Chapter 16: Weekend With Omari and His Friends

Omari stepped out of Sylvia’s cabin, the dirt streets of the neighborhood stretching before him. The African boy moved with a casual swagger, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk at the beautiful white woman following behind him—if “following” was the right word for it. She was crawling on all fours, her hands protected by oversized work gloves he gave her and her feet squeezed into her running shoes, the only things shielding her from the rough earth beneath her.

Sylvia’s posture was as unnatural as it was degrading. Omari had commanded her to raise her buttocks high into the air, forcing her into a warped version of Yoga’s mountain pose. Her legs were bent slightly at the knees, and the effort required to keep her buttocks elevated caused her lower back to arch. The position put strain on her muscles, her body trembling slightly with the effort to maintain the humiliating stance.

For most people, this might have been a very challenging task, but Sylvia, an expert Yoga practitioner, was no stranger to demanding physical postures. She had a remarkable flexibility, something Omari already had observed. But now, that flexibility allowed her to easily hold this humiliating position that would be very difficult for most people.

Each step she took was slow and deliberate, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she tried to focus on the physical task rather than the overwhelming shame flooding her mind. Her raised buttocks swayed with each movement, exposed to two boys’, Kumba and Mosi, leering eyes behind her. The sensation of their eyes on her made her skin crawl, every inch of her body hyper-aware of its vulnerability.

She could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on her like an unbearable force. It was as though all the strength she’d ever known had been stripped away, leaving her reduced to this—crawling in the dirt like an animal at the whim of an African boy who viewed her as nothing more than his plaything.

The dirt clung to her skin, the rough ground beneath her gloved hands and sneakered feet becoming a constant reminder of her humiliation. The physical strain was nothing compared to the mental and emotional anguish she endured.

Omari looked down once again. This white woman, Auntie Sylvia as he called her, was striking even in her broken state. Her once vibrant, soft brunette hair hung limply around her face, tangled with her sweat and tears. Her large, round breasts bounced with every sob, the fullness of her figure exaggerated by the uncomfortable arch of her back. Her wide hips and her smooth, athletic legs trembled as she moved, forced to maintain an unnatural posture. Her plump buttocks jiggled with every step, her pale skin marred by the rough treatment by Omari and his friends.

Sylvia sobbed softly as she crawled, the humiliation of her nakedness adding to her torment. Tears streaked down her cheeks, blushing from the unbearable embarrassment and shame, her lips quivering as she desperately tried to suppress her cries. Yet despite her despair, she remained obedient, following Omari’s commands without question, knowing there was no law left to protect her, no escape from the torment that awaited her. Her body shuddered involuntarily with the memory of what had happened four days ago, in the center of town. She had been tied up on her belly in front of the grocery store, her arms bound behind her back, her legs spread wide tied to the either ends of the goat bart, her body stretched out helplessly on the ground. The crowd had gathered, watching, some in shock, others in silence. Five neighborhood boys surrounded her, including Omari, each taking part in her violation.

With a mixture of disgust and morbid curiosity, the crowd watched as Sylvia’s hips had obediently thrust upward, a reflection of her forced submission. Her body, utterly betrayed, responded to the sharp commands of the boys. Two large cucumbers were thrust into her, one filling her vagina, the other violating her anus. The fruits stretched her brutally, and despite her cries and pleas, the boys forced them deeper. Her body had betrayed her, bucked in reaction, thrusting her hips higher into the air as if begging for more. The sight of the woman tied and helpless, her pale buttocks thrust upward, being violated so publicly, had caused a mix of jeers, nervous laughter, and stunned silence among the onlookers.

Omari had known everyone saw what happened that day. He could feel their eyes on him even now, as he led the crawling white woman through the streets. His mother, the only person who could possibly make him stop this madness, surely knew as well, yet she remained silent. Omari assumed that, like most of the townspeople, she was overlooking it. After all, Sylvia was an outsider, a white woman in a place where foreigners had no protection and where no one dared to challenge the new Government Decree to treat all foreigners like dogs. That wasn’t exactly how it was written in the decree, but Aprico Islanders knew that was what the Anti-Foreigner Decree had intended. A retribution for Aprico Islanders’ two hundred years of suffering at the hands of white colonialists.

