A Power Broker Story
Emirate Of Qualia - January 1993
Sir Gerald Knebworthy stood at the podium on the stage at of the intimate Cinema/Theatre. The hum of the airconditioning barely audible as it fought with temperatures in the forties outside. His audience represented the core members of the secret cabal of leaders who wielded the real power behing GDS, a publicly quoted conglomerate which fronted an organisation determined to become the most powerful influence on the planet. The public face of GDS was represented by Paul Hegarty, MD of GDS, and his brother Dan, Director of operations. Raschid al-Benarbia, son of the Emir of Qualia, was chief Finance officer. Samantha Roberts, Director of Logistics, and Sonja Jenkins, Business Development Director were the only women present. The other men present were less publically accountable, Mark Harrison revelled in the title of Director of Security, but it was an honorary title. Much of Mark's work bordered on the illegal, and all of it was usually unethical. Samuel Mwamba - President of Gujanga, Major Ibo Ngoro - Head of the Gujangan Military, and the Emir himself were the other regulars present. Gujanga was the source of the Cocaine which had fuelled GDS's expansion, and the Emir had provided the seed capital for the venture.
"Gentlemen! Gentlemen! boomed Knebworthy, before adding as a humourous afterthought "and honorary gentlemen", nodding knowingly at the two ladies. "We have had a great year. I won't bore you with the figures, but the typed sheet before you lists the relevant non-public metrics which show continuing success in all our ventures. This year we have had a particularly stunning success, deposing the hated ruler of Zanoga, and taking a majority interest in the State Diamond Mining Company. I have therefore taken the liberty of inviting a new member of our inner circle, Colonel Jo-Jo Jones, President of Zanoga to give our keynote speech.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you - President Jones..."
Zanoga - Three Years Earlier.
"This is it. It's dynamite. Are you sure about this?"
The small, slight African sitting in the shadows nodded.
"I've thought a lot about this Mr Gentry. The Emperor is a bad man. His Leopard battalion killed most of my family when he destroyed their village last year, and someone has to do this. It amazes me that he can run a country like this with only a couple of hundred troops."
As editor of the only local newspaper still operating, Malcolm Gentry knew he could never publish the dossier in front of him. He would be dead within hours. The self-proclaimed Emperor of Zanoga made good use of those few troops, reigning by fear and terror. Gentry knew full well how dangerous "Emperor" Imonga could be. Two attempts had been made on his life, and both times whole tribes, hundreds of innocent people, had died gruesome and horrible deaths. He and Jonah were literally risking death by publishing.
"Look, Jonah, the only way I can make this public is to send it overseas. Neither of us will get anything out of it, but we may be able to bring attention to what Imonga is doing."
"I don't want anything for myself Mr Gentry. You do what you think best. Just make sure that Imonga doesn't find out that either of us is involved. Even though I have taken every precaution I can think of, we will be in grave danger when this gets out."
As soon as his guest had left, Malcolm Gentry opened the thick file in front of him. For hours he read. Page after page of horror unfolded before him. The killing of political opponents, the rape and murder of nurses and nuns at the convent, the bombing of foreign investments, torture of village elders. By the time his wife interrupted him he was sitting in a daze, staring blankly at the folder.
"Why don't you come to bed? You can deal with that in the morning." Rebecca whispered gently to him as she massaged his shoulders. Gentry wriggled as her thumbs pressed between his shoulder blades.
"I have to get rid of it. I'm going to send it to Knebworthy, he'll know how to use it."
"I'm sure you're right, my love." Rebecca wished she was as certain as her husband. Despite her confidence that Malcolm was right, Rebecca still found it difficult to trust that old letch. She had given in to him once, and although he never tried again, she knew that he could have his way with her whenever he wanted. Ever since he had fixed her "little problem" at University, she owed him, and he knew it.
Malcolm lifted his face and kissed her full on the mouth as she bent across him. Her breast pressed gently against his arm as she responded to his affection, slipping her tongue along his lower lip and worming it's way tenderly into his mouth. He felt the stirring in his lap as she lowered her hand and lightly pressed against him. He pushed her gently away, and stood up, towering over her slight 5ft 3 frame, pulling her slowly to the bedroom. Her arms circled his waist and his, her shoulders as they stood in the dark, holding each other.
