Trouble in the City

by Yokohama Joe

Copyright© 2014 by Yokohama Joe

Fiction Sex Story: A change in government in a mid-size African city breaks down into a murderous frenzy of sexual violence against the foreign population.

Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including NonConsensual   Rape   Coercion   Fiction   Sadistic   Torture   Snuff   Interracial   Violent   .

This is pornography but definitely not erotic. Be charitable because English is not my native language.

Bamiji City is the capital of the small central African country of the same name, Bamiji, which is run under the thumb of an ex-military strongman whose regime is extraordinarily corrupt, kleptocratic, and repressive. Following a discreet coup in the early 1990s by a small group of middle-ranking military officers, which overthrew the country's long-time more or less democratically elected civilian administration, the new regime members resigned their commissions (so that they, too, could call themselves a civilian government), and since then they and their legion of hangers-on have become enormously rich and happy to show it off. But their gains have been the nation's losses, as their graft and nepotism annually remove much of the national GDP, and there is almost nothing left over for infrastructure improvement, modernization, job creation, and the other goods that government is supposed to bring. Unemployment is outrageously high and gangs of jobless black youths spend their days idling in the main square and taking orders from middle-ranking criminal organizers who use their connections up the hierarchy to the upper ranks to dominate the petty crime scene, smuggling of drugs, alcohol, sex workers, and guns, street prostitution and gambling, protection rackets among the black commercial class (but not among the international corporations), and general thuggery.There are some Moslems in the city, descendants of the Arab slave traders, but they remain lower class, live mainly in squalid ghettos, and don't mix with anyone.

The financial corruption of the elite siphons off the nation's wealth, and political repression ensures that there can be no popular opposition to it. The common people generally suffer from it, but they do manage to get by one way or another – the sizable expatriate community, on the other hand, usually find that the situation suits them very well. There are many foreign businesses, NGOs, and diplomatic missions, and especially the top middle-management executives for the local offices of many of the world's top multinational corporations, set up in Bamiji to service the needs of the wealthy elite and one another, and to help in the exploitation of the country's formerly vast natural resources and the huge aura of profitable opportunities that surrounds those industries.

Most of the foreign community is white, and the whites stay as much as possible within their fortified enclaves, gated communities, exclusive hotels, and armored office buildings, especially at night. The adults' expenses are well subsidized, by their own organizations as well as by the Bamiji government, and they can find all of the low-paid domestic staff they might ever wish, as well as reliable drivers for their bulletproof town cars. The white young people are therefore relatively rich and play sports in segregated gyms and playing fields, go to first-run films at multiplex cinemas located in the hotels, and go clubbing at night, but the clubs too are in the big international hotels, with very tight security, and they enter and leave by driving in and out of fortified basement parking garages. They are never seen on the streets after dark, and seldom alone at any time, especially the women – every once in a while there will be rumors of the robbery or rape of a white person (it will never be reported in the news), but since everyone knows the rules, it is normally assumed that the victim should have known better; you could almost say that he or she really brought it on him- or herself.

The international hotels are ringed by blast walls with long lethal spikes on top, and from time to time a local young black man is found in the morning impaled on the spikes after his friends convinced him that he could scale the wall and open the gate for them; the friends who boosted him up couldn't get him back off the long spikes and had to leave him to greet the city's workers on their way to their shops and offices with his wide, blank stare. The overall effect of the city can seem bizarre – the local people have found ways of coping; the expatriates put up with security inconveniences in order to live a lifestyle many rungs of the ladder higher than what they could expect at home; commerces and basic services carry on fairly smoothly; there are even national elections every five years which are crafted to seem "free and fair" but which always return the ruling group by huge margins. But at the same time, there is a subtle free-floating atmosphere of anxiety, resentment, and distrust always just beneath the surface, and a sense that as normally as life may be carrying on right now, any small trigger might turn it into a conflagration.

This is the story of the day when that happened.

