill him up until he burst under her.  And she made an
excellent job in achieving that goal.  Her squirt never seemed to diminish.
The other watched the amazing show in awe, the only sound being the piss
pouring down the white man's throat, and his convulsive gulps.

   Today, more than thirty years later, she still couldn't understand how
she had done it.  Somebody had handed her, a young virgin one day short of
14 years old, a revolver.  She remembered taking aim at his piss-reeking
mouth, and pulling the trigger - in the name of her father, her mother and
her brother...  and for every black man or woman or child being oppressed
by whites.  She knew why, but not how...  To this day, she had not once
felt any guilt about the occurred.  She just felt slightly dirty at times.
And dirt could be washed away.

   They had won the war.  Rhodesia was now Zimbabwe, and she, Cassandra, a
successful businesswoman in the jewelry-trade.  She had reached all the way
to the top, and learnt to live with her violent past.  She had gone to the
USA to study on a scholarship after the end of the war.  The following
years changed her view on white people completely.  Slowly the hatred
faded, little by little in the beginning, until there was nothing left,
except...

   Cassandra had started dating men during her second term an Atlanta,
Georgia.  At first, she was confused about how casual people seemed to be
about sex and relationship, but she adapted, and she enjoyed herself.  And
the men around Cassandra just loved her.  Being a straightforward, honest
woman, she had told her lovers (that counted eight altogether) about her
past.  To her amazement they all, especially the white young men from the
upper middleclass, seemed turned-on hearing their sexy bed-partner telling
of how she had killed white men in the name of freedom for her own people.

   Looking at herself in the mirror, Cassandra thought that the years had
been good to her.  Her husband had said: "Should they ever raise a titanic
statue, honoring the black woman, they would use you as a model." Her
husband, who believed that his loving wife was on a business trip in
Europe. He would never know her little secret.  Her big, almost cone-shaped
breasts rose proudly from her chest.  Oh, did them white women look at her
with envy!  She smiled, exposing her shining white teeth and her sensual,
thick lips, that didn't need any lipstick on them to look their best.  She
turned around and watched her greatest pride; the ass.  Still any man's
wettest dream, or as she had noticed; any woman's...  the way they glanced
at her on the street.  And still sensitive, responding to the most gentle
caress.  She squeezed one of the delicious buttocks with that magic touch
she possessed...

   Then there was a knock on the door.  Cassandra didn't put on any clothes
to shield herself with.  Why should she bother?  She went to the door and
opened it.  "Didn't I tell you to greet your master in a proper manner, you
worthless piece of white shit?" She slapped her slave so hard he almost
fell over.  "Yes, my Queen!" He lay down flat on the icy cold marble floor,
allowing her to step on him.  She put her right foot on his back, then the
left.  Under the weight of her 170 pounds, the miserable man moaned in
pain, unable to do anything about it.

   After a brutal, ten minute long trampling-session, he felt as if he had
been run over by a steamroller.  He could hardly move his body.  "What's
wrong, whitey?  You hurtin'", she asked in a sarcastic voice.  "Have I got
some good news for you!", she continued.  "This time, I will give you an
option.  God, I just Luv to trample a worthless white pig!  I can go on and
on all day long.  But being such a loving and caring Queen, I'm gonna let
you choose...  between trampling and asslicking.  Well, what will it be,
whitey?" Almost sighing with relief, the slave looked up at the powerful
black woman standing by his side.  "I would be much honored to lick Your
ass, my beloved Queen." Of all the Mansion's slaves she had tried, this one
was definitely the best, and most passionate, asslicker, Cassandra thought
with a self-sufficient smile on her face, as she lay on her stomach on the
bed.  He must've been trained by someone who knew exactly what she wanted.

   The slave started out with light kisses on the big and beautiful
buttocks.  He took his time, warming her up.  Then he began to move in for
the real thing, letting the tip of his tongue tickle her crack, up and
down, careful not to touch here "there".  He did this for what must have
been at least a quarter of an hour.  Then he got down to serious business.
He licked her softly and somehow cautious for a while...  Cassandra hit him
on the side of the head with the back of her hand: "Now, get down to it, or
I'll rip your heart out!" So, he left his trained asslicking-etiquette
aside, and started sucking her shiny, black asshole like a human vacuum
cleaner.

   Then, at the Queen's command, he stuck his tongue inside her, and fought
an uneven struggle with her muscular, inner walls, eager to avoid another
trampling.  When she felt him cleaning her inside, further up than she
thought possible, she sensed that power again.  The sweetest sensation on
earth.  The power to lay down and enjoy herself, with a white man's tongue
up her ass.  Black power!  Seconds later, she had a long and terrific
orgasm, the muscular strength of her anus almost ripping his tongue out. 
She counted to five more thrilling inner earthquakes before she was
satisfied.  Allowing him to pull out his wonderful tool, she said: "Now, go
and wash your tongue, you white piece of a shitlicker!" The slave bowed:
"Yes, my Queen." Then he left the room.

   CHAPTER 6 Everything was well arranged.  The site was a small, luxurious
one-storey building known as "the Villa", separated from the mansion by a
thick wall of shrubbery and a forest of beautiful flowers.  The three
Arabic women, wearing loose, elegant silk dresses, relaxed over their
glasses of champagne in the living-room sofa.  With excited, giggling
voices and clucking sounds from the back of their throats, they praised the
kindness of their master, the sheik.  Not only had he brought them, his
favorite concubines, on his business trip to Brazil; he had also rewarded
them with a full weekend on this amazing resort.

   Unable to comprehend a single word in either English or Portuguese, they
had brought their own interpreter to explain what they had in mind.  They
had often shared their fantasies between them, when having a day off in the
castle, the most frequent one being about catching a burglar, and how they
would deal with him before handing him over to the sheik's bodyguards, to
be executed.

   Mitzah was by far the tallest of the three.  She measured an even 6 feet
and weighed 195 pounds.  Some called her stout, some called her fat, but
they all thought of her as one of the best looking women they had ever
seen. With her long raven-black hair, those fascinating and hypnotic brown
eyes, that baffled smile on her thin dark lips, and the way she moved her
body; majestically and almost flowing, she appeared to be a royalty rather
than a concubine.  But that didn't stop the sheik from abusing her
perfectly matured body.  Without any sensitivity whatsoever, but with
superior, masculine strength, he used to squeeze her large buttocks until
she hurt, before undressing her rapidly and ramming the head of his awesome
11" cock into her mouth.  Since he was hung like a bull, Mitzah knew it was
a difficult task for him to find women that was able to please him orally.
With her big mouth and lively tongue, she was well aware of the fact that
she was in a league of her own.  At the age of 39, she thought that she had
everything a woman could possibly desire.

   Being 20 years old, Fatima wasn't only half her age, but also close to
half her size.  She was a petite young woman, weighing just over 100
pounds, but still with very soft, feminine features.  Looking at her large,
pretty eyes and her beautiful smile, you would think she was a kind and
timid creature.  Nothing could be more wrong.  Deep inside her heart she
hated the sheik, who had bought her from her poor parents at the age of 13,
to use as a sexual slave.  He had almost ripped her apart the first time he
slept with her.  She remembered watching his enormous black penis sliding
into her, inch by inch.  And she remembered the pain.  He had planted not
only his male seed in her that night, but also a seed of hate towards the
opposite sex.  The rare occasions she enjoyed having him, was after
watching a good public flogging or one of the few executions they were
allowed to attend.  Every time she saw a murderer, a rapist or even a
robber swing from the gallows, she became overwhelmed by such a cruel, dark
lust, she couldn't wait for the sheik to enter her wet cunt and fuck away
all her tensions.

