Hilary Irvine's Return to the Dark Continent
Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Reluctant, Rape, Interracial, Black Male, White Female,
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A second story featuring a British journalist encountering difficulties of a sexual nature whilst in Africa.
As her car crawled along the moonlit London street Hilary Irvine noticed with irritation that her usual car parking spot was taken. This would mean a longer walk to the entrance of her apartment block. For any attractive blonde twenty something such a lonely walk in a big city at this late hour would be a concern. For this particular BBC news journalist such a walk was perilous.
Some weeks ago Hilary had stunned the world with a series of reports on the white slave trade in Africa. Western governments suddenly woke up to the realization that when their attractive female citizens had gone missing it wasn't always because they had all been eaten by tigers, crashed their car over a ravine or joined a hippy cult. A significant number had been abducted and sold into sexual slavery - forced to serve the demands of some rich Arab or black man with a penchant for using and abusing white flesh.
Desperate to maintain the flow of Western aid into their Swiss bank accounts African leaders had ordered urgent action on the issue. Across all of central Africa slavers and slave masters had been arrested and swiftly executed. A swift execution preventing them from naming any government official with a Western sex slave of his own.
For several weeks news reports from Africa had featured dazed and naked white women been freed by grinning African police. Their freedom may have been achieved by these cops but the world knew that the impetus had come from Hilary Irvine - news reporter extraordinaire.
Hilary was immensely proud of her accomplishment and often gave interviews demanding more action in her earnest presenting style. The only thing lacking from her TV appearances was the embarrassing truth — she'd experienced the life of a white slave at first hand, spending almost three weeks getting whipped and raped across the dark continent.
Her fame and success had one drawback. For all the public executions Hilary was fully aware that the trade still existed. The demand for white flesh was too insistent, the money sloshing about the place too great. White slavers still plied their trade. And more than anything they all wanted one thing - to kill Hilary Irvine.
Eventually she found a parking place — fully four streets from her apartment. Feeling nervous Hilary remained in her car for a while anxiously scanning the road.
In the darkened street nothing, not even a cat, seemed to be moving.
Taking a deep breath Hilary stepped out of her car, locked it and moved off towards home.
Soon she noticed someone on the other side of the road, moving towards her. An assassin?
The figure stopped. Hilary's heart pounded in her chest.
"Dumb mutt! C'mon!" The man yanked on the leash of his pet and walked on.
In the next street a car slowly drove past the quickly walking newsgirl.
'It's moving slowly, ' Hilary thought, 'Too slowly!'
Suddenly incapable of breathing Hilary imagined the passenger's window winding down, gun barrel pointing out and a hail of bullets cutting her down...
Instead the vehicle continued on its way.
"No dammit!" she spat irritably, "I didn't survive hell in Africa to be frightened of shadows!" Taking a deep breath she strode on, slightly more confident than before.
Soon she found herself outside the entrance to her apartment block. After carefully checking to see that she wasn't been observed Hilary punched in the entrance code and entered. The moment the door closed behind Hilary let out a sigh of relief and her heartbeat slowed considerably.
Safe and sound!
As she walked towards the lift Hilary's thoughts turned to what else the night might offer.
Something in the shapely form of Suzi Turner.
Suzi had recently joined BBC news from some other channel. At first Hilary was a little concerned that her position as hottest newsbabe might be under threat. Suzi was a tall girl with big brown eyes. Her short dark hair framed her pretty face. Though she often wore business suits around the newsroom Hilary had seen from pictures of Suzi at awards nights that she had nice long legs and a simply fabulous pair of tits.
Hilary's concerns were allayed by Suzi's undoubted friendly nature. Particularly towards her. Suzi would often tell Hilary how much she admired her, how much she wanted to be like her. One day Hilary thought; short hair, business suit, no apparent boyfriend, the eagerness to be friends with me...
Hang on a minute!
Until recently Hilary would have regarded this as merely a flattering irritant. But that was before her African nightmare. There she had had enough cock to last a lifetime. Rammed, shoved and driven into her with beastial savagery. Hilary hadn't had sex since her return to London and to be honest didn't want any. Even the thought of a male member — erect, throbbing, stinking of sweat, a glint of pre-cum — filled her with revulsion.
But Hilary craved some intimacy and if that could be provided by Suzi why not?
In the newsroom Hilary responded to Suzi's attempts at friendship. Suzi was delighted and clearly made her eye contact last a little too long to be just friends. Hilary invited her round for coffee, they went shopping. When Suzi mentioned what a good cook she was Hilary invited her round for a meal ... an evening meal.
"I'll bring some wine and we can make a night of it!"
