The Ambassador's wife

by James Anderton

Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mult, NonConsensual, Reluctant, Rape, Coercion, Blackmail, Light Bond, Humiliation, Interracial, Black Male, White Female, .

Desc: Fiction Sex Story: You really shouldn't upset the local rulers.<br><i>A 'Power Broker' Story</i>

A Power Broker Story

Chapter 1 - At The Palace

The Girl screamed!... Her hands bound behind her back, she lay, face down, bent at the waist across the wide Iroko table. A rope, tied around her neck, and passed through a hole in the table top was tied to the rail underneath to provide her only restraint. Not that it was doing her any good. She had almost lost all of her skimpy servants uniform, and the way the brute behind her was wielding the whip, it wouldn't be long before she lost the rest. No amount of waving her butt would bring relief, and she knew it now!

Sitting in his raised chair, Major Ibo Ngoro smiled softly to himself as he watched the girl pay for her refusal to fuck him on-demand. He would not put up with refusal, particularly since he now ran Gujanga's secret police. No- one other than President Mwanda himself had as much unconditional power.

"I see you have not lost your touch Ibo!", a deep brown voice intoned behind him, bringing him swiftly to attention.

"I assume you can afford this little diversion because all the necessary arrangements have been made for the Annual Ball. I don't want any screw-ups". This is the social highlight of the year.

"Indeed sir!, All is prepared."

Then maybe I should sample your entertainment myself, Mwanda chuckled as he advanced on the hapless girl.

Chapter 2 - At the Embassy

Mireille Sisterre eased her stocking up he long, elegant leg, admiring her figure in the long bedroom mirror as she did so.

"Do we have to, darling? I never enjoy these things, you know that!" "I know I have to play the diplomat's wife, but these arrogant black bastards are difficult to take to. Why could we not have been sent to Mauritius or Guadeloupe. Somewhere warm but civilised?"

"Stop worrying! You are young, beautiful, and bound to be a big hit with the General. They say he loves to play host to guests of stature and class. It's part of his thing."

"OK, OK, how do I look? Good enough for a General?"

Luc Sisterre looked longingly at his young wife, 26 twenty years his junior, and wondered fleetingly whether he had time to spread those pretty legs of hers before they left. A quick glance at his watch persuaded him. He still had time, even though it wouldn't do for the French ambassador to be late for the Annual National Ball. He moved slowly behind Mireille, slid his hands around her waist and nibbled the lobe of her ear.

" Why don't we treat ourselves before we go?"

Mireille leaned back against him, and allowed the warm glow of arousal to flood over her. She was always ready, and she knew that Luc wouldn't take too long. Sometimes she was grateful that his inability to make it last was perfectly matched to her own ease of arousal.

His left hand eased it's way up to caress her silk-covered breasts, and she emitted a sharp gasp as his other slid up under her slip and gently stroked her already liquid slit. Leaning forward against the mirror, she watched as his grimace of pleasure reflected back at her.

He slowly eased his penis into her, and began to thrust long, and slow. Mireille felt the first streaks of pleasure as he teased her clitoris. Feeling her respond, Luc's breath quickened, the thrusts became shorter, and within a few minutes both he and his lovely wife came in a gentle climax.

They leaned together, supporting each other as the flow of passion ebbed, before Luc glanced at his watch.

"Merde" he muttered, "if we don't get a move on we will be late".

Mireille grabbed her robe and headed for the shower.

"We don't have time for that, my love" he muttered. " Give yourself a quick wipe and lets go!" The Ambassador and his wife left the front door of the embassy, and climbed into the Limousine. As she slid into the back of the car, Mireille's skirt rode up a little higher than was appropriate, giving a flash of pale grey stocking top to the giant African chauffeur. I wish I'd put on something a little longer she thought as she saw him stare at her crotch hoping to see more.

"Why can't we hire our own Driver", she asked. "I hate the way that animal looks at me. I don't trust him one bit. They are all the same here!"

"Please be careful, lower you voice", Luc cautioned. "All the embassies have drivers assigned to them by the Ministry of the Interior. We are all sure that they work for the Gujangan Secret Service."