   The third woman's name was Tasha.  She was a former secret agent and
soldier in a turmoiled middle-east country, who had been employed as the
sheik's personal bodyguard, not because of her sex, but solely due to her
impressive merits.  She was the first woman ever to receive her country's
medal for bravery in battle.  For almost a year, she had served as a sniper
at the frontier, with the proud number of 34 confirmed hits.  One enemy
soldier for each year of her life.  Her husband had been killed in the
beginning of the war, and after avenging his death more than forty times in
three years, she had been given this offer from her superior officer.  "A
chance to retire before you get burnt-out.  And also a great opportunity to
support for your family's needs." She didn't know what was in it for the
country's army, but figured that if one of the wealthiest men on earth
wanted to buy her services, there had to be a huge sum of money involved.
Tasha wasn't beautiful, like the other two, with her killer-eyes and that
poisonous smile on her cruel lips, but having killed three men in
one-to-one combat, she radiated undisputed power that the others submitted
to.  She was their leader, but they all loved one another.

   One night when the sheik had wanted a little orgy in his velvet-coated
bedroom, he had ordered Tasha to undress and join in.  The other women had
breathlessly watched the lethal woman taking off her clothes, revealing a
pair of small, pointy breasts, muscular thighs and a very nice and round
ass.  What stunned them was the amount of hair on her body.  The thickest
bush they had ever seen spread out from her cunt, to the insides of the
thighs, and in a triangle pointing upwards, reaching all the way to her
navel, covering most of her stomach with black fur.  Even her ass was
hairy, they noticed when she sat down on Fatima's face to be served.  That
night Tasha had proven herself worthy the sheik's fastidious taste, and
accepted as his bed-partner as well as his bodyguard.  Her already fat
salary had doubled overnight.

   With the barrel of an automatic gun to the back of his head, James
McCoist, a financial adviser to various South American companies, was
brutally pushed towards the villa.  He had left his pretty wife and the two
kids in Chicago three months ago, to set himself up in Brazil, before
bringing his family to stay with him.  At the age of 29, he had had a great
future lying ahead of him.  Now, five weeks after the abduction, his only
concerns were to stay alive.  And to do so, he had to obey every command he
was given.

   Over a month ago, at the hotel room with those young, sexy babes, James
had given vent to his hatred and contempt for Arabs.  He had referred to
them as "fucking camel-jockeys", and to Arab women as "ugly, bearded
cross-dressers".  Being a very disciplined professional during the days,
alcohol usually brought out the worst of his prejudice.  While fondling the
younger woman's big tits, he went on about what a great idea it would be to
nuke the whole Middle East just for the fun of it.  The woman with the
shaven cunt had hit him in the back of his head with the heavy ashtray made
of glass.  They had tied him up, dragged him to the bathroom and pissed on
his unconscious body, disgusted by his racist outburst.  Then one of them
had picked up the phone and dialed that fateful number.  They received
2.000 US-dollars each for him.

   He was pushed through the back door.  The second later it shut behind
him, and he heard the click of the lock.  Before pulling the nylon stocking
over his head, he saw his own reflection in the window; a handsome young
man with a perfectly shaped body, blond, curly hair and a masculine
jawbone. He felt like a lamb on its way to the slaughter.  With trembling
hands, James pulled out the top drawer of the cupboard, emptied it on the
floor, then let it fall and land with a loud noise before his feet.  God,
he missed Lisa and the children!  In the room next door, the laughing
conversation came to a sudden halt.  The show was about to begin.

   "Did you hear that?", Fatima whispered.  They jumped to their feet and
approached the door to the other room.  There were more noises, a bookshelf
being turned over and the cracking sound of a china vase shattering. 
Mitzah opened the door, and they stood face to face with a masked man. 
With a unison shriek, they threw themselves at him.  Tasha swept away the
feet from under him and before James knew it, he was lying on his back with
the largest of the three women sitting on his chest.  Tasha held the
victim's legs in a tight grip, leaving the major fun to Mitzah and Fatima.
The small, girlish woman pulled the nylon stocking off and started
scratching his face with her sharp fingernails, while the other two pinned
his arms and legs to the floor.

   The sight of the captured man's horrified and painful facial expression,
with the blood pouring down his cheeks, filled Mitzah with delight.  She
could feel her own juices starting to flow.  Before anyone could stop her,
she started banging his head against the carpeted floor.  He passed out,
and didn't get up at the count of ten.

   As he slowly crawled his way out of the darkness, towards the light at
the end of the tunnel, through the incredible pain hammering his skull to
pieces, he sensed a ray of warmth travelling across his face.  At first it
was like a comforting friend, caressing him to make the pain go away.  A
soft balm...

   Then came another kind of pain, sharper, yet not as heavy and murderous
as the other one.  The ray of warmth left his hurting cheeks and touched
his lips.  He opened his mouth to take it in, to kiss it.  There was a
salty flavor on his tongue.  Then all of a sudden, it diminished and
disappeared...  When it returned, it felt almost forceful, brutal.  He had
to swallow the warmth to keep up the pace.  He swallowed and swallowed, and
still...

   At that moment James opened his eyes, just to stare into one of the
hairiest asses he had ever seen, and he saw her cunt, with the squirt of
piss as a string of pearls between her ass and his mouth.  And he swallowed
again.

   After having a shower, he was led to one of the bedrooms by the three
naked women.  They taunted him in Arabic, pulled his hair and pinched him
viciously until they got there.  He was placed on his back on the enormous
bed, and then had his wrists and ankles tied to the bedposts with leather
straps.  They put two soft down-pillows under his head and started to argue
with each other.  James couldn't make out anything from the vivid
conversation.  He watched his cock grow bigger and harder and hoped they
were "just" going to rape him the "normal" way.  But he had an alarming
feeling that something far more painful and degrading was on the way.

   The small woman squatted over his face, with her dark asshole resting on
the tip of his nose, and her swollen, wet labia against his lips.  This
might not be so bad after all; he thought and kissed her gently on the sex.
He could feel the hair in the crack of her ass tickle his nostrils as he
sucked her dripping cunt with a professional touch.  In only a few minutes
time, he could tell by her moans that she was getting close, so he started
massaging her stiff clit with his practiced tongue, in rapid circling
movements.  As she came in a trembling and hot orgasm, a couple of squirts
splashed into his mouth.  The taste was close to that of the juices
covering his face, but slightly stronger and more bestial.  James had never
experienced anything like this before, he had only heard of it.

   The mean-looking woman with hair all over sat down in almost the same
position as her forerunner, but with her asshole instead of her cunt in
front of his mouth.  Trying not to think about his doings, he started to
run his tongue along the hairy crack.  It wasn't hard to tell that she
hadn't cleaned her ass lately.  She simply used him instead of toilet
paper. It was like licking a filthy, furry animal.  And she made him do it
real good and thoroughly.  The tongue didn't run smoothly in the soaking
wet furrow, as it had done in all the other women's asses for the last five
weeks.  It was like fighting your way through the thickest jungle with your
bare hands.  A black, rough jungle with a foul taste.  After about twenty
minutes of the nauseating act, she pointed at her anus with her index
finger.  Knowing exactly what she meant, he penetrated the source of the
bad taste with his pitiful tongue.  He thought that it couldn't get any
worse, but it could.  When she finally reached the climax, after what had
felt like an eternity, and he slipped his tongue out of her shit-hole, he
only wished for them to chop it off and throw it away.  Just to get rid of
the awful taste in his mouth.

   When the massive, tall woman mounted his face, he was already stripped
of his male dignity, completely.  One of the others stuffed something in
his mouth; a sweaty pair of socks, curled into a ball.  Then she sank down
onto his face, covering him, smothering him.  Mitzah knew that he was more
or less unable to breathe under her full, majestic ass.  And that knowledge
sent lusty shivers down her spine.  She reached her first orgasm when her
victim panicked and used all the strength that he possessed to throw her
off.  With a joyful smile on her lips, she quite simply put some extra
weight on his head, using her 195 pounds to cool him off.