In the centre of the city, not far from the main square with its huge fountain and extravagant statue of a 19th century European queen surrounded by figures representing the rivers in the country, there was a five person office of so-called import-export traders, called London-Bamiji Trading, staffed by whites from Great Britain who run various commercial scams based around kickbacks to regime leaders, especially the deputy prime minister but many of his friends as well. Government officials place orders for everything from weapons to food to construction materials – the shipments arrive only half-filled or not at all, are checked in and verified by corrupt officials, the trading company is paid for a whole shipment, and half of the profit goes back to the officials involved. They are Mr Baker, mid-30s, playboy looks, a smooth operator whose genius invented the operation in the first place; his blonde wife Mrs Baker, also mid-30s, slightly overweight, big tits; the second in command, Mr Cosgrove, overweight, pale and pudgy, about 45, affable and well-liked but with a creepy private life, rumored to be with prostitutes either female or male; and then two very pretty helpers and front office attractions with titles like Sales Manager, Accounts Manager, changing frequently, both in their late 20s. One, Mrs Armitage, a tall brunette with a very decent rack, is married but her husband works in London and she visits him regularly; the other, Miss Carmichael, is pretty, almost beautiful, young-looking, a great butt, and nearly engaged to a white biochemist who worked in Bamiji City for a pharmaceutical multinational that is conducting human trials that would be too expensive to do in Europe because of all the the safety protocols. It's not clear whether the two young ladies are aware of the fraudulent nature of the business, but the other three certainly are.

To absolutely everyone's astonishment, this time, when the periodic elections came round, the regime was voted out by, not a large, but by an incontestable margin. It had tried to stack elections as usual by denying the opposition party state-run media time, relying on patronage to obtain jobs and benefits for the relatives of opinion leaders and influential local gentry. The elections were peaceful, but when the results were announced, the regime, caught on the back foot by its surprise defeat, claimed fraud and sued, but less than a day later the court ratified the result. The regime conceded defeat and welcomed the new administration, seemingly graciously but actually because nearly all of the top officials had already crossed the national border to a new life.

The office staff of London-Bamiji were not too concerned. Mr Baker was confident that he could build new corrupt relations with the incoming regime, but (though they kept very good false records), all but one of the staff had come to the office to spend a few days going through the files and computers and shredding or deleting any bits that might raise questions, just in case.

Early the following morning, the police quietly began rounding up all top level officials of the old regime who hadn't yet left the country, but word of that hadn't begun to spread yet. The police came round to Miss Carmichael's boyfriend's flat, confident by some means that she would be there, and politely asked her to come with them; they refused her boyfriend's request to accompany them but promised to keep him informed. In the police car, she innocently tried to speed dial her colleagues at the office, but the policeman next to her gently took the phone away and slipped it into his pocket. At about the same time, two police vans drew up in front of the office, showed Mr Baker a legal warrant, and politely escorted the staff into one van, leaving the other to transport all of their files and computers to the station. At the station they were waved through the reception, where people can come in to make complaints, and into a large intake-processing hall for people who are being officially registered for arrest, hearings, interrogation or whatever.

There were long tables along the wall with black male and female police officers around them and a disarray of many folding chairs facing them. People were milling around everywhere, it was very noisy in the hall, and they were shocked to see one frightened black man being led past them completely naked, well-behaved officers holding his arms on either side and his dick swinging back and forth. Mr Baker and his staff realized that they were the only white people in the packed hall. They noticed two black men in front of one table with their backs to them, one of them naked with his hands behind his head, the other, a very big man, nearly naked and struggling to get his sock off as a policeman steadied him. They recognized the second man from TV as the leader of a well-known Youth Sports Club, which doubled as an organized petty crime gang for unemployed young men.

The supervisor motioned the first man forward; a young policewoman wearing a stained plastic surgical glove on one hand stood in front of him and examined his mouth (thoughtfully using the ungloved hand), up his nostrils, and in his ears, ran her fingers through his hair, and then instructed him to get onto the table on his back. Then two policemen lifted his legs back up and over his head so that his crotch was facing out into the room. The young policewoman lifted his dick up and pulled the foreskin back and forth a few times, apparently scrutinizing everything for signs of disease, then dropped the dick and lifted the guy's balls up and squeezed them fairly gently, so that the guy only moaned in discomfort. Then she stuck two fingers, already in the plastic glove, into an open pot of lube and worked one finger up his ass. She reamed it all around inside vigorously and moved her hand back and forth sideways to force the hole to loosen, then pulled part way out and stuck two fingers up his black anus. Then she pulled them out abruptly and said something quietly to the man, and the two cops helped him off the table and back on his feet. She murmured something else and he remembered to put his hands behind his head again.

