Chapter 3: Punished Squealer

Sylvia woke up the next morning, her body aching from the previous day’s ordeal. As she stepped into the shower, the warm water did little to soothe her bruises or wash away the shame. She sobbed quietly, the events of the day before replaying in her mind like a nightmare. One thing was clear to her—she had to return to the school. There was no police protection on the island, no one she could turn to. The only person who had helped her, Abuba, believed she had seduced her attackers.

Quitting her job wasn’t an option. She knew that if she left, she would face starvation on the streets of this destitute African island. The thought of such a fate terrified her even more than the abuse she had suffered. As she dried herself off and dressed, an idea began to form in her mind. She would tell the principal Tuwme what had happened. Surely, he wouldn’t condone such behavior in his school. Maybe he was a man of justice who would feel bad for her and take action against the boys.

The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that this was the right course of action. The principal had seemed stern but fair. Perhaps he would be her salvation in this desperate situation. With a glimmer of hope, Sylvia gathered her things and set off for the school, determined to seek justice and find some measure of protection.

Sylvia walked to school briskly, her heart pounding with anxiety. The stares from the locals were more intense today. She knew that with all the foreigners having left the island, her presence was conspicuous. Some of the townspeople had heard through gossip that one humanitarian aid worker had been left behind, but most were still unaware. Their curious and sometimes judgmental glances seemed to ask, “What is that white woman doing here? Doesn’t she know that the Aprico Island government announced no protection for any foreigner still on the island after the decree went into effect a few days ago?”

Men, in particular, ogled her, their eyes lingering on her voluptuous figure, taking in her large breasts and curvy hips. Sylvia ignored them, focusing on her mission to meet with the principal.

She arrived at the school at 8:30, a full thirty minutes before classes started. Without hesitating, she headed straight to the principal’s office at the far end of the building. Her classroom was on the left end, and between her classroom and the principal’s office were four other rooms, mostly unused now. One of these was converted into a gym room. The emptiness of the building added to her sense of urgency and isolation.

Sylvia reached the principal’s door and knocked softly, her heart racing. She hoped fervently that he would understand and take action. As she waited for a response, she took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves and gather the courage to recount her traumatic experience.

Sylvia walked in, her heart pounding and her mind racing. Principal Tuwme didn’t bother to greet her. He didn’t offer her a seat. He just sat at his desk, facing the wall, then swiveled his chair to face her, his expression stern and unwelcoming.

“What do you want, Mrs. Sylvia?” he asked, his voice cold and impersonal.

Sylvia’s nerves were frayed, and she could feel her hands trembling. She took a deep breath, summoning all her courage to speak. “Mr. Tuwme, I need to talk to you about something that happened yesterday.”

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, prompting her to continue.

“I ... I was made to shake my chest and twerk in the classroom,” she began, her voice shaky. “Matumbo and Gambe brought weapons to class. After the school was over, they ... they hit me and assaulted me.”

Tuwme’s expression remained unchanged, his gaze piercing and unforgiving. Sylvia hoped for a flicker of empathy, some sign that he understood the gravity of what she was saying, but his face remained impassive. She struggled to continue, her voice breaking as she tried to convey the extent of her suffering without delving into the humiliating details.

“They used a wooden rod, and ... and they made me ... do things. Please, Mr. Tuwme, I need your help. Please, I beg you,” she pleaded, her voice trembling with desperation.

Principal Tuwme’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he remained silent for a moment, as if considering her words. The silence was unbearable, each second stretching into an eternity for Sylvia.

Finally, he spoke, his voice cold and detached. “Mrs. Sylvia, you must understand the situation here. Your claims are serious. Do you really want to be telling the truth? Do you have evidence?”

Sylvia’s heart sank. She felt a wave of despair wash over her. “But ... Mr. Tuwme, yes, believe me, I’m telling the truth ... Ah! I have bruises ... on my buttocks, they whipped me...”

“Show me, then,” Tuwme demanded.

Sylvia felt a surge of humiliation. She was an extremely shy person, but she realized this was the only way. Wearing blue jeans that day, she turned and slowly unbuttoned the front and pulled them down, along with her underwear, just enough to reveal the top half of her plump buttocks. The red lines crisscrossing her alabaster skin were still dark purple and clearly visible. She had seen them in the mirror that morning after stepping out of the shower, so she knew they were there.

Tuwme sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Okay, I see the marks. If you insist on pursuing this, I’ll pursue it. But you can’t turn back once you make accusations like this. I won’t call the police, as you, as a foreigner, don’t have human rights here anymore, but I’ll investigate this. We’ll have a mock courtroom trial in the classroom tomorrow. If what you’re saying is true, I’ll punish those three boys. Today, you just focus on teaching the class.”