   Then...  when he fully understood who was in charge, she raised her
delicious ass, just enough for him to fill his lungs, so that he wouldn't
die on her.  At least not yet.  Her second sitting was even crueler.  She
enjoyed watching and feeling his struggling body giving her such tremendous
pleasure, while fighting to survive.  Her body filled with a series of
wonderful, sparkling orgasms, which increased in intensity as the smothered
man thrusted his body in sheer panic to catch a grasp of air.  This time
she took him as close to the edge as one could possibly get, and still live
to tell the tale.  After allowing him some new, fresh air, she smothered
him with her ass for the third time.  And the night was still young.

   CHAPTER 7 In front of a big panorama-window, overlooking the perfectly
trimmed lawn surrounding the mansion, Magdalena hung up the phone.  She
watched her grandiose property with a faint smile on her face.  It had cost
her a large part of her inherited fortune, and was still costing her plenty
in bribes to the authorities and the local police.  Not to mention her
well-paid staff of thirty-seven unscrupulous amazons, most of whom she had
picked up from the streets.  They were all prepared to kill or to die for
her.  Some of them were even prepared to cook and to mow the lawn, when not
serving as ruthless soldiers in her private militia, she thought with a
crooked smile.

   She slapped the young man standing on his knees in front of her.  Not
for any particular reason, just because she felt like it.  She put her
naked foot in his face, and felt the gentle touch of his soft lips against
its sole.  Then, without any warning, she pushed him over, and watched him
land on his back beside the desk.  He didn't even try to get up.  Miserable
and powerless he just laid there, waiting for her next move.  She put one
foot on his chest and the other in his face, sensing the wonderful power as
he moaned under the weight of her 205 pounds.  The young man was outweighed
by at least 40-45 pounds, and had a really rough time under her fully-grown
body.

   She started to caress her mighty bosom with both hands, and gave the
poor boy directions: "Lick me, you worthless dog!" This was the part she
enjoyed the most; seeing his agonized face as he let out his tongue to
please her.  She changed position, put her left foot over his mouth,
leaving most of her weight on the right leg.  He began to work on the
leathery skin under the foot with his soft tongue.  The warm, tickling
sensation spread, worked its way upwards, moistened her.  Still with a
perfect balance, she started stroking her own cunt with a mature woman's
skill.  "That's right, lick it clean!  I want my feet to shine like
polished steel when you're done." She ran her middle finger in quick
circles around the hard clit.  This was going to be a fast one.  She had
serious business to take care of.  As she closed in on the Big one, she put
more and more weight on the left foot, until he roared in pain.  The same
time she went over the edge, and let the Big wave sweep her away.  For a
moment she thought that her heart was going to explode...

   Being the widow of one of the country's most powerful generals,
Magdalena understood the importance of leading her subjects with a firm
hand.  She didn't believe in democracy.  She believed that 99 % of the
world's population needed and, in their hearts, desired to be led by men or
women who possessed the quality and strength to rule other people's lives.

   Magdalena had just spoken to one of the guards at the checkpoint closest
to the mansion.  They were bringing him in.  This was by far the proudest
moment of her new life.  It was all in the news.  Not only in Brazil, but
also worldwide.  The police didn't have a clue.  Of course not!  They had
been paid to look the other way.  Running around like imbeciles, they were
looking in all the wrong places, sent there by their corrupt superiors.  In
only a few minutes, he would be in her hands.  Her Majesty should arrive in
about an hour, in her private airplane.  There would be a car waiting for
her at the landing strip.

   He woke up with a splitting headache, tied to his hands and feet, facing
the floor of a moving vehicle.  His head and body suffered from the weight
of he heavy boots pressing him down.  He was unable to see anything of his
kidnappers, except for a dirty sole of the boot leaning against the side of
his face.  Not a single word was spoken during the ride.  Many things went
through his head.  Would they kill him?  Torture him?  And who were they?
One thing he knew for sure; given half a chance, he would take as many of
them as possible with him, to hell or wherever.  He didn't fear no one or
nothing in this world.  They should pay the price for what they had done to
Stewart and Hans.

   The jeep-ride from the landing strip at the edge of the jungle was hot,
extremely humid and anything but comfortable.  Hardly worthy a woman of her
dignity, but then...  she had a good reason to put up with the efforts. 
She hadn't been this thrilled in years.  At last, her dream would come
true. The dream that had been haunting and terrorizing her ever since she
saw his face for the first time on the TV-screen in that documentary. 
Soon, very soon, it would come alive.

   Queen Mayinka, the undisputed ruler of one of the smallest and
wealthiest countries in Africa, looked at her spoilt and fretful daughter,
Nayeela.  As it turned out, this was also going to be a birthday gift to
her, since she turned 15 the day after tomorrow.  The young girl took off
the headphones and let the expensive Walkman fall to the seat.  It had been
a long journey and she hated being trapped in that miniature airplane,
thousands of feet above the ground.  She used to refer to it as "the flying
barrel", to her mother's great amusement.  The girl still had no idea what
awaited them.  She thought that it was just another one of her mother's
boring duty-trips as the queen of her country.

   Magdalena picked up the remote, turned on the TV and tuned in to CNN. 
The scene was a crowded street in downtown Sao Paolo.  It was the same
recording as that of two hours ago.  A female reporter in the late thirties
was standing in front of a black limo with the right side-window at the
front shot to pieces.  Two massacred white male bodies were visible behind
the excited reporter.  " ...invited to hold a speech at the
national-socialist party's 50th anniversary in a Sao Paolo suburb.  His car
was hailed by a dark-blue Mitsubishi, and two masked men opened fire from
point-blank range with pistols, killing his two bodyguards on the spot,
before dragging him out of the car, into their own, with a third person
waiting behind the wheel with the motor still running.  They headed towards
the north side of town.  The car was later found abandoned in a deserted
industrial area.  The police are still searching the vehicle for any
traces." A middle-aged man appeared on the screen, obviously live: "Gerald
Armstrong, also known as "the Fuhrer", has for the last eight years been
the leader of the "North-American Resistance Army", closely linked to the
Ku Klux Klan and other militant movements on the extreme right wing.  He is
known, or should I say infamous, worldwide for his statements on the black
population in the States and abroad, and for his goal to expel all
non-white citizens from the US, to create a "superior" white nation.  The
man who has given the expression "White power" a face...  " Magdalena
turned the TV off.  She saw the jeep coming around the bend, out of the
greenery.  Her three "masked men" had arrived with their catch.

   When Mayinka and Nayeela stepped out of the Range Rover, a chubby, pale
woman with long red hair in her early fifties, with an aura of total power
around her, greeted them: "Most welcome to our humble resort, Your
Highness!" Magdalena said those words with sincere respect, but without
sounding groveling in any way.  Mayinka could tell that she had met her
equal.  They kissed each others cheeks, to the young princess' big
surprise. She had never seen her mother acting this familiar with a white
person...  ever.  How could she?!  The Queen made a gesture at her daughter
and the two male bodyguards: "My companions are tired and wishes to rest
for a while.  Can You please arrange for them to be escorted to their
rooms. Myself, I would like to have a look at...  the object."

   Her voice was very calm and self-commanded.  "Certainly, Your Highness!"
Magdalena snapped her fingers.  Three of the mansion's staff immediately
grabbed the Africans' bags from the trunk of the car and led them upstairs
to their rooms on the second floor.  "Quite an impressive establishment You
have here", the Queen said.  "I am honored to hear that, Your Highness!"
"Your Highness to Them.  To You it's Mayinka.  And Your first name is..."
"Magdalena." Mayinka was by any standards a remarkable woman.  The first
thing that came to Magdalena's mind was the striking resemblance with the
sprinter-queen Merlene Ottey.  Except for the fact that this Queen had
darker skin and held her head even higher.  Admiring her big, firm and
pointy breasts, Magdalena thought that she would look adorable without the
blue cotton-dress covered in golden paillettes, with her beautiful black
skin shining with the sweat of a humid afternoon's love-making or a couple
of hours in the gym.