"Make love to me!" she whispered, letting him go and lowering herself onto the bed. He leaned over her, supporting himself on one hand, whilst the other loosened the belt around her robe. He bent towards her, his lips nuzzling against her neck, sending little shivers up and down her spine. As his lips slid down her throat she leaned her head back and purred with pleasure, like a cat stretching in front of a fireplace.
"Oooh that's lovely," she crooned as his lips found her nipple, sucking on it and pulling it into his mouth.
His mouth travelled south, pausing over her navel to run little circles around her belly button before his hands gently parted her thighs to make space for his next move. She felt his tongue tickle her pubic hair as he readjusted his position, making her sex available to his face. When his tongue finally found it's mark, she shuddered with instant pleasure, her clitoris on fire. The rough skin of his tongue rasped against her bud, teasing against the evermore sensitive organ. Her head back, her throat tight, she began to roll her head from side to side as she tried to cope with the pleasure surging up from her groin.
"Mmm please, " she murmured. He responded immediately. She felt his kisses on her skin returning up her body, followed by the gentle, insistent prodding of his dick against the folds of her sex. Her legs spread wider, involuntarily easing his passage as his dick slipped into her sopping pussy. She felt him tense, then he began to move. As the rhythm began to build, her legs slipped higher round his waist. Her breath shortened and they both began gasping in unison. As the heat built, Rebecca's grip around his back tightened, and her nails raked into his skin.
"Yes! Yes!" The climax, when it hit them rolled on and on as they clung to each other like drowning men on a liferaft. He sucked on the lobe of her ear as she mewled encouragement into his, before both flopped, utterly spent, into each other. He eased his dead weight off her, rolling to the side, and looked lovingly at her. She, in turn lay shattered, sweat-dampened curls laying softly around her face as she gulped great lungfulls of air.
"I love you." he whispered.
"I know. I love you too" she responded.
Two minutes later, they were asleep in each others arms, their problem temporarily forgotten.
Aribundi - Gujanga 1991
Janine Lacroix sat nervously. Across the room, the secretary sat working at her desk surrepticiously glancing at the young white woman waiting to see her boss. Whites rarely came voluntarily to the office these days. Since the French left, and the President came into office, the white community kept it's distance. Everyone knew that white farmers generated most of the wealth of the country, and President Mwamba knew better than most. Unusually, he had encouraged the whites to stay, limiting his influence to ensuring better conditions for the black workers, but the whites could see what was going on in the rest of Africa and were unnerved by it. As a result, few made a point of getting involved, certainly not young white women.
The telephone rang and was answered instantly in a hushed voice by the secretary. When she put it down, she had bad news for Janine.
"I'm sorry, but the President can't see you today, something urgent requires his attention."
"But I must see him! It's a matter of life and death. National security even!"
The secretary shrugged her shoulders.
"He's returned to the Palace. Maybe Major Ngoro is in. Do you want me to see?"
Janine nodded furiously, anxious to get a hearing. She had driven all morning, and waited until early evening so there was no point in missing any opportunity now. Besides, Ngoro was responsible for security so maybe he could help directly. Janine could still hear the screams of her maid Rosy in her head. She couldn't let her workers down now. As the secretary set off on another bout of phone calls, Janine's head was filled with the images of last nights incursion.
Her maid Daisy had woken her at two in the morning.
"Missy! Miss Janine! They're back!"
Janine had rolled out of bed clutched her rifle to her side and peered through the small gap in the shutters at the surreal site outside. About twenty black figures, many of them dressed in the ragged half-uniforms of the Zanogan War Veterans Association were milling about outside. As her eyes got used to the half-light she discerned the naked body of her maid, Rose. She was being carried on the back of one of the men, not as though on horseback, but back to back, her shoulders against his, his arms looped around her elbows, his hands clasped in front of him.