They motioned the boss forward, but he was in a rage at being treated this way. He shouted and shook his fist at the police staff and the supervisor observing from behind the table. One of the men nearby, who'd been quiet and polite theretofore, abruptly pushed a rod into the naked man's lower abdomen and there was a loud crack, almost a bang, that startled everyone in the noisy hall. Everyone craned forward to see what had happened: the big man was on his back on the floor, convulsing and bouncing up and down, his arms and legs flailing and doing the herky-jerky, his dick waving around, and it started to piss a stream out all over the place as the head of his dick waved in the air. He pissed on his own legs and all over the floor around him. Finally he stopped convulsing and lay flat in the piss, obviously struggling to breathe normally. After a short time, two policemen took his arms and helped him to his feet; disoriented and sagging but thoroughly cooperative now. A black maid came over immediately with a pail/mop rig and mopped up the urine – this happened so frequently in the intake hall, convulsive pissing and sometimes shitting, that her job was just to stay ready and clean things up promptly. The man's legs were still shining wet with piss as they helped him onto the table and gave him the same cavity inspection. Then he and his mate were given papers to sign verifying that all of their clothes and belongings had been put into the regulation box for each new intake client – the papers were put into the boxes and they were sealed, and the two men were surprisingly gently led off out of the hall into a corridor running back into the building.

The London-Bamiji staff were open-mouthed and appalled at what they had just seen. They had no idea that this sort of thing was routine procedure in the city; neither they nor any whites they knew had ever been in such a place and it was not only a real eye-opener but terrifying at the same time, given their present situation. Mr Cosgrove pointed to their left and they noticed two garishly-dressed female prostitutes and a nasty looking black man, presumably their pimp, in front of another table, stripping off and putting their clothes and jewelry into the boxes. The pimp was put up on the table in the same way, but the examining policewoman there was much less gentle – she squeezed his testicles hard, jerked on his foreskin forcefully, and rammed her fingers up his ass until he cried out in pain and frustration. When they had finished with him, they dragged him off the table, and he retreated to his women, horribly humiliated in front of them and talking angrily to himself. One of the cops strode forward and pulled the pimp's arms up behind his head, and the man glared around at him but kept them there. Then one of the prostitutes was examined in the same way; the other one looked worried and said something to a male policeman next to her, and at a nod from the examiner he escorted her to a row of five toilets along the wall at the side of the hall. Three were normal toilet bowls with plumbing jutting out of the wall, whilst the other two were just seats with white rectangular pans underneath for examining shit for contraband. With the cop watching her, not unkindly, and some of the other police and clients watching from nearby, she had to sit down and take a long piss; the cop handed her a roll of toilet paper, she wiped off and handed the roll back to him, and he escorted her back for her turn on the examining table.

The trading staff were motioned over to one of the tables and told to strip naked and put their stuff in the boxes, then put their hands behind their heads. They were all trembling in fear and embarrassment, the two men as much as the three women. They began removing their clothes and throwing them all into their boxes – all of them left their underpants to the last, and for a moment they all stood together in their boxers and panties and looked at each other, then almost at the same time bent all the way down and pulled the garments off. When the five of them were completely nude, avoiding one another's eyes now and presenting themselves to the police staff with their arms up, tits jutting out and nervous dicks hanging down almost in hiding, Mrs Baker was summoned forward first. A large policeman, who also wore one filthy surgical glove which he never replaced between examinations, studied her mouth and throat, up her nose, in her ears, through her hair and her hairy blonde bush. He gripped her nipples gently and pulled her tits out, then up, to look underneath them, then squeezed them all over, gently but thoroughly, deforming their shape not too painfully in all directions, feeling for implants of contraband. Then they helped her onto the table and spread her legs back over her head. Her thick cunt lips parted somewhat and gleaming pink membrane showed out of her slit, and her prominent anus was bulging further out because of the position she was in. She had a thickish bush but only lightly furry cunt lips, a nearly hairless and almost purple anus, and some more brown hair farther back at what would have been the top of her ass crack, if she hadn't been upsidedown. There were a few small hemorrhoids around her shitter, but it was otherwise clean and inviting as the muscle flexed in and out slightly with her nervousness. Mr Baker was mortified at his wife's public exposure in such an obscene manner, but he knew that in a few moments he'd be in the same position, and his heart dropped.