Omari couldn’t believe how drastically things had changed. Just a month ago, Sylvia had stood on his doorstep, dressed neat T-Shirt and khaki shorts, handing over the rent for her cabin to his mother. Back then, she had been shy and polite, but seemed completely unaware of his existence. Omari had noticed her, of course—how could he not? Her large breasts and curvaceous figure had caught his eye, but when he ran into her at the market just days later, she didn’t even remember him. He had been hurt by her dismissal, concluding that she was just another racist white foreigner who saw him as invisible. Anger had burned inside him, but what could a local black boy do to a foreigner? He had felt powerless then, frustrated by the inequality that kept him beneath her notice.

But now, the tables had turned. The world had shifted, and the power dynamic was in his hands. Sylvia, the woman who had once ignored him, was now crawling on the ground like a dog, naked and humiliated. Her large breasts dangled helplessly beneath her as she crawled, swinging with each reluctant step she took. Her hips were thrust high in the air, her back arched painfully as she tried to maintain the degrading position Omari had ordered her into. The thin patch of dark pubic hair between her legs did nothing to hide the swollen, bruised flesh of her vulva, still tender from the brutal pussy-whacking she had endured the day before. Her once-proud body was now marred by bruises—purple and green splotches on her pale skin, a painful reminder of Omari’s violent games. Her white skin, so different from the rest of the town’s people, now bore the marks of his control: a bruise spread across the side of her hip, a few on her buttocks, her breasts, and her lower lip was busted and swollen from the hard slap he had delivered that morning.

As he walked ahead of her, Omari felt a dark satisfaction building inside him. He liked this new world—a world where he, a local black boy, could reduce a white woman to this level of obedience and submission. He relished the power, watching her crawl pathetically behind him, sobbing quietly.

“Hey Akil, what took you so long?” Omari called out as he spotted the boy running toward them, a bag in one hand and a long stick clutched in the other.

Akil, panting heavily, raised the bag in acknowledgment as he closed the distance. “Sorry, Omari,” he puffed, “my mother made me go to the Temple. I had to sneak out. Damn mothers.”

Omari chuckled, amused by the situation. Most of the island’s population, including Akil’s family, followed the teachings of the Temple of Justice. The Temple preached that all sins could be forgiven once justice was served, no matter what the deed. To the locals, the Temple’s doctrines served as both a moral compass and an excuse for the harsh, often brutal, practices that persisted in their society. Akil’s situation was all too common—children obeyed their mothers and went through the rituals of the Temple while finding ways to escape its constraints when it suited them.

Omari gave Akil a nod of understanding but grinned darkly, thinking of their own twisted version of ‘justice’ being served today. He glanced back at Sylvia, still crawling behind him in the humiliating pose. Her sobs had quieted into soft whimpers, but her body trembled with every painful step. It was pathetic.

Omari twirled the stick in his hand, his grin widening as Sylvia’s eyes grew wide with horror. The end of the stick was not just an ordinary handle—it was molded into a thick, long rubber penis, even complete with what looked like testicles at the base. Sylvia’s stomach turned, and she instinctively tried to scoot away, but Akil and Kumba moved closer, blocking her escape. Omari nonchalantly coated the grotesque object with a slick layer of oil, his tone almost conversational.

“Hey, Anutie,” he said, smirking as he lazily spread the oil over the faux penis, “I know crawling like is a hard work. But to make up for that, we’re gonna make this real enjoyable for you.”