The effect was to lift her feet off the ground, throwing her hips forward each time he bent at the waist. Two other veterans had an ankle each, lifting her legs apart in the air. Janine looked on in horror as first one, then another of the rabble dropped their pants, stepped between the legs of the most unfortunate girl, and fucked her with short rapid strokes. For a moment she raised her rifle to her shoulder and considered firing, but the urgent whisperings of Daisy brought her to her senses.
"No Missy No. Go get help, we need help."
Daisy had been right. There were too many of them, and she and Daisy would be no use suffering the same fate. sneaking across the yard, she had driven off as fast as her landrover could carry her. Now, sitting here in the capital, waiting to see the chief of the Army, she knew staying would have been disasterous. A shadow broke her thoughts, and she looked up to see the secretary standing in front of her.
"Major Ngoro can see you, but he is in his appartment. Take the lift to the Penthouse. He'll see you there."
Janine followed the girl around the corner to the elevator. When the door opened she was beckoned inside, whilst the girl leaned in and inserted a key into the top unmarked button. The door slid shut leaving her to make the short journey to the Penthouse alone. Janine could feel her knees shake as the doors hissed open.
She stepped through into a huge plushly carpeted room. Beige and Brown everywhere, the whole room oozed class. She stepped up from the lift-well onto the main floor and gingerly moved forward into the room.
"Take a seat, I'll be with you in a minute."
Looking around, she decided to sit on one of the higher chairs, lowered herself on to it, and sat, knees primly together, her hands folded in her lap waiting to be interviewed.
An unseen door opened, and a tall Black man dressed in a white robe, tied at the waist, strode into the room. His hair was wet, straight from the shower, and he was rubbing furiously at it with a towel.
"Sorry about this, I have an important function in an hour. What can I do for you?"
"Its very good of you to see me, sir,..." Janine realised she was rushing, gabbling even, over her thoughts and words. She took a deep breath and continued. "I, er we, need your help. I run a farm on the Zanoga border, and last year Zanogan war veterans came over and raided the farm. It was a short hit and run raid, but they killed my husband and two of our workers. When they left, we thought we had seen the last of them. Last night they came back. About two dozen of them. They broke into the servants house and kidnapped some of the young women. One of them was gangraped in front of the house. It was dreadful, hearing her scream, knowing there was nothing I could do."
She stopped as the rambling sentence dried up on her lips. He had stopped rubbing his hair, and was looking at her with frank, undisguised interest. Her hands twisted together in her lap, her nerves ever more on show.
Ngoro sat down in the armchair opposite her and looked his visitor up and down. He was impressed by what he saw. She was good looking, darkish skinned, slightly weatherbeaten, with dark brown hair falling in a tousled mess across her face. Her (mans?) safari suit did her no favours, but even so it was clear that she had a desireable figure hidden beneath it. Ngoro glanced down at his watch, concious of his need to leave. Did he have time to try to fuck her?, probably not. Across from him Janine saw the glance and assumed the worst.
"Please, sir! I know you are in a hurry, but please hear me out." She found herself pouring out her story, pleading for protection from the invading Zanogans, struggling, she thought, to keep his attention. As she talked, she stood up and walked agitatedly about. "Please sir, we would do anything to help, the whole border region is being invaded by these animals, PLEASE!" As she stressed her last plea, she sank to her knees in front of him, desperation etched on her pretty features. As she clutched at his leg, his robe gaped. Ngoro looked down at her, a smile of amusement playing on his lips. He glanced meaningfully from her face to his crotch, where his tumescent dick was beginning to respond to his interest, and back again. For Janine, the meaning went unnoticed, but the dick did not. As it slowly uncurled from the gap in his robe, she was mesmerised by it. A snake charmer could not have been more successful. It grew in front of her eyes until it stood like an ebony flagpole jutting vertically skywards.
Without thinking, she leaned forward and kissed the end.