One policeman spread Mrs Baker's cunt lips wide and the examiner looked up inside, flashing a small flashlight up into the dark hole. The anterior wall of her vagina, behind the prominent pisshole, was bulging down and blocking the view, so the assistant put his fingers farther up into the hole and spread it out sideways quite wide. The examiner then put in another black finger and tried to push the top part up to see better – he was checking the cervix for signs of abnormality or disease – but then he muttered something and pulled his finger out. He rubbed two fingers of his dirty glove into the lube pot, then stuck one finger, then both, far up the poor woman's asshole and rotated them all around inside her rectum, pushing against the rectal walls. Satisfied, he pulled his stinking fingers out, and they helped the woman stand up; then they turned her around and assisted her to climb back up on all fours. They spread her knees and lowered her back and pelvis into an obscene squat with her bulging asshole pointing directly at the spectators. The assistant put his fingers up her cunt hole again and spread it sideways, and the examiner got down on one knee and put his flashlight up her cunt until he could see the twitching cervix clearly. He muttered okay and they helped Mrs Baker off the table, and reminded her to put her hands behind her head.

Mr Baker came next, the same procedure was used on him but uneventfully, and after his rectal exploration he was helped to his feet and sent back to his colleagues, embarrassed and thinking to cover his dick from view but remembering to put his hands behind his head instead. Then Mr Cosgrove was called, and the identical examination procedure was used on him, but his colleagues were startled when his legs are raised behind his head and they got a look at the awful bruised state of his huge anus. When the policeman finished checking him, however, he instructed Cosgrove to roll over and get on all fours – because he was so portly, the process was obscenely complicated and ungainly, but he got himself onto all fours and they nudged his knees farther apart. The examining policeman grinned at the supervisor behind the table and then reached under Cosgrove's scrotum and got a grip on the guy's dick, then started gently pulling on it as if milking a cow's teat. The police staff all around were watching now and smiling at one another knowingly, some laughing and whispering comments to their neighbors and snickering. It appeared that Cosgrove's private life was better known to the police than it was to his own colleagues. The man kept milking Cosgrove's dick until it started to swell and stick out; he continued for a bit more, then he stopped abruptly and they helped the man off the table, put his hands up behind his head, and directed him to walk back to his colleagues with this ¾ erect dick wagging and bobbing in front of him and his face looking stricken.

Miss Carmichael got her examination treatment next, all round her teeth and gums, up her nostrils and in her ears, and then she was upended on the table as the others were. One man spread her cunt open and the large dark hole formed a perfect circle. Miss Carmichael was moaning and staring at the ceiling with a look of desperation. The examiner shone his flashlight up her hole, and everyone in front of the tables could see straight up her cunt at her cervix glimmering wetly in the light. She was sobbing quietly by that time with her head turned to the side. Mr Baker, of course, was not unaffected by the sight of his attractive employee's charms, about which he had often daydreamed lustfully without ever in the least behaving inappropriately towards her, but he was nevertheless mortified that the young lady should because of him be showing off her cervix up her wide open cunt hole to an entire hall full of spectators. Then the same gloved fingers went up the stretched pinkish-brown knot of her asshole and poked around in there for a while, then came out again with a plop, and she was helped off the table, hands back up behind her head and tits quivering as she sobbed quietly.

Then Mrs Armitage was put on the table, too, and her pink cunthole too stood wide open, showing her cervix clearly in its glory, without the need for squatting on all fours as Mrs Baker had had to. As the assistants spread her asscheeks wide, the knot of her anus began to unfurl and some of the pink interior parts of the anal muscle could be seen clearly. But when the examiner pushed his finger up her asshole and wiggled it, he began to look puzzled and to wiggle it even more vigorously. The poor woman was beside herself with embarrassment and could be heard gasping and moaning softly. He pulled his fingers out and asked his assistant to try; the man did so, without a glove on in his case, and he took looked puzzled as they conferred. The examiner said something quietly to a young policewoman, and they helped Mrs Armitage off the table. She led the poor distraught woman over to the toilets and invited her to sit down on one of the ones with just a seat over a rectangular pan, and told her to take a shit. Mrs Armitage sat on the seat and stared up at the policewoman with a horrified expression, shaking her head and sobbing, but the woman kindly stroked her hair and told her that she had to do it but not to worry about it too much.

