Richard squirmed in his seat.

Tormented and teased by their guest, yet powerless to do anything about it. He had worked for six months for Okhama Ochiemara. During that time, he had worked tirelessly to impress and improve the profits of JD Engineering. His reward had been to be forced to offer his wife, Suzanne, to his African employer. Bitterness governed his thoughts. For six months Okhama Ochiemara had laid sexual siege to his pretty 32-year-old wife. ]

He had been proud of the way Suzanne had brushed him off.

Responding coolly and politely with firmness, she had rejected every advance. That Okhama should have been so blatant in his advances had shocked Richard. To see the man that employed him, and governed their life in Zimbabwe, make such obvious and direct sexual overtures to his lovely wife had been a great shock.

Such behaviour would have been unthinkable in England. Here in Africa, things were done differently.

Even after 16 years of marriage she had remained steadfast. Had casually accepted the overtures, and just as casually ignored them. Remained serene and poised, even when the advances had been physical. Richard shuddered at he memory of Okhama cupping his wife's pudenda through her shorts and casually stroking her in front of several laughing, if embarrassed, guests. Richard had been close to punching Okhama, then but had not dared.

Okhama was extremely powerful as well as wealthy. He had pulled up tonight at their villa in a Lamborghini Diablo. His four bodyguards, who even now lounged around the garden terrace drinking Richard's beer, had arrived in two more Diablo's. What sort of wealth allowed a man to equip his bodyguard's with such cars?

Okhama had laughed.

"I need my bodyguards to be able to travel as fast as me. What use are they if I leave them behind? I look after my guards, and I expect them to look after me."

He certainly did look after his guards. Twenty minutes after they arrived, a Mercedes drew up out of which had popped two very attractive white women who were apparently the entertainment for the bodyguards. Their occasional happy screeches were an embarrassment to Richard, though Suzanne had taken it all in her stride.

Tonight he seemed to be on his best behaviour. Charming, witty, and polite. He was so confident in his final success that he was magnanimous in victory.

Victory!

Richard held his temper. He had been set up. It was all so wrong!

He had done nothing wrong! He had behaved impeccably. Tread the straight and narrow. His wife had been a perfect and loyal partner.

It had done them no good.

Okhama had known what he wanted from the moment he had seen the obligatory family photograph accompanying Richard's CV. The perfect English family fallen on hard times, a depression in the Europe, or America always churned out surplus professionals looking to maintain their lifestyle. An overseas contract seemed like manna from heaven to such people.

Okhama's hand dropped below the table resting on Suzanne's shapely thigh. Suzanne jumped. Richard noticed. His looked at Okhama suddenly conscious that his arm was moving slowly below the table.

"It's all right, Richard." There was a trembling in Suzanne's voice. Richard swallowed. Holding back a retort. Okhama looked over at Richard.

"Yes Richard, relax. I assure your wife is going to thoroughly enjoy this evening."

He grinned at Richard who kerbed the impulse to thump him. It would do no good. Okhama was going to get what he wanted this evening. Richard knew it. Okhama knew it. Suzanne knew it, and trembled, seeking to control her fear and desire.

She had controlled very firmly her response to Africa. The continent was wildly exotic. The African men had been so determinedly sexually aggressive. Okhama was one of only many men who had made persistent advances towards her. Not just men who were rich and powerful like the owner of JD Engineering, but men who were street loafers and layabouts.

Their own gardener had fondled her several times, though she had not troubled Richard with such news. The beautiful flowers and flowering trees gave off new scents every month. At night, the occasional roar reminded her that, out in the dark, danger lurked.

Tonight the danger was below the table, were a dark hand casually pushing her skirt higher, gently stroking. She quivered again and glanced at Richard. If only he knew her thoughts he would not feel so bad, but how could she explain to Richard that it was all right without destroying their loving relationship.

She loved Richard. Loved and desired him, even after 16 years of marriage. Six months in Africa had made a distinct impression. A yearning and need she had controlled and suppressed by impeccably controlled behaviour. Tonight it was all breaking down. She believed Richard. Knew he was innocent. He just was not like that. Nevertheless the fact remained that unless she was "nice" to Mr. Ochiemara, her husband faced jail.

She twitched as his hand slid above her stocking top and caressed the silky softness. No man but Richard are ever touched her there. She had fallen in love with Richard when she was 13. A childish crush that had surprised her parents by nurturing into a long-lasting love. She had celebrated her 16th birthday by offering her virginity to Richard.

That she had become pregnant from that very first coupling had been part of the magic. That her parents had suddenly decided to allow her to marry him, and to marry quickly, had seemed like heaven come early. Since then her love for Richard had not wavered.

Of course, she had never met men like the men of Africa. They had quickly agreed that their daughter would be best in Highfield Private Boarding School. She and Richard had been left in no uncertain doubt after witnessing the response of the African men to Leanne's nubile enthusiasm for life. A boarding school seemed so much safer than letting her wander the streets of Harare. At 16, they could hardly lock her up.

Okhama's thoughts had also drifted to Leanne, seeing her picture on the timber mantelpiece over the log fire. He owned Highfield Private Boarding school along with four African partners. It was extremely profitable. The parents paid them to educate their daughters. Most of the girls earned the partners Z$100,000 a year each. The pretty ones earned as much as Z$500,000 from wealthy African men who particularly enjoyed abusing the daughters of their white competitors. Often paying in extra to be part of the team breaking in the new girls.