“But what about the students ... if they make me d ... dance again?” Sylvia stammered as she pulled her jeans back up, straightening them with trembling hands. She turned to face the principal again.

Tuwme replied, “If they do anything funny, you tell them you talked to me and I’m investigating.”

Sylvia nodded, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension. She had hoped for more immediate action, but this was better than nothing. She left Tuwme’s office, her mind racing with thoughts of the mock trial and the potential repercussions.

Sylvia went to class, her heart heavy with apprehension. Students walked in one by one, and finally, her three assailants entered, sauntering to the front seats with an air of defiance. She noticed the other Students were visibly intimidated by them. Sylvia tried her best to maintain composure, determined to teach as if nothing had happened.

As she started her lecture, she could feel their eyes on her, filled with mocking smirks. She avoided making eye contact, focusing on the task at hand. The first class of the day was History, specifically Roman History. She felt a small sense of relief, remembering some of the material from her school years. However, her confidence was shaky, so she relied heavily on the textbook, planning to read from it as much as possible.

“Good morning, everyone,” she began, her voice steady but her hands trembling slightly. “Today, we will be covering Roman History.”

She opened the textbook, her eyes scanning the page. “The Roman Empire was one of the most powerful civilizations in history, known for its remarkable achievements in governance, military strategy, and architecture.”

As she read aloud, she could hear the occasional snicker from her assailants, but she pressed on, determined not to let them break her. She pointed to a map on the board, highlighting the expanse of the Roman Empire at its peak.

“The empire stretched from the British Isles in the west to the Middle East in the east,” she continued, trying to keep her voice steady. “It was a time of great cultural and technological advancements.”

One of the her assailants, Matumbo, whispered something to Gambe, and they both laughed. Sylvia’s face flushed with a mix of nervousness and embarrassment, but she forced herself to ignore them.

“The Roman legal system has had a lasting influence on modern law,” she read, her voice gaining a bit of strength. “Many principles of Roman law are still in use today.”

As she continued to teach, she found herself getting more engrossed in the material, using it as a distraction from the tension in the room. She described the gladiatorial games, the construction of aqueducts, and the significance of Roman roads.

Despite the hostile environment, she managed to get through the class without any major incidents. The students, even the three troublemakers, were relatively quiet, though their smirks and whispered comments were a constant reminder of her predicament.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the class, Sylvia felt a wave of relief wash over her. She gathered her things, avoiding the gaze of her assailants, and prepared for the next class. The day was far from over, and she knew she had to stay strong if she was going to survive this ordeal.

As the 10 minute break started, as usual all the students ran out to the school yard, Sylvia stood nervously, couldn’t even sit down, worried those three will come in, but they didn’t.

As the students filed back in and took their seats, Sylvia began to regain some semblance of control. She was just about to start the lesson when Matumbo’s voice cut through the room. “Mrs. Sylvia, would you like to show us your twerking now that you had your private lesson?” he sneered.

The students murmured, and Sylvia could hear snippets of their conversations. “What did he say?” one of them asked. “Did you really have a private twerking lesson with the teacher?” another inquired.

Sylvia’s heart pounded, her hands trembled, and her face turned red with humiliation. She remembered what Principal Tuwme had told her and tried to draw strength from it. “Y ... yes,” she stammered, “I spoke to the principal about that. I’m sure he will be speaking to you, and everyone here today.”

She intentionally avoided mentioning the after-hours incident, not wanting to relive that humiliation. “Principal Tuwme wanted to tell you all, no funny business today, so please behave.”

The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. Sylvia took a deep breath and continued. “Alright, let’s begin with the math lesson. Today, we will be working on algebraic equations. Please open your textbooks to page 42.”

As she wrote the first equation on the board, she felt the eyes of the students on her, especially those of Matumbo and his friends. She focused on the lesson, hoping to get through the day without further incident. The students gradually turned their attention to the equations, and Sylvia managed to regain some control over the class.

“Remember, the key to solving algebraic equations is to isolate the variable,” she explained, her voice gaining strength. “Let’s work through this example together.”

Sylvia avoided looking at the three students who had attacked her, but eventually, she glanced down at the front row and saw their angry faces and piercing stares. Fear gripped her heart; she was genuinely terrified of these dark-skinned African boys. Her voice quivered, and her hands trembled uncontrollably. The only thing she could do was to avoid looking at them, so she kept her gaze fixed on the far end of the classroom, staring at the wall as she taught like a robot. She didn’t dare look down at all.