Now when the lift reached her floor Hilary stepped out smiling. She was in for a night of good conversation, a nice meal and some fine wine. And if ended with a lesbo sex romp? Fine!
Hilary hadn't felt desire towards a member of her own sex since she was 17. But now the thought of gently sucking Suzi's huge tits was really making her feel horny.
Her hand was trembling as she opened her front door. Her heart was pounding again. Hilary had once seen Suzi in a tight white satin top with her boobs practically bursting out. If she was wearing it now Hilary might forego the meal and get straight on to love tussle time.
"What the FUCK are YOU doing here?"
Standing in the middle of her lounge - in her Home, for fuck's sake — was a well-dressed, grinning black man from South Africa, Samuel Mbonga.
"Hilary!" admonished Suzi as she came out of the kitchen, "how could you be so rude to your old friend?"
She was wearing the white top. Plus a tight gray skirt down to her knees. Below that dark brown leather boots. Hilary wanted her so much it hurt.
"Yessir, Missy!" grinned Samuel as he brought Hilary back to miserable present, "Missy Hilary and me is going way back. Back to Africa."
He moved towards her and as Hilary froze gave her a hug. Hidden from Suzi's view his right hand swiftly moved to Hilary's butt cheek and squeezed. Not a playful touch but a grope so forceful it brought forth a gasp.
"Looking good, Missy Hilary!" he smirked, then dropped his voice to add, "Feeling good, too!"
"I assumed you and Samuel were friends," said Suzi bringing in a tray of drinks, "I hope it was OK to let him in?"
"Absolutely," answered Hilary forcing a smile.
Samuel was in no way Hilary's friend. True he had purchased her from a depraved old sheikh and subsequently set her free. But in the time between purchase and freedom Hilary had been his unwilling houseguest and distinctly unenthusiastic sex-toy. Worse was when his retarded friend Moses had turned up with his video camera. Together the trio had made a fake hostage video that gave the impression that the reasons for Hilary's abduction had been political rather than sexual. Once again Hilary had to use her body for payment in marathon three-in-a-bed sex sessions — some of which were videoed. The sound of the hateful Moses giggling away as her mouth worked on his cock, the camera 6 inches from her eye, was a memory that often featured in Hilary's nightmares. According to Samuel these videos were purely to give him a souvenir of Hilary's stay, but the threat of internet publication lingered in her mind.
"Drink, Samuel?" said Suzi, proffering a glass to the African who was grinning like a cat that had just got some cream. Some white cream with a blonde top.
Dully Hilary took her glass. She was starting to feel sick in the pit of her stomach.
'Samuel?' she thought, 'Dear God, does she like him?'
The possibility of Hilary gently caressing Suzi's naked body was receding fast. The horrible prospect of those fabulous knockers been chewed by a lustful Samuel was appearing over the metaphorical hills.
Hilary had to get rid of Suzi, fast. Samuel wasn't beyond suggesting a threesome. And unbeknown to Suzi Hilary was incapable of saying no when it came to sex with Samuel, not with that damned video been used for blackmail.
"Listen Suzi,..." said Hilary slowly, "Samuel and I have something to discuss..." "About the white slave trade? Some new scoop?" the brunette asked keenly. "Er ... yes ... but its ... confidential..."
The feeling of sick in her belly was growing. Now she was lying.
"OK" said Suzi with a pout of disappointment, "I'll be off."
Hilary saw her out. At the door the urge to reach out for a kiss or a squeeze swelled in Hilary's chest but instead a quick 'farewell' had to suffice.
Female tenderness left, male savagery sipped his drink.
"Nice girl" grinned Samuel, "Is she like you?" "How do you mean?" asked Hilary, anger rising. "Got a taste for black cock?"
Hilary took a deep breath and ignored the comment. "What are you doing here, Samuel?" she asked steadily.
Now Samuel ignored her. It would be fun to bait this stuck-up slut some more.
"If you'd been 10 minutes later I'd have made a play for her," he rolled his eyes and ran his tongue across his lower lip, "If you'd come back and heard me and yo friend banging in yo bedroom would yo have left us in peace?"
He put his drink down.
"Or stripped off and joined in?"
"Forgot Suzi!" barked Hilary, "Any business you have here is with me!" "OK, Ok,..." smiled Samuel, "Perhaps I'll see her if she ever come to Africa." "That won't happen," said Hilary turning away, "Suzi is been sent to the Middle East."
Samuel smiled his toothy grin again, but said nothing. Missy Hilary was lying! And he knew it!