Mrs Armitage tried to push – she had not had a good shit that morning, as she had seemed to be somewhat constipated, and she had been feeling uncomfortably full throughout this ordeal. She kept pushing, getting red in the face, and then abruptly half of a huge, hard turd erupted from her bulging asshole and hung over the pan. Then another spasm and more of the turd came out, before her anus clamped and clipped it off. Immediately another big turd started out and paused halfway. She was sobbing now, and through her tears she could see people watching her, including the nice policewoman, who was crouched down with a playful smile and watching her asshole spasming. Her own colleagues had turned away discreetly, but the police and citizens seemed all to be enjoying her show. The second turd tumbled into the pan with a splat onto the first one, then she blew out a resounding wet fart and a load of wet, loose shit poured out onto the growing pile. She tried to look away from the people in front of her and saw in the corridor, through the open double doors of the hall, three older black men in expensive business suits watching her intently and nudging one another with huge smiles on their faces. Another wet fart blew out with a kind of bubbly resonance, and a last stream of loose and smelly shit poured into the pan, as the well-dressed men waved to her and went off down the corridor.

The policewoman waited for a minute or two as the naked Mrs Armitage sobbed quietly on the toilet, then handed her a roll of toilet paper. As Mrs Armitage wiped her asshole and went to drop the filthy paper into the pan, the policewoman stopped her and held out a metal cylinder meant for used wipes from the examination toilets. Mrs Armitage dropped the paper onto the disgusting pile in the cylinder, took some more paper and tried to clean off as well as she could. Then she was helped up, and a policeman escorted back to the examining table, where she had to stand next to the examiner and wait for a few moments. The policewoman put the toilet pan up onto a stand nearby and began to poke through the turds and loose shit with a long-handled spoon. After a few moments she called over to the examiner and said "okay", and the examiner told Mrs Armitage that she could rejoin her colleagues, with her hands behind her head.

The trading company staff were told by one of the supervisors that they would have a hearing the next day but would have to stay in custody overnight. The police commander informed them, with an unnerving smile, that they would stay in holding rooms in the courthouse, not in the police station; the courthouse was several blocks away, across the main city square and down the main boulevard in the direction of the airport, and as no police cars are available (snicker snicker) they would have to walk. They signed for their boxes and were led out to the reception area – with a look of shock on all their faces, they were just beginning to realize that they were not going to get their clothes back and were being made to march through the city stark naked. Politely the police used plastic handcuffs to cuff their hands behind their backs with a narrow nylon rope strung through the cuffs to keep them all loosely together in a single file. As they were led out onto the front steps, the two men were looking sick and the three women were crying openly and looking as if they were trying to shrink down inside themselves, but with their hands tied behind them they were unable to cover their cunts and bouncing titties. A squad of six cops and a leader marched them single-file down the steps into the main square and towards the central fountain, as people all over the square and in the shops nearby noticed the obscene parade and hurried over to watch.

Crowds of unruly youths and other citizens began to follow along then, laughing and shouting insults and then trying to reach in and grope them. The police escort kept pushing them back, but the mood became more dangerous and the youths more aggressive, some young men distracting the cops whilst others darted behind them and shoved their hands into one woman's vulva or up another's ass crack, or grabbed one of the men's dicks or tried to punch his balls. One boy got a grip on Mrs Baker's cunt and wormed a couple of fingers up her twat, and she fell to the ground with the boy on top of her. A cop rushed over and dragged him up, but two other boys got Miss Carmichael pushed up against Mr Cosgrove's meaty buttocks and were jamming their fingers up her asshole.

The cops began to become really alarmed at how quickly their commander's little joke on the snooty whites had spun out of control, and they tried to hurry the line of detainees along, until soon they were jogging and stumbling barefoot over the harsh pavement, dicks and tits waving all over. But the crowd kept dashing in and abusing them, as the whites began to shout and scream in terror. One cop finally beat a bold groper to the ground with his baton, and the crowd turned on him, beating him down too and kicking him and working themselves into a frenzy. The other cops panicked and fled and the mob swarmed the five whites, and then the situation really deteriorated.

Mr Cosgrove was thrown down on his face and his genitals squashed flat on the pavement by boot heels, and then, with his wrists still bound behind his back, he was strung up by one ankle from the 19th century European queen on the central fountain and pounded to death with fists and sticks. Mr Baker was viciously ass-raped many times; as he lay on his back on his tied hands, a young man began dancing on his chest and another bent down and castrated him with a machete, then disemboweled him on the street. His wife's wrists were freed but she was raped on the pavement so many times and so brutally that both her vagina and her rectum were prolapsed four inches out of their holes, and the gangs were beating on the protruding tissues with bats and sticks. They dragged her to her knees and throat-raped her just as viciously – as she was suffocating she went into convulsions and almost gnawed the rapist's dick all the way through; he began screaming for help and his friends were pounding on her head and trying to pry her mouth open, but he kept on raping down her throat frantically until he successfully climaxed, even after she'd been asphyxiated and hung limp from his hands gripping her head. He pulled his nearly severed dick out of her slack mouth and let her corpse slump onto the street, then sat down on the curb, comforting his bloody, torn dick and weeping uncomprehendingly at his loss. The mob used machetes to gut Mrs Baker from stem to stern, strewed her organs over the street, and tossed her severed head up into the fountain with a splash.

