NAKED TRUTH by Nicole Dere
Copyright Nicole Dere


1.

Keith had always been fiercely jealous, Vee knew that. Had known it right from the start, when they had first begun going out together, when she was still a fresher at college. She had found it thrilling then, powerfully so. He was quiet, ruthlessly ambitious and determined to succeed. So different from the other loud-mouthed, crude, beer swillers in the set she moved around in. He didn't even seem particularly interested in her, only in his goal of a First Class Honours and a foot on the ladder to high flying success. So he became something of a challenge.
	He seemed to stand on the by-lines, as far as the sexual manoeuvres which figured so largely with most of her contemporaries were concerned. He was good looking, in a lean, aesthetic way. His  angular face, crowned by a neatly clustered mop of blond curls, had an intensely serious expression most of the time. His smile was guarded, contained, giving little or nothing of himself away. The blue eyes were deep, unknowable, they stared with a cold dispassion that sparked a shivery thrill secretly inside her.
	It was her own diffidence that roused his interest. She knew he fancied her, at least physically, in spite of that distant front. He found her gawky schoolgirl charm attractive, he told her later.
	After a few close encounters, she had surrendered her virginity a couple of years earlier to a groping friend of her brother's, who had been hasty, messy, and appallingly clumsy. David, her brother, only eighteen months older than she was, had practically played pimp, bringing the 'chum' round when their parents were away for the night, laying on alcohol to oil the wheels of her seduction.
	What was really bad, so bad that Vee had almost succeeded in pushing it away from her conscious memory, was that she had secretly wanted her brother to make love to her. She had flung herself against David in torrid open mouthed passion, feigning drunkenness, and he had fled, from his own as well as her incestuous desires, she suspected, and left her to the less than tender mercies of 'chum'.
	When it was done, she was glad in a way that she had got it over with, she was like all her school mates now. But it wasn't repeated. In fact, it was what had finally driven her into the arms, and, on one never to be forgotten rainy November afternoon, into the bed of her bosom pal, Ruth, acknowledging at long last the lesbian inclinations she had been fighting against since earliest adolescence.
	She was glad the fight was lost. Or won. She and Ruth remained lovers throughout the two years of their sixth form schooling, revelled at how easy it was.
	Keith wanted her, she could tell, despite her nervous, schoolgirlish, giggling shyness - maybe because of it. "Vera's a dreadful name, isn't it? Most folks call me Vee." Then they were kissing, seriously clinched against a tree in the breath-steamy dark. His mouth was demanding, hard, his teeth clashed against hers, until the soft inner surface of her lips was cut and tender.
	The next time was on her bed. Sunday afternoon was the traditional passion time. She pictured girls groaning, crying, thrummed with buzzing sexuality, abandoning themselves to hot sex. All about her, sexual odours wafted compellingly on the breeze through the deserted corridors of the building. She was both terrified and damp with weak-kneed excitement at her racing thoughts.
	They quickly graduated to the bed, but on top of the coverlet, both minus shoes but minus nothing else. Their mouths clamped together, bodies and limbs heaved and twisted as the bed springs danced to their writhing. She could feel him, he thrust his trapped hardness unmistakably against her, while his sweaty palm inexorably claimed the cold smooth contours of her nylon covered leg, to the swell of her rigid thigh muscle. Eventually the hand extended its claim, under her blouse, to the ticklish bare midriff, and the fragrant sheen of her skin.
	His clumsy but determined fingers flipped out her breasts after something of a struggle, and those fingers touched and brushed over the tiny hardness of a nipple, and she flushed.
	"You've got an erection too," he teased tightly, and she couldn't force a smile.
	Under her skirt, his hand finally slid between her legs, to caress her already wet vulva, tracing the cushiony outline under the protection of her tights and her tiny knickers. Finger pads rubbed up and down the length of her labia, bringing up their grooved outline like a brass etching under the sticky gauziness of her underclothing. She was twisting and shivering, her hips moving in rhythm to his stimulation. The wet patch spread, and she breathed raggedly, moaning through her open mouth. On and on his hand rubbed, until she was sobbing, ready to burst with excitement. He grabbed her wrist with a free hand, pulled her down to the domed bulge of his own excitement still trapped his pants.
	"Are you on the pill?" The brutal question smacked her to crimson faced reality, at the same instant as the hand between her thighs ceased its movement. With a wounded howl, she swung her legs away from him, and clutched the creased blouse across her chest, hobbled, doubled over ludicrously, to the tiny basin, hung there, great tears splashing down her shiny cheeks.
	"I've got a contraceptive," he said. But it was too late. His own clumsiness made him retreat further. He would not accept blame. He was tight lipped, still cruel in the awful embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I thought it was understood."
	Later he returned, courting her with flowers and with a slightly awkward charm. "I had no idea. You've never - you're a virgin, aren't you?" He mistook her blushing, hangdog silence for consent. And was in turn even more intrigued. Genuinely startled even, filled with the idea that she would be his, belong to him in actuality, him only. No one else before him. He began to love her, in his possessive way.
	Ironically, now she wanted to give herself to him. Burned to do so. Wept for it. And now he refused. "We'll wait. It'll be good for us. We'll be really sure. Besides, it's sort of cute. You know, the way it used to be. The way it should be."
	They did indulge in sex. All the titillating, torturous foreplay, spread out over many hot, sweetly frustrating sessions in each other's beds, or rather on them. Never under the covers. That helped to fight temptation. But he grew bolder. Bared her breasts, while she tearfully apologised, and pouted at his fond taunts, his mouth suckling as he drove her wild. And, finally, he got round, or through, her knickers, and fingered her, patiently, tormentingly, as she drew nearer to, but not quite over, the crest of her bucking wave. Except that, at last, she did - clenching and unclenching, gasping in the shuddering climax that trapped his aching wrist between her squeezing, convulsive thighs.
	She, too, with fearful pleasure, saw and touched his penis, thrusting pole-hard from his fly, learned to stroke and caress, learned the quickening rhythm which brought its culminating, thrilling, scaring reward, of pumping hot, odorous semen scalding her quivering hand and fingers.
	"We can't do this!" she wept one afternoon, when the heavy smell of their sex, and the stains on the cover, lay accusingly about them. Abjectly she begged him to take her 'properly', and he was adamant in his refusal. "You don't really want me," she cried. "What's the point of our relationship?" A quarrel grew, got worse. "I think we should stop seeing each other," she muttered tormentedly. She was desolated by his stiff-necked agreement,
	At the end of term party, Keith was there again, coolly observant as usual. She was with a boy called Bill, and she got defiantly drunk. Couples were slinking off, and Bill was almost desperately lecherous. Why the hell not? she thought. Let's get it over with. She had almost come to believe in her virginity herself.
	She let Bill take her to a coat-strewn bedroom, and amid the piled up garments she lay, giddy and sick, trying unsuccessfully to feign passion in response to his slobbered kisses. Then, suddenly, he was gone, plucked magically from her. She struggled up in smeary-eyed amazement, to see a possessed Keith delivering a series of sickening kicks to Bill's squealing figure on the floor.
	Keith turned, and dealt her a ringing, open handed slap on the side of her bared thigh, and she yelped in agony. The red imprint stood out like a brand for days. He dragged her roughly upright, thrust her balled up pants and tights into her hand and pulled her from the room. Like an irate parent, he led her through the crowd, barging people out of the way. He let her get her coat, but captured her wrist immediately again, and tugged her to the taxi rank.
	In the cab, he held her hand in a painful grip, and they exchanged no words. Her tights and knickers, still meshed in a ball, were in her coat pocket now. She was very conscious of her nudity under the silk dress. It had ridden up at the back. She could feel the upholstery of the seat on the backs of her thighs, even on her buttocks. Her vulva was throbbing urgently. She stood, feeling the cold night air on her, while he paid off the taxi, then, grabbing hold of her again, he marched her along the passage of the flat he shared to the austere bathroom.
	"Get your clothes off!"
	Hypnotically, she obeyed, snivelling softly, like a chastised infant, perversely excited by the knowledge of his unmoving stare. She stripped off, dropping her clothes on the ugly little cream wooden chair, while he ran a steaming bath.
	"Get in!"
	She winced at the heat, but said nothing. Her skin pinked and glowed. She washed thoroughly under his admonishing gaze, blushing as she did so, but making no attempt to hide even her most intimate ablutions. When she had finished, he held out a large towel to her. It was his, she could tell. It was still damp. He bundled up her clothes under one arm and again drew her after him, naked, to his room.
	Inside, he faced her sternly. "Did that bastard do it to you?"
	She shook her head, "No one has," she whispered faintly. "I only want you."
	He pulled her to him. "OK. You're my girl. I mean permanently. Right? Mine completely, understand?"
	His blue eyes held her, blazing at her. She was shivering with fear as he bent her over his knee, spanking her like a naughty child. It excited her almost unbearably at first. She thought she would climax, feeling the rub of his clothing on her fragrant belly, the ferment of her thighs as she squirmed, but then the beating went on, hard resounding slaps, until the pain took over and she was squirming in earnest, her feet sawing the air, burning in real agony, her bottom clenching and unclenching with fire.
	She sobbed desperately for him to stop.
	When he did, he flung her brutally off him, so that she fell sprawling on the faded rug, weeping blindly, clutching at her stinging bottom. He plucked her up and thrust her on her back, on the bed, parting her legs roughly. She stayed like that, her jutting knees splayed, still sobbing as he tore off his clothing. His prick looked huge, lance like. He entered her at once, thrusting into her, tearing her despite her wet readiness, so that she cried out in pain. He plunged fiercely, and she joined him, flinging up her belly against his, spearing herself sacrificially, overjoyed, embracing the hard, driving burn, lost at the final flooding burst of his manhood inside her.



2

By the time they were ready to be married, her friends were warning her off. "You're besotted with him!" Ruth told her disgustedly. "He's taken you over completely, you poor little goose! He even tells you what to wear, for Christ's sake! He's walking all over you. And you're letting him, you sick little sod! And that's not just sour grapes because you won't let me in your knickers any more. He's ruining you, sweetheart!"
	Vee didn't even complete her university course, for Keith was a year ahead of her. As soon as he had got the first class degree he had pursued so single mindedly, he announced that they would marry, and that Vee would leave college. She had hoped he would stay on, take up the post graduate work his department had offered, but he had already been approached by an international firm.
	"We'll move to London. What's the point of you staying on here? You're not going to work anyway."
	"What'll I do with myself?"
	"You'll be my wife."
	"That's my career?" she murmured, half seriously.
	"Yes." She shivered at the uncompromising glint in those blue eyes. Then shivered again as he reached behind her neck to begin undressing her.
	When he came home one evening and announced out of the blue that they were leaving for East Africa within the month, her parents were bravely enthusiastic, and brushed aside Vee's doubts almost as vigorously as he did. "A marvellous chance for you," her father said. "Congratulations, Keith, my boy!"
	Fired by their ready acceptance, and by Keith's fervent eagerness, she urged herself not to be so wimpish, and began to look forward to the new experience.
	Ruth was working up in Scotland. They had met only once since Vee's marriage, Now she wrote insisting that she must come south and spend a last weekend at their London flat to say goodbye properly, 'before he whisks you away to the Dark Continent, the bastard!' she wrote. 'I can't wait to get my hands on you and maybe chastise you a little, you gorgeous little slut, for deserting me.' Vee made sure she destroyed the letter before Keith came home, and, with her usual diffidence, mentioned Ruth's intention to spend a weekend with them.
	She watched him anxiously across the plastic topped table of the gloomy kitchen. It was one thing she would not be sorry to leave. However, he was very affable, sounded only mildly interested. He was far too preoccupied with his new duties and his preparations for departure to think about anything else. She had little idea what those duties would be. She was proud of him, of course, but she was intimidated, and felt very cut off from all that side of him. But then, that was how he wanted it, how it was meant to be. Man's stuff. Not for her to question, not the little woman's territory.
	As the day of Ruth's visit drew nearer, Vee's mood fluctuated rapidly. She grew physically excited at the memory of their schoolgirl passion, then hot with embarrassment. How could she face seeing Ruth and Keith together? She recalled the dark girl's boldness. Keith would see in the first blushing glance what had passed between them. How would he feel if he knew about it? Disgusted? Disbelieving? By the time Saturday arrived, Vee was sick with anxiety. Yet she took more care over her appearance than she had for weeks. Even Keith noticed. "Jesus! She'll think you haven't changed at all, You still look like a schoolgirl."
	She was thrilled at his remark. He rarely complemented her, even though she did try to look her best for him. Although they had been together for just over two years, and married for one, their sex life had settled into its own strange pattern. They didn't often have sexual intercourse these days. Not more than two or three times a month. Keith began to be less and less concerned about her satisfaction.
	Ruth's visit was a revelation to her that some deep part of her nature had not changed since Keith had come into her life. When those lips brushed hers on greeting, and the arms came around her so comfortingly, she felt the pangs of an old hunger stir with a power that frightened her.
	Ruth was at her at the first opportunity, her hands reaching with rough eagerness. Vee's reluctance was feigned. Soon she was responding to the yielding of her body's most intimate parts, the helpless sweeping over the floods of pure sensation that being a victim of lover's lust entailed. She had rarely known it with Keith, she was forced to admit. When it was over, and the tears of release were beginning to dry on her cheeks, she nestled with real longing into the warmth enveloping her.
	"Poor Vee," Ruth crooned, her lips against the fine fair hair. She rubbed her fingers softly along the smooth belly to the damp tendrils of the light brown pubis, whose curls she plucked gently. "You're having a rough time of it, aren't you?" The warmth and strength of her voice released a shocking outburst of sobbing in the very midst of Vee's strenuous denial, and she buried her face into the comfort of Ruth's breast. Even in her grief, she enjoyed the feel of the satiny firm flesh, the brush of her tear soaked eyelids across the fragrant skin.
	Keith was at a conference in the midlands. They still had the long hours of the night to make love. The ghost of their giggling schoolgirl selves rose to bind them with all the force of those youthful shared nights. The moans, the smothering kisses, the thirsty tongues which sought out every salty, dewy crevice, every smooth surface and curve, the rapturously exploring fingers, the twisting limb-locked bodies turning and clinging, striving to make contact along every throbbing inch, left them finally exhausted, replete with love. The room was grey with dawn before they sank into deep sleep, still wrapped about each other in the tangled ruins of the sheets.