Sylvia’s heart pounded in her chest, her mouth dry with dread as she realized what was coming. Her shame and fear were written plainly on her face, tears streaming down her cheeks as she saw the glistening rubber phallus. Her mind reeled, begging for this nightmare to end, but there was no escape. She was trapped, forced to submit, just as she had been for the past several days. Her large breasts dangled beneath her as she remained bent over, her naked body trembling as she tried to hide her swollen, abused vulva from their prying eyes by squeezing her legs together as she bent over on her hands and feet.

Omari’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. “This is expensive magic healing oil, you know? Abuba said he was going to put it on you, and look—you don’t have any scars from that public whipping, so I assume he did. Right?” He grinned at her, his tone mocking and condescending. “You know how good this oil is, don’t you, Auntie? It also makes those stretched muscles tighter, especially your little asshole. Is that why your asshole was so tight yesterday?” He leaned in closer, his breath hot on her skin. “Did Abuba use his fingers to apply this oil on your asshole?”

Sylvia’s entire body tensed at the mention of Abuba’s name, her face flushing deep red with humiliation. She wanted to scream, to lash out, but her body felt weak and numb. The memory of Abuba’s touch—his rough fingers slicked with oil as they violated her most private areas—was seared into her mind, filling her with revulsion and shame. She had tried to push those memories away, but Omari’s words brought them crashing back with brutal clarity.

“Answer me, Auntie Snow,” Omari’s voice grew harsh, snapping her out of her daze. “Unless you want more pussy whacking today.”

Sylvia shook her head violently, her voice barely a whisper through her sobs. “Yes ... he did...” she managed to choke out, her words dripping with shame. Her head hung low, her body trembling with humiliation.

Mosi smirked at Omari’s words and joined in the conversation. “That’s why her asshole was so tight yesterday,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “When I put two fingers in, she squeezed it so tight, my fingers hurt.” His laughter rang out as Sylvia’s face flushed red with shame, her body trembling in humiliation. She wanted to disappear, to crawl away and hide from their cruel taunts, but there was no escape. She was trapped in their twisted game.

Just then, Sylvia felt the cold, slick tip of the rubber penis press against her anus. Her heart raced in terror, and she whimpered, her voice cracking as she pleaded desperately, “No, please, Omari, please...” She braced herself for the inevitable violation, her muscles tense with dread. But to her surprise, Omari stopped. He paused and handed the dildo back to Akil, leaving Sylvia stunned and momentarily hopeful. Maybe, just maybe, her begging had worked.

“Oh my God,” Sylvia thought, her heart fluttering with fragile relief. “Maybe he’s going to stop ... maybe it’s over.” She instinctively whispered, her voice shaky with gratitude, “Th-thank you, Omari...”

But her relief was short-lived. It was premature, and she soon realized that Omari had no intention of showing mercy. He rummaged through the bag he had brought and pulled out a small blow horn—the kind typically used for goat herding. Sylvia’s eyes widened in confusion and fear as he approached her once again. He didn’t offer any explanation, not at first. Instead, he positioned the blow horn’s mouthpiece between her busted, trembling lips, the wide surface pressing against her already sore mouth.

“Hold this in your mouth,” Omari ordered, his tone commanding. “Bite the mouthpiece so you don’t drop it. It won’t fall out unless you spit it out on purpose. And if you drop it, that’s fifty pussy whacks for you. Understand? It’s for your sake. That’s why there’s a mouthpiece.” He grinned wickedly, savoring Sylvia’s mounting terror.

Sylvia, confused and scared, reluctantly accepted the horn into her mouth, biting down on the molded mouthpiece that had been cruelly designed to gag her. It forced her mouth wide open, painfully stretching her already tender lips, while the rubber gag covered her teeth, making it impossible to speak properly. Every breath she took was a struggle—she could only breathe through her nose or produce a pitiful sound through the horn itself. With each breath, a soft, humiliating whistle escaped the horn, making a faint “boo” sound that filled the air.