"Please!" she whimpered, licked it's end again and repeated her plea. Ngoro decided. This was something he did have time for. Gently, he placed his hand on the back of her head, with just enough pressure to prevent her lifting it, but not enough to imply force. Relief flooded through Janine at the unspoken agreement they had just reached. She hadn't blown a man for more than three years, but she knew this had to be the best ever. Lightly, she ran her tongue in small cicles around the bulb, then, gently licked her way down the length of his shaft. Ngoro leaned back in his chair and settled himself. Her tongue retraced it's steps before repeating the motion several times, each with a little more pressure, each taking a little less time. For Ngoro, the effect was unbearable, making him want to press her head down and cease the tickling.Just as he was about to do it, she gauged the time to be right, opened her lips, and took him deep into her mouth. He was huge, much bigger than her husband, and she found she had to stretch her gape to get him in. It was also too long. It was only half way when she felt it at the back of her throat. Fighting the impulse to retch, she slowly let it out before repeating the long slow suck. This time, his dick filled her throat making her gag and try to expel it. Still fighting her natural reaction, she slowed down and held the dick in her mouth, only then letting it slowly withdraw.
Ngoro was enjoing this. Women were regularly available to him on demand, but young white ones were still a novelty. He had fucked many in his time, but few had shown Mrs Lacroix's oral talent. As she slowly increased the pace, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, all thought of his imminent appointment forgotten for the moment. She sucked, and as she did so, she rolled her tongue around the shaft in a most erotic motion, sending shivers through him at every turn. More rapidly now, she abandoned the tongue movement and, grasping the base of his cock with one hand, she began to pump his weapon in and out of her mouth with increasing gusto. With each thrust his excitement got that little bit higher. He fought to control his increasing lust, to delay the inevitable, to prolong the exquisite feelings coursing through his stiffening torso.
Janine sensed the change of mood at once. From being a relaxed recipient of her attentions, Ngoro was getting worked up. His hips were now jerking, raising his arse to meet each bob of her head as she stepped up the pace. She felt his breathing change, holding his breath for what felt like minutes before exhaling with a gasp and sucking in another huge lungful. She speeded up. Quicker and quicker. The muscles in his legs tightened. Faster and faster, they tightened so much that his thrusting became one long push against her face. With a long, drawn out cry of satisfaction, he came!. Despite the signs, she was still taken by suprise by the strength of his orgasm, and she nearly choked as a flood of watery semen filled her mouth and throat. Resisting the temptation to spit it out, she swallowed, once, twice, three times. The amount of spunk was enormous.
Ngoro's muscles relaxed. His body sank back into the chair, and his hand left the back of her head. He was shattered. "Fucking hell!" he thought to himself. "That should set me up for the rest of the evening." He looked down at the kneeling figure before him, reached across to the table beside his chair, and picked up his mobile phone.
"Jambo Lieutenant Mkele. Ngoro here. I need you to do something. Yes... Yes... That's right,... Send twenty of your best to escort my guest home. I want you to look after her. When you get to her farm, you may find Zanogan vets there. If so, kill all but one and send him back to deliver the bodies and a personal letter from me to Imonga... Yes,... pick the letter up here... Oh and..."
He paused and asked a gasping Janine if she had a servants house they could use. When she nodded he continued.
"... leave a couple of guards behind in case."
He put down the phone, lifted a notepad, and scribbled a one liner to the Emperor.
"Imonga, these men have embarrasseed you by invading my farms. Saved you the trouble. Ngoro"
He read the note out loud as he wrote, then looked down at his grateful guest, still breathless from her excersions.
"That should fix your problem. I will call on you later at the farm for a second instalment."
Meanwhile, In Oxford - England
"Things are starting to fall into place Sir Gerald."
"Very good, Robert, but I still have a couple of questions."
Robert Stewart looked from Sir Gerald to his guest and back. He had been blackmailed into this job, but actually he was beginning to really enjoy the intellectual challenge of it.
"This unknown mole in Imonga's office has sent you details of all his personal bank accounts right?"
"Yes Sir. They were actuslly scribbled on the back of a piece of paper in the file you received from Malcolm Gentry."
"And do they check out?"
"Yes Sir. 354 Million US Dollars in all."
"Jesus!" exclaimed Sir Geralds guest.
"Indeed, nodded Sir Gerald. And much of it will be coming to you. Eventually. Is that right?"