Before Hilary's arrival he and the fat-titted white girl had been chatting. Missy Suzi's next assignment was in Nigeria. He'd already found out when she left and what hotel she'd be staying in. Casually and in as friendly a way as possible he'd let Suzi know that Samuel Mbonga had contacts across the whole of Africa. His dick had swelled when he saw how pleased she'd been to hear this.
"I'd be ever so grateful for any contacts you can arrange!"
'And I'd be ever so grateful to fuck the shit outta yo juicy body!' was the thought that had passed thru Samuel's mind.
Screwing the brunette was a possibility of the future. Screwing the blonde beauty standing in front of him was a matter of the present. Oh, she was pissed off — that much was obvious. But if she was going to throw him out she'd have done it by now. She was trapped and now was the time to reel her in.
"Remember this?" he asked, bringing out a videotape. Hilary froze, eyes intent on what Samuel was waving in his hand. "Mmm, mmm," he smirked, "You, me and ol' Moses had such a nice time making it!"
Hilary looked down to the floor, blushing. This was a moment she'd been dreading.
"OK, you bastard. What do you want?"
"I'd like my dear ol' friend Missy Hilary to buy this off me." "You want money?" Hilary was relieved, "OK, I can pay." "No, missy," came the reply with a hateful grin, "I gots money. Yo pay in yo bedroom! Yo pay with yo body! Yo with yo pussy!"
Hilary was furious. But bit her lower lip to control her temper. The urge to lash out, to beat this grinning, leering swine was hard to resist. But even if she did overpower him, get the video and throw him out things wouldn't end there. He might go to police — imagine the headlines. And Samuel was slyly clever. He would have made a copy. The moment that video was broadcast her career, her life would be over.
Hilary was furious, but her fury was impotent. She was trapped. Fucked in every sense of the word.
"Fine!" she said bitterly, yanking open the buttons of her blouse, "You wanna fuck? Then lets fuck!"
"Uh, ... uhhhh!" Hilary groaned as she went down on the naked black man in her bed.
Samuel Mbonga was a shit and in her opinion no better than a rapist but he was a well hung shit. His throbbing manhood filled her pussy and as Hilary worked her hips her body started to respond. She could feel sweat on her forehead and she was panting. The rational, moral, educated part of her was despising every second of this. But deep down her hated animal side wanted it.
"Cum!" she grunted thru gritted teeth, "Cum, you bastard!"
Flat on his back beneath her Samuel gazed upon his kneeling beauty with triumphant delight.
Screwing a stunning beautiful white woman was great, screwing her while she hated it was better!
He'd cum in his own time. Let this bitch endure it a bit more. She'd ripped her clothes off in seconds. The sight of her stupendous naked body suddenly appearing before him had made Samuel want to take her immediately, but he controlled himself. Undressed slowly as her seething impatience grew. Then calmly moved onto the bed and invited her to impale herself on his stiffening manhood.
She had paused briefly, like a tease, then mounted him.
She had no choice.
She was his bitch.
Years ago his grandfather had ran a café in Bulawayo, what was then Rhodesia. He sold drinks, his wife and her sisters sold themselves to the local white farmers. Samuel's father had told him with bitterness how as a small boy he'd listened to white men humping his mother and aunts, heard them sneer at 'kaffir bitchs' as they left.
Now here he was in the heart of the imperial mother city, flat on his back while a beautiful white woman with blonde hair served his cock. Though they were long dead Samuel was sure that somewhere his father and grandfather were looking down with pride.
He worked his hips. The moment of final triumph had arrived.
Hilary gasped as Samuel came, partly in relief. The urge to dismount was great but she knew it wouldn't be allowed. Swallowing deeply in her shame, she leaned forward, put her hands on his chest and rode him as he pumped away.
When he was done Hilary felt herself been pulled off and flung on her back. As she lay panting with cum dribbling out of her pussy Samuel reached for his jacket, pulled out a cigarette and lit up. Not even looking at her!
Hilary rolled over onto her side, so as she wouldn't have to look at the pig. She was grateful that there was silence between them.
All too soon the moment of tranquility was breached as she felt his hand touch the back of her thigh, move up and caress her butt cheek.
"Yo body is looking even better than when I fucked it in Africa," the black breathed, nuzzling the white woman's bare shoulder.
It was true. Since returning from Africa Hilary had gone on an exercise binge. Burning energy and exorcising her rage using an exercise bike, rowing machine and swimming. That it had all been to make a monster like Samuel enjoy fucking her even more made it all seem so worthless.
"Moses would be so jealous. Dat boy is always talking 'bout when he nailed Missy Hilary."
Hilary bristled at the mention of that name. Samuel sensed it. Next time he came to London he might bring a companion...
"Mmm, ... mmm," he mused grabbing Hilary's right boob, "I reckon ol'Moses would love to get reacquainted with these babies!"