When the bell rang, Principal Tuwme walked in and took the three boys with him. They didn’t return, and Sylvia felt a wave of relief wash over her. She reminded herself that the rest of the students hadn’t attacked her. As the day went on, things began to return to normal. She assumed the principal had kicked them out or had the police take them away. She wondered how he had found proof and thought maybe Abuba had once again stood up for her. She felt deeply thankful for his support.

The day ended that way, and Sylvia went back to her cabin without preparing for the next day’s class. Instead, she put all the books in a sack she found in the corner and decided to take them home to prepare there. It was heavy, but after what had happened, she didn’t want to stay in the classroom by herself.

As she walked home, the sack of books weighed heavily on her shoulder, but it was nothing compared to the emotional weight she carried. The memory of the attack haunted her with every step. The stares and whispers from the locals only added to her anxiety. She kept her head low, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, determined to make it back to her cabin without breaking down.

Finally, she reached her cabin and closed the door behind her, leaning against it as she let out a long sigh of relief. She dropped the sack of books on the floor and sat down on her bed, feeling the exhaustion of the day wash over her. The cabin was her sanctuary, a place where she could let her guard down, even if just for a moment.

Sylvia opened one of the books and began to prepare for the next day’s class. Her mind wandered back to the principal’s office and the moment he had believed her enough to take action. She was grateful for that small victory, but the fear and humiliation still lingered. She knew she had to stay strong and focused.

As she studied, she couldn’t help but think about what might happen next. Would the principal’s intervention be enough to keep her safe? Would the other students accept her authority as their teacher? The uncertainty gnawed at her, but she pushed those thoughts aside and concentrated on the material in front of her. She had a job to do, and she was determined to do it well, no matter the obstacles.

In the evening, Sylvia prepared a simple dinner of potatoes and salad and then cleaned up. Her cabin was a single-room living space, divided into functional corners by the arrangement of furniture. In one corner was her bed, in another, a kitchen area with a stove, cabinet, and small fridge. The dining table occupied a third corner, and the last corner was designated as the bathroom area, featuring a simple shower with curtains, a toilet, and a washing basin. The cabin had no internal walls, offering a compact but practical living environment.

After cleaning up from dinner, Sylvia took off her clothes and put them in the laundry basket by the bed. She walked over to the corner with the shower, closed the curtains, and transformed the space into her private bathroom. This setup, considered upscale for the area, provided hot water, a toilet, and plumbing. The aid organization housed all their volunteers in similar cabins because, despite not being expensive by foreign standards, costing about $50 a week, it was very costly for Aprico Island standards. Without the aid organization paying for her rents, and with her salary at the school being only $300 per month, Sylvia knew she had to be mindful of her spending.

Despite the challenges, Sylvia relished her hot showers. It was her favorite time of the day, a moment of comfort and solitude amidst the chaos of her life. She let the warm water wash over her, soothing her tense muscles and rinsing away the day’s anxieties. She closed her eyes, letting herself relax for a few precious moments, trying to forget the fear and humiliation she had faced earlier.

As the water cascaded down, she couldn’t help but think about her situation. The attack, the meeting with Principal Tuwme, the stares and whispers from the locals—it all weighed heavily on her mind. But here, in the shower, she allowed herself to let go of the stress, if only for a short while.

Once she finished her shower, Sylvia opened the curtain and reached for her towel, only to realize it wasn’t there. She looked up, her heart sinking in terror, as she saw Marimba holding her towel. Beside him stood Matumbo and Gambe, their faces twisted in malicious grins.

Sylvia instinctively crouched, one hand covering her breasts and the other shielding her crotch. Her voice trembled as she stammered, “Wh ... what are you doing here ... please get out ... how did you get in? Please, leave ... please...”

Marimba chuckled, ignoring her pleas. “We have our ways, Mrs. Sylvia. Didn’t you miss us?” he taunted, his eyes raking over her naked body.

Matumbo stepped forward, his tone mockingly sympathetic. “We just came to check on you, Mrs. Sylvia. After all, you seemed so stressed today,” he sneered, his gaze fixed on her trembling form.

Sylvia’s mind raced, desperately trying to think of a way out. “Please ... I’ll scream ... someone will hear,” she threatened weakly, knowing deep down that it was unlikely anyone would come to her aid.

Matumbo ignored her, stepping closer. “Why did you snitch on us to the principal? Do you know what happens to squealers on Aprico Island?” he demanded, his voice low and menacing.

“P ... please, what you ... you did to me yesterday ... I had to tell him ... please ... please ... Let’s forget all that, please just leave ... I will ask the principal to forget it also, we can all move on,” Sylvia pleaded, her voice trembling.