"Yes Sir. but first I have to put it to use. 20 million we give away to Imonga's butcher, Kanapombe. It should be fun watching him explain that to his boss. Then we transfer all the rest into an anonymous holding account which we use to buy shares in the Zanogan Diamond mines. Any residue goes to Major Jones, here for rebuilding the economy after the coup."
Josiah Jonasabimbwe Jones, known to everyone as Jo-Jo voiced the big unspoken question.
"What do you think he will do when he finds out?"
"Well he won't be happy. That's for sure. He uses the money to pay the Leopards, so the first he's likely to know about it is when his troops get pissed off. We have to make sure he never finds out about the shares, or Jo-Jo's involvement until too late."
"Does the mole know about you?" asked Sir Gerald, glancing across at Jo-Jo.
"Almost certainly not. I don't know who he is, and I'm sure he knows that I run the Zanogan Regular Army. Only Kanapombe and his Leopards are closer to Imonga than me, so the mole will probably see me as a threat."
"OK, last question then. When?"
"I can make the transfers on Tuesday, the day after his Leopards get their money. That gives us a month before he is likely to notice. I'll leave a few thousands in the account to stop it bouncing. If he makes any big purcheses, though, we may not have long at all."
"Thats a risk we'll take. You'd better get off home Jo-Jo before he notices you missing. I'll call Sam and get his troops on the border just in case."
"To Success! Gentlemen."
Jo-Jo and Robert raised their glasses. "Success!"
Central Interrogation Centre - Zanoga - February 1992
If Jonah had been scared when the Leopards picked him up, it was nothing to the terror he felt now. He heard the door creak open and close. A new tormentor enter.
"So this is him?" Jonah literally shit himself as he recognised the sibilant whisper of Emperor Imonga himself. "I see the little man has lost control." His podgy nose wrinkled in distaste as the light brown mark spread out from under the naked beaten and bloodied little man tied blindfolded to the chair. "Has he confessed?"
"Really? He is obviously more foolish than we assumed. Now little man. I suppose you think that your silence will be enough to protect you? It will not.For the past two weeks, every newspaper, in every country has carried stories and reports condemming me as some sort of animal. You are about to find out what sort of animal I can be. I know you provided the information, so a confession is really unnecessary. What I need is to know who you gave it to."
Jonah cried silently to himself. He had been prepared for this. He had first read, and now experienced the fact that there comes a point in torture that the body becomes impervious to pain. They could do whatever they liked. he would not give them satisfaction. When Imonga struck him across the face, he hardly felt it. He felt as though his broken hands, bruised testicles and battered torso belonged to someone else. He would die with his secret.
"Remove his blindfold."
Jonah squeezed his eyes shut as the pain from the light raked through his head. As he managed to crack open his eyelids, he gradually made out the shape, fuzzy at first, of the Emperor standing before him.
"You're right, you know. You will never tell me if we keep beating you."
Jonah was confused. What did he mean? Would they let him go if he told them? Even if they would he could never do that. As the thoughts rattled around his aching brain, Imonga moved aside. Jonah was stunned. A young woman dressed in a simple shift dress stood between two soldiers in front of him. A gag prevented speech, but there was no mistaking the terror in the big brown eyes peering over the top of it.
"Mmirymm," Jonah mumbled through swolen lips three times their normal size.
"Thought you'd got your wife out of the country did you? No one is out of my reach, you see. Maybe now you would like to tell me who you informed?"
Jonah shook his head rapidly from side to side, partly to refuse to tell, but also partly in disbelief that they had found Miriam. Imonga nodded at the two soldiers who dragged the unfortunate woman across to a large vertical wooden post holding up the roof. Jonah looked on in shock as they raised her hands high above her head and nailed them to the post. Miriams eyes rolled in her head as she screamed into her gag, whist Jonah used every ounce of energy he had to try to get out of his chair to reach her.
Slowly, casually, Imonga walked over to the girl. He bent to one knee in front of her, and very slowly, very deliberately started to cut a slit up the front of her dress with a pair of scissors. Jonahs eyes closed tightly, then he heard himself scream as best he could.