   In the stairs leading down to the "objects" cell, Mayinka inquired: "I
understood that our agreement regarding this matter included an option to
buy, after the five days are up." "That's correct." "And when do You expect
the results of his medical examination?" "First thing tomorrow morning. 
You could have him for beakfast, and for lunch..." "Talking about food",
Mayinka grinned at Magdalena's casualty on the subject.  "I assume he won't
be given anything to eat or drink whatsoever by Your staff." "Nothing at
all." "And if there was to be an accident...  If the object broke and could
not be mended?" Queen Mayinka uttered those words while smiling innocently,
as if talking about a toy for her daughter.  And in a way she was.  "Then
I'm to pay a fine, and the whole matter drops, like a stone in the
ocean..." Magdalena nodded discreetly, unwilling to discuss financial
questions with her guest.  The moment she had sent the coded message to the
Queen, she knew that she would let her get away with anything, even with
that, without extra charges.

   The man before her was still unconscious, sitting in what seemed to be
an extremely uncomfortable and painful position, with his hands cuffed
behind his head, to the brick wall.  He had been stripped of everything but
his khaki-trousers.  She walked over and kicked him in the ribs, holding
back the force, not to break anything.  He moaned in agony and opened his
blue eyes, trying to focus on the tall woman standing an arm-length away.

   When he saw, when he understood; he went berserk, using every muscle in
his powerful body in an effort to break free.  Mayinka stepped back and
watched his pointless outburst, she let him wear himself down.  When his
wrists hurt so badly he couldn't stand the pain anymore, he stopped
struggling but didn't take his hatefilled eyes off her for a second.  "Good
afternoon, my Fuhrer!  I'm delighted to see that you've been able to take a
nap, since you have a long night ahead of you.  You will need all your
superior, Aryan strength." "Fuck you, nigger!  I'm gonna rip your fucking
head off and shit in your fucking nigger-throat!  You're gonna die for
this! But not until I..."

   His screaming came to an end when Mayinka's right military boot hit him
in the groin with merciless precision.  Looking at his bruised body, she
hawked and spat him in the face.  "You are going to regret those words
deeply, white man!  Believe me!" She turned around and left the cell.

   Only a minute later, three cruel-looking black amazons with short
haircuts entered.  One of them held out a plastic bucket in front of his
face, while another grabbed his blond hair and held his head in a firm
grip. The third woman stuck a piece of dirty, thick rope down his throat,
forcing him to vomit in the bucket, emptying his stomach in rapid,
nauseating spurts.  Then she sent him into the darkness of unconsciousness
with a strike of a rubber club to his head.

   Gerald Armstrong woke up in the middle of the night, with the worst
headache he had ever experienced.  The small room bathed in light.  There
were several fluorescent tubes hanging from the ceiling, torturing his
hurting eyes, even through the shut eyelids.  He was lying on his back on
some kind of wooden bench, with his hands cuffed under him.  They had moved
him, but he didn't know where or when.  He could still feel the repulsive
taste of his own vomits.  What the hell were they going to do with him?

   Suddenly the door swung open.  A fat mulatto lady with dark-brown hair
and very thick lips, somewhere in her forties, with her hands held behind
the back, approached him.  Knowing he was nothing short of completely
helpless, he just waited to see what was going to happen.  The woman
disappeared out of his sight.  Then, seconds later, she stuffed her sweaty
panties into his mouth.  Before he reacted, she shut him up with a piece of
adhesive tape.  Sensing the taste of the dark fatty's ass and cunt made him
furious, helplessly mad by rage.  She stood above him for a while, with her
enormous breasts dangling behind a thin piece of cloth, enjoying the sight
of the fascist sucking her dirty underwear.

   Then she reached for something on the floor.  When she pulled it up and
placed it on Gerald's stomach, his heart almost stopped.  The grey snake
coiled around restlessly on his shocked and dead still body.  Then, when he
accidentally twitched, it raised its head into a striking-position, facing
him.  From another world, Gerald could hear the fat woman heartlessly
giggling:

   "Better take care, mister!  Not good, very bad poison, can kill twenty
pigs like you.  Must leave now.  Bye Bye!" Then the door slammed shut.  He
was alone with it.  Mayinka had been right.  It was going to be a long,
sleepless night for "the Fuhrer".

   Queen Mayinka was having a grand breakfast in bed.  A written message
had been brought with it, saying that her slave wasn't bearing any
contagious disease.  She took her time eating her morning-meal, well aware
of the position her subject assumed.  Besides, she was in no hurry.

   She entered the small cell dressed in a tight, yellow skirt that just
barely covered her large and sexy ass, and a T-shirt with the words "Black
Power" written over the chest and the image of two fat, smiling lips below
it.  She wore no make-up, no underwear, not even a pair of shoes.  She
hadn't come to mingle with world-famous celebrities.  She had come to break
the spirit of one of the most hated men on earth.

   He looked at her with burning hatred in his eyes.  The thin, grey snake
slept on his slowly heaving chest, curled up like a never-ending turd. 
With a pleased smile, she walked over to him and pulled the sticky tape
away from his mouth, making a point in doing it slowly, just to increase
the pain.  "Good morning, slave!  Am I glad to see that you're still alive.
You seem to be a very fortunate man, considering the odds against you. 
Now...  I would like to make a few things clear to you.  First..." "You
fucking nigger cunt.  You're gonna pay for this." The words came out
quietly, almost in whispers.  He kept his eyes on the sleeping snake during
the modest outburst.  "First, I would like to inform you that each and
every insult coming from your filthy mouth will be severely and properly
punished.  Every refusal to obey my commands likewise.  You are now my
property, and I shall treat you anyway I please.  You will not be given
anything to eat or drink unless I say so, and you will have to beg for it.
Being a worthless piece of garbage, you shall only speak when spoken to,
and you shall address me Your Highness at all times." "I'm gonna kill you,
you fucking..." "Remember: each and every insult will be severely and
properly punished.  And remember also: you are now at my mercy. 
Completely. Basically, you have two choices; to obey or to disobey.  And I
shall tell you this: disobedience will not make you last very long."

   Queen Mayinka picked up the snake and held it firmly behind its head. 
She lowered it to his throat.  "Right now, you have to choose between life
and death.  You see, the bathroom was occupied by my daughter all morning.
You know how teenage girls can be like.  And I simply have to go.  Now."
The sight of the snake's head, inches from his bare throat had washed away
all the hatred from the white man's face.  Now he was really turning pale.
She knew it was only temporary.  And it pleased her.  She didn't want him
to break down now.  That would spoil all the fun.

   Without moving the reptile's head from his throat, she got up on the
bench and squatted over his face.  She felt a really strong urge.  The
amount of water she had drunk early in the morning was taking its toll. 
With a disgusted expression on his face, the fascist finally opened his
mouth.  Mayinka sighed in relief as she let go of the golden liquid.  The
thick squirt of piss hit his tongue with force, painted the inside of his
dirty mouth, filled him up and made him swallow...  repeatedly.

   Her dream had come true.  At last.  The man who had been haunting her
and her brothers and sisters for so long were finally in his right place;
trapped beneath her ass, drinking her urine.  She poured herself into his
mouth, let him have what he deserved.  The tip of his nose tickled her
asshole.  She sat down, trapped him with her rim, squeezed his Aryan nose
while finishing her toilet in his mouth.  Then she started shivering,
without even feeling the slightest pressure against the erected clit.  She
came in a bestial orgasm over his face, while letting him have the last
drops of her golden fluid.

