Chapter 3: In prison

"What is going to happen to us?" I asked the elderly officer with sergeant stripes at the desk. Roger still wept bitterly and had an arm around me for support so I knew I would have to be the one to ask. He looked me up and down in a leering way and halting his gaze at my blonde pubic hair for what seemed an age, causing me more embarrassment, and wrote our names in a book then sifted through a pile of papers and read a sheet of an email. "You're to be kept chained together and no one is to fuck you until you've been interviewed." He stared at my mound again and I tried to cover it with my free hand but one of the men who'd brought us, pulled it away. "Pity," the desk sergeant commented, "I would have liked to have seen if a white cunt was any different to a black one and that wimp boy of yours doesn't look as if he has enough meat to satisfy a woman."

Roger gave an embarrassed cry and he too blushed. His penis was the only one I'd seen and it looked big enough to me. "Who is going to interview us and when?" I asked hoping it would be someone like Colonel Nubaro who could sort this whole mess out and let us go.

"Don't know lady. Could be tomorrow, could be the day after because tomorrow's a holiday. Could be one of the top men but it doesn't say. The email came from the government office though. Read it."

He tossed the paper to me. It told me no more than he had until I noticed that it was timed some three hours or so earlier. We'd been in the air on our way from Lilongwe then. "This must all have been planned in advance," I thought and passed the sheet to Roger who only glanced at it and handed it back to the sergeant.

"Cell five." A warder took us through two sets of locked doors to a row of iron-barred cells that looked as if they'd seen service in a B western movie. I quickly noticed that only the back wall was solid and all the separating walls were open bars; we could see the other inmates and they could see us. We would have no privacy at all.

"Make yourselves at home," the warder grinned and gave my tender bottom what he deemed a gentle pat but which made me squeal again. The door slammed shut and I heard the key turn noisily in the lock. It was all too much. I wept. Roger put his arms around me but they were of little comfort, he was crying too and the way he held me meant his face was in my breasts and it was more a case of me comforting him. We sat gingerly on the hard bed despairing of ever getting out.

"No need to cry Missie, I've something here that will cheer you up." I turned and saw a local man kneeling on the bed in the next cell with his prick out and offering it to me through the bars. It was fully hard and much larger than Roger's. I turned away, horrified. "You won't be so choosy tomorrow Missie, not after you've been fucked a dozen or more times. When they unlock the cell doors, you'll have to submit yourself to us. That's the law. Mummy's boy there won't protect you and that tiny worm of his won't give you much satisfaction. No doubt you're here for a good whipping too and then the screws will make good use of your cunt. Afterwards, if they haven't thrown me out, Sumala here will then get a turn at you. "

Roger's wailing increased and I joined in for a while but gradually all my tears dried up and I started to take in my surroundings. Like a baby at his mother's breast, Roger had wormed his way inside my arms and was sobbing and I could feel the wetness dribbling down my cleavage. At that point I thought that he might even attempt to suck my nipples, but he made no attempt to do so. Looking down at him, I realised what the man in the next room said, wasn't too far off the truth. Roger was a big baby and if there was to be a way out of our situation, I would be the one to find it. He would follow and pretend to help, much as he had always done in the office although never before had we been in situations as dire as this. Whether it was my closeness or some smell from my breasts, or for some reason I didn't understand, Roger had an erection. It was indeed smaller than the one next door but, because it was Roger's, it seemed to disgust me more. "He should be able to control himself," I reasoned, "Whereas you can't expect that from natives who are used to getting their wicked way with women." My experience with men at that time was such that I argued, "He's the one still crying and yet I am the one who is going to be raped. They can't rape him." Despite all my mental arguments against it, I did find myself becoming a little wet between my legs. I partly blamed the warmth from my strapped bottom but I guess the sight of the black prick added to the feeling.

Pushing Roger away, I looked around and tried to assess our situation. The cell was about ten feet square with a stainless steel washbasin, mirror and toilet at one end, all completely open and on view to everyone, and a single bed along one of the open barred walls. No sheets, but one end of the mattress was padded and raised to serve as a bolster type of pillow. No privacy whatsoever, even when we washed or used the toilet. Each cell was a mirror image of its neighbour so next door's bed, Sumala's bed, was right alongside ours. Fortunately the way we were chained together meant that Roger would be next to the bars and from the narrowness of the bed, he would be tight up against them.

The sight of the toilet reminded me that I needed to use it but yet I didn't want Sumala to see me. I didn't want Roger to either but there was no getting away from that and I knew he would be in he same situation and I could ask him to look the other way. I wondered, "How long they will they keep us chained together? Until after the court appearance? Longer? Will they allow us to phone the office? Will Colonel Nubaro intervene?" Too many questions without any answers yet.