That was how Keith found them. They woke, bleary eyed, to the terrifying sight of his silhouette, rearing darkly over them in the blaze of sunlight pouring through the thin curtains. "What are you doing here?" Vee blinked stupidly, too dazed to cry.
	"I'm finding my wife in the arms of her dike lover!" he hissed. "I didn't believe it! Look at you!"
	Vee gave a little cry of shame and tried to gather the sheet over her nakedness, starting to sob hopelessly, but Ruth's lithe brown figure uncoiled, rose boldly from the bed, unashamed.
	"Look here -"
	Keith's fist moved with blurring speed to drive deep in a vicious jab to her midriff, and she folded, with a grunting exhalation. She fell off the bed, rolled in agony on the floor, her lungs wheezing as she sought to suck in air. He picked her up like a sack, tossed her back on the bed. By the time she had managed to drag some air into her tortured lungs he had bound her wrists tightly with a tie and secured them to the bedhead. With another necktie, he captured her waving feet and trussed them together, too, fastening them to the rail at the foot of the bed.
	Vee was crouched there, eyes wide in horror, holding the edges of the sheet over her breasts. He grabbed her now, dragged her out of bed and flung her crashing down into the easy chair with the wooden arms. One knee was drawn up, touching her breast. She gripped the wooden arms, making no sound.
	Ruth was still choking and spluttering wretchedly, her stretched out body jerking convulsively against the bonds. Her face was covered in tears as he dug his fingers into the short black hair and pulled her head up, stretching the elegant neck painfully. Her brown eyes rolled wildly as she stared at him.
	"You can scream your head off, you filthy little perv," he said in a frightening rage. "I'll be glad to explain what I found you doing with my wife if the neighbours or the police come round."
	Ruth fought furiously against her bonds as he picked up Vee's hair brush from the dressing table. The bed juddered, her slim body lifted and arched in vain. Her tight buttocks hollowed, clenched deeply, before he struck the first blow. There was a crack like a gun shot and she bucked. She drove her face down into the pillow, muffling the scream of torment that rose automatically at the fiery burn of her quivering flesh. He struck again, and a second flaming red outline lay beside the first. The narrow hips squirmed, the burning rounds seemed to rise to meet the punishment. Cruelly, he struck deliberately, waiting between each blow until she had savoured to the full the flaring bite of the pain scorching through her. Deep, shuddering sobs were escaping now. Her face was still buried in the pillow, which was absorbing the noise of her suffering.
	Vee was sick. It was a nightmare, but she could not tear her eyes away from the scene. She watched transfixed each fall of the brush, each sickening splat, saw the quivering, dimpling cheeks grow red, until their whole surface glowed. Saw the outline of Ruth's shoulder blades moving under the smooth skin, each rippling spasm of her muscles as the agony grew worse. And still Vee sat, silent, breathless, her mouth open as the tears fell down her cheeks, dropped onto her skin. With a deep sense of shock she became aware that she was caressing herself, the fingers of one hand brushing very lightly back and forth across the lips of her vulva, still sore from the passionate love making. They blossomed anew at her strokes, and she snatched her hand away as though from a flame.
	She had no idea how many blows had fallen on Ruth's bottom before Keith at last ceased the punishment and stood there, chest heaving, staring down at his handiwork. He let the brush fall, slowly undid his belt, unzipped his flies, and pushed down his trousers. He stepped out of them, shuffling off his shoes to do so, then thrust down his underbriefs, awkwardly pulled off his socks. He drew his shirt over his head, never taking his gaze from that helpless, quivering body stretched out on the bed. Vee stared, still motionless, still absolutely silent.
	Now Keith was naked, and his prick stood out, pole hard in arousal. He released Ruth's ankles, and she groaned at the touch of the sheet on her behind as he turned her onto her back. Her arms were still bound above her, and her breasts were pulled into prominence by her position. She gazed up through tear-filled eyes at the sight of his naked body, merciless as he bent and seized her ankles, plucked her feet apart, knelt between them, between her gaping thighs.
	Her struggles were feeble, more an instinctive reaction than anything else. She stared seemingly mesmerised at the prick, its red helm agleam with emission, fully exposed from the collar of foreskin. The column stretched massively, back to the tight bag of his balls. He wrapped his arms around her thighs, lifted her behind clear of the bed. The dome of his prick nuzzled gently at her divide, jabbed and jabbed, slid along the groove of her labia, then his hard fingers were scrabbling, pulling at her, opening her, and the thick helm drove in, forced its entrance into her damp yielding narrowness, penetrated further, burning, stretching her, possessing.
	He plunged furiously, stabbed into her until their pelvic bones clashed, and her body arched, her slender throat turned up. This time she did scream, in sharp torment, and the pale figure slumped in the chair stiffened, and shuddered in sympathy. Then Vee stared again, in helpless fascination, watched the beauty of her husband's thrusting body, the deep hollows of his clenching buttocks, the brown thighs clamped to his side, the feet waving in response to every driving lunge.
	It was soon over, though to the watching Vee it seemed as if time had stopped altogether in that weirdly sunny room. He pulled himself clear of Ruth and collapsed in heaving relaxation for a while.
	Then he knelt, and slowly untied the thin wrists, moving aside and flinging her roughly to the floor. "Get out!" he snarled. Ruth was weeping softly. Vee couldn't see her face, the dark head was lowered as, whimpering quietly, she clutched at her bits of clothing and left the room.
	"Now for you!"
	He was standing. Her eyes were drawn to his penis, hanging now, but still elongated, still gleaming with the juices of his emission.
	"Get over the bed. Here!" He did not tie her down. Instead, he made her crouch, almost kneeling, at the side of the bed, her feet on the rug, her bottom lifted high for his chastisement. "Keep still!" She did her best, though she convulsed at the first scorching explosion of pain across her behind, Her fingers were claws driven deep into the bed cover, she bit savagely at the counterpane to muffle her screams, and forced herself down for the second blow. The fire blazed again, she felt the rise of vomit in her throat, but, somehow, she stayed down, crucified, her arms outspread, her body trembling violently.
	She tried to welcome the agony, to meet it, knowing how well it was deserved, but she was blubbering, pleading dementedly for mercy before the fifth strike descended. Her bottom was on fire, it felt hugely swollen, she was sure the skin must split under the intensity of the punishment. Her mind fogged, drifted on the red mists of infinite pain, until she became aware that the burn was steady, the throbbing no longer punctuated by those crackling bursts of new spasms.
	When at last she could move enough to lift her pounding head from the mattress, to climb stiffly to her feet, she saw that she was alone, the only sound her muted whimpers in the sun filled silence.



3

The colour everywhere was over the top, from the first huge blood orange disc of the dawn sun lifting out of Lake Victoria, blazoning the water into the brilliance of stained glass as the plane roared a few feet above its surface. Startling redness of the earth, roads like livid scars scratched over the brilliant tropical greenery. From the fairy tale Mercedes complete with dazzle-toothed, handsome driver, they saw the unreal backdrop of ragged banana fronds, looking like paper models made by school children. The huge, fringed leaves thrust to the very doors of the chocolate mud huts with their painfully glaring tin roofs.
	The people caught her breath with their smiling, brown-skinned beauty. She was not prepared for it. She had expected fearful ugliness, thick lipped, sore crusted dirt. Not this serene, dignified beauty. The women especially. The bandanas and the puff-sleeved Mother Hubbard dresses, voluminous, in a riot of floral print, should have been ridiculous. Instead, they were magnificently graceful. The liquid dark eyes, the smooth facial characteristics, the finely formed features, gave the young women loveliness, the older ones majesty. The close cropped kinked hair took nothing from the swelling round of the skull, which swept up perfectly from the long slender neck, with the pure curve of a question mark.
	And their figures, the round ripeness of their breasts plainly on show under the low, simple, square cut bosom. The schoolgirls were stunning, for their short, pastel coloured dresses clung to their figures, hugging the proud, high jut of their buttocks. Magnificent bottoms, Vee thought, with unenvious admiration. Rippling so exquisitely, so different from the tight, nipped in whites, her own almost flat haunches.
	Still liberally stained with the fading autumnal colours of the bruising covering her behind, which squirmed uncomfortably, sweatily, under the nylon tights, and the briefs which seemed to have disappeared up the cleft, they sped that first morning the thirty kilometres from the airport to the capital. They had dressed for a chilly English evening. She could see Keith's red neck, his fingers plucking at the dark tie, the limp white collar. In his dark suit he looked as alien to the vivid scene outside as she felt.
	The whole atmosphere made her head spin with its unreal quality. She had been feeling like this for days, almost spectral as she moved through the mechanics of the departure. Strongest of all was the emotion that she was so lucky to be here at all. She had thought that he would want nothing more to do with her, would discard her, and the thought filled her with terror, for she could not see any life for her without him. She had been astonished, and sobbingly grateful, therefore, when she found that she was to be given another chance.
	Of course, things were different. Vastly so. The disgust she had expected was there. He made no attempt to hide it. Quite the opposite. He flayed her with his tongue, just as he had flayed her backside with the brush. The love which he had shown for her two years before seemed to have vanished. But she was his, his possession, and he would not let her go. That was the main thing, the thing for which she rejoiced tearfully, enduring his disgust, his contempt for her.
	For a while she had been unable to bear even the lightest contact on her blistered skin, unable to sit, or lie on her back, or wear clothing of any kind next to her bottom. She wore a tank top and trainers only, or the rubber thonged flip flops, perversely roused by her lower nudity once she realised he was not going to send her away. She hungered for him, hoped he would use her, fuck her as savagely as he had Ruth. Her fevered mind kept on rerunning the scene of the coupling, like a blue movie.
	He wouldn't touch her. She didn't expect tenderness, or forgiveness, but she hoped that he would take her for his own savage pleasure. The days - and nights - passed. Their last evening in the flat came. Tomorrow, they would travel down to her parents' for the last couple of days before their flight. Before he came in, she bathed, and rubbed herself with perfumed oil, did her hair carefully, used the light touches of make up to her best advantage. She wore the outrageous, transparent red teddy, edged with black lace, he had bought her last Christmas, and over it her diaphanous blue negligee.
	Her body was taut with desire, her fingers itched to caress herself, to bring some relief, but she fought against her urge. She would beg him to fuck her, plead for him to use her as his slave, for that was what she deserved. The curl of his lip, the icy contempt she read in his gaze when he saw her, brought the tears which were never far from the surface.
	"Don't you want me for anything?" she asked humbly, after she had waited on him while he ate.
	Her heart began to beat wildly when she saw the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. She followed him through to the living room. "Yes," he said. "You can service me. Perhaps it'll cure you of your obvious hatred for what men have got." He sprawled on the sofa, pointed to the bulge she could see at his crotch, and she knew at once what he meant.
	She knelt eagerly, her unsteady fingers plucking at the zip fastener, drawing it down, ferreting delicately at the tight fold of his underpants, until, with some difficulty, she slid his hot penis out through the narrow slit. It was mightily swollen already, the veined column thickening, throbbing, the red helm emerging from the rim of foreskin. Its tiny mouth was agleam with juice. She slipped her thumb and fingers round the base of the glans, stroked gently, and shivered as she felt it leap at her touch, harden. Her wrist moved rhythmically until it was jutting from his clothing rigidly.
	She moved, brushing aside her soft hair from her face as she bent forward and reverently kissed the glistening tip of his prick with her lips. Her tongue flickered out uncertainly, lapped at the tangy emission coating the helm. Again, she shivered, felt a deep, corresponding throbbing in her own loins. She opened her lips, her mouth formed a wide 0 and she took the head inside, sucking deeply, letting her mouth slide as far down the rearing column as she could, until she was choking at its girth stretching her jaws.
	She withdrew with a loud plop, gasping for air. His prick was shining along the shaft now, where she had wetted him. She tugged at his pants, made a small mew of pleading, and he raised himself off the cushion a little, so that she could fight the trousers, and briefs, down off his hips and upper thighs. He moaned softly, shuddered, as her head pressed into his lap, her fingers and tongue stroked the yeasty softness of his testicles, before returning to work at the splendid rearing column of his penis which was straining up now.
	She was near to coming herself, painfully excited as she bent low, kissing at the soaring prick, the smooth thighs and belly, the nest of dark curls. She half hoped he would seize her, brutally drag her onto her back and plunge his weapon into her running, gaping orifice.
	She could feel his thighs trembling against the softness of her mashed breasts as she leaned heavily into him. She licked the spongy tissue of the dome as it reared up, moved over her thrusting face. She rimmed the edge of the helm, lapped at the flange where it met the hard veined column straining under her palm. Jaws agape, she took him in her mouth once more. It filled her, surging, pressing chokingly until she gagged. The breath whistled through her flared nostrils.
	All at once, she felt his fingers dig mercilessly into her head, driving her down, while his belly lifted, thrusting him even deeper into her. Drops of sweat rolled down her forehead, beaded wetly on her nose and cheeks. His fingers, twisted in her damp hair, imprisoned her. Her nose was buried in his pubic curls. She fought up, then plunged down again, his flesh driven against the back of her throat. She was vaguely conscious of her own wetness rubbing and sliding on her inner thighs. She was shivering on the brink of orgasm.
	A last second fear gripped her at the sudden spasm which shook him, passed through her at the mighty eruption which burst from him. She jerked her mouth free instinctively at the first potent spurt thickly filling her, then, in an agony of frustration at her own withdrawal, licked greedily at the pumping semen, from the mid section of his column, held by her knuckles, up to the purple, shining dome, where his fluid spilt milkily over its surface onto her searching face.
	Somehow, swallowing convulsively, she pulled away, ran through to the kitchen to hang over the sink, spitting and hawking, then swilling out her mouth, rinsing her face under the tap. When she returned he was dressed again.
	"Quite a sword swallower, aren't you?" he mocked. "You've got so many talents you've kept hidden from me. You're a first class slag!"
	Head bowed, she took his scorn submissively, as always. Strangely, she felt cleansed, relaxed. Almost serene.
	After that, he had no more contact with her, but she waited patiently. During the first hectic days after their arrival in Africa, she had plenty to occupy her. She had a new and, she soon realised, vital role to play - the company wife, youthful, keen, the perfect partner for the bright young rising star they all clearly thought Keith would be. She threw herself into the part gratefully, in spite of all her inner trepidation. She found that her youthful good looks, her air of naivety almost, was an asset which she manipulated to the full. Even the other women were keen to take her under their wing, and saw no threat in her vulnerable, winsome beauty.