   "Now I want you to thank me.  And I am not going to say it again!"
"Than...  Thank You, Your Highness!" "Thank you for what?" "Thank You for
pissing in my mouth." "That's better!  Now there's only one thing remaining
of the first lesson.  You shall clean my ass with your tongue." Having said
that, she changed her position slightly, and placed her anus in front of
his mouth.  "And what is the adequate phrase at a moment like this?" "NO!"
"Oh, my!  You really are one stupid Boy.  That's not close by a houndred
miles.  By the way...  This snake has a tendency to turn vicious against
white people...  "Please, Your Highness, let me clean Your ass with my
tongue." "You should hear yourself, white man.  Like you read it from a
piece of paper.  I want a lot more conviction and devotion.  I want you to
throw yourself before my black, royal feet and beg me to kick you.  I want
you to beg me with your eyes, to give you a majestic golden shower first
thing in the morning.  Now..." "Please, Your Highness!  Let me clean Your
superior, royal ass with my worthless tongue!" This time, he almost sounded
like he meant it.  At least he was getting there.

   Eager to feel his tongue where it was meant to be, since the beginning
of mankind, she sank down and mounted his face again.  He started to lick
her anus right away.  This dog had no idea how to please a woman.  Like
touching the clit first.  You don't do such a thing!  Well...  She had
plenty of time to teach him.  This time, she let him do it his way, and at
least she got herself properly cleaned in the rear.  Looking down at her
victim, she inquired: "Do you enjoy licking a...  What's that word you used
before?  The one that started with the letter "n"?  WHAT'S THAT WORD,
BOY?!!" "Nigger, Your Highness.  Please forgive me, Your Highness!" She
just Loved watching him turn pale by fear for his life.  "Well, do you
enjoy licking a "nigger's" ass, boy?" "Yes, Your Highness.  And please
forgive me...  Please don't kill me...  I didn't mean to..." Then his voice
broke, the tears came.  And without being told so, he started licking her
ass again.  This time more passionate and caring.  He was getting better at
his new trade...

   CHAPTER 8 The Queen had known from staring into his eyes the first time
in the cell, that the fascist leader had a real bad snake phobia.  It was a
gift brought to her by her mother; the talent to tell a person's fears by
looking into the whites of his eyes.  Tomorrow was her daughter's birthday.
It was an excellent challenge for the Queen to tame him with such a short
notice.  She would have to go to work right away.  With magnificent grace,
the half-naked woman rose and faced her subject.  "I still do not care much
for your attitude, white man.  I reached out my royal hand, offering you
the opportunity to make amends, to surrender unconditionally to me.  But
all you did was exactly what I forced you to do, not an ounce more.  You
stuck your filthy tongue into my black ass, not because you desired to
please your Queen, but solely because you wanted to save your pathetic
life. For the very same reason you opened your ugly mouth and drank my
golden fluid.  A slave who is not prepared to do anything, and I mean
Anything, to satisfy his owner and loving every moment of it, is a
worthless piece of property.  And do you know what we do with no-good
property in Africa?" With those words the gracious Queen spun around and
walked out on him.  She twisted the harmless snake's head and killed it on
her way upstairs.  It landed with a soft thud in the wastebasket.

   In a small, elegant office on ground level, she explained carefully how
she wanted him set up when she returned from lunch.

   Mayinka entered the suite without making any noise.  The sound of her
daughter's sobbing halted her in front of the hall mirror.  She stood there
for several minutes, listening to the lovely girl's crying, wondering what
could possibly make her feel so sad.  As she was closing in on the
half-open bedroom door, she started smelling the familiar, sweet odor of
the female sex.  When she peeked in through the opening, the smell became
thicker and more bestial.  Queen Mayinka watched the naked girl with a
sense of shame, well aware that it wasn't worthy a woman of her dignity to
steal a glimpse of her own daughter enjoying her slender, girlish body.

   Nayeela was lying on her back on the bed with her left hand embedded
between her full, delicious buttocks, and a saliva-drenched middle finger
repeatedly stabbing into her tight, slippery anus.  With the right hand she
caressed her shimmering cunt with a gentle, tickling touch.  It was not
easy to distinct her delighted moaning from a grieving girl's sobbing.  The
young, pretty princess continued to finger-fuck her own asshole as she
spread the purple-black labia, giving the Queen a full view into her
beautiful pink cave.  Her wet sex, with it's parted and swollen, fleshy
lips and erected clit, reminded Mayinka of an exotic butterfly.  Nayeela
kept her big eyes closed during the fascinating act.  As she started to rub
the stiff clitoris, her moaning grew louder and louder.  The princess'
tongue came out to wet her thick, sensual lips.  She worked hard, almost
brutal, with the right hand's fingers on the stiff pleasure-pearl, letting
go completely of the last remains of civilized behavior.  The saliva ran
down the corners of her mouth, making her look like a drooling, sex-crazed
lunatic, and she farted shamelessly several times.  The funny noises almost
made her mother laugh out loud.  They sounded like some drunken fanfare,
coming from a broken and very tiny trumpet.  The sight of the shiny finger
being swallowed over and over again by the tight, black rim sent warm
shivers through the Queens body.  Her daughter certainly was more advanced
in her self-fondling than she herself had been at that age.

   By now she was sure that the girl would be able to handle her coming
birthday present.  But first the Queen was gonna have to break in the beast
hard and cruel, to kill its spirit, and teach it the true pleasure in
serving the Master Race at any time and any cost.  Mayinka turned away and
headed for the balcony.  Behind her, the pretty princess screamed out her
relief.

   The two African royalties had their lunch in the luxurious dining room
on the ground floor, in front of one of the Picasso-paintings.  Mayinka ate
her lobster in a very civil and self-controlled manner, while Nayeela
splashed ketchup on the pate and shoved it into her mouth, letting it mix
with the pancakes and maple syrup.  The Queen looked at her daughter with
contempt.  "You truly are disgusting, dear!  I've seen pigs with better
table manner than you." "Oh, yeah?" Nayeela swallowed and burped.  "White
pigs, or the porky kind?" "It is not appropriate for a future Queen to
either eat or speak in such a rude and filthy manner.  You ought to know
how to behave yourself, at least in public." "In public!  Mom, we're in the
middle of the jungle.  The bloody servants don't even dare to look us in
the eye, and if they do; I'll teach them a lesson they will not forget!" "I
do not care what the servants might think.  But I do care for your
behavior, young lady.  And do not forget that you have royal blood in your
veins." "How could I possibly forget, when you keep reminding me every ten
minutes, day in and day out!"

   Nayeela started sucking on her greasy fingers, including the one she had
buried in her own ass.  Mayinka hoped that she had washed her hands
carefully afterwards.  "You know, mother; sometimes I wish that you really
were that Merlene Ottey people keep mistaking you for." "Nayeela!!  How
dare you?!" The Queen rose in anger and slapped her daughter's face with
striking force.  "Now, go to your room, and stay there until you're ready
to apologize for your childish behavior!" The princess jumped to her feet,
yelling: "It's my bloody birthday tomorrow, and we're

   stuck in the middle of nowhere!  I don't even know what it is you have
to do in this hellhole, and I don't care!  I wish I had stayed at home!"
With those words she ran upstairs, with the tears streaming down her
cheeks.

   Mayinka finished her meal calmly, but her inner rage wouldn't go away by
itself.  She knew who was going to pay for her daughter's disobedience.

   She smiled viciously as she entered the cell.  The fascist was standing
on a wooden stool with his hands tied behind the back.  A thick rope was
fastened to a solid hook in the ceiling.  It ran down to a loop wrapped
around his neck.  To the Queen's satisfaction, he looked even paler than
before.  "Please, Your Highness...", he appealed.  "I've told you already!
You're not to speak when not spoken to.  When will you ever learn?  And
what use do I have for a slave who doesn't even know his rightful place?"