"OK! OK! Leave her alone."
Imonga kept cutting, up past her crotch, to her waist.
"A name. I need a name!"
The scissors were between her breasts when Jonah screamed out.
With a flourish, Imonga slashed upwards, curting through the neckline of the dress, allowing it to fall apart exposing Miriam to his full view.
"Gentry, Gentry," mumbled Jonah, ashamed of himself at his betrayal.
"Now now," hissed Imonga. "that was just a bit too easy wasn't it." As he said so, he stood to the side of Miriam, looked her straight between the eyes and without moving his gaze inserted two fingers straight up her quim. Miriam's wriggling simply served to ease his passage, leaving her impaled on his hand, tears of pain and embarrassment running down her face.
"Gentry! it was Gentry" Jonah shouted, "Leave her alone."
He withdrew his hand, but any comfort Jonah gained from that was soon dispelled as Imonga moved to caress her breast. He took a long brown nipple between his thunb and forefinger rolled it a couple of times, causing more squeaks of pain then pulled it from her body, stretching it out in front of her. Raising the scissors to her tit, he left Jonah in no doubt what his next move might be.
"Why should I believe you? you said yourself you would never tell. Maybe you're making this up?"
"Please, leave her, it was Gentry, honest I wouldn't lie That's my wife. Please it was Gentry. Gentry."
The scissors clicked. Miriam jerked uncontrollably against the post so hard that she pulled her hands from the nails and fell in a heap on the floor, blood gushing from her missing nipple."
"Gentry, gentry, gentry, gentry"
There was no more sense to be got from Jonah. Quoting Gentry's name like a mantra he lay slumped almost unconscious in the chair,
"I think I believe you now. Kill him." Imonga turned on his heel to leave. Glancing down at the whimpering Miriam he issued his last order of the day.
Stitch her tit and give her to my Leopards!"
Office Of The Mercury Daily - Zanoga - April 1992
It had been a quiet morning. Malcolm had gone out early to visit someone with a story to tell. Normally stories came to them. A constant streeam of people dribbling through the newspaper office with stories of bad medicine, dry wells, food shortages. The only common feature was that the Emperor always came out of it well. Saviour of the people. The Gentry's knew that their role was simply to stay in business. Real reporting was something that could be done when the next ruler came along. Rebecca glanced out of the door into the waiting room. The crowd of a few moments ago had thinned. The old lady with the fruit, the one with the washing, the old man with the stick, all gone without seeing her. Something was amiss. She was startled when a tall African with a distinctive bobble hat stepped through the door.
"Good afternoon Mrs Gentry."
Rebecca was surprised. Few Africans used her title, because few of them knew it. Her visitor sat down uninvited in the chair opposite her desk. Three more men appeared at the door.
"My friends and I need to speak wid your husband. Can you call him please?"
"He's not here just know, do you want to leave him a message?, I can get him to call you."
A second man wearing a scruffy T-shirt smeered with rust and oil walked from the doorway, across the office, and opened the door to Malcolms inner sanctum.
"Excuse me!" Rebecca stood up and followed him into Malcolms office. "Do you mind, that's private."
"I'm sure it is." The hat said behind her. He pushed past and moved behind Malcolms desk. "Do you have a key for the drawer?"
Rebecca stepped towards him, unaware that the other two visitors had taken up position behing her now guarding the inner office doorway.
"Who do you think you are? You can't just come in here as though you own the place?
"Mr Gentry is a very lucky man."
"What do you mean?"
"He has a fine office, a fine career, and a particularly fine woman." He glanced across at Rebecca with a look that sent shivers down her spine. This was getting dangerous.
"I think we will wait for him." pronounced the Hat. He clearly had no intention of leaving.
"Then I have work to do." Rebecca turned on her heels to find her way blocked by an enormous thug with dreadlocks hanging down in scruffy rat-tails to his shoulders... Behind him, a small ferret of a man locked the office door.
"I think it best if you wait with us." There was no doubt who the leader was. He wore his hat like a badge of office an the others clearly did what they were told.