It didn't take Vee long to sense the under currents of gossipy intrigue, the hints of scandal. There was a powerful sexual presence in the air, very different from back home. The sun was a decisive factor. It stirred their European coldness, through their clothing to the startled bareness beneath, making one aware of the body, of tactile sensations, as never before. One soon grew to love it, to be seduced by it. Vee understood after only a very brief exposure how expatriates were won over. The sense of release it brought, of freedom from shackling values they had left behind in their escape from home.
	Keith was away all day, and, once they had settled in, for long nights as well, for his work, particularly in the first weeks, involved long safaris upcountry to familiarise himself with the work and the territory. She lay out in the garden of their luxurious bungalow. The sun burned through to her very centre. She felt it touch the base of her belly, envisaged her sex flowering, opening like the fluted pistil of some exotic, solitary plant. She felt herself to be expectantly waiting, damply ready to receive.
	Her admiration of the rich milk chocolate shade of the local Baganda people war extended, widened, to take in the more exotic darkness of the northern tribes, who, in the office blocked, car laden context of the city, in European suits, white collared and necktied, seemed even stranger, but whose burnished skin, hairless and sheened in sweat, moving to the ripple of spare muscle and corded sinew as displayed by the shamba boys, rhythmically swinging the sickle in their graceful cutting of the short grass, hidden only at the loins by a ragged pair of patched and holed khaki shorts, made her breathlessly weak with desire, hollow bellied with yearning at their savage beauty.
	The pungent alien odour of their bodies gripped her until she felt she could faint, and she dreamt of placing her parted lips reverently on that shining surface, tasting that beaded sweat, and losing herself in the animal power of that black flesh, that shone with a mystical, almost bluish tinge to its velvetness.
	Like her compatriots, the other 'memsa'abs', she became freer in her manner around them, beginning to treat them as true servants, displaying the familiarities which emphasised their inferiority. Menya, their houseboy, brought her morning tea in bed, long after Keith had left for his office. He unfailingly entered at the instant he tapped on the door, with his cheerful cry of, "Jambo, memsa'ab!", his eyes taking in her breasts before she pulled the sheet up to cover them.
	He brought the drinks out to the terrace at the back of the bungalow, where, when alone, she sunbathed naked. Following the convention of what was acceptable between mistress and houseboy, she could roll over onto her stomach to lie with her legs pressed together, for to present one's naked back view to a known and trusted house servant was well within the bounds of decency. "Are you showing him your bare arse yet?" She heard that question put at a club dance as an estimate of the worthiness of a cook-houseboy.
	She was sure Menya watched her surreptitiously from the living room, and she also had the feeling that Charles, the shamba boy, spied on her, too, despite her orders that while she sunbathed he should confine his work to the front of the huge garden that surrounded the long, red tiled bungalow.



4

Sex was palpably in the air at the club dances, when everyone drank too much, and, on the dimness of the floor, or the recesses of the wide veranda, bodies pressed and writhed together, hands cupped and caressed and probed in the acceptable eroticism of the music.
	The men were decorous at first with Vee. They behaved with a cute gallantry long gone from the social scene at home and tried to impress her with easy going schoolboyish charm, or laconic white hunter ruggedness. It was the fourth week before one put a palm on her bottom, another nibbled her ear, another pressed her thigh with an impressive erection. Then it seemed de rigeur, these moments of intense, repressed passion among the swaying anonymity of the other clutching figures.
	She watched discreetly. Keith was soon a groper with the best of them. She was surprised to discover she did not feel jealous. What if he were more than just a groper? What if he were one of the army of adulterers who letched their way over the continent, according to prurient women's lore? Even more surprisingly, she found herself secretly titillated by the thought. She even justified it in her convoluted reasoning. After all, their own sex life, if you could call it that, was far from the norm. And whose fault is that? she accused herself. If it hadn't been for her touch of lesbianism, things would have been vastly different.

Gerard and Mary Waters were a couple very like themselves, so Vee thought in her innocence. They became particularly friendly. It was Mary she was the more attracted to, to begin with. She was a dark haired beauty, with a foreign, Mediterranean look about her, and a flashing eyed, tomboyish vibrancy that Vee found strongly appealing and strongly reminiscent of Ruth. Zealously, she pushed this last disturbing thought away whenever it occurred. All right! So she liked the woman! There was nothing wrong with that, was there? It was natural for women to feel close to one another, to strike up a rapport. And any more deviant feelings she harboured, she would suppress, bury so deep they would never surface again.
	At first, heart beating rapidly, Vee wondered if Mary was hiding lesbian inclinations herself. After one of their tennis knock-ups at the club - Mary was far too skilful for Vee to take her on in any real contest, and the pretty, dark haired figure would move around at tolerant half speed on court, while Vee ended up a limp, crimson faced wreck, agleam with sweat - Mary would strip off quite unselfconsciously in the shower and casually invite her to 'do my back for me', or offer to do the same for Vee.
	Mary would sit on the narrow wooden bench, still naked, one dainty foot drawn up to the back of her thigh, the heel resting on the wooden top, and chat for long minutes before reaching for her clothing.
	She would talk in the most intimate terms. The time came when she suddenly leaned back and, lifting her belly to Vee, chuckled. "Do you know, I have to trim it every few days. I swear, if I didn't it'd be down to my knees in no time!"
	"You're gorgeous!" Vee burst out, then blushed for shame. But Mary didn't seem to notice anything untoward. Then, moved by an impulse suddenly too powerful to control, and by Mary's naked, gleaming proximity, Vee grabbed her in an embrace, plastering her own taller frame against Mary's and covering her lips with a gentle but clearly passionate kiss.
	What came next happened with equal swiftness. Vee squealed as she felt thin, long nailed fingers seize her by the streaming tendrils of her pubic hair, and tug until the skin beneath lifted like elastic. At the same instant, the thumb and forefinger of the other hand pincered Vee's tiny, pale pink nipple on her left breast and squeezed until the yelp was drawn out to a wail of agony, The fingers of both hands began to twist until Vee found herself kneeling, doubled over on the spattering tiles, gasping for breath against the pain which filled her eyes with tears.
	She sobbed and rubbed at herself when Mary finally released her, remained huddled on the wet floor of the cubicle. Mary was standing over her.
	"Come on! Out you get!"
	Snivelling quietly, unable to meet her gaze, Vee obeyed. Her toes curled with embarrassment, she felt ready to die with shame. And sudden fear. "Please - I'm sorry! I don't know what came over me! I didn't mean -"
	"Yes, you did, you little dike! I had no idea you were that way!"
	In the midst of her panic, Vee was surprised at the equanimity with which Mary spoke. "I'm not! I mean - I've never -"
	"I don't believe you, you little liar!" Mary gave a low, bubbling laugh. "And with a dishy guy like Keith, too! Well well!"
	The panic caught at Vee's throat. "Oh please!" she babbled, "Please don't say anything! Don't tell a soul! I couldn't bear it! Not even - don't tell Gerard, please! He might mention - I don't want Keith to find out. He'd - I couldn't bear it if he knew!"
	The tears came, faster than ever.
	"Hey, all right! I'd say don't get your knickers in a twist if you were wearing any! I won't tell anybody," she continued, her light tone contrasting with the content of her speech, "but if you ever try anything like that with me again, sugar, I won't just nip you. I'll tear your snatch and your tits clean off, OK?"
	Later, when she had recovered from her fright, Vee began to simmer with resentment at Mary's rejection of her. Especially as it was the first time she had given way to the yearning she had kept successfully bottled inside her for so long. Right! she thought grimly, I'll show you if I'm gay or not! Somehow, she found herself including Keith in her vindictive challenge.
	And that was really the point when her affair with Gerard started. Perhaps it was because he was Mary's husband. He had put his hand on her bottom, and his tongue half way down her throat, on the dance floor, as, no doubt, Keith had with Mary. After all, the four of them were an item. It was par for the course. But she knew he was willing, and eager, to go further. And quickly picked up her signals that she was ready, too.
	The fear was there, it was very real. But it was a sick part of the thrill. One night, as they were getting ready for bed after a long session down at the club, her heart thumping, she asked Keith: "Do you fancy Mary?"
	He had had quite a lot to drink - they both had - and he grinned lasciviously. "Course I do! She's very shagworthy!"
	Vee strove to keep her voice light, to hide the tremor. "I reckon she fancies you!"
	"Oh yeah? She tell you, did she?"
	"Not in so many words, but I can tell. You must know it, too."
	"You reckon I should try it on then?" he grinned. He pushed off his pants, flipped his underpants down and kicked them clear of his feet half way across the room. He fell back naked on top of the coverlet. She gazed at his penis, thick, brown, stirring slightly as it lay in the crease of belly and thigh. His skin was very white across his loins where his trunks had protected it from the sun's rays, in marked contrast to the honey tan of the rest of his lean body, and the dark brown bush of his pubis.
	He lifted himself up on his elbow, his face transforming into the sneer she was so familiar with in private. "Hey! Is this one of your kinky ideas? You want me to fuck her, do you?"
	"How do I know you haven't?" she snapped before she could prevent herself.
	He gave a harsh barking laugh. "How do I know you haven't?"
	She felt the crimson tide sweep up from her neck, and her eyes stung with tears. She turned hastily away lest he should see the effect his cruel remark had made, and sense the guilt his accusation had engendered.
	"We could go in for a spot of wife swapping, eh?" The ugly grin had returned. "But that's a bit unfair on poor old Gerard, isn't it? He'd be rather left out in the cold, wouldn't he? And I can't imagine the delicious Mary would be able to keep both of us going, do you?"
	He grunted, lay back, folding his hands behind his head. He drew his knees up and let them fall slackly open. His prick, roused by the direction of their talk and his thoughts, stirred, lifted and lobbed onto his belly, growing to a semi erection.
	"Anyway, come and do your duty. Put your mouth to a better use than talking the load of shit it usually does!"
	"I'm tired!" she pouted, and a thrill shot through her at her defiance. She was startled at the speed with which he leapt up, despite his drunkenness, and grabbed at her. She was still wearing bra and briefs. He seized her by the waist and flung her face down across the wide bed.
	"You're getting far too big for your britches these days, memsa'ab! Time I took you in hand again!"
	He clawed her knickers down off her behind, left them tangled round the backs of her knees as she started to struggle. Her feet flailed, drummed the coverlet and she yelped at the first stinging blow with his open palm on her clenching bottom.
	"Don't!" She screamed at each fierce burn. He slapped rapidly, with all his strength, until his hand was ringing and her buttocks were a livid red over most of their surface. She was sobbing abandonedly, imploring his mercy.
	Eventually he did stop. She scrambled up, clawing and rubbing at the hot cheeks. The tiny white knickers slipped down to her ankles as she stood there, tears pouring, massaging her throbbing behind. He lay back, assuming his earlier pose again.
	"Now then, slag! Do as you're told."
	She kicked off her pants, reached behind and snapped open her bra, shrugging it clear of her breasts. She knelt, bent low over him until her hair brushed his belly and thighs. She rolled his prick between her palms, pushed it up onto his belly, held it there while she lapped delicately at the red helm with the tip of her tongue. She felt it beat and leap to restirring Life. Her fingers seized the hot shaft, moved up and down and it leapt again, stiffening to attention. The tears still on her cheeks, she lifted her head, knelt up, between his splayed thighs, pushing her fleece covered mound against his rearing penis, which she still held tightly. She rubbed its glistening tip over her bush, then touched it to the very divide of her own pulsing sex lips.
	"Don't you want to fuck me?" she whispered hoarsely, thrusting out her belly in blatant invitation.
	He reared up, his fingers wound savagely in her tangled hair, and dragged her head down mercilessly to his lifting flesh. She felt the wet tip of his rigid prick stab brutally into her face. "Why would I want to fuck a perv like you?" Sobbing, she stretched her mouth wide and took in the massive helm to her warm wetness.