Last year they had organized a school trip to Zambia, taking 20 girls to a safari ranch on the Zambezi River. Their parents had each paid Z$2000 for the trip. Zambian businessmen and politicians had paid over Z$300,000 over in just three weeks for the pleasure they took from the youthful white schoolgirls.

He was very careful. On average, 25% of the girls became black pregnant. That was very carefully managed and very profitable. It was also a much better average than girls living at home. In modern Zimbabwe, 60% of teenage white girls living at home were seduced and became pregnant; sometimes they were gang raped, by African men and became pregnant. On that basis, his school, where no girls reported rape, and only 25% became pregnant, was seen as a godsend by many fearful parents.

As he looked at the picture of Leanne and remembered the night he took her anal virginity. Remembered her scream of fear and shock as he punctured her anal ring. Laughing at her wriggles and struggles as his friends held her down while he buggered her. He remembered the moment when she started pushing back, when she started to enjoy.

In three months they had already earned Z$260,000 from the nubile teenage girl and the enthusiasm she had discovered for sex and all its kinky variations. Her virginity, a rare commodity in pretty white girls in Africa, had fetched Z$100,000.

He savoured the soft silkiness of her mother's inner thigh. Suzanne would have been horrified if she knew her daughter was a whore. That he was the man who had made her daughter into a whore. Richard would probably have tried to kill him.

Instead, Richard was going to humbly step aside and allow him to bed his lovely wife. Suzanne would smile weakly and allow him to have his way with her to save her husband from an African jail. He laughed aloud and moved his hand higher. He doubted Suzanne was still an anal virgin, though he had often been surprised at the sexual innocence of English couples.

He stood taking Suzanne by the arm.

"Clear the table, Richard." Then he led Suzanne to the sofa.

Suppressing a scowl, Richard gathered up the pots as Okhama leaned close and whispered in his wife's ear. Suzanne's flushed response served testimony on the lewdness of his words.

As Richard left the room, Okhama called out to him.

"Make sure you wash them all. Don't leave them for the servants." Richard flushed but obediently set about the task. Okhama wanted time alone with his wife. Hating it as he did, Richard bit his tongue and accepted his fate.

The conversation in the next room was muted. While one half wanted to hear, the other was trying to deny all that was happening. Richard worked hard on the dirty pots. After a few moments, he heard Okhama's voice.

"These are nice and firm." African women often struggle to retain firm breasts. Hard work on the farm, and several children sap their figures.

"These are really delightful. Just like a young woman's. You must have nursed Leanne on these? Only one child, that surprises me, an attractive woman like yourself."

"Hmmm, yes soft, but still firm, good your nipples are nice and hard."

Richard gripped the side of the sink tightly. The black bastard was fondling his wife's breasts. The image of that dark hand caressing those full and firm white orbs that he knew so well filled his mind. He turned quickly to work on the pots to distract himself.

He made a fuss of finishing them off so they knew he would be returning to the room. To no avail, Okhama was deep in a passionate kiss with Suzanne when he entered the room and made no effort to relinquish his grasp on Suzanne. When he eventually looked up, he grinned at Richard.

"Go and make some coffee, woman!" He ordered.

A flustered and dishevelled Suzanne seemed only too keen to escape to the kitchen. Okhama leaned back on the sofa and smiled, relaxing. Richard was anything but relaxed. Okhama's relaxed pose did nothing to hide the huge bulge threatening to tear through his trousers. Okhama looked over at Richard, grinned, and give him a thumbs up sign, inwardly Richard seethed.

Then Okhama rose and followed Suzanne to the kitchen. Richard gripped the arm of the chair and remained seated.

In the kitchen Suzanne gasped.

"Please, my husband, don't..."

There was a short shriek that matched the sound of tearing cloth. Okhama's voice came clear and firm from the kitchen, a hint of anger in his voice.

"Don't you ever wear these again in my presence, is that understood?"

"Oh... what have you done?"

"IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?"

"Yes."

She shrieked and Richard leapt to his feet, but remained frozen in place.

"YES SIR! Yes, sir," Suzanne whimpered.

"Hush my little lovely, relax, you be a good girl and your husband won't have to go to jail." Richard cringed at those words, at the reminder of the price of intervening. He slumped back I his chair.

"Have a feel of what I have for you, here give me your hand, there now have you ever felt anything like that?"

There was silence from the kitchen.

"Well?"

"No. No, sir, it, it can't be real... is it?"

Richard's nerves were on edge as he heard the distinct sound of a zipper being lowered.

"Oh my!" Oh!" Suzanne sounded shocked.

"Well?"

"Err, I... err... ugh... I..."

"Left you speechless has it? Well tell me have you ever felt anything like this before?"

"No, no, it's..."

Okhama laughed. A deep, throaty laugh.

Felt. That was the word he had used. Felt. Suzanne was touching his cock!!!

"You have a nice touch."

Richard seethed.

"That's nice, you have a nice gentle stroke, but if you think you can bring me off early, you are much mistaken."

The thought that his wife might have been trying to jerk off Okhama made Richard smile. She had not lost her cool wits then, despite the circumstances. The image remained in his mind of the silken grip of his wife's white hand caressing a big, gnarled black cock. It couldn't be all that big, he told himself.