Instinctively, Sylvia tried to plead, her fear overwhelming her. She wanted to beg them to stop, but when she opened her mouth, all that came out was a muffled “boo” from the horn. Omari, Kumba, and Akil burst into laughter, their cruel amusement echoing in the small space. Sylvia’s eyes filled with tears, and another involuntary “boo” escaped her lips, adding to her humiliation. The men laughed harder, their mocking laughter piercing her heart like a knife.

Sylvia’s face burned with shame. She bit down on the mouthpiece harder, forcing herself to breathe quietly through her nose, desperate not to make any more sounds. She had become a cruel joke to them, a source of entertainment, and it was utterly degrading. Her tears flowed freely as she knelt there, the blow horn between her lips a constant reminder of her powerlessness.

Her thoughts raced with fear and confusion. She had never imagined she could be reduced to something so low, so utterly dehumanized. Every breath, every small movement, seemed to amplify her humiliation. She knew she had no choice but to obey, to keep herself still and silent, for fear of what would come if the horn dropped from her mouth.

The weight of her situation crushed her spirit, her body trembling under the sheer weight of her shame. She was trapped, her submission complete, while the men around her continued to laugh at her expense. The blow horn, her punishment, would only serve to humiliate her further.

Sylvia’s body tensed the moment she felt the cold, oily tip of the rubber dildo press against her anus again. She pushed the ground with her gloved hands, trying to steady herself as the thick rubber began to push inward, forcing her sphincter to stretch painfully around its girth. Her entire body shuddered in response. The awkward position she was in—her hands and feet planted on the ground, her knees bent, and her hips raised high in the air—only made the intrusion more excruciating. Her back was arched uncomfortably, her large breasts hanging heavily beneath her as they swayed with each movement.

The oily dildo slid deeper inside her, stretching her anus wider with each passing second. Sylvia squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the reality of what was happening, but the sensation was overwhelming. The pressure inside her built as Omari twisted the rubbery length in further, and despite her desperate attempt to remain silent, she couldn’t stop the moan that escaped her lips—except that it wasn’t a moan.

“Boooooo...” The sound came from the blow horn forced into her mouth, the humiliating noise escaping with her breath. Sylvia’s eyes shot open in horror as she realized what she had just done. The soft, pathetic sound echoed through the room like some kind of twisted punchline.

Laughter exploded around her, cold and mocking. Omari, Mosi, Tumba and Akil, four African boys, were all doubled over in amusement, their jeering voices loud and unrelenting. “Listen to that, boy!” Mosi laughed, his voice thick with derision. “She’s blowing the horn to let us know that she enjoying it!”

Sylvia’s face flushed with shame, tears welling in her eyes. She could feel them burning against her cheeks, dripping onto the floor beneath her as the laughter rang in her ears. The dildo stretched her painfully, and she bit down harder on the mouthpiece of the horn, trying to suppress any further humiliating sounds. But her body, aching and trembling from holding the position, betrayed her again.

“Boooooo...”

The sound sent the boys into another fit of laughter. Sylvia whimpered as the cruel noise filled the air, her humiliation deepening with every mocking word they hurled at her. She could feel her anus clenching around the thick rubber, her body reacting despite her mind’s protests. The oil made it glide easily, but the pain of the stretch mixed with the intense shame coursing through her veins.

Omari’s voice cut through the laughter. “Come on, Auntie Snow, don’t pretend like you not lovi this. Just looky youa self. Bent over, ya fat ass in the air, blowing dat horn for more.”

Sylvia wanted to scream, to plead for them to stop, but the blow horn’s wide mouthpiece gagged her, forcing her to breathe through her nose. Her breaths came out in panicked gasps, making soft whimpering sounds through the horn. She was helpless, utterly humiliated, with no way to defend herself from their cruel mockery.

“Boooooo...” Another soft, pitiful sound escaped her lips as she sobbed. The boys roared with laughter again, their cruel voices echoing in her ears. Sylvia’s body shook with shame, her tears flowing freely now, but she couldn’t stop the inevitable sound that came with each desperate breath.