"Thank you, Menya. You can go now."
	"Ndio, memsa'ab." She blushed hotly. Was it merely her hypersensitive guilt which read that leering complicity in his gap toothed grin? After he had put down the tray of drinks, the houseboy left. They heard the kitchen door clash noisily, his singing as he made his way up the garden to the servants' quarters. Now that the moment had finally come, Vee felt empty and sick inside. She stared with wide eyed misery at Gerard.
	"What if he tells Keith you called?"
	"Of course he won't!" Gerard answered, a shade too emphatically. "Why should he? They don't give a damn what we get up to. The servants haven't a clue, and couldn't care less." He stood, reached down and seized her hand impatiently. "Come on. You're supposed to enjoy this."
	She let him pull her to her feet. Her sandals had slipped off, she stared down at her painted toes, felt the cool of the polished cement floor on her bare soles. "You sound as if you want to get it over as quick as possible," she said. Her voice trembled, betraying the tightness of her tone.
	"Nonsense!" he growled. "I just want to get it started as quickly as possible!"
	It was even worse at first, when they got along to the bedroom. Her bedroom. Hers and Keith's. "We've never - made love in here!" she said shakily. "Not properly." She gazed white faced at Gerard. Tears ran silently down her cheeks. He was staring disbelievingly at her.
	"To hell with it!" She reached for the buttons on her blouse, undid them with clumsy fingers. Then she unhitched the waistband of the wide, flowered skirt, let it drift to her feet and stepped out of it. She was wearing one of her finest sets of underclothes. A flimsy scrap of a bra, of fine net edged with lace. The tiny nipples and their surrounds showed mistily through the material, as did the dark triangle of her pubis through the filmy cover of the mini briefs.
	He was quickly naked, and she moved into his arms.
	"Finish undressing me," she whispered, and folded limply into his arms. He stripped away the last scraps of clothing and they came together, rolling, clinging, limbs enfolding, on top of the covers, their mouths locked endlessly together.
	As a lover, he was no disappointment. She had wondered, with genuine fear, how she would feel about giving herself to another man. About being unfaithful to her husband, for, somehow, she could not count her loving with Ruth as an infidelity towards Keith. But this, letting another man possess her, enter her, fuck her! That was a true betrayal, of the man she thought she still loved, in spite of his brutal treatment of her.
	It was a love he no longer merited, she told herself. He was tormenting her, treating her as his slave, the lowest of the low, refusing even to carry out his marital duties. But, argued that insidious inner voice, didn't you vow that was all you wanted, to be his slave? To be used and abused by him?
	And what about that other betrayal? she cried pathetically to herself. She had revealed herself, that hidden, secret, innermost part of her that no one even guessed at, to Mary, trustingly offered the unique sweetness, the treasure of her love. And had been brutally rejected, too, as painfully as her husband's blistering thrashing of her tender flesh. They deserved what she was doing to them, both of them.
	In the event, all such cloudy speculations fell away. Excitement, pure physical sensation, the thrill of loving and being loved, of exploring and discovering the raptures of possessing a new body, of being possessed, drove thought itself from her. When at last she returned from the timeless pinnacles of bliss their loving brought, she wondered dimly if it was mere convention or an acknowledgement of truth that made her cling to him with tender passion and murmur, "Oh God, Gerard! It's never been like this for me! I swear to God! I love you, my darling!"

Above the red roofed house, Menya and Charles, the shamba boy, were sitting outside the quarters sharing an afternoon mug of tea. The houseboy gazed down at Gerard's unimposing blue Toyota parked discreetly round the side of the house, where it had rested for the past two and a half hours. He nodded towards it. "Memsa'ab na Bwana Gerardi - fanya jig-a-jig!" He held up his forearm, fist clenched, in parody of another part of the male anatomy, and shook his head in worldly wise amusement.



5

"You devious scheming little slut! Take my husband, would you!"
	Mary, crackling and flashing sparks of fury, came bounding through the door into the living room and launched herself at Vee in one flowing movement. Vee started to rise, with that stomach churning hollowness, but was sent flying back in a bundle onto the lumpy bright cushions of the cane sofa. She had little chance to defend herself, and, in any case, put up only a feeble resistance.
	She was no fighter, had accepted her physical cowardice from childhood. Her efforts now, weak as they were, stemmed from a purely instinctive desire to protect herself from serious bodily harm.
	She held her arms up, trying to ward off the vicious blows of her attacker, then those raking nails. She felt her newly washed hair seized and yanked agonisingly as Mary dragged her off the low couch to the thin Belgian carpet. There was a loud ripping, and her dress was torn open all the way down its front. It hung in two streaming tatters from her shoulders, until Mary wrenched it clear from her sprawling frame. The open sandals flew from the kicking feet and Vee, clad now only in the flimsy underwear she had donned in the excited expectation of a rendezvous with her lover, endeavoured to curl up into a ball to make herself as small a target as possible in the devastating whirl of fury which had descended on her.
	Nails clawed a furrowing path down the side of her neck and shoulder, and she felt the bra strap go, then the lacy cup slip from her left breast. The merciless fingers seized the dangling strip of cloth, wrenched at it. Vee felt the remnants of the garment biting into her skin until they too yielded and flew apart, and she was huddling bare breasted, her only cover the tiny scrap of gauzy lace covering her pubic triangle.
	At this point, Menya, alerted by Vee's shrieks and Mary's sobbing vituperation, managed to seize the frenzied figure doing her best to tear his memsa'ab to pieces with her bare hands and, flinging his arms about the slender waist, finally succeeded in plucking her clear of the prone and practically naked form.
	He bore Mary's threshing body backwards, held her in a vice like grip, clear of the ground, while her brown legs kicked helplessly at the air. Eventually, her struggles subsided, and she hung limply, heaving with her sobs.
	"Let me go! I won't touch her!" Suspiciously, watching her every move in case she relaunched her attack, Menya released Mary, placing himself between the two women.
	Vee was still stretched out on the carpet, her face hidden in her arms, racked by loud sobs. "I'll leave your husband to beat the living shit out of you!" Mary gasped, and turned on her heel.
	These words, penetrating as they did through Vee's dazed shock and fright, galvanised her into life. She sprang up, with an even louder wail of distress, and raced after the slim figure. Oblivious of Charles's pop eyed stare, Vee hobbled over the rough Tarmac of the drive, to grab frantically at Mary's arm as she made to get into her car.
	"Please!" Vee wept hysterically. "I beg you, don't tell Keith! I'll do anything! Anything, I swear. I'm so sorry - please."
	Mary's hand shot out once more, the fingers hooking into Vee's disarrayed hair, and twisted it cruelly about her palm. She forced Vee down onto her knees, where she stayed, whimpering in pain and terror, for what seemed an age, while Mary glared down at her. Mary's brown eyes, luminous with tears, shone with a murderous power.
	"You'll be hearing from me!" she hissed with intense venom.
	Then she flung Vee back with all her might, sending her sprawling on the gritty, hot surface. The car door banged, the engine roared, and Vee lay there, watching the car's disappearance through the dancing tears.
	She was scarcely aware of Charles and Menya's solicitous and far too lingeringly familiar hands on her flesh as they helped her to her feet and assisted her back inside. It wasn't until she felt the material of the carpet under her feet as she stood in the middle of the living room that she realised her virtually nude state and their eager gaze, as well as their clutching hands on her bare skin and stumbled blindly away, towards the privacy of the locked bathroom.
	All at once, she was aware of all the aches, the stinging scratches, and the red marks where Mary's furious blows had landed. She ran a bath, filled it with fragrant essence, slipped off the tiny briefs and slid with weary thankfulness under the foam. She was almost numb with the suddenness of the calamity which had befallen her.
	And yet, now that it had happened, she believed she had been waiting all along for it to happen, waiting all through the three months of her affair with Gerard. There was an inevitability about it. Even the danger of discovery had seemed like a powerful aphrodisiac, spurring them on, in spite of all the obvious risks. You couldn't keep a secret. Not for that long. Not in the enclosed incestuous atmosphere of the expatriate community.
	Yet, now that it had happened, she was totally unprepared for the frightening gulf she saw in front of her. She knew how awful Keith's rage would be. Yet, oddly enough, it was not the thought of his physical punishment which terrified her most. No, indeed. Rather, it gave rise to an altogether more shameful, secret sensation, which made her touch herself, caressingly, between her legs, her knees lifting to break through the whirling peaks of the foam. The physical pain he would doubtless mete out to her was at least a sign of passion, proof that she could still raise some storm of emotion within him.
	But, afterwards, would surely come banishment this time. He would send her away, for good. That was the terror which stared at her, with such dread blankness. And it was a sentence which she had brought about entirely at her own volition, like some involuntary, masochistic hunger to afflict pain upon herself.
	Keith was away on safari, and Vee spent a wretched, almost sleepless night, sick with foreboding. She lay listlessly in bed all the next morning. He was not due to return until that evening. Menya hovered about, bringing her frequent cups of coffee, enquiring if she was all right. "Me no say nothing. Tell nothing," he offered solicitously, standing by her bedside. Under the single sheet, which she clutched about her breast, she was more than usually conscious of her nudity, for she was wearing her usual night garb, which consisted only of one of Keith's pyjama jackets, open as always.
	She smiled wanly, made no reply. Was he genuinely attempting to comfort her, or was this the opening round in a negotiated blackmail whose demands would grow more and more outrageous as time passed? It scarcely mattered, she thought wearily. There was no way Keith was not going to hear about it as soon as Mary could get in touch with him. That's if he did not suspect something from the finger marks and bruises on her forearms, as well as those on her hips and other parts of her body where she had been dashed to the floor. And there were the triple red furrows running diagonally from the base of her neck across her shoulder. Would she be able to disguise them sufficiently for him not to notice? And was it worth it, trying to conceal what must all too soon be revealed? Better to make a clean breast of it as soon as he arrived home.
	However, her courage failed her at the thought. She would rather endure an extra hour or two of sickening anxiety than bring his wrath down upon her guilty head by her own admission.
	So she said nothing when he returned, hot and dusty, irritable with weariness and evincing little interest in her or her doings. Decently covered in a thin polo necked jumper and jeans, she pleaded menstrual pains and headache when he suggested they pop down to the club for a few drinks after dinner. He seemed content enough to go alone, leaving her to stew in her sickening juice for more long hours, imagining a stormy scene of confrontation with Mary in the bar.
	She dug out a cotton nightie and was hunched at her side of the bed in assumed slumber when he returned shortly after midnight. She could smell the beery breath. He grunted and muttered as he quickly undressed, but made no effort to come near her. He was soon snoring while she lay and wept yet again for her sins in the heavy dark.
	He was up and off to work at the usual time next morning. She lay tensely, listening to him moving around in the bathroom, feigned sleep once more when he came to dress before his solitary breakfast. She sighed with relief at the sound of his car driving away. She was sitting up in bed when Menya knocked and entered, could not meet his gaze as he stared at the modest nightie.
	Bitterly, she decided that Mary was exacting a cruel vengeance by making her wait, sweat it out like this. She wanted to pluck up the courage to jump in her car and drive round there. Anything rather than this terrible tension of waiting for the bomb to go off. But, again, her nerve failed her.
	As it was, she did not have to wait much longer. The phone rang at about eleven o' clock, when she was still lying in bed, apathetic now, dozing, failing to concentrate her mind on anything. Mary's voice, low, cold with perfect control, was at her ear.
	"You said you'd do anything to keep Keith from finding out, that right?"
	"Oh, yes, God, Mary, I will!" Vee gabbled tearfully, her heart turning with relief. "Whatever you want!"
	"Good! You're going to be put to the test, my dear. You fail to do exactly as you're told from now on and I'll get straight to that poor sap of a husband of yours, understood?"
	"Yes, oh yes!" Vee gasped fervently. Then, as Mary's crisp tones continued, Vee's mouth dropped open. She blinked in total disbelief.
	"What?" she stammered, her head reeling. "I can't do that!"
	Mary gave a harsh laugh. "See? You're wasting my time, cow! Now!" She repeated her orders, while Vee gaped numbly at the receiver. She began to cry, sniffling into the mouth piece, and Mary swore with brief pungency. At last Vee laid the receiver on the pillow and, moving as though in a dream, climbed out of bed. Slowly, she drew the nightie off over her head, knelt on the rug, feeling the cool hardness pressing through the thin rush matting. She kept her thighs primly together, stared at their brown shapeliness, the light thatch of her pubes between them . She cleared her throat, tried to shout, coughed, and tried again.
	"Menya! Menya! Come here, kuja hapa!"
	She heard his sandalled feet slop-slopping down the corridor, smelt his pleasant odour of toilet soap and tobacco. Heard him gasp, felt the stillness as he gazed at her kneeling nakedness. A sob shook her shoulders, she could not look at him. "Memsa'ab Mary," she whispered faintly. "She wants to speak with you. On the phone." She nodded at the black receiver lying on the crumpled white pillow.
	His yellow, smoky eyes were popping out all the while as he listened to the incisive voice in his ear, and nodded rapidly at the stream of clear instructions. "Ndio, memsa'ab. Ndio." He handed the phone back to Vee, who was kneeling in the same position, her buttocks resting on her heels, her arms folded modestly over her breasts.
	"Lie down on your back on the bed. Do exactly as Menya tells you!" Mary ordered.
	Vee began to sob once more. "Please - he'll ruh - rape me!"
	Mary laughed harshly. "That'll be the day. Other way round, more like. No he won't," she continued impatiently. "I've told him exactly what will happen to him if he tries anything on. Just do as you're told. If you don't want Keith to find out!"
	Her body heaving with her weeping, Vee did as she was bidden, spreading herself out on top of the covers. Menya was rummaging in her drawers, pulling out her bundled tights and stockings. He used these to bind her wrists to the top corners of the bed, then her spread-eagled ankles to the bottom corners. Vee was agonisingly conscious of the gaping display of her sexual parts, the rough scratch of his fingers on her limbs, the masculine powerfulness of his proximity as he bent over her. Yet he was almost as much a victim as she was, bound by Mary's implacable commands. He stood, picked up the discarded receiver, spoke rumblingly into it, nodded once more. He cradled the phone on Vee's bare shoulder, so that she could both hear and reply.
	"Comfy?" Mary chuckled lasciviously, listening to Vee's wretched weeping. "Now, just lie there and think of what a decadent little slut you are. And to think you had me fooled by that little lesbian ploy in the showers! My God! I owe you for that one, my sweet!"
	"Please, Mary!" Vee blubbered, panic stricken. "What's going to happen? What if Keith comes back? What -" There was another deep laugh and the receiver was replaced. Menya was still standing over her. He heard the click, and the ensuing silence. He picked the plastic receiver delicately from Vee's neck and put it in its cradle. After one last encompassing stare at her proffered nakedness, he turned and left.
	Vee lay there. At first, she was unable to prevent herself from tugging against the restraints, and quickly realised how efficiently they had been tied. Her ankles chafed as she struggled to close her legs, and her helplessness was both a cruel punishment and a wicked temptation. In spite of her fear and distress, she could feel the growing beat of insidious excitement in her loins, sending its wicked impulses through to every nerve end. She stared up unseeingly through her tears at the white plaster of the ceiling, while the room filled and grew hot with the strong morning sunlight.
	Her mind drifted, fantasising, until she was brought sharply back to awareness by a sudden choked off snort, and she raised her head, to see both Menya and Charles crowding in the doorway, staring avidly at her. "Go away!" she wailed. Again the bonds burned at her tender skin as she instinctively tried to hide herself.
	"No speak!" Menya answered gruffly. "Memsa'ab very bad. Jig-a-jig. Very bad!' He shook his finger admonishingly, and he and Charles burst into laughter. It was a long while before they moved away, but at least they did not offer to touch her. Only later did she realise what a tribute this was to Mary's authority and to that of the wealthy expatriates in this society.
	She began to wonder if it was Mary's intention that she should be left for Keith to find when he returned from work that evening. Her reflections were disturbed by the sound of a car engine approaching down the drive, and her heart thudded in terror. Keith never came home for lunch! What was he doing here? She heard Menya call out, heard the brief rumble of a male voice answering. Footsteps coming along the corridor. She froze, staring mutely at the doorway.
	In which Gerard appeared!
	"Oh, thank God!" Vee burst out, sobbing abandonedly with relief as she writhed against the bonds.
	To her amazement, Gerard did not greet her, but, his face looking almost as distraught as she felt, he went straight to the phone at the bedside, and dialled a number. "I'm here now." Vee heard a female voice buzzing. She recognised Mary's crisp incisiveness as Gerard laid the receiver down on the locker's top, then hastily began to strip off his clothing.
	His penis, swollen thickly, was lobbing in the early stages of arousal. His fingers grasped it, gave a series of quick, savage tugs as he knelt between her thighs and brought himself to full hardness.
	"Jesus! No, Gerard! You can't -"
	He picked up the phone again. "I'm ready!"
	His expression changed to one of deep disappointment as he listened, and she saw how his penis immediately deflated.
	"No!" he said. "Oh no!"
	More words hissed down the wire, and in obedience to them he untied Vee's ankles and pulled her right leg up over her head and outwards, retied the ankle to the bed post in its new and more obscene position. Then the left. Next he eased her hips forward so that her bottom was raised, leaving her to stare up at him in dread through her legs.
	Her dread increased as he drew the broad leather belt from his discarded shorts.
	He picked up the phone again.
	"How many, dear?" he asked, as he placed the phone where her screams would best be heard.