   She placed her naked right foot on the stool.  "Now, if I turned it
over, I dare to bet that your Aryan feet would not reach down to the floor.
The fall would surely not break your worthless neck and give you the
benefit of a quick and painless death.  No, I think that you would dance
for a long, long time.  The cruel dance of death.  You know, sometimes it
takes more than thirty minutes for a stubborn man to die.  I have seen this
before."

   For the next ten minutes she just stood there, staring into his eyes. 
When the expression of plain fear in his face had changed to naked terror,
Mayinka turned around and walked over to the wardrobe in a corner of the
cell.  She started to undress in front of it.  Teasingly slow the Queen
unveiled her fabulous body.  She hung her elegant red evening dress on a
hanger and began to slide down her silk stockings.  Gerald Armstrong
watched the African woman peel off the white stockings from her long, black
legs.  He was beginning to realize that she would actually kill him if he
didn't surrender to her; surrender to a...  black woman.  He didn't even in
his thoughts dare to use that degrading word.  Not anymore.

   The Mistress who reminded of that sprinter, exposed a pair of large and
unbelievably firm, pointy breasts, with erected, fingertip-sized nipples.
They swayed majestically under her, as she stood bent-over in front of him.
A heard-headed racist he may be, still he couldn't help but admiring her
tall and sexy body as she let the blue cotton panties fall to the floor. 
When she bent down to pick them up, Gerald caught a glimpse of her most
private parts.  Her large, tasty buttocks spread and revealed a rim that
looked so tight and firm that he could hardly imagine a tongue penetrating
it.  The wet flesh between her cunt's lips shone in a pink-reddish shade. A
smell that reminded him of raw fish filled the cell.  She was enjoying
every second of this foreplay, like the cat enjoyed playing with a captured
mouse.

   When she turned around and faced him again, she held a riding-whip in
her right hand.  She used it to pull down his boxer shorts, and let them
slide down his legs.  "I am going to punish you for every word, every deed
and every thought that you have ever committed against the black race. 
When my beautiful daughter was only eleven years old, she watched a
documentary about you and your stinking party.  She turned to me with tears
in her eyes, asking how anybody could be so cruel and so full of hate. 
That was the first time in her life that she had been compared to a monkey,
the first time she heard a white man say that the only thing her people was
good for was serving as slaves under the "superior" white race.  You made
her cry that day, and now I am going to let you pay for that."

   She held her panties with the inside out, in front of his face.  He
kissed the wet stain of cunt-juice, and filled his lungs with the crude,
fishy scent.  Slowly, his limp penis awoke and started to swell.  The Queen
noticed that and smiled.  He was getting there.  It grew to its full length
of 6" as he licked away the taste of her ass from the soft material. 
Suddenly Mayinka hit the risen cock with a sharp blow of the whip.  Gerald
screamed in pain and shock, as he fought to regain the balance on the
stool. For a short moment, he felt the hand of death touching him, when he
almost fell backwards, into a slow and painful mortal struggle.  Seconds
later he felt the warm and strong hand of his Mistress, as she gripped his
stiff and hurting cock and pulled him back to life again.  The pressure of
the rough rope around his neck eased, and he was able to sigh in relief. 
"Thank you, Your Highness!  Oh, thank..." "The next time you open your
filthy mouth without being spoken to, I am going to push you over and watch
you dangle!  For the last time: Is that understood?!" "Yes, Your Highness!"


   The slave was trembling with fear.  He no longer felt any contempt or
hatred towards this woman, only a deep gratitude for her mercy to save him
from hanging.  "Now, white trash, I am going to beat every ounce of
ignorance out of your mind.  And after that, you are going to beg for
permission to worship my ass, or you will give me the pleasure of
witnessing a world famous nazi-leader dance himself to death at the end of
a rope.  It's either way, my Fuhrer."

   Queen Mayinka circled him a couple of times, and then stopped right
behind his back.  "This is for my daughter's tears!" The first lash hit him
across the shoulder blades, and sent a shock wave through his body.  His
eyes filled with tears and the rope around the neck tightened its grip as
his knees buckled for a second.  Mayinka grunted in disappointment when she
inspected the red mark and noticed that the skin wasn't even broken.  "I
forgot to tell you, slave; you are to thank me for each and every lash, and
beg me for another one!" "Thank you, Your Highness!  Please, give me what I
deserve!" He sounded like a devoted private, eager to please his superior
officer.  Mayinka thought he was getting there too fast.  She had expected
a lot more stubbornness and resistance.  After all: there wasn't much fun
in shooting fish in a barrel.  She raised the whip.  "Since you put it that
way..." Now she used her whole body in the blow.  The whip hit his back at
exactly the same spot as before, but this time with power enough to rip his
white skin open.  Gerald croaked in pain and ecstasy and moved his hips as
if he was fucking his invisible angel of death.  "Ooooh...  Thank you, Your
Highness!  Please...  again!"

   She repeated the procedure fifteen more times, and was stunned to see
him keeping his balance throughout the severe flogging.  As she lowered the
whip, the white man lost his balance and turned the stool over.  In despair
and panic, he began to kick and struggle, but the stool was way out of
reach and the only person with the power to save his life was smiling at
him a few yards away.  He tried to beg for mercy, but the only sound coming
out of his tormented throat was a sickening gargle, when the loop that bore
his full weight tightened its strangle hold.

   Mayinka let him dance for half a minute or so.  Then she went to the
cupboard and picked up a razor-sharp machete.  She would love to let nature
have its way with the nazi, and she would've enjoyed every second of it,
but she didn't want to ruin her daughter's birthday.  "Still!", she
commanded.  And he stopped his kicking and thrusting.  He hung limp, almost
motionless, with every muscle in his body on the verge of explosion.  She
watched his eyes closely.  And he gave her the sign she was waiting for.

   With a casual smile on her lips, the Queen cut off the rope and let him
fall down, into a heap before her feet.  When he slowly regained
consciousness, he became aware of something cold and rough pressed against
his face.  The awful pain in his throat reminded him of how close to death
he had been only a few minutes ago.  He opened his eyes and kissed the sole
of her foot.  At that moment, Gerald Armstrong understood and accepted the
fact that he belonged to this woman.  "If I'm pleased with you, I will
bring you back to Africa as a souvenir.  If I'm not; you shall die on this
spot.  Now, get to work!" Then she squatted over his face, with her soaking
wet cunt in front of his mouth.  He started to lick her purple and pink
flesh with a devotion he had never sensed before.  This was the first day
of his new life, a life that would come to an end the moment his Mistress
decided it to.  And he didn't want it any other way.  When she came in hot,
bestial orgasms all over his face, he almost started to cry, overwhelmed by
the Queen's lustful laughter, and her generosity to let him serve her.

   CHAPTER 9 Princess Nayeela slammed the door and headed for the kitchen.
She cursed her mother and everything around in her native tongue: "Fussy
bitch!  Fucking prison camp!  I should never have come to this dump in the
middle of fucking nowhere!" She grabbed an egg from the fridge and threw it
against the wall.  The next one hit an oil painting above the kitchen
table. "Looks much better now.  Boring, bloody picture.  Now that's what I
call art!" She dropped half a dozen eggs on the floor and stomped on them.

   When the entire floor was a smeary mess, she went to the living room and
started cleaning the soles of her shoes on the Persian carpet.  When she
was done, she picked up the phone to call one of her friends back home. 
Before she started dialing, there was a cool female voice at the other end:
"Yes, Your highness, what can I do for you?" Nayeela held her breath and
thought for a short while.  "There is a mess in the kitchen.  Send somebody
to take care of it, right away!" "Certainly!  Do Your Highness have any
particular demands?" Particular demands?  This woman had a screw loose, the
Princess thought to herself.  "Yes, I do.  I want a white man, dressed in
pink panties.  If he's not here within five minutes, I will be very upset!"
She hung up and started to laugh hysterically.  What a nut-house!