Matumbo shook his head, his expression cold and unforgiving. “It’s too late for that. We may pay the price for our deeds, but tonight, you’ll pay your price for squealing. It’s a crime that needs to be punished,” he said with a chilling finality.

Sylvia’s heart pounded in her chest, panic rising as she realized the gravity of her situation. “Please, don’t ... I’m begging you...” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Marimba and Gambe moved closer, their faces set in cruel determination. Sylvia’s mind raced, desperately searching for a way out, but there was none. She was trapped, and her only hope was to appeal to whatever shred of humanity they might still possess.

Matumbo nodded, and as if it was prearranged, Gambe and Marimba grabbed each of Sylvia’s arms and yanked the naked woman out of the shower. Still holding her arms, they pushed her down in front of the toilet next to the shower. Sylvia begged them to stop, her large breasts heaving, tears streaming down her face as she cried in earnest, consumed by fear.

Gambe grabbed her hair with one hand, his grip tight and unyielding, while his other hand still held her arm. Marimba held her other arm firmly. Gambe shoved Sylvia’s head into the toilet. Always neat, the toilet was relatively clean, but it was still a toilet. Her head was dunked inside the water-filled bowl. She couldn’t breathe, she tried to fight back, but she couldn’t move. She struggled to breathe, and she started swallowing the water. She thought she was going to faint, she thought she was going to die.

Only then did Gambe pull her hair back, yanking her head out of the water. Sylvia gasped for air, coughing and sputtering, water dripping from her face and hair. Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked up at them with wide, terrified eyes.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Please, don’t do this...”

Gambe sneered, his grip on her hair tightening. “You’re going to learn what happens to squealers,” he said coldly.

Matumbo, standing behind her, reached between her kneeling legs, below her beautiful white buttock cheeks, and grabbed a handful of her pubic hair. Sylvia felt a sharp pain and was about to protest when Matumbo nodded again, and Gambe pushed her head into the toilet. She immediately coughed and swallowed more water, her lungs burning as she struggled for air.

“Stand on your legs, Sylvia,” Matumbo commanded, his voice loud and clear even through the water. The pain in her pubic area intensified as Matumbo slowly pulled her pubic hair upwards, forcing her to stand from her kneeling position. Her vulva ached from the painful grip, and her wide hips and large white buttocks were raised, exposed in the humiliating position. Sylvia felt on the brink of fainting, her consciousness slipping away as she bent over the toilet with her head submerged in the water.

Just as she thought she would lose consciousness, Gambe relaxed his arm holding her head, allowing her to lift it out of the water. Gambe and Marimba still held her arms down, keeping her bent over the toilet with her head barely above the water. Sylvia coughed violently, water spluttering from her mouth as she gasped for air. Tears streamed down her face as she cried and begged, her voice weak and desperate.

“Please,” she sobbed, “please stop ... I can’t ... I can’t take it anymore...”

Matumbo’s cruel smile never wavered as he continued to tug at her pubic hair, maintaining his painful grip. “You thought you could get away with squealing, huh?” he taunted. “You’re going to learn your lesson tonight.”

Sylvia’s body shook with fear and exhaustion, her legs trembling as she struggled to stay upright. The humiliation and pain were unbearable, and she felt utterly helpless in their grasp.

Her mind raced, searching for any way to escape, but the three African boys showed no signs of relenting. The night stretched out before her like an endless nightmare, each moment more torturous than the last.

Matumbo then knelt behind Sylvia, his face inches from her exposed vulva and anus. He spread her buttock cheeks with his hands, examining her with a disturbing intensity. Sylvia whimpered, her body trembling.

“What a beautiful pussy you have,” Matumbo said with a twisted grin. “So healthy-looking. I can’t believe you’re over thirty. You’re thirty-two, you said, right? Are you sure you’re not eighteen? So pretty, so tight. But you know what I like even more? Your asshole. So perfect, so white, so tight, so cute. I’ve seen my share of assholes, me being the ass man, but I’ve never seen, and I never thought an asshole as pretty as yours existed!”

Sylvia could barely form words. “Please...,” she managed to whisper, her voice breaking.

But Matumbo nodded at Gambe, and once again, her head was pushed down into the toilet water. She coughed and struggled, unable to breathe, panic setting in as the cold water filled her mouth and nose. Despite the suffocating situation, she felt a horrifying sensation: Matumbo’s tongue pressing against her anus, pushing inside.

The humiliation and violation were unbearable. But what surprised Sylvia the most was the unexpected wave of pleasure emanating from her anus. It felt like a bomb of sensation had exploded inside her, making her shiver. She was in total confusion, on the brink of drowning, suffering beyond belief, yet experiencing extreme pleasure through her anus.