6

Ensnared in her new illicit relationship, this time a unique triangular affair, Vee was once more filled with a sense of impending disaster, waiting for the storm clouds to break at what she saw as the inevitability of Keith's discovery.
	Surely he could not go on for much longer being blind to Menya's insolently familiar air towards her, to say nothing of his and Charles's lascivious mental stripping of her every time their lingering gaze fell upon her? And, worse, her agonising embarrassment when she and Keith were in the company of Mary and Gerard.
	To her shame, she recognised the fierce excitement she derived from her involvement, and the total subservience towards Mary which the dark haired girl enforced.
	She didn't know which was worse, the beatings she had to endure from Gerard, from the titillating open palmed spankings over his knee to the more serious belabourings of her bottom with hairbrush or some similar instrument, all under the avid gaze of the entranced Mary, who had never laid a finger on her after that first furious attack, or her own enforced passivity as she sat obediently in a chair at the foot of the bed and watched Gerard and Mary make long and passionate love. She hated Gerard for the willing bondsman's role he assumed. Most of all, though, she hated him for that pole hard cock, so ready to plough into the delectable figure of the wife he was all too eager to deceive in former days.
	She was always terrified when he eagerly complied with Mary's order to chastise Vee that he would leave her backside so bruised Keith would notice. It was true she and Keith never made love any more, and her mouth was all he used to obtain sexual satisfaction. But they still shared the same bed, he would catch casual glimpses of her as she dressed or undressed, walk in on her in the bath or shower.

One morning, when Keith had just departed on a three day safari to the mountainous western region, Mary and Gerard arrived while Vee was still in the shower. She had not been expecting them, and was preparing to spend an hour or two lying on the sunbed on the veranda.
	"Open up!" Mary shouted, rattling the door handle of the shower room, and Vee hastened to comply, grabbing a towel and wrapping it round her still gleaming torso. Mary seized her by the arm and hauled her out into the corridor. "What on earth do you think you're doing, wearing that thing? You're not a nun, you know!" As she spoke, she yanked the towel swiftly away.
	Vee let out a muted scream as she saw Menya's grinning face gazing in appreciation over Gerard's looming shoulder. "You! Kwenda!" Mary ordered, and, chastened, Menya turned back towards the kitchen. She pushed Vee towards the bedroom. "Come on! Quick! We're taking you for an outing. No underwear. Just your blue flowered dress. The silky mini. We want you to look fetching."
	They drove out along the principal route to the south west, the one Keith had travelled scarcely more than an hour or two earlier. The roadside native shambas straggled for miles on both sides of the narrow strip of potholed Tarmac.
	Mary turned companionably to Vee, who was sitting staring nervously through the window from the rear seat. "We're taking you to meet George. George Kyriakos. A fascinating old stick. Lives out in Mengo, in little better than a hut. Looked after by a Baganda bibi he's lived with for years. He's very sick. Won't last much longer. But what a character! What a life! He'll certainly appreciate you!"
	George Kyriakos was a massive ruin of a man - Greek tragedy or Hollywood horror. His potbellying bulk was enormous. Pink flesh gaped between straining buttons and rumpled folds of his stained ash-dusted safari suit. The eyes in the ruined face were incredible. Ringed about with bags and purple shadows of theatrical proportions, they were femininely soft, stirring Vee to secret discomfort with their knowledge of life, the awareness of inner weakness, the pathos of the human condition reflected in their brown depths.
	The face was mottled with drink and debauch. Cheeks pouched to hanging jowls, and the large billowing folds of flesh that hung and shook and flowed like a muffler onto the slope of his wheezing breast. Lips shone wetly, with a thin deadly 'Kali' cigarette hanging and bobbing, scattering its ash flakes over the bulk that spread below. Delicate little hands were heavily ringed, the fingers curled, joints swollen and matching the colour of his complexion. The nails curved into horny talons. The first two fingers of his right hand were deeply brown at the nails, fading to a jaundice yellow at the second knuckles. The small feet and ankles protruding from the filthy slacks were so swollen that the toes were grotesquely buried in the flesh. He never wore socks or shoes. The feet were bare, or a pair of blue, rubber thonged flip-flops clung precariously to them.
	Vee was fascinated by the monumental portrayal of illness and decay. "He's a terrible old letch, aren't you, George?" Mary said, as she introduced Vee. "This is the one I was telling you about. The little slut that Gerard was shafting. I told you she was gorgeous, didn't I?"
	He held Vee's hand in his claw, kissed it slowly, leaving the wet imprint of those liver lips. He stared into her eyes until she blushed hotly to her very roots, and he chuckled softly with success when she was forced to glance away. His voice was rich and deep, almost as dramatic as his appearance. "She has that special English quality, that air of innocence" - he ignored Mary' s yelp of sarcastic laughter - "that naivety one should say, that's so attractive. Such girls are almost like boys. Sweet young boys. And I have always loved young boys. All men do, I am sure, though you English will not admit it, eh, Gerard? It must be kept in the closet. It's not good to be a pouf, eh?"
	They had brought him a bottle of the local banana gin, which he downed in alarming quantity, though liberally watered. His mistress, a strong, silent woman, surprisingly young, though her matronly figure was generously fattened in Baganda fashion, tended to them and faded into the background until he called harshly for her to bring water, or fetch a book.
	The sparsely furnished room was littered with piles of books, old magazines, yellowing newspapers. Around the walls were dozens of paintings and sketches, some cheaply framed. They seemed to Vee to be of an excellent standard, and she was startled to learn that most of them had been done by George himself. Then she noticed an exquisite head and shoulders portrait of Mary, done in pencil.
	He talked of his old days in the territory and in the Congo, tales of fantastic events and more fantastic characters, widening to a captivating philosophy of life, and glimpses of an impressive knowledge of classics and literature way beyond his admiring audience.
	It was Mary who steered the talk back to sexual matters, in spite of her husband's clear embarrassment. "They'd been at it for nigh on three months," she declared, nodding towards both him and the blushing Vee.
	George shrugged almost dismissively. "It doesn't mean he loves you any the less, my dear," he said urbanely. "There's nothing wrong with honest to God sexuality. You know the saying. 'A rising prick knows no conscience.' What normal healthy young man doesn't want to fuck every pretty girl he sees? Or pretty boy, for that matter." He gave his wheezing chuckle. "Where we have gone wrong in Europe," he continued, turning his gaze directly on Vee, "is in not crediting women with the same bodily desires as men. We even shrouded their physiognomy - or should I say physiography? - in mystery and lies. For so long, even young studs went to the marriage bed not understanding the workings of their wives' cunts, in spite of all their premarital experience. And girls themselves were deceived into thinking sex was something beastly. That only man should have the beastliness.
	"They tormented themselves trying to ignore that secret, shrouded little tip of flesh, living in dread of what they saw as their depravity, cut off from talking of it with their own kind. Mothers even perpetuated the lie to their own daughters, ignoring their own clamorous instincts. Can you imagine what agonies our great grandmothers must have gone through if they chanced by any mishap to experience orgasm? Not that there was much fear of it happening. At least not through the sweaty efforts of their spouses, who rogered furiously, all wham bangs and thank yous. But there must have been the odd times when, driven mad by that insistent flesh, the young women found themselves unable to keep their fingers from homing in on that hot wet little patch, where they ferreted about with a tearful sense of doom. All those jokes - 'all the nice girls love a candle' - they've been with us a long time."
	All three were sitting paying rapt attention to his diatribe. Again, it was Mary who rallied, gave an edgy little laugh. "Speaking of hot wet little patches, I'm sure you've got young Vee here squelching in her knickers. Or would have if I'd allowed her any! So, George, don't you think she'll make an excellent model for some of your special studies? Or are you too pissed to do anything about it now?"
	His jowls wobbled as his florid face shook in vehement denial. "No, no, not at all! Pass me that folder. Come. Get ready, my dear," he said, his brilliantly gleaming eyes fixed once more on Vee. She stared blankly.
	"Come on!" snapped Mary impatiently. "Get your kit off. George is going to immortalise you."
	Vee gasped in outrage as she realised what they were planning. "You want us to do it for you?" pursued Mary, with implacable intent. Crying softly, Vee reached behind her, fumbled for the zipper on her dress. She drew it over her head, held it for a second over her bare breasts before she passed it to Mary..
	George's claw like hands scratched lightly at her nakedness as he arranged her in the easy chair so that the burning light of the midday sun fell full upon her.
	"Put your leg out to the side. Let it hang, like that. Come on, don't be shy. We want to see your proudest treasure, my little beauty."
	He made her drape her right leg over the wooden arm, hook her right arm over the back of the chair. Her left leg he stretched out in front of her, turning it slightly outward, so that she was exposing the whole of her genital area, blatantly proffering the pale curve of belly, the light brown curls, glinting in the sunlight, the long gash of her labial divide. She saw the bruise dark inner surfaces about her vulva, felt the secretly beating response to the bathing sunlight's heat on her sensitive flesh. Her breasts too, because of the arrangement of her torso, were exhibited. The small pale nipples flowered to hardness.
	Despite her distress, which caused her to weep quietly all the while he was working, she could feel the throbbing depth of her arousal. She was tactilely aware of everything, the kiss of the sunlight, the touch of the lumpy cushions on her buttocks and the backs of her thighs, the film of sweat which made the back of her right leg cling stickily to the wooden arm of the chair. He worked quickly, though to Vee it seemed an endless ordeal of shame. Mary and Gerard chatted desultorily, and he answered absently, concentrating on his task. Mostly, all three stared at her sprawling frame.
	At last it was over. She was allowed to move, climbed stiffly out of the chair. She went towards her dress, which lay where Mary had tossed it, but the dark haired girl shook her head. "Uh-huh! Not yet. Don't you think George deserves some reward for all his labours? Just Look at what he's done." Taking Vee by the arm, she led her over to the sketch, which lay now on the table.
	Vee was shocked out of her embarrassment. It was beautiful, she saw at once. She was astounded that those crippled claw hands could have created such delicate beauty. There she was, abandoned, wildly erotic, yet somehow oddly innocent too. The neat breasts, with their tiny budded crowns, the slight curve of belly, the scrub of her pubic curls, the outwardly jutting leg, the calf and down pointing foot hanging limply, the proffered genitals between those shaded muscles showing her surrender. The long curve of the vulva, the cleft of the lips, their peaks meeting in that secret fold of vulnerable tissue. Its raw beauty smote Vee. With mirroring power, she felt those sex muscles tighten, the lips seeming to push and pout and swell. Then she felt the artist's knowing gaze on her, and the rising blush flooded from her neck, quickening the beat of her blood.
	"It's beautiful!" she murmured tearfully.
	"Like I said, he deserves some reward, fair?" Vee's colour now drained at Mary's words. "Why don't we warm her up a little for you first, maestro? Put a little colour back into her cheeks? Ah! That should do, eh? Go ahead, Gerard. Do your stuff." She picked up the worn blue flip-flop which had slipped from George's swollen foot, and handed it to her husband. "You, slut. Bend over the back of the chair. No, that way." Urgently, she pulled Vee round, thrust her by the shoulders, folding her over the chair back, burying the blonde head in the musty cushions. "We want to see that gorgeous arse getting it, don't we, George?" The pink tongue tip flickered out to lick the shining lips as George nodded greedily.
	"Ohl Oh! OH!" The cracking splat of the flat rubber sole striking at Vee's behind was followed by the fierce, stinging burn, and she shrieked, surprised as always at the force with which Gerard struck. Her body jerked involuntarily, her buttocks flinching, dimpling cutely as her muscles clenched.
	Sobbing, she forced herself back down over the high chair back. The muscles bunched on her thighs as she flexed for the next blow, which quickly followed. Soon both quivering cheeks were covered with the red outlines of the sandal's shape, one superimposed over another, until the whole area glowed an angry red, and Vee was pleading for him to stop, her body heaving with her sobs. The nod from Mary brought this stage of her torment to an end, and she stood there, tears streaming, while she rubbed at her throbbing bottom.
	"How's that, George?" Mary asked, her dark eyes alive and shining. George's mottled face was even darker, his breath coming more noisily. His gaze was fixed on the base of Vee's belly, where the triangle of her sandy fleece showed.
	"Could I have a few moments alone with her?" he croaked. His voice shook with desperate pleading.
	"Why, George! You randy old goat! Be careful now!" Mary nodded at Gerard, and they went out onto the rickety veranda and down the three wooden steps to the grassy track in front of the bungalow.
	"Come here, my dear!" George's throaty whisper sent shivers through Vee's naked form. It was like the command of a hypnotist, and, as though in a trance, she found herself moving the few paces across the dusty floor to his side. Once again, she felt the horny scrape of his long nails scratching over her flesh. She shivered, half in revulsion, half in a shameful eruption of excitement. His arm lifted, the talons moved lightly, almost timidly, over the slope of a breast, grazed the erect nipple, then down, over her midriff, the shallow little dish of her navel, to the light curls of her pubis, and down, down to her inner thigh.
	It nuzzled with gentle insistence, pushing her thighs open, so that she was standing, her legs slightly apart, permitting his exploring hand access to her vulva. He was still sitting at the table where he had been working, and she stood so close she could feel the material of his trousers rub against her leg. She was standing in a block of sunlight which streamed through the open door. Each curl of pubic hair stood out against the paleness of the skin beneath in the brilliant light, which bathed the damp, pungent folds of her flesh, burned its fierce caress on her belly and the whole of her genital area.
	The throbbing burn of her scorched behind became one with the surging flow of excitement overpowering her, as he explored the groove of her sex lips, prised open their tightness, until she could feel the imperious beat of her sex, the oily wetness of her inner passage, waiting hungrily. Tears trickled down her cheeks. She stood, weeping silently.
	All at once, he fell forward on his knees, with a hoarse kind of sob, and buried his sweating face into the fold of her belly and thighs, his arms flung about her hips, sucking and slobbering, drinking in her beauty, while she shivered, forcing herself to remain still, staring down through her tears and stroking the stubble on the back of his neck.
	She felt the stirring pulse of orgasm approaching. Suddenly, he almost dragged her down onto the floor with him as his weight pulled heavily on her hips, and he levered himself back into his chair. He was making an alarming noise, fighting for his breath, eyes bugging, his face a dark, uniform purple. She screamed for help, and the door to the interior of the house burst open. The Baganda woman hurtled in, and shoved Vee aside before she turned to George, grabbed some appliance from the pocket of his safari jacket and squirted it into his working mouth. Gradually, his breathing resumed some sort of evenness. The woman held a glass to his lips, helped him to take a few sips.
	The dark shadows of Gerard and Mary appeared against the blinding light in the doorway. The woman glanced up, then turned and surveyed Vee, her gaze conveying her contempt as it travelled slowly from head to toe. With a gasp, Vee recollected her nude state and crossed her arms over her breasts.
	"Go!" the woman said.