Rebecca stood still, not knowing what to do, but uncomfortably aware that she wished she were dressed differently. Her low scoopneck T-shirt worn bra-less showed too much cleavage, and her skirt, though not too short, was a couple of inches shorter that she would have liked. Trying desperately to look nonchalent, she jumped when Rasta reached over and ran his fingers in her shoulder-length hair.
"Don't do that."
"Its very pretty hair. you should be proud of it."
"I am. now please let go."
Rasta ignored her and continued to twirl his fingers. The ferret moved in front of her. Reaching down, he grasped the hem of her skirt, an started to raise it.
"Wonder if this hair is the same colour?"
Rebecca knocked his hand away.
"Look! my husband will be back any moment, why don't you just go away and I'll let him know you want to see him.
Rasta's hand left her hair and ran onto her shoulder. His other hand came around her waist and pulled her gently to him. His fingers rubbed slowly against the underside of her breast.
"Naughty girl has gone native, boys, no bra." He announced it as though it was a major discovery, but no one needed to be told. Rebecca squeezed her hand between his hand and her breast, but all that did was push it up, emphasising her charms even more. The ferret resumed his attack. Still with no haste, he lifted the hem of her skirt giving them all a momentary view of her crisp white knickers. Rebecca used her spare hand to push her skirt down, and tried to wriggle free. Rasta tightened his grip.
With one hand holding down her skirt, and the other trapped beneath Rasta's, Rebecca was completely defenceless when Oilyshirt walked across to join the fray. He stood in front of her and gazed into her eyes. Very slowly he raised his index finger in front of her face, then bent it into a crook. Without saying anything he hooked it into the neckline of her shirt and pulled out and down.
"N0!" Her breast popped free and jiggled about as she squirmed to free herself from Rasta's grasp. Oily shirt closed his hand over her breast, ignoring her cry.
"Nice tits." he said, and moved back to look at his handiwork. Rebecca blushed furiously. Being fondled was bad enough, but being left exposed like that was so embarrassing.
"Stop it, let me go!" She struggled furiously against Rasta's firm grip.
The Hat got up from his seat, moved round the desk, and parked himself against it's edge.
"I think we need to see some respect." Rebecca stood horrified as he lowered his zip and a huge dick sprang out. "Who used to run this country?"
"The British" Rebecca blurted out. "But you do now," she continued anticipating his next question.
"Then show you're new masters how respectful you are!"
Rebecca struggled once again to get free. As she did, the ferret succeeded in lifting her skirt all the way to her waist, and Rasta's other hand pulled her shirt down, baring both breasts. She had to take her eyes off the huge black snake. Trying to look the Hat in the eyes, she made one last depairing plea, but he simply pointed at his dick.
Rebecca resigned herself to what she knew was coming. She tried to kneel, but Rasta kept a firm grip on her waist so she had to bend over. Shaking her head from side to side she did everything she could to keep her face away from the Hat's massive prick. Becoming impatient, he grasped a handful of her hair and pulled himself into her mouth, almost choking her in the process. The rustling of clothes around her went almost unnoticed as she concentrated on trying to draw breath. At first the pressure on her hair eased as The Hat began to pump his dick in and out of her mouth, but another hand grabbed it, pulling her head sideways and offering up another prick in it's place. She took it in and ran her lips up and down it's length a few times before returning to the Hat. Behind her, she felt Rasta let go of her waist and she used the opportunity to sink to her knees. Four dicks now waved in front of her face, as she moved furiously from one to another trying to keep each one satisfied. It suddenly dawned on her that her only hope was to fully satisfy the bastards, but she knew these were dangerous men. One false move and she was dead. The hat stepped back half a pace, and at the same time someone gave her a nudge in the small of her back, forcing her to let go of the two pricks she was holding, and put both hands on the floor in front of her to support her weight. In doing so, her teeth scraped along the Hat's penis with more than intended force. The crack of his hand across her face knocked her sideways.
"Bitch! Bite me again and I'll pull you teeth out."