   The cell-door swung open, two armed women grabbed him by the arms and
led him out of his dungeon.  He knew that even the slightest attempt to
resist would be severely punished, so he made sure to keep up with their
pace.  They stripped him in a corridor and threw him a pair of pink
underwear.  "Put these on!  Now!" He was led upstairs in his humiliating
outfit.  The icy cold barrel of the gun kept reminding him of his choices
in this new world: Obey or die!  The women used a lot more force than
necessary in pushing and shoving him towards their destination.  He fell
twice and was kicked to his feet by the tall Negro amazon.  They passed a
couple of middle-aged ladies, with features and clothing hinting they were
either Indian or Lankese.  One of them stopped him by grabbing his balls.
Hard.  "This one taken already?", she asked his guards.  "Yes, Madam.  Do
you ladies wish him to serve you later?" The cruel-looking and fat woman
squeezed his testicles hard enough to make him moan in pain.  She watched
his face for a couple of seconds, with the expression of somebody who had
just discovered a turd on her finest carpet.  "Bring him to suite 27 after
he's done.  That is; if he's still in the condition to fulfil his duties by
then." She let go of his balls.  "Certainly, Madam!"

   Half a minute later, he knocked on the door.  A pretty, black girl in
her early teens opened and let him in.  Was he going to serve a girl who
could be no more than 14-15 years old?  As an answer to his question, she
slapped his face several times.  "Get down on your knees, white boy! 
You've got some work to do!" Nayeela could hardly believe her luck.  It was
meant as a joke, but here he was, a white slave wearing pink panties.

   She estimated him to be about 25 years old, and like all white men he
looked as if begging somebody to walk all over him.  He wasn't that bad
looking, she thought.  At least not for a whitey.  To her disappointment,
he didn't look one bit cocky.  She would have loved to take that out of
him. "You're needed in the kitchen, slave!" The Princess led him there,
while pinching his ass with her sharp fingernails.  "Eggs make such nasty
stains.  My mother will be very upset if she notices a single trace of the
mess when she gets back.  It is your duty to clean it up, and you better go
to work right now!" With those words she kicked him in the back, and sent
him flying forwards into the kitchen.

   He landed with his face in a slimy puddle of crushed eggs.  "You will
use your mouth.  And I suggest that you start with that ugly painting over
there.  They don't come cheap.  I can tell you that!" "Mistress!  Am I
allowed to..." "What!  Mistress?  It's Goddess Nayeela to you, you
worthless piece of shit!" "Goddess Nayeela!  Am I allowed to stand on my
feet?  I can't reach it from here." "Yes, pig, you may stand up!" He raised
himself slowly and began to lick the stained canvas.  The picture
represented a dull, rainy street in some boring part of the world.  He
licked the cracked shell from a barbershop-window, and chewed twice before
swallowing.

   It took him more than ten minutes to lick up the organic substance.  Or,
it took more than ten minutes before Nayeela was pleased with his work. 
The stain on the wall was a bit easier, but she made him go at it
thoroughly.  And he knew that the worst part was still ahead of him, or
rather; beneath him.  "And now to the funny part.  Get down!" The Princess
became aroused by her own power as she watched him obey her commands
without hesitation.  She felt her sex moistening and swelling when the
blood ran to her crotch, filled her labia and erected her clitoris.

   The slave dropped to his knees and lowered his face to the floor.  He
started with the pieces of crushed shell within reach.  The disgust he felt
and the sound when he chewed the cracked white pieces, sent cold,
unfamiliar shivers down his spine.  To his own surprise, serving this mean
and pretty girl caused a minor quake within his guts.  He hated her for
making him crawl and lick up her mess, yet he adored her for her firmness
and superiority.  Crawling for this young Goddess made him horny, there was
no use in denying it.  His cock grew harder than ever before.  He hadn't
felt such pleasure in submitting himself to a woman since he was kidnapped
and brought here four months ago.  Not a single one of the 17 women who had
used him during that time had made him feel this way.  He started sucking
in the nauseating, snot-like blobs and tried not to think as he swallowed
the broken yolks, mixed with the transparent whites.

   Nayeela enjoyed the sight of her slave lying facedown on the floor,
sucking and slurping up the mess she had caused, in order to please her. 
She noticed that his penis was about to leap out of his small panties as it
grew harder and bigger.  After eating the major chunks, he began to lick up
the rest of the stains.  Nayeela reprimanded him several times, made him go
back to work with his sore tongue on areas he had already cleaned
carefully.

   Two hours later, she was finally satisfied with his deed.  "Good dog! 
Now there's only a carpet and a pair of shoes left.  After that, you may be
dismissed!"

   When Queen Mayinka returned to the suite at 10.20 p.m., she found her
daughter sitting on her bed, reading a comic.  She smiled broadly when she
saw her mother.  "Hi, mom!  I'm really sorry about my childish outburst in
the dining room.  I wish to apologize." "You're welcome, dear!  Have you
had anything to eat yet?" "I had a couple of eggs...  and dropped a few on
the floor too." "I hope you didn't clean up the mess yourself!" "No, I
called room-service.  They sent someone over." "Good!"

   She sat down beside her daughter.  "Look, I know this is not too easy
for you, dear.  I mean staying here...  But I have a little surprise for
you tomorrow." "Wow, a present!  I thought I wasn't going to get one this
year", she lied.  "Why, of course you are!  It's a big day tomorrow.  You
turn 15, and you know what that means." "Yes, mother", Nayeela nodded
shyly. She knew that meant a giant step into womanhood.  She would no
longer be treated like a child.  And the gifts handed to her that day
should somehow symbolize that leap.  "God, I can't wait `'til tomorrow!" "I
suggest you go to sleep as soon as possible.  You will need all your
strength for the big day," Mayinka whispered with a mysterious smile and
hugged her daughter.  "By the way...  What's your favorite animal?  Ah,
never mind.  Have pleasant dreams, dear!" She left the room.

   Nayeela undressed and laid down, puzzled but also excited.  Favorite
animal?  She tried to picture herself beside a huge and powerful lioness.
But surely, her mother hadn't brought her all the way from Africa to Brazil
to buy her a lion?!  A few minutes later she fell asleep and dreamt of a
pale-faced man shouting abuse at her in English.  There were only two words
coming out of his ugly mouth, repeatedly: "Nigger!  Ape!  Nigger!  Ape!"

   After having breakfast with her mother, Nayeela was led downstairs to
something that caused her to think of a medieval prison.  They stopped in
front of one of the thick steel doors and her mother picked up a scarf out
of her back pocket and blindfolded her.  There was a loud creaking noise
when the heavy door opened.  The Princess imagined she could hear the agony
and the prayers of the imprisoned men and women throughout the centuries.
She was beginning to understand now.  But could it really be...

   "The beast has been broken in and tamed.  It has learned that its
destiny is all in your hands.  Unfortunately, it's a bit stupid, and in
need of a firm, guiding hand.  You may use all the force and violence you
consider necessary.  And one more thing: it's not bearing any disease. 
Well...  Happy Birthday!" The scarf was removed.  There he was; the white
man who had haunted her dreams for so long, the infamous nazi-leader from
America, who once had made her cry when she watched that documentary.

   It was the same man who had abused her when she had fallen asleep last
night.  Only this time he was standing on his knees, with an obedient
expression on his face.  "He's not even tied up, mom.  Are you sure he
won't resist?" "Trust your mother, dear!  He would much rather die than
fail to please you.  Isn't that right, pig?!" The white man bowed his head
and spoke humbly: "Yes, Your Highness!  If I don't manage to please your
wonderful daughter, I don't deserve to live." Nayeela stood there, gaping
in disbelief.  "Mother, what have you done to him?  Or is this some kind of
a stupid joke?  If it is, I will never, ever forgive you!" "There's only
one way to find out, Nayeela.  Try him!"