7

Masturbation was the only physical relief Vee enjoyed these days. Mary made sure Gerard never touched her except to beat her. He got his thrills from making love to his wife, with Vee as captive audience.
	At home, Keith continued to shun any notion of sexual intercourse. and she was far too moulded in her subservience now to try to initiate or even suggest it. Fellatio was the only sexual act he required, and then only irregularly. She learned to recognise the signs; they had no need of words.
	It was usually when he returned, drunk, from an evening at the golf club. There was even a strong sexual thrill in her servility, its total one-sidedness. He would sprawl in the living room, fully clothed, and she would rise and go to him, kneeling between his slackly open legs.
	She would struggle to release his penis from the constrictions of his clothing. It was rarely a quick event. In his alcoholic state, although his desire was unmistakable, fulfilment took a great deal of time, though he seemed to derive plenty of groaning, twisting, weakening pleasure from the delicious torment.
	Eventually, though, his fingers would grip convulsively in her hair, while he thrust savagely into her gagging, gaping mouth. She was exhausted, running with sweat, soaked with his sperm and her saliva, lips, tongue, mouth, raw and swollen. Every bone ached. Her knees were throbbing abominably, an angry red from the pressure of the polished cement floor, and it was agony when she finally moved, with the slowness of a cripple. By the time she came out of the bathroom after cleaning herself, he was snoring loudly, a hunched shape across the gulf of the double bed.

When disaster broke, Vee was totally unprepared for it, in spite of all the hours of fearful imaginings she had suffered. Its beginnings lay in a vindictive remark flung out by a petulant loser in the golf club bar after a marathon boozing session at the end of a monthly mug competition. Keith's suspicions were aroused, and it was not too hard to get them confirmed.
	Vee was in bed. She heard the car come down the drive, wondered, ashamed at the tremor of excitement, whether he would want her to service him tonight. Whether, indeed, he had already found sexual satisfaction, for she was convinced he must find relief with someone. Again, she was shocked at the perverse thrill such a painful speculation caused her.
	He beat her cruelly, almost with a cold precision, as though icily manipulating his fury. He held her by the hair, lifting her off her feet, swinging her round, slapping her around the face with great, open handed blows that left her burning, her head dizzy and singing. He flung her to the floor, and kicked her several times, under the ribs, and on the backs of her thighs, until she was coughing and choking.
	She was only dimly aware of events now. The pyjama jacket had gone, ripped from her. She huddled up, her forehead pressed to the floor, her rump and back proffered to take his punishment. There was a pause, then a swish in the air and a crack, as a line of breath snatching fire ran across her back. A sting bit into her side, like a scorpion's bite, as the end of the narrow belt curled around and struck. The fire flashed over her behind and her hips and the backs of her thighs, and she couldn't restrain herself. She writhed and bucked, squirmed and screamed. One merciless hand dug into her hair, holding her down. The crack of the belt rang out like pistol shots. Her buttocks were seared, again and again, and the agony spread over the backs of her thighs, her back itself, until there was only red pain, everywhere, and she stretched out, yielding to its power, surrendered to it, felt it cutting through her flesh to her very centre, a seductive agony that made her wrenching cries those of a gut release.
	The pain, and her own cries, distorted everything, but she could hear the low rumble of voices behind her, and, somehow, could see clearly, a vision in her mind's eye which would stay with her always, the dark, staring faces of Menya and Charles, crowded in the doorway, her own bloodily streaked and welted nakedness stretched out on the thin rug, with Keith towering astride her like a giant lion tamer, the belt snaking down by his side.
	The burning pain swept through her, from shoulders to the backs of her thighs, in great, throbbing tides to which she surrendered utterly. Even the great, gulping breaths she was forced to inhale because of her wild sobbing sent further fine ripples of agony through the blistered skin. She felt timid brown hands on her arms and legs, struggling to lift her, and the pain flared again at the slightest move.

The next day Keith called upon Gerard. He punched him as he answered the door, then kicked viciously, until the hunched, semi-conscious figure was twitching helplessly, covered in blood and vomit and tears.
	He was amazed at the resistance Mary put up. She sobbed, and swore foully when he picked her up and carried her, her feet threshing, into one of the spare bedrooms. Her struggles revealed an appetising exhibition of shapely limbs and white underwear as he tossed her on her back on the counterpane. "Go on then, scream," he urged, with grim satisfaction. "Maybe your gallant husband will drag himself out of bed to come and fight for your honour. I hope so!"
	"Bastard!" she sobbed. But she quietened immediately, though she fought him furiously while he ripped her skirt and blouse, then the bra and briefs from her writhing frame. "You filthy bloody rapist!" But then he lay across her, crushing her down into the yielding springiness of the mattress, his mouth closed over hers, hard, demanding, thrusting. His hand fanned out over the wiry tendrils of her pubis, and she lifted her mound against his pressure, feeling his fingers like steel against the cushioning. They bent, followed the tight curving divide of her vulva, pushed into the damp crevice of her labia, seeking out the quickening beat of her, and all at once, her muscles relaxed, she sank beneath him, her belly undulated in a different rhythm which had its own urgency, and her thighs opened accommodatingly. Pelvises clashed in the mutual hunger, and they soared to their grunting, whimpering climax. Mary cried out sharply as she came, sobbing and plunging wildly, spearing herself on his potent maleness.

On the fourth day, Vee was able to bear the touch of her silk dressing gown, so that she was decently clad, and reclining, without too much discomfort, on the cushions of the settee in the living room, when Keith at last returned. She had heard from no one, no one had come near in all that time. Slowly she levered herself up into a sitting  position as he strode into the room. The cold blue eyes held her in their stare.
	"I've had it out with Mary and that scum," he said. "And I want you out of here by Monday. You can move into one of those Salvation Army cottages out at Mbira until I can get you a flight back to UK. I want you out of my life as soon as possible!"
	He had disappeared down the corridor to the bedroom before she started to cry.