Rebecca tried to mouth her apology, but before she could get more than a couple of words out, his dick was pushing at the back of her throat. Behind her, fingers began to pull at the gusset of her panties. She felt someone seperate the cheeks of her arse, exposing both holes to her assailants. A finger stroked her slit, up and down a couple of times before worming it's way into her cunt. She was still dry, and the ragged fingernail tore into the sensitive folds of her labia as he thrust his digit in and out.
Behind her Rasta stood gazing admiringly at the perfect cheeks presented to him. Lubrication was needed, so he dribbled spittle onto her arse, allowing it to work it's way all the way down her crack before rubbing his finger in it, and pushing back up her tube. More spittle dousched his cock before he took up position, placed the bell-end of his prick against her, and pushed himself as far up her tunnel as he could. The pain took Rebecca's breath away, forcing her mouth open and allowing the Hat to get his dick right into the top of her windpipe. She gagged, coughing and spluttering as she tried to fill her lungs with air. In the back of her mind, warning voices told her to keep her mouth open, avoid contact with her teeth. She failed. She didn't bite, but she did nip his dick.
She stopped absolutely still. There was a short moment where everything stopped whilst the Hat looked down his nose and glowered at her. He stood up, grabbed a handful of her hair, and dragged her screaming across to the table. Slamming her face down, he kicked her legs apart, and without any her pretence at subtlety rammed his dick straight up her arse. Rebecca screamed and slumped on the wooden surface, tears of pain running down her face. She screamed again as he rammed into a second time, and then a third. He pulled out, twisted her over and held her, stretched out on her back, legs splayed hanging over the edge of the table. He nodded to the ferret who advanced on her, dick standing to attention. She was focussing on the ceiling, so she was taken by suprise when he took his turn to ram himself deep into her vagina. Pain was all she could feel as they took turns fucking her with increasing venom, taking revenge on thirty years of colonial rule out of her frail, worn body. For more than an hour she lay there, constant pounding at her genitals forcing the breath out of her body. She thought when they backed off they were finished, but she was wrong.
Rasta hauled her off the table, sat on the floor, and dragged her down to sit on his prick. He slapped her breasts, first one, then the other until she was sobbing with the ache in her tits. She fell forward, exhausted. When she had got her breath back she tried to sit up. Rasta held her down, his arms circling her, keeping her pinned to his body. Oily-shirt knelt behind her and teased her arsehole with his finger.
"No!, Please. No!" Despite her words, all the fight had left her. As he slid his dick up her back passage, she slumped on Rasta's body and lay there, taking everything they gave her until they pushed her off in a sperm-covered heap on the floor. Without giving her time to cover herself, Rasta and the Ferret dragged her out of the office, down the stairs, and threw her, without ceremony into the back of an old Nissan Van parked outside and drove away. For an hour or so, she bounced around as the vehicle struggled along the bumpy track before she was dumped out of the back door, naked and bruised in the middle of the bush. She had no idea where she was. The sound of Lions and Hyaenas echoed across the landscape as she lay there, too tired to move, waiting her fate. She was unconscious when the tall Masai found her.
The Emperor's Palace - Zanoga - May 1992
Jo-Jo stood to attention. Today was going to be the biggest day of his life, and keeping cool was essential. The Emperor sat at his desk, a worried look on his face. He had been visited yesterday by his paymaster who had told him that no money was available to pay the wages of his Leopards. Of course that couldn't be true, but the fact that the Paymaster had plucked up the courage to tell him meant that something was amiss.
General Kanapombe was not in good humour either. It was he who would have to face the wrath of the Leopard battallion if money could not be found, but he knew that Imonga had access to hundreds of millions of dollars. A months wages would be no problem. He was more concerned with his "guest", standing forlornly between two soldiers in front of the Emperors desk.
"We have incontrovertible evidence that Gentry is the spy, your Highness. We found this copy of the report in his house, and we have statements you witnessed from Jonah Majane and his wife."
Gentry gathered himself, unsure whether or not to protest his innocence. He never got the chance.
"May I have a word, your Highness? Jo-Jo interrupted.
"What now?" Imonga was getting more agitated by the minute. Money troubles and that stupid report were testing his patience.
"May we have a moment in private. sir? I have some important information to give you."