The rubber dildo pressed deeper into her, stretching her more than she thought possible, and the sensation sent waves of discomfort through her entire body. She could feel every inch of it inside her, the oily slickness making it glide painfully against her inner walls. Her humiliation only grew as she realized how helpless she was, her body completely at their mercy.

“Boooooo...” The horn whined again, and Mosi slapped his knee, laughing even harder. “She can’t stop blowing dat horn, boy! Look at her! She’s loving this!”

Sylvia’s cheeks burned with shame as the boys continued to mock her. Her hips trembled from the strain of holding the position, her muscles aching from the unnatural posture, but she didn’t dare move. Every humiliating sound that escaped her lips was a reminder of how powerless she was, how completely they had taken control of her body.

Omari twisted the dildo slightly, causing Sylvia to wince in pain. “That’s right, Auntie Snow. Keep blowin’ dat horn, if ya lova thisa rubba dick in youa ass!” His voice was cold and mocking, devoid of any empathy.

“Boooooo...” Sylvia sobbed again, the pitiful sound of the horn escaping with her tears. Her chest heaved with silent sobs, her shame and fear consuming her. She wanted to disappear, to escape this nightmare, but there was no escape. She was trapped in her own body, a vessel for their cruel amusement, with no way to fight back.

The boys’ laughter filled the air, their cruel voices echoing in her ears as the dildo pressed deeper into her, stretching her even more. Every inch of her body ached with pain and humiliation, and there was nothing she could do but endure it, knowing that her suffering was their entertainment.

“Boooooo...” The humiliating sound echoed once more as Sylvia’s sobs continued, her body wracked with shame and agony. She was nothing now—just a plaything, broken and humiliated, crawling on the ground at their feet, with no hope of escape.

Sylvia’s heart raced as panic seized her, fearing that Omari, in his lack of experience, might push the dildo in too deep. Her body tensed even more as she felt Omari pushing down the long wooden stick attached to the dildo, pressing it forward. The image of Omari pushing the entire length of the dildo, then, keep pushing in the wooden stick, impaling her flashed through her mind. She desperately tried to communicate her fear, but when she opened her mouth to plead, only a pathetic “boooo...” echoed out from the blow horn gag. She could feel the tears stinging her eyes again, her body trembling uncontrollably.

To her immense relief, the rubber testicle shape at the base of the dildo finally pressed up against her perineum and vulva. It was designed to stop the dildo from penetrating further, and Sylvia thanked whatever luck she had left that it did. The terrifying thought of it pushing deeper and causing harm slowly dissipated, though her body still ached from the strain.

By now, the full length of the thick rubber dildo was entirely inside her rectum, filling her completely. The pressure of it was overwhelming, her insides stretched and stuffed to their limit. Bent over, supporting herself on her hands and feet, her buttocks raised humiliatingly in the air, she could feel the weight of the dildo deep inside her, every inch pressing uncomfortably against her inner walls.

The sensation of being so utterly filled made her stomach churn, the weight of the object unnatural and distressing. It pressed against her bowels, making her acutely aware of every shift in her body as she held her degrading position. She felt so full, the long length of the dildo leaving no space unclaimed inside her rectum, and she could do nothing but endure it, her mind whirling with shame, fear, and the sheer physical discomfort of it all.

Sylvia’s eyes widened in horror as Omari, with a smirk on his face, said, “Let’s go for a walk.” She could feel the dildo inside her shift painfully as he gave it a slight push, the wooden stick connected to it angling downward and forcing her to comply. She instinctively wanted to protest, but the blow horn gag stifled her, and only a pathetic, echoing “booooo...” came out. The boys around her laughed heartily at the sound, mocking her pitiful attempt to resist.

She tried to rise, desperate to find some dignity, but the way Omari held the dildo stick made it impossible. Each time she tried to lift her body from her humiliating crawl, the stick angled down, pulling the dildo further inside her and forcing her back onto all fours. “Booooo...” she tried again, her breath shaky and uneven from the gag, but it only incited more laughter from her tormentors.