8

Mbira was several miles outside the city, on the road to the north. The Salvation Army ran an orphanage there, on a beautifully kept ten acre site. The lawns were smoothly cropped, the hedges trimly regimented, with bougainvillea and Canna lilies making bold explosions of symmetric colour from the red earth flower beds.
	A number of small guest cottages were tucked away among the trees on the far side of the compound from the orphanage buildings. These cottages could be rented out for a modest fee. Advertising was by word of mouth only, so that the clientele should remain reasonably select, and, apart from certain peak periods, demand was not high. Vee found that the one next to hers was empty, which was a great relief. She shunned people, had a habit of breaking into tears without warning. She was still bemused. She had difficulty in holding on to any train of thought, and her mind felt like fluffed out cotton wool.
	Helpless, apathetic almost, she had put up no fight, pleaded no defence. She had scarcely spoken to Keith, or to anyone else, murmuring monosyllabic acknowledgements when he did deign to speak to her. She moved in a daze of misery, packing her cases, sitting for long intervals when she was able to sit again with her hands folded on her lap, staring unseeingly ahead of her. She made no attempt to contact anyone, and, significantly, no one attempted to get in touch with her. She thought fleetingly of going down to the Club, but she knew she hadn't the courage for it. She was obviously the villainess, the outcast who had got her just deserts.
	The night before she was due to move out to the cottage, she managed to stir herself into making one last desperate effort. Keith had spent all his evenings and nights away from her. Clearly, he could not stand even seeing her, and came home in the early hours, when she was safely bedded down in the guest room. He was gone long before she ventured forth in the morning. You must at least have one last try, she urged herself, otherwise you'll be simply tossed out of his life forever.
	The prospect was stunningly bleak. What had she got to lose by one final attempt? Even another thrashing would be better than this cold ignoring of her. So, although her heart was racing, and her stomach churned emptily, she spent a long time in the bath, perfumed and groomed herself, put on her prettiest underwear, even pulling on a pair of dark, sheer nylons to clip to the narrow ribbons of the suspender belt. She remembered how, in the distant days before their marriage, he had delighted in seeing her thus, had even enjoyed making love while she wore only such stockings and suspenders.
	In elegant high heels, and her blue silk mini dress, she sat nervously in the living room. Menya came in after washing the dishes of her solitary evening meal. "You no go to bed?" he asked pointedly. He had become almost impossible since the disaster.
	She cleared her throat, spoke shrilly, trying to hide her anxiety. "No. I'm going to sit up and wait for Bwana. You can go now. Thank you." He looked as if he were about to say more, but after staring at her until she could feel her colour mounting, he turned abruptly on his heel and went out, clashing the outer door shut behind him.
	For all her perturbed state, she was actually lolling asleep in the armchair when the noise of the car engine awoke her. Her heart was thumping, she rose rapidly, one hand to her hair, trying to rouse herself. She would simply throw herself at his feet, beg him not to discard her, offer to serve him in any capacity he wished. She heard his footsteps, the door started to open, she stared in pathetic fear and pleading...
	And then she was gazing, her jaw sagging, her eyes wide in amazement, at the vision of the tall, giggling figure of the African girl clinging possessively to Keith's arm. Her dress was even shorter than Vee's, so that her gleaming, magnificent legs, innocent of any covering, were on show almost from the tops of her thighs. And what legs they were! They appeared to Vee to go on forever. The girl was wearing a huge Afro wig, which added to the impression of height. In her heeled, strappy sandals, she towered over the gawping Vee.
	Her skin was of a deep velvet blackness, the shade of the northern tribes. Similarly, her features were of the more traditionally Bantu type, in contrast with the lighter skinned, finer features of the Baganda people in whose region the capital lay. Her thick lips glistened with a lipstick which was exotically dark, almost black. A look of surprise spread over her pretty face, nowhere near as extreme as the ludicrous astonishment of Vee's expression. Keith did not look shocked at all. In fact, Vee recognised with dread the evil gleam of anticipation in his face.
	"Ah-ha! The little woman! Waiting up for us, how sweet! Mira - this is Vee. My little blonde bibi! The slut I told you about! The one I'm slinging out on her arse tomorrow, right, Vee?" The tears rose, misting her vision as Vee swallowed, nodded desolately. "Get us a drink, will you? Might as well make yourself useful on your last night. Whisky and soda for me. What about you, Mira?"
	"Beer for me," the girl answered coolly, entering into the spirit of the situation at once. "And not cold, either!" she snapped. "I'm not a bloody mzungu, not one of your ice cold Europeans! Make it a warm one, hey?" Blindly, startled at her own servile acceptance, Vee found herself turning away, moving out to the kitchen to get a bottle of beer, then returning to serve them both their drinks.
	She quickly realised that they were both already drunk. "Why don't you join us?" Keith grinned wickedly at Vee. "Have a nightcap before you go to bed." He pulled the squealing figure of Mira down onto the settee with him, and she fell, kicking feebly, into his arms. He planted a noisy kiss on her lips. "We won't be long before we'll be hitting the hay ourselves."
	His hand stood out palely against her shining skin, the long, rippling muscles of her thighs, as it travelled slowly upward, displacing the short dress until Vee could see the white of the lace fringed knickers.
	"I think I'll go to bed now!" Vee choked, striving to hold back the threatening tears.
	"Get a bloody drink!" Keith snarled, so fiercely that Vee flinched. White as paper, she went over to the cupboard. Her hands shook as she poured herself a small measure of brandy. She did not add anything. She came and sat down again in the deep arm chair opposite the entwined couple on the sofa. She was all at once terribly conscious of the shortness of her own dress, and her sheer stockings, as she felt her eyes drawn to the white triangle of the girl' s crotch, plainly on view now as she sprawled back in Keith's arms, and which stood out so excitingly against the darkness of Her thighs.
	"So, Mira," Keith said. "What do you think of my lovely wife? Do you think she's beautiful?"
	Mira's dark eyes held her with obvious contempt. She made a thick sound of disapproval.
	"She is skinny - like a boy!"
	"Oh, don't tell her that, for Christ's sake," Keith chortled. "You'll make her day!" He fought out from under Mira's encompassing arms. "Come on, wench! Let this black bibi see just how sexy you are. Strip off and give her a real show!"
	Vee gasped. A huge sob rose, shook her with its force. A bitter desperation rose in her gorge until she could scarcely breathe. Suddenly, with another sob of masochistic hopelessness, she thrust herself back to her feet. Very well! He wanted to inflict this final humiliation upon her. So be it! She reached behind her, found the zip fastener, drew it down, and slid the front of the dress off her shoulders. She gave a little shake of her hips, helped it down over her flanks until it fell about her ankles and she stepped out of it.
	The girl gave a loud hoot of derision. "You beat her pretty damn good!" she exclaimed, gazing with new respect at Keith.
	"Not as good as she deserves," he had responded coldly. And his words cut Vee as badly as ever the belt had. The tears were starting to flow, but she no longer cared for anything. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she was shocked at the degree of sexual excitement she could feel tightening those secret muscles deep within her belly. She stood for a few seconds, in the lacy bra and the transparent white briefs, with the narrow little suspender belt showing through.
	Keith roared his encouragement. "Atta girl! Gerrem off!" She was crying audibly now, and the tear drops shone on her cheeks, but she reached behind her once more, groped for the catch of the bra. It parted, she shrugged the flimsy cups off her breasts, flung the garment aside.
	"She has titi like little girl!" Mira giggled.
	Keith swung on her at once, and started clawing her dress from her shoulders. "Come on then, sugar! Show her what a real pair of tits looks like!" Angrily, she pushed him off, then undid her dress herself. Her long legs flashed as she struggled to get out of the low settee, then she was standing close to Vee, looming over her. The floral dress had fallen to cling about her waist. She was wearing a cheap white cotton bra, which she now undid, and, like Vee, let it fall from her.
	Vee stared in involuntary appreciation. The full breasts rose as she breathed in deeply. Their proud beauty was proclaimed as they jiggled and shook. The large surrounds of the areolae were dark, and the nipples themselves, many times larger than Vee's pale little teats, were long, swollen with promise, creviced, a dark, ripe purplish colour. She gave a long, harsh peel of triumphant laughter. Vee blushed. Unconsciously, she had folded her arms over her own modest breasts. Now, Mira's hard black fingers fastened on her wrists, tugged her arms away from her bosom, exposing them once more. "Skinny little bitch!"
	"Have a look at the rest of her!" Keith mocked, leering up at them both. "Go on! Finish her off!" Again, Mira gave a hoot of scornful pleasure. Her splendid hips shimmied and her folded dress dropped around her feet. She reached forward, hooked her fingers in the fragile little knickers Vee was wearing, and with one vicious yank, dragged them half way down her legs. The lace trimming tore, streamed pathetically, then Mira bent and hauled them all the way down. Vee stumbled, almost losing her balance as the African girl stripped them clear of her.
	Vee was weeping at the ridiculous picture she presented in only the stockings and the suspender belt. She crossed her hands over the light fleece of her pubis, but, once again, Mira seized her wrists and pulled them away from her loins. Vee gave a little scream of alarm as the dark fingers grabbed at the hairs over her mound and gave a sharp tug, lifting the white skin beneath them.
	Vee stood, made no effort to prevent her aggressor, while those same cruel fingers tore at the fasteners of the suspender ribbons, unclipping them from the dark stocking tops before they whipped the belt off. Finally, they clawed and scrabbled their way down the length of Vee's trembling limbs as Mira brought the clinging nylons down to the ankles.
	Vee toppled, fell back into the depths of the arm chair once more as Mira completed the act of undressing her by hauling the gauzy material clear of her feet. Vee's scream was altogether louder, and filled with genuine terror as the fingers finally settled in the silky blonde hair and dragged the cowering form upright, with a victorious cry.
	Mira hauled her weeping victim round, holding her in front of the grinning Keith. "There she is! Like I told you! See? She has hips like a boy! And buttocks, too!" Vee shrieked at the loud slap Mira delivered to the part of her anatomy in question.
	The dark girl was wearing only the white briefs. "Show her what a real arse looks like, then!" Keith challenged, and, at once, Mira bent and thrust down her knickers. She kicked them away to the corner of the room. She turned around, slowly, showing off her magnificent body, and Keith gazed up, his prick straining at the contrasting, deeply rousing spectacle of the two naked girls. He chuckled evilly. "Be careful. My wife'll get turned on by you, my lovely! She likes girls. Don't you, perv? You know what a dike is, eh, Mira? You know - a lesbian?"
	The girl's eyes widened, she stared back at him with a disbelieving grin. "What? She likes to play sex with girls?"
	"Right on! Why don't we all go along to the bedroom and have some real fun? This could turn out to be the best night you and me have ever had, slag," he said to Vee. "And on your last night, too!"
	Vee felt sickened. She almost welcomed the imprisoning hold of his arm around her waist, the other arm capturing the giggling Mira in like fashion as he steered them both along the corridor to the master bedroom.
	He had to overcome Mira's indignant reluctance to allow Vee anywhere near her, but presently the black girl lay back, propped up by pillows, Keith holding her as he lay beside her. "Let her get us both going." He pushed the dusky thighs open, and Mira gasped, caught in both a strange excitement and disgust, as the blonde head dipped between the raised knees, which fell apart at Vee's gentle pressure on the insides of her thighs.
	Vee's own heart was pounding with a mixture of fear and throbbing desire. The strange exotic aroma of the proffered mound filled her. She thought of the activity which had surely taken place earlier this evening between Keith and this lovely girl, now spread so nakedly under her very nose. The tight little scrub of tiny curls, so different from her own, beckoned. The upper folds of the vulva lifted, the pout of the labia presented itself temptingly. The outer surface of the divide was a dark mushroom colour.
	With softly probing tongue and timid fingers, Vee prised at the tight divide. The startling pink of the inner surface was exposed, blossoming open, like a shell or a delicate tropical bloom. Vee's head dipped further, lapped at the musky treasures, imbibing the pungent moisture while a shudder of ecstasy passed through her crouching frame, from head to toe.
	Talon hard hands dug into her scalp, hauled her lapping tongue away from her goal.
	"Don't forget me!" a voice growled, over the thunder of her blood, and she turned to Keith's loins, her breasts rubbing lightly against Mira's thigh as she moved herself across to where he lay, equally blatantly on display. His penis was mightily elongated, and thickly swollen. It lifted at Vee's first caress, she saw the veins swell, the long column stiffen, the mighty glans bathe her with its fluid as it pushed against her, as though returning her reverent kiss. She licked at its soaring shaft, from the yeasty base of the scrotum, up, to the red shining dome of the glans, then her fingers clutched at its surging power, its deep throb transferring through to her own clamorous dampness.
	Suddenly, her transformed world exploded in a stab of pain as Mira's hard heel, the curiously pale yellow sole of her foot, drove with full force into Vee's shoulder and neck, The long leg thrust out, flung the startled Vee backwards, catapulting her off the bed. She rolled, scrabbled, fell onto the rug.
	"You fuck off, you crazy bitch! Leave us! We make love proper!"
	With a grunt, the dark girl heaved Keith on top of her. The magnificent legs parted, the thighs wrapped themselves around his waist, pulling him into her. Vee had staggered to her feet, now she fell back onto the hard wooden chair which stood at one side of the bed. Forgotten, she stared breathlessly at the stirring sight of their bodies joining, witnessed the brief lifting flurry, the guiding hands as Keith's rigid penis plunged slowly into that pink embracing depth, and he sank down, and into her, ramming fully home. She gave a rapturous cry of need, and welcome, his white buttocks tautened, dimpled wonderfully, they bucked as one in the fury of their coupling.
	Entranced, utterly forgotten, forgetting even herself, lost in the splendour of the vision in front of her, Vee watched, unconscious of the tears trickling steadily down her cheeks, unconscious, too, of the two fingers which stroked, then inserted themselves inside her own flowing, beating sheath, and moved rhythmically back and forth, while she sat there, her muscles tightening, her body rocking, in hungry, mindless response.



