Chapter 2: Teen wrestler & the victor’s prize

The other passengers shifted in their seats uncomfortably trying to act as if nothing had happened especially those financiers who had earlier been monkey-grunting the thug encouragement. The train started to slow down as it approached another station. “You must come with me” the woman commanded fixing me with her dark eyes. “Thank you, but I think this is my stop” I tell her, not wanting to get involved with this strange dangerous woman. “Not that I’m ungrateful for your help”. The woman grabbed the handrails and swung quickly towards me. “You do not belong here. You have no badge but you do not look like a slave” she whispered urgently in my ear. “I saved your life; you are mine until you repay the debt. Come” she said, her long slender hand taking mine. Ouch! She had a surprisingly strong steely grip that threatened to crush my hand giving me no choice but to stand. I tried to resist by pulling back. “Stop please” I started to protest. The woman faced me at arms length, and then a thick sandaled foot blasted close to my face as her leg shot up until the top of her thigh bounced off her chest, making me cringe in fear. Not saying a word, she turned and led me towards the doors. Balancing myself against the deceleration and the roiling motion of the waves that now shot up the centre of the carriage; I had to struggle to keep up. “Stop dawdling or I will carry you over my shoulder like a little child” she admonished as the doors opened and she pulled me onto the platform.

Once the crowds had thinned and we were heading down another flooded corridor, I decided that I had enough and stopped. “I’m not moving another step until you tell me who you are?” I told her, staring down her fierce look of annoyance. “I am Isina, the Queen of my people. Now no more talking or I will silence you myself” she stated firmly then attempted to pull me along. Again, I dug in my heels and resisted. “Not until you’ve answered some questions” I said. The tall woman came close so that I had to look up into her face. “In my culture men never question a woman’s command especially that of their Queen” she stated. “Arghh!” I yelped as she moved to my side and laced a long slender arm inside my elbow and back across my forearm. Pressing down with her forearm against mine she stressed my joints. “Ouch!” I was forced onto my toes as the bones in my arm felt as if they were grinding against each other. “You will come or I will break your arm then carry you” she stated. Arm in arm, she led me down the corridor wincing as every step jolted my arm. “OK OK I’ll come quietly, please let my arm go” I begged after only a few steps. “Very well but no more talking. This is not a safe place to talk” she said as she released my arm then took me lightly by the hand. I knew this wasn’t a sign of affection but because she didn’t trust me not to make a run for it.

Hand in hand we strode on through brightly lit intersections and corridors until we reached a much darker damper brick lined tunnel. We finally emerged in a large cavern with a small wharf alongside a canal with a lip of stone marking the boundary between the two. Craft of various types were on the water, including longboats and many that looked like floating rickshaws powered by modified bicycles driven by Orientals. The African woman led me to a small wooden rowing boat, its oarsman standing and bowing to the woman before giving her his hand to assist her onboard. I swore that he looked like a Maasai warrior. I start to open my mouth but was immediately silenced. “Speak here and I will drown you beneath my foot. Now get in the boat” she told me. The look that she gave me was so uncompromising that I did as I was told.

Sitting behind the oarsman with Isina behind me, the boat headed along the canal towards a small opening at the end of the cavern that I soon realised was another tunnel. This became so dark that I could not see where we were going. The only light came from the candle-lit lamps of passing craft and that from our own. After a while, I felt us slow, and then turn into a narrow side passage. Following a switchback, we emerged into a huge cavern, the floor of which rose out of the water. To my astonishment, there was a small settlement there complete with huts and even small animals in an enclosure.

As Isina led me ashore, I observed how well lit the encampment is by several large beacons set high up on ledges around the rim of the cavern. Like oversized lanterns, each is set in a large glass fronted cabinet backed with large mirrors to reflect the light. Brick chimneys draw the smoke away and through the roof of the cave. “Our ancestors were brought here as slaves to build these tunnels for the greedy white man. We learn quickly and use his technology for our own purposes” she told me. “The beacon is fuelled by methane from the shit of the white savages” she added. I looked at her to see if she was joking, but her face was an expressionless mask.

Heading towards the cluster of wooden huts, we approach a group people who are crowded around an area where the floor had been levelled with a layer of sand. The men and women are tall and very slender wearing simple cloaks that favour red tones. “You are Maasai. The men are Maasai warriors” I exclaim. “Translated into your language we are The Hand of the Goddess and we are all warriors” Isina tells me. In the middle of the sandy area, two young men were grappling on the ground in the final stages of a wrestling match. Clad only in skin briefs, the bodies of each youth is covered in red ochre then oiled over the top. After much rolling and grappling, one of the men gets to his feet basking in the adoration of the crowd while his opponent lies twitching on the ground.

“I wish to see the next match” Isina tells me as the ring is cleared and another young man steps forward. He is tall, 6’5” at least, lean and sinewy, full of cocky confidence he preens to the encouragement of the young men in the crowd. “He is the champion wrestler of the tribe. He is too confident” Isina tells me. The crowd on one side part and to my surprise a barely clothed girl enters the ring. She appears quite young, mid to late teens, possibly 17 or 18 with a head shaven apart from a short braided crown and a very rounded lower face, chubby with youth. However, her body is magnificent and firm looking with no sign of puppy fat. Standing around 5’6”, the girl is not only dwarfed by her opponent but is much younger, he being in his early to mid twenties. Her body has been liberally covered with a black oily mixture that makes her body highly reflective and stains everything that she is wearing, and that wasn’t much, making her look like a nude ebony figurine. I find the sight of her shiny oiled black skin and pert naked breasts stirring my loins so much that I have to look away. The young man is joking with his mates in the crowd. Although I couldn’t understand the language, their mannerism and expressions were the same in any culture, they thought this was a mismatch and she was easy meat.

I looked again at the glistening girl. Completely naked apart from a flap of skin stained black by the oil and strung around her waist and between her legs. Her only other adornment was some necklaces of black beads. She had a slightly boyish torso that on a girl so young made her look powerful but her near-nudity left no doubt of her blossoming femininity. She had a strong looking figure that sloped inwards quite noticeably from broad shoulders to a thick waist before curving out to her waist. Her trapezium muscle was thick and prominent as it sloped from her neck to her wide shoulders and prominent shoulder caps. The arms, although slender were taut with visible sinew. Her glistening oily breasts were medium sized and pert with large aureoles, slick with the black oil and hard jutting nipples. Beneath the firm shiny orbs, the wet look caused by the oil highlighted a washboard stomach with clear slabs of paved muscle. She stood with her legs astride, looking calm and confident showing no signs of nervousness. The sight filled me with lustful desire and longing. Her legs looked thicker than most of the men and women here with firm strong looking thighs and long toned calves. “My daughter, Naipanoi” Isina says with pride, making me anxious not to get a hard-on. “He must beat her if he wants to prove himself worthy as a mate” she adds.