As far as she allowed herself to remember Hilary thought ol'Moses was keenest on her mouth. Specifically sticking his dick in it. When he wasn't doing that he was shoving her face into the floor to lick up any spunk that she'd been unable to swallow.
Samuel put all thoughts of Moses to one side. His little fella was twitching for some more pussy. The fabulously randy wee beastie!
Hilary felt Samuel pull her over onto her back and slide over her leg. Focusing intently on a spot on the ceiling she reached up, grabbed the top of the bed and spread her legs to accommodate him.
And hated herself for doing so...
The first shafts of dawn sunlight woke Hilary up. Still sleepy she looked around. She was alone in the bed!
Confused and resisting the temptation to be pleased she got up and searched the flat.
She was alone! The pig had gone!
Blessed relief flooded thru Hilary's naked body. At the very least she had expected to be obliged to suck on some Samuel sausage before breakfast. But no! He'd gone! He-
Then she noticed the videotape on the bedside cabinet. With a note on top. Quickly she grabbed it and read;
"Dear Missy Hilary. Thank you so much for the sex. Fun for you as well, eh? Here is the video that you have earned so well. Only 11 copies remain. I visit you again soon and we'll see if you can buy another off me.
With a snarl of rage Hilary screwed up the note and then hurled the tape against the wall, smashing it as it hit.
She'd suspected that Samuel had made copies, but the confirmation of her suspicions gave her no satisfaction. She was now little better than Samuel's sex slave, compelled to sleep with him whenever he was in the neighborhood. The day she refused, the day she didn't satisfy him, she'd be ruined.
In a rage of despair Hilary hit the shower. She made the water as hot as possible, as powerful as possible. As if it were possible to blast away the memory of the previous night. Then Hilary removed the showerhead from its holder, spread her legs, braced herself and fired it into her most intimate region.
It hurt and she could only bear it for a few seconds. But she did it again. And again. If it washed Samuel's muck out from inside her it was worth it. Obviously it might not be enough. Since she'd gone off cock Hilary hadn't bothered with protection. A visit to the chemist was called for.
That day Hilary had to interview a minister about flooding in the Severn valley. The man had tried to explain that it didn't matter if temporary flood defenses had been stuck in traffic as it was a very big flood. The poor nincompoop was stunned and then reduced to a bewildered wreck by the BBC newsgirl's blistering interviewing style.
Afterwards Hilary felt better, but only a bit.
Her mood darkened several days later. Suzi had gone to Lagos alright. Then gone missing.
"She had a call in her hotel and sped off in her hire car," explained Leonard Cotton, the head of BBC News, "some hours later the Nigerian police found her abandoned car north of Lagos".
He looked round gloomily at the assembled group, Hilary amongst them. If he expected some positive comment he was disappointed.
"There's been no ransom demand," he continued, "At the moment no-one knows what's happened to her."
No one knew what had happened to Suzi but anyone who'd seen Hilary's slave trade reports had a fair inkling that her fate was grim. Even Leonard's mind had wandered in that direction. As a boy he'd loved Tarzan films and when he wasn't worrying about Suzi or wondering about the wisdom of sending attractive twentysomethings as a lone correspondent in Africa he imagined her in a cannibal cooking pot, writhing in the stew as a dozen naked warriors danced around her. Fabulous tits that girl had.
"Yes!" he suddenly said, waking from his daydream, "We have a lead. Someone who can help us," he turned to Hilary, "Your friend, Samuel Mbonga!"
The sound of that name jolted Hilary. "Wha-what?" she stumbled. "Yes," jabbered Leonard, "He helped you when you were in a similar situation and he's keen to work with you on this one!"
Hilary could have cheerfully punched Leonard's face in. She could well imagine the grin on Samuel's face when he had suggested working with her again.
"Mbonga is based in South Africa," she started slowly, "His area of expertise is southern Africa not Nigeria." She looked around the table as she spoke. Everyone seemed furious that she was downplaying the only hope they had.
"Mr. Mbonga is certain he can help!" gushed Leonard, "Do you want to help us find Suzi or not?"
This unfair question was asked with an intent glare at Hilary.
She was of course desperate to save poor Suzi. But not with Samuel's help. And certainly not by traveling to Africa herself.
The room was silent, an oppressive silence. Once again Hilary felt trapped. It was simply impossible to argue her way out of this.
"Of course," she eventually said, "I'll do all I can to help." "Excellent! We've already arranged your flight..."
The rest of the talk was a blur to Hilary. She could feel her heart pounding. Pounding like an African tribal drum.
Africa was calling her back.
Clawing her back...