   As the Princess watched the kneeling fascist and remembered his words,
her anger rose quickly.  Within ten seconds she felt as if she was about to
burst.  She took four steps, clenched her right fist and punched his
already bruised face.  He swayed, but remained on his knees.  "Thank you,
Your Highness!", the slave uttered and bowed his head again.  "Correction,
pig:

   Goddess Nayeela!" "Thank you, Goddess Nayeela!" A trickle of blood ran
down his left cheek.  "Don't mention it", she whispered and kicked him on
the chin.  This time he went down.  As he struggled to get up, Nayeela spat
in his face.  She raised her left shoe to his head and smeared the sticky
saliva all over his cheeks and lips.  Then she stuck the front of her dirty
sneaker into his mouth, urging him to suck on it.  "Mother, I wish to be
left alone with this garbage." "Of course, dear!  I'll be back in about
five hours.  I've been told they serve a delicious lasagna for lunch."
"Sounds great.  See you then.  Bye!"

   The door slammed and Nayeela pressed her foot down his throat until he
almost choked.  Still, he made no effort to break free.  He just appealed
to her with his blue eyes.  The croaking sound from the back of his throat
thrilled her tremendously.  She had the power to do anything to this worm;
even to squash it.  Yes, she could...  But that would spoil all the fun. 
She pulled her foot back, allowed him to sit up and catch his breath. 
There was an ugly mark on his chin, with blood dripping from it.  Nayeela
ignored it completely and started to undress in front of him.

   Stricken with pain and horror, like a dog awaiting his furious master's
next move, he watched the pretty, black girl step out of her panties.  Her
large and sexy ass was the only thing about her that looked mature and
fully-grown.  Even though the thighs were rather thick, they still appeared
to be slender and firm.  The strong, artificial light in the cell gave her
black skin a bluish shade.  Her sweet, pleasant scent made him forget his
throbbing headache.  At least for a while.  "On your back, pig!", Nayeela
exploded.  He obeyed her command in no-time.  She lowered herself over his
face until she felt the tickle of the tip of his nose in her anus.

   "You will now do what no man have ever done before.  You will please my
royal sex with your worthless tongue.  If you fail to do so, I shall put
you to death!  First, I want you to put the palms of your hands against the
floor.  If you lift them, only for a short second, I will chop them off and
throw them to the lions.  Or I will throw you to the lions.  Would you want
that to happen?" "Oh no, Goddess Nayeela!  I will do anything to satisfy
you!" "I know you will.  And you better start right now, white pig!" The
lips of the man who had once referred to her race as "niggers" and "apes",
met her already wet and swollen labia in a soft kiss.  She sat down on his
head and felt the tip of his pointy nose penetrate her tight rim.  Ah, yes!
This was much better than her own finger.  She shivered as he continued to
kiss her cunt, at first light and cautious, then, after a few minutes, he
sucked her into his mouth and drank her flowing juices.  He couldn't
believe a young girl's pussy could be so thick, so full and so spicy.  She
tasted like a grown woman, and she behaved like one, despite her age.  When
she let her full weight rest on his head, all he could think of, through
the pain and the tears, was: "Palms to the floor...  Palms to the floor..."


   Nayeela had a series of wonderful orgasms as she watched his convulsing
body giving up its pointless struggle.  With a satisfied grin, she farted
in his face.  The perverted, filthy sound made her whole body tremble with
laughter.  That should wake him up!  But it didn't.

   He laid unconscious for more than fifteen minutes.  For a moment, she
feared that she had killed him.  Then he started breathing normally again.
Nayeela sighed.  Her mother wouldn't be pleased if she smothered her slave.
She slapped his shimmering face when he seemed to be back to the land of
the living again, noticing that the palms of his hands were still glued to
the floor.  A devoted piece of white trash, she thought.  "Congratulations!
You've just survived the first sitting", she laughed in his face as he
opened his eyes and tried to focus on the young girl.  "That calls for a
celebration!  How about some body-tempered champagne, guaranteed
sparkle-free.  Open your mouth!"

   She seated herself.  The golden squirt hit his tongue with a splashing
sound.  He had to fight hard to keep up with her, and swallowed the freely
pouring liquid without closing his mouth once.  Oh, what a sweet sensation
it was, to use a white man as a chamber pot.  Nayeela watched bemused how
the squirt disappeared between his teeth, down his throat.  She had another
long and hot orgasm as she squeezed out the last drops of piss into his
mouth.  When he finally was allowed to fill his lungs with fresh air, there
was nothing but pure gratitude in his eyes.  "I wish to thank you, Goddess
Nayeela, for giving me this true pleasure!"

   The Princess rose and walked away.  She had become bored already.  With
a sulky and restless expression on her face, she started searching through
the cupboard.  There were a variety of strap-on rubber cocks, toy-looking
whips and a large number of more or less unbelievable sex-gear.  Then,
under a heap of kinky underwear, she found what she had been looking for: a
stout whip with a wooden handle.  It held nine black leather tentacles that
measured almost two feet each, with vicious-looking, sharp knots at the
other end.

   She turned and faced him.  "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't beat
you to death right here and now!" Gerald crawled across the floor and
kissed her naked feet.  "My beloved Goddess Nayeela, I will do anything for
as long as I live, to fulfil all your wishes and desires.  My humbled life
is in your gracious hands, and I am most grateful.  I beg you to spare me,
if only for one more day.  You will not be disappointed."

   He started licking her sweaty toes in a last effort to persuade her to
show him mercy.  The first lash hit the lower part of his back, just above
the ass.  He suppressed a scream and sensed something chilling and
mind-blowing and completely out of this world travel down his spine, and
then filling his entire body.  He let out an ecstatic sigh.  She placed one
of her feet on his head and raised the whip a second time.  The sight of
the blood, already glimmering on his back, made her feel extremely strong
and superior; Like a female panther beside a stricken prey.

   The nine knots danced all over his tormented body for several minutes.
The young Princess paid no attention to his gruesome screams.  She made him
start paying off his debt to her people, with his own blood.  The
appetizing love juices ran down her slender thighs, all the way down to her
feet.  Between the eleventh and sixteenth lash, she had the most thrilling
orgasm she had ever experienced.  "And here's for "nigger"!  And here's for
"ape"!  How do you like it, hah, white pig?!", she yelled in ecstasy.  What
she didn't know was that the fifteenth lash pushed him over the edge, into
a thunderous relief that he didn't deserve.  All she could see was his
bleeding, spastic body, awaiting further punishment.  After about thirty
furious lashes, she collapsed on top of him.  The last wave of the second
orgasm put her lights out.  And the exploding pain that multiplied when she
fell over him, sent Gerald Armstrong into a merciful unconsciousness.

   The voice called her through the thick fog, from another world. 
Somebody touched her shoulder.  "Nayeela!" But she just wanted to be left
alone.  With some effort she opened her own mouth: "Go away!  Leave me
alone, I'm fine!" She heard laughter that sounded familiar.  "It's time for
lunch!" She opened her eyes and spotted her smiling mother.  The warm body
beneath her moved regularly as the slave breathed.  "Mother." "Yes, dear?"
"When we return...  May I..." She pinched the sleeping slave and giggled
softly.  "You want to keep him?" "Yes.  I want to bring him home as a
souvenir of my fifteenth birthday.  After all...  You gave him to me as a
present.  I want to keep him as my slave.  He still has very much to answer
for.  Please, mother!" "Anything for you, dear!" Queen Mayinka kissed her
daughter on the cheek.  There would be an extra passenger on the flight
back to Africa...