Chapter 28

The heat in the small, cramped cell climbed steadily all day causing the woman laying on the hard bunk to sweat profusely. Every now and again, she would groan, roll onto her side and vomit onto the floor. Outside in the corridor, the two guards took it in turns to observe the Princess's behaviour through the spyhole. "I think she's really sick," one said, unusual concern for a prisoner sounding in her tones.

"Yeah," answered the other. "And we don't want anything to happen to her... not on our shift anyway. Remember what happened to Sergeant Kafue?" The pair shuddered as they recalled how the Governor had mercilessly ordered that the former none-commissioned officer be tossed into the prisoner's compound after she'd tormented the Princess. "The biggest bit they found of her afterwards, I'm told, was her head... and that was unrecognisable!"

"Let's... let's take her to the doctor! Then if anything does happen to her, it'll be his responsibility, not ours!"

Her partner smiled. "Yeah... that's a good idea. Whatever happens, then it won't be our problem..."

With Bridget's assistance, Samantha applied the make up to her face, staring at herself in a large, well illuminated mirror mounted on the caravan's wall. "Isn't this a little... garish?" she asked of the other woman.

"Nein, nein... it looks bad to you now... but what you see and what the camera sees are different. Believe me, under the lights, you'll look very natural."

"I find that hard to believe!" the Englishwoman chuckled. "Now, what am I supposed to be wearing?"

Bridget smiled and stood up, moving to the caravan's wardrobe, she removed a hanger draped with some clothing which she handed over to Samantha. "Light brown and very skin tight Jodhpurs, a white silk blouse - only to be worn half buttoned up as you have to show a lot of tit and," here she bent down into the wardrobe again before continuing as she straighten up, "a pair of leather riding boots."

"Hmm... sexy," mused Samantha as she struggled into the trousers. "Couldn't possibly wear anything under these," she joked as she studied her trim figure in the full-length mirror.

"Nor under the blouse either... and undo another button... that's better. Now, turn the back of the collar up... ja, ja, much better. Okay. Next the boots... and a riding crop. Guess what your character is supposed to have just finished doing?"

"Redecorating the bathroom?" suggested Samantha playfully.

"Nein, nein! You English... so crazy. No, you have been out riding and now you have returned to the farm. You have just stabled your horse and are walking back across the yard towards a nice, warm bath that you are looking forward too..."

Carol sat, head in hands, outside the prison doctor's office and, while she still felt very rough, she wasn't as bad as a little while ago. 'Maybe it's just being in the fresh air, ' she mused. 'At least I've not thrown up since I left the cell.'

The door into the office was then opened and the doctor, in a full length white coat and with a stethoscope slung casually round his neck, beckoned her in before closing the door again behind her. "Hmmm... you don't look at all well."

"I think I realise that, doctor," retorted Carol with a sickly grin. "You're not the same doctor as I saw here last time."

"No... it's his day off. Now, remove your gown and climb up onto the couch. Please describe your symptoms."

As she stripped off and painfully clambered onto the old couch with its cracked leather covering, Carol described her stomach cramps, sweating attacks, violent vomiting and almost continuous diarrhea. "Not too good all round," the man commented as he slipped a thermometer into her mouth. "Now, tell me if this hurts..."

"AGGGHHHHHH!!!!" screamed Carol almost lifting vertically off the couch as the doctor pressed his fingers into her stomach and guts.

"I do believe we can take that as a 'yes'."

"I... I think you can," panted a still gasping Carol as the doctor examined the reading on the thermometer.

"Hhhmmmmm," the doctor pondered as doctors do. "Any discharges from your vagina?"

"No doctor."

"Good... good." Picking up a small torch, the man went on to ask Carol to spread her legs... and then he began to peel back her pussy lips, the torch shining up her hole.

"What... what are you doing?" gasped a shocked Carol.

"Hhhhmmm? Just checking for signs of infection. Now, this won't hurt a bit..." And then the man inserted his forefinger deep into her sex!

"Shouldn't you be wearing a glove for that?" asked a bemused and concerned woman.

The doctor answered her without even looking up, much less pausing in his examination. "Ha! You whites... so full of the standards of your homelands. This is Africa - and a prison hospital to boot. Gloves? I have one pair of disposable gloves which I use only when I have to... before trying my best to clean them up for the next time I need them. Yes, I should be wearing a glove, but I'm not. Sorry. Anyway, all clear there. You seem to have a bad case of food poisoning and a slight viral infection in your lower bowel. There's little I can do about the former - drugs are sadly lacking - but it won't kill you. It'll just be a bit uncomfortable for a few more days. The bowel infection I can do something about... but before we get to that and while you're here, I'll just check you over for lumps in your breasts..."

So saying, the man transferred his hands to Carol's tits, one grasping each of her mammary glands which they began gently to squeeze. This was like not check for lumps on her breasts that Carol had ever experienced before and one look at the man's glazed and far-way expression as he 'worked' told her what was going on here. But she lay back and allowed him his moment of fun - if this was the price she had to pay to be examined and helped, so be it. 'Lord knows, ' she thought, 'I've nothing else to offer... '

Eventually the doctor released his grip and straightened. "Now, if you'll just sit up for a moment while I collect some implements..."

The bright sunshine shone down on Samantha as she walked towards the camera for the third time, the swaying of her hips being exaggerated as the director wanted. "Cut!" yelled Klaus. "Good... that will do. Now, on to the next shot. Please move over there, Samantha...

Under Klaus's directions, the next shot was set up and, as a large horse ridden by Hans the gopher, trotted by, Samantha turned sharply sideways as if trying to avoid contact with the beast as it got too close to her... but, the two were in fact, at least a foot apart at all times, but the camera angle would conceal that fact. "Cut! Now, over here, Samantha..."

The third shot involved Samantha standing directly before the camera, windmilling her arms backwards with a worried expression on her face as if she'd just been knocked off balance. With the shouted command "Action!" Samantha swayed about a little before sitting down backwards with an "Eeppp!" her bottom landing squarely into a large and rather smelly cow-pat. The look of disgust that crossed her face as her buttocks squashed deep into the turd was only partly put on... but not wanting to spoil the shoot and thus being forced to do this all again, Samantha followed the instructions she had been given and, rolling to her left, she got onto her hands and knees before starting to stand upright... and 'accidentally' slipping again so that this time her breasts squashed into the manure while her face buried itself in the black, sticky mud that covered the area. "Cut!"

The final shot of the sequence was a simple one for Samantha for all she had to do was to stand still while the camera panned down her, starting with her face which was coated in mud apart from two small round circles where her eyes peered out, down to her shit covered breasts and discoloured blouse and on to her groin, now stained a dark brown colour from the effluent. "Cut!"