Miss Carmichael had been beaten so badly that one eye was swollen shut, her beautiful nose was spread out across the left side of her face, and her front teeth had been beaten in. As one youth was viciously fucking her anus, the others were all over her, tearing at her breasts, pounding on her back and head, and then one pulled out a knife, hauled up her face up by her hair, and cut all of her nose off as a souvenir. The others followed suit and sliced off an ear, gouged out both of her eyes, cut most of her tits off, tried to saw off her fingers still cuffed behind her back. The latest ass-rapist pulled out abruptly and, as with her boss's wife, nearly five inches of her brutalized rectum was pulled out with him – the boys were all laughing and pointing at it, and then one swooped down and cut off the prolapsed part of her intestine to carry off as another souvenir.

The shouting men and women in the mob cut Mrs Armitage's wrists free of her cuffs and encircled her, shouting and slapping at her tits and buttocks, groping up her ass crack and yanking at her hair, and she spun round and round trying to fend off her tormentors. She was taller than many of her attackers but that almost made it worse, because they were darting in under her outstretched flailing arms and leaping up at her from below, jumping up onto her naked back as she spun wildly about trying to shake them off, pulling hard at her hair from behind so that her head was dragged back and she couldn't see to defend her crotch in front. She was vaguely aware of the screams of her colleagues being assaulted and butchered nearby but she couldn't pause in her panicky attempts to break out of the howling circle around her and never actually witnessed the terrible deaths of her friends. Her bare feet were soaked with her own blood as she was chased round and round on the rough pavement. One man got her bent over in a headlock and had his fingers up her nostrils, pulling violently at her nose as he ran her back and forth within the circle, and another drove his fingers into her vagina from behind and began to jerk her up by her cunt, drop her onto her feet again, yank her up, drop her, which became a kind of rhythmical dance up and down with her butt cheeks quivering and her mind spinning off into insanity. Finally she was flung to the ground on her back, and as a line of laughing young men leapt onto her open groin and began raping her and trying to drag one another out of her to hurry up their own turns, two strong men got one of her legs pulled up and into a torsion grip, bending and bending until her leg snapped in two at the knee. The brutal rapes on her battered snatch continued, with other men forcing their monstrous dicks into her mouth and down her throat whilst pulling at her ears and squeezing her split and bleeding nostrils, and then the same two men broke both of her arms in the same way. By the time they turned her over to begin raping her anus, she had no limbs capable of supporting her on all fours and just lay on her stomach as they plunged in and out of her gaping shithole. The moment there was a pause in the line of men jumping in to take their place at her asshole, two burly young men leapt onto her back and began stomp-dancing to the chanting and rhythmical clapping of the crowd, and at some point in their festive dance, her chest was crushed and she went off to a better world perhaps.

Youth gangs were pouring out into the square from all over the centre city by that time, many carrying machetes, batons, and other hand weapons, and some of them were turning against rival gangs, with bloody battles going on all across the square and down the nearby streets. A frenzy of indiscriminate blood lust was washing over the whole crowd of aimless stupid young men, and in some cases their female campfollowers, too. Young men and a few young black women had run out of the nearby streets carrying homemade petrol bombs with rag fuses sticking out of them, lighting them and heaving them at the retreating policemen and at random into the crowd. It began to look like the conflagration had finally descended on the city.