The rest of the journey was completed in silence, the driver never taking his eyes off the rear-view mirror, concentrating on Mireille's hemline, whilst Mireille kept up a constant smoothing motion to ensure there was nothing for him to see. Nevertheless, when they alighted at the Palace, she could not avoid giving the African an eyeful of cleavage, and was rewarded by a grin of such pure unadulterated lust, that she felt an icy ripple down her spine. She was glad to enter the glittering confines of the Palace hallway.

Chapter 3: The Ball

The inside of the Palace was magnificent - total contrast to the poverty and squalor elsewhere in the country. Mireille, in keeping with convention, bobbed slightly as she was introduced, and offered the hand of her host. Ibo Ngoro looked down from his six foot two at the demure Frenchwoman before him. The scarlet cocktail dress contrasted starkly with the soft brown hair, and even more so with the creamy pink of her breasts. He peered down into her cleavage and began to reassess his priorities for the evening. This was one desirable woman.

Mireille was ready to leave. She was hot, sticky, and for more hours than she cared to remember, she had wandered around making polite conversation with people she found difficult to like. Africans are promiscuous, she decided after being groped for the umpteenth time by black hands. On the other hand, their womenfolk seemed subservient, without a thought in their heads, only interested in their Man's ability to provide gold jewellery. The whites at the Ball didn't seem much different. All were privileged, and all were very guarded with their conversation. It had not been an enjoyable evening!

"Please, dance with me!"

It sounded more like a command than a request, and Mireille was in no doubt that she could not refuse. They drifted out on to the dance floor as the band played a slow, romantic number. Mireille was not amused, but Major Ngoro was smiling to himself as the band followed orders. He was not naturally a patient man, but tonight he knew he was on to a good thing.

"Are you enjoying your stay in Gujanga? He asked, as he slid his hand down her back to rest loosely on her buttock. Mireille felt the hand move, and cast around looking for Luc. She did not like the way this was going.

"It's quiet and peaceful" she replied, sounding calmer than she felt as he gently forced his leg between her knees.

"What you need is a bit of excitement" he offered, "get yourself an African lover to add some spice to your love life". His hand had now drifted lower and was cupping the cheek of her arse. This was getting out of control, she thought, desperately looking for a way out.

"Major" she retorted, " I can assure you that my love life is perfectly adequate, and I have no need of a way to spice it up Thank You!"

At that, Ngoro slid his hand up her skirt, wiped his finger along the length of her slit, and raised it in front of her face.

"Smell that, and then tell me you don't have the hots for me. What you need is a good fucking, and I'm just the man to give it to you!"

A look of horror crossed Mireille's face as his words struck home. Leaving the Embassy without showering had been a bigger mistake than she could have dreamed. The smell was unmistakable and Ngoro had drawn the wrong conclusion. Before she had time to think, she stepped back, swung her arm, and slapped him across the face.

"How Dare You!! She screamed, spun on her heels and headed for the door.

Luc stared in horror as the sound reverberated around the room, and he saw the sheer malevolence on Ngoro's face, glaring across the room following Mireille;s exit. That, he thought as he ran to meet her, was a bad move.

"Feisty little bitch isn't she?" whispered President Mwamba, enjoying the look of embarrassment on Ngoro's face. "I never thought I would see the day that you were put in your place by a woman".

"She will learn just how stupid that was. Never fear"

"I'm sure she will, I'm sure she will" chuckled the President. "Oh, and when she does, save some for me eh?"

Chapter 4: Arrest

Mireille was frantic. Luc had vanished. One moment he was leaving for work as usual, the next he had disappeared, like magic.

"He can't have just left, He has an important job to do, and we have resolved the tension we felt after the Ball last month" Mireille explained to the French Envoy, newly arrived from Paris.

"We believe he has been arrested. Something to do with State secrets. We are doing what we can, but the only person who really knows anything is Major Ngoro, and he's not saying anything. Rumour has it that he is pretty pissed off with you and Luc. Maybe he is waiting for an apology".

"Well he's not going to get one from me, that's for sure". "If I were you, I wouldn't be too hasty, these charges carry a Death sentence in this country, and Ngoro has a reputation for playing hard ball."

"So you think I should just be a good girl, put my tail between my legs and offer that black bastard an apology?" "That's about all we can do. Our diplomatic relations are not so strong that we can force any other solution. We don't even know for certain that Ngoro is holding him".

.... There is more of this story ...

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