A crowd of journalists and cameramen, in town to cover the elections, heard the uproar and ran from the posh hotel for white foreigners to get the story. The mob, with still more excited people and youth gangs joining them and hysterical blood lust mounting still further, started en masse after the journalists, who fled back to the hotel. A cameraman stepped out of the way to the side and tried to keep filming and he was shredded by the mob; he could be seen being dragged naked, without his genitals, out towards the centre of the square, howling insanely. A white male and female were cut off and hid in an alley half a block down from the hotel – the female journalist was in her 40s, somewhat overweight and out of condition, and she despaired of outrunning the mob. The male accosted a muslim woman from the nearby Arab neighborhood, who was backed into the alley waiting for a chance to find her way home; he punched her in her covered head and knocked her out, and stripped off her burqa, revealing just jeans and a bra underneath. The female journalist pulled on the burqa hastily and started hurrying openly towards safety, as the male took his chances slipping between the buildings towards the hotel. The woman stopped a few times to stare in horror at some of the scenes taking place in front of her, but otherwise she scurried around the outside of the mob as fast as she could, almost running to the extent that she could. Several boys saw her and realized that they had never seen a middle-aged muslim housewife in a burqa running before, and they began chasing her. She tried to run faster, tangling up in the burka; they ripped off the hood and saw her blonde hair, and then they hauled off the whole garment. They ripped open her shirt and bra, exposing her pendulous breasts, and yanked her trousers down, her panties halfway down around her large ass cheeks – a frenzied leader waving a machete told them to force her to her knees and as one of them pulled her hair forward, he beheaded her with three clumsy strokes and ran around the crowd waving the severed blonde head. As the mob moved on, three of the gang quietly dragged her corpse to the roadside and began raping it in both remaining holes.

A white couple who'd been in the café had been dragged out and sodomized brutally on the street, as the crowd howled with delight and jostled for the next turn at either of them, and then a youth group leader arrived in his car and backed up towards them; each of the couple were pulled upright and had one wrist tied by a short rope to the back bumper. A screaming, fat white man was being buggered on the sidewalk, and they dragged him over and tied him up as well. The driver was revving his engine, but the mob called to him to wait and pulled the two men backwards in a bow, grabbed their dicks and testicles, and hacked them off. The two men both fell to a sitting position in the street, yelling and clutching their empty crotches. The woman was still standing there with one wrist tied, her tits and back smeared with blood from having been brutally raped on the pavement, staring down at her husband and the other man as if in a daze. Then the car started off and the two men were immediately dragged behind it, two long bloody lines appearing on the pavement behind the car as their skin and muscles were torn off by the pavement. The woman seemed to wake up from her daze and started running after the car, successfully at first as the car kept blowing its horn trying to get through the crowd. But then as it curved round the fountain, the woman's now-dead husband got tangled in her feet and she went down face first, dragged on by the rope on her wrist; within seconds her tits had been abraded off and the skin had been scraped off her fleshy thighs down to the bone in places. The car passed out of sight behind the fountain.

The journalists' hotel had thrown up metal shutters on the ground floor, and most of them made it in the front door before it was locked up. Many of the journalists ran up to higher rooms and were trying to film and report from the balconies above. One middle-aged male cameraman tripped on the curb, though, and sprained his ankle, but he tried frantically hopping onward until the howling crowd overwhelmed him. Some minutes later, from the balconies above they could see him being held aloft and passed naked overhead through the crowd.

The mob set upon the hotel and it became a raucous siege. Policemen were milling helplessly and standing back in fear, and the journalists couldn't get through to the police station on the telephone. As black and white citizens were fleeing to their homes, the youth gangs of aimless petty criminals were rioting against one another in a widening circle all over the city. Within an hour and a half, the Bamiji military began taking up positions in a few strategic places, but the journalists' hotel was in danger of being overrun. Molotov cocktails were being thrown into shops and buildings and into the crowds, with frantic people being splashed with burning petrol, bursting into flames and falling to the ground, flapping their arms at their burning clothes and trying to tear them off.

An ambulance with a terrified driver and two paramedics nudged through the crowd to try to help the wounded. They saw a gang member on the ground with his arm cut off and tried to get to him. When they were close, the black paramedics dashed out the back and rushed to the man with a stretcher. As they heaved him onto it, the male paramedic looked up and got his head cleaved down the middle with a machete. His female colleague leapt up and spun round in a panic and tried to run, but she was tripped up and brought down and beaten all over with batons, eventually disemboweled on the street, still fully dressed, by a machete. The crowd mobbed the driver; the window glass splintered but didn't break, and they swarmed over the ambulance pounding on it, as three of them scrambled into the back. The driver panicked and floored the accelerator, riding right over the people in front, until he'd gone up onto so many of them that the wheels were spinning off the ground and he was stuck. Youths dashed up from behind and threw Molotov cocktails into the back, and the three attackers who were already inside came tumbling out completely engulfed in flames. The inside of the ambulance burned up as the crowd pounded on the windows and laughed at the driver, then the ambulance exploded and immolated many in the crowd as well.

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