9

	The days drifted by. Sister Teresa, the thin, upright matron of the orphanage, called in occasionally, always around four. The precise Scottish accent matched her short, iron grey hair, her neat, well tailored uniform, and her rather formal manner. She showed no curiosity, and Vee was thankful for her lack of interest in her circumstances. Apart from the African gardeners, and the young boy who came in for an hour to do some hasty, careless cleaning, she saw no one. She fixed her own simple meals, and needed no more than a weekly visit to the Indian grocer's nearby.
	Keith's solicitor phoned, and arranged a meeting for the following week. He was overly cheerful and brisk. "Actually, the sooner you're out of this place the better, Mrs Green, believe me. Have you been following the news recently? There's trouble brewing, mark my words. Something's going on up north. You know they've restricted travel now? No one's getting up there without a special permit. The army's on alert. Haven't you noticed all the troop movements around town?"
	She realised then how isolated and self centred her world had become. She never bought a newspaper or listened to the local radio, preferring to play her own music on her Japanese cassette recorder.
	Keith rang that evening. She was angry with herself at her emotion on hearing his voice, glad he could not see the tears that splashed onto the back of her hand.
	"Listen. I'm trying to get you on a flight as soon as possible. Things are hotting up with this bother up north. Apparently, all hell's broken out up near the border. All travel's been stopped. Everybody's staying put for the moment. But flights out are all fully booked. People are starting to get families out. There's talk of laying on some extra flights. I'll see what I can find out from the High Commission. But be ready to leave in a hurry if necessary. You might only get a day or two's notice. I gather you're seeing Jack again next week. We may have to finalise the divorce after you've gone... I shan't be seeing you off."
	She was leaden gutted with misery when he rang off.

Vee woke to a brilliant dazzle of moving lights sweeping over the ceiling and walls. At the same time, she heard a motor roaring outside the window, voices shouting. She did not realise where she was. She reached over for Keith in panic, and came to full awareness. Terrified, she identified some sort of heavy vehicle revving up, seemingly a few feet away from the walls of the cottage. Figures passed the window.
	She crammed the edge of the sheet in her mouth and hid her face under it, whimpering and shivering in abject fear. She became aware of muffled bangs, rapid stutters of sound, which her racing brain told her was gunfire. She had heard it countless times on television and in the cinema. It was unreal.
	Then there was a deafening crack. She felt the bed move, the tremor pass through the room. There was a rippling descent of glass shattering, and a pungent whiff of cordite. An overpowering smell enveloped her, sweet, penetrating, and, with a shock, she discovered it was her own urine, and that her legs and the mattress beneath her were soaking.
	Crying shrilly, like a frightened child, she clambered out of the sodden mess, felt the liquid drying icily on her bare skin. There was another crash, the floor jolted, and she fell down on the polished cement, screaming, her hands over her head. Running feet, voices yelling desperately, more rapid fire, shouts. She grovelled on the floor, hands over her head still, among the broken glass and the heavy, acrid fumes of the shells.
	Suddenly, the clattering din accelerated, was all round her. In a paralysis of fear, she found herself staring at a heavy. muddy combat boot, rolled her terrified head round to stare up at a giant, clad in camouflage jacket and trousers, festooned with webbing and belts and holding a stubby automatic weapon in his hands. A huge black face. Broad and shining. His teeth showed in a dazzling grin, his expression portraying his astonishment at the spectacle of the pale naked figure curled at his feet.
	"Don't hurt me!" Vee whimpered, Somewhere in this ultimate madness came the awareness of her bladder relaxing once again, the last dribbles of urine being passed over her quivering thighs.
	She was lifted. Only gradually did she awake to the sensation of being hauled roughly up from the ground and being flung over this giant's shoulder, her upside down head bouncing madly as her captor raced with her out to the open. There were other dark shadows. They were lit by flashes, then the growing flicker of the flames which were swiftly engulfing the end of the row of cottages. The man ran with her to a Land Rover, into the back of which she was tossed unceremoniously. She fell in a heap on the hard metal floor. Bodies piled in, boots trampled her, they were all about her, big, muddied. She was down in a forest of them, of dark, gaitered legs.
	All at once the floor went wild beneath her, flinging her up, banging the breath out of her body. She cannoned off the hard limbs that hemmed her in as the vehicle buffeted over the rough ground.
	After some time, the buffeting eased, and was replaced by a steady thrumming that passed through every bone and nerve. The tyres sang and the engine whined protestingly. The Land Rover was being driven at top speed on Tarmac, Vee was not aware of when the gun fight had ceased or when the wild bucking had steadied. She was no longer capable of registering time, or even sensation, for she did not notice the physical abuse her body had been subjected to. It was a rude awakening when she felt rough hands touching her, lifting her body, naked except for the buttonless pyjama jacket which clung to her shoulders and hid nothing, passing her like a roll of carpet from one to the other, until she stood giddily in the dust of a track, in bright morning sunshine.
	Her legs buckled and she sank down on her behind, with the unsteadiness of a newborn foal, Deep laughter rumbled round. Grinning black faces leered at her. At first, despite the bright sun, she was aware only of the chill of the air. The last white snakes of morning mist were wreathing the tops of the tall eucalyptus trees, and the stark thorn bushes. She saw that they were on a narrow, dirt track, the bush thick all around them.
	Then the tide of pain washed over her, from every throbbing muscle, and, in the same instant, a deep, choking shame at the awareness of her nudity, for the jacket, ripped and filthy, streamed open. She saw her breasts, the bush of her pubis, the stains of dust and sweat marring her skin, felt the burning gaze of the men's eyes covering her every intimate exposure. With a sob, she tried to clutch the buttonless jacket over her breasts.
	Some soldiers were urinating noisily. They had turned their backs. She saw the crinkled, sweat darkened olive slacks, heard the potent splashing of their liquid, saw the steam rising, smelt its heavy aroma. New panic overwhelmed her. The girls at the Club had talked in hushed outrage of various cases of rape, of animal brutality. A British girl - an air hostess - had been murdered in her bungalow, just a year before Keith and Vee arrived. A gang had broken in during the night, raped her repeatedly, done other unspeakable things to her, finally strangling her. They were bestial, everyone knew. And here she was, alone and naked, with a dozen savage killers, hundreds of miles from anywhere. No one would even find her bones.
	She must run! Simply get up and run. They would perhaps shoot her. Instantaneous death. She would not feel the pain of the bullet that killed her. But her legs refused to move. Apart from this incessant trembling, her muscles had yielded all their strength. She was lost, incapable of the slightest resistance. She could not even die with dignity. She had a powerful urge to fling herself on her belly in the dust, to grovel at their feet.
	She heard a sudden cry of alarm, and she was grabbed, plucked up easily by the waist, by the same giant who had lifted her from the cottage floor. He held her to him like a baby, crushing her, one plate-like hand comfortably enveloping her behind, the other pressing the back of her head, clamping her face to his sweat drenched shirt. He ploughed through thorn and razor-like man-high grass. She felt it lacerating her thighs and calves, then she hit the ground with a thud. The giant covered her, so that all was blackness. She lay very still under him, pressed intimately to him in a parody of love.
	She heard the whisper of a jet, rising in seconds to a mind rending roar of suffocating proportions as the fighter hurtled over at treetop height. Dust swirled madly, the thorns and grass in which they had buried themselves threshed, and the air itself seemed to be sucked away from them. The roar vanished, all was still.
	No one moved. An urgent whisper ordered them to remain still. Vee felt that paralysing weakness again. She was glad of the umbrella bulk covering her. She realised he must be holding his weight off her. She felt a strange sensation. What was happening? With freezing shock, she became aware of those great thick fingers moving, scrabbling between her thighs. They ferreted through her pubis, pressed the pad of her mons, brushed the tips of her labia, prised the outermost folds open.
	She shivered. Her buttock cheeks clenched responsively, her inner thighs gripped the spade like, invasive hand. She wanted to scream, to laugh hysterically. God! She could actually feel a faint response, that flowering open, the yielding quiver. It couldn't be real!
	A voice called out. The men moved, slowly, cautiously. The giant moved too, with one last fondled caress of her bare rump. She felt the deep rumble of his laughter, and she blushed hotly.
	They journeyed on, hour after hour. The terrain changed, to the open, more rugged hills of the far north. In a well hidden valley, they stopped for the night. A fire was made, a large sufuria of rice and beans was placed on it. Vee sat where they had placed her, leaning her back against the wheel of the Land Rover. No one took any further notice of her as the short tropic twilight ended and a numbing coldness crept over her.
	She tried to comfort herself. The giant's good humoured fondling of her genitals had been reassuring somehow. The sneaking brevity of it. Surely he would have raped her before now, they all would, if that had been their intention? Perhaps they did not find her sexually attractive. She recalled Mira's cutting contempt of her physical appearance. It was always said that Africans liked their own big breasted, big buttocked, rounded women, that they found the slight bosomed, slim hipped Europeans repulsive.
	The giant loomed over her. She had gathered that he was a sergeant, held authority over the other men. She smiled timidly, humbly, took the plate heaped with food he gave her, and the chipped tin mug. She could manage no more than a few mouthfuls of the thick mixture, scooping it in with her fingers, as the others were doing, but she gulped at the hot, sweet tea greedily. Once more, in spite of the unsavoury state of her filth encrusted body, she was deeply aware of her nakedness, and his eyes upon her.



10

When they resumed their journey in the damp grey of dawn, after a breakfast of thick porridge and the inevitable sweet milky tea, Vee was allowed to ride in the cab, squashed beside the sergeant, her bare thigh nudged by the driver's hand every time he changed gear on the rough track. The early chill gave way to steamy heat until she could feel the slippery pool of her sweat on the backs of her thighs on the thinly upholstered seat.
	Her buttocks ached, then her back, and legs, then every muscle, and still they hammered on along the deserted and rutted track. The scenery changed dramatically, the open grassland giving way to more mountainous slopes whose steep sides were thickly forested. The air became lighter, fresher, and Vee knew they were deep into the wild beauty of the northern region, the homeland of these bulky, very black men who had taken her prisoner.
	Jokes were made about these Northerners, who were despised by the lighter skinned, more graceful southerners. Far more advanced, the Baganda had been favoured by the British when they had taken over the last century, with the result that the educational system had concentrated upon them. They held the top administrative and commercial posts, and when independence came, they made sure they retained their privileged position. But unrest among the other tribes in the neglected north had been simmering for years.
	They reached the rebel HQ late in the afternoon. They were bouncing along the boulder strewn, twisting track, the forest slopes seemingly as empty as ever, then suddenly there were other soldiers in front of the vehicle, appearing from the bush on either side, waving their weapons, their teeth flashing as they whooped and yelled. Vee sat terrified, afraid to meet the crowding stares as the newcomers jostled to get a look at her, yelling their delight. The Land Rover bounced on slowly, accompanied by a growing horde of the guerillas, then they were in what appeared to be a large village of mud and grass huts, blending with the trees to make detection difficult from the air.
	Now the shouts rang out in a fearful roar. Hundreds of the ebony black faces thronged about them. Women and children appeared, some of the women bare breasted, several naked except for a small brown sporran of bark cloth over their genitals. Vee was pulled roughly from the truck, the blanket snatched from her. She stood, staring at her dirty feet, her fingers nervously tugging the hem of the jacket as far down over her thighs as she could make it reach. She tried unsuccessfully to stem her tears, all too aware of the sorry spectacle she presented.
	The crowd had formed a tight circle about her. Pot-bellied naked children edged up to her, giggling, and shot out timid hands to poke her bare legs, or to pluck at the pyjama top, then fall back, shrieking with awesome delight. All at once the crowd receded magically she heard hissed cries of 'Simba'.
	Simba! Lion! Lion! - and she stood before a huge man, bulkier even than her giant sergeant, though with the same wide features, the same imposing girth and jut of belly. She knew it must be General Mavumbi himself.
	She did not know what to do. She had a wild urge to throw herself down at his feet and beg for mercy. Some last shred of self control held her back, and, in the end, she remained with her blonde head bowed, standing trembling before him, snivelling like a naughty child.
	His deep voice was as impressive as his size. "I am Mavumbi. You are a prisoner of the Liberation Army. You will not be harmed, unless you try to escape. In any case, it would be foolish to do so. If you were not shot by my men, you would die within two days in the bush. You must simply do as you are told, obey orders, and you will be kept alive."
	She dared to glance up into his broad gleaming face. He was wearing a red banded peaked cap, khaki drill shirt and trousers. They were spotless, and pressed to knife edge creases, but they bore no insignia. On his chest, a pair of gold framed mirror sunglasses dangled from a narrow leather strap. Thoughts of their blank pitiless stare sent little quivers of alarm through her.
	His thick lips parted and the dazzling teeth showed in a grin. "We have another guest since this morning. Come. I will show you to your quarters." He turned to go, then spun back to her. He spoke as though in afterthought, but his grin was broader than ever, and the crowd hooted with shrill delight at his words. "Ah! One other thing. In order to discourage you from wandering too far, and so that everyone here can see that you are one of our guests, it is necessary for you to discard your clothing." She gazed in dismay as he paused. "Though in your case, I see that this advice is scarcely needed."
	She gasped, stood there helplessly, when suddenly she felt her legs kicked from under her and she toppled hard to the dusty bare earth. Cruel hands plucked the strip of the open pyjama jacket from her shoulders and flung her headlong in the dirt again.
	The whole episode had taken no more than a second. Mavumbi was still half turned, smiling. "Ah," he raised his eyebrows in polite enquiry, "I regret I do not know your name, Madam."
	She scrambled up, feeling horribly exposed and ridiculous. A huge sob escaped, taking her by surprise. "Mrs Green. Vera Green."
	The general chuckled. He stared obviously, his gaze encompassing her naked body. "Well, I can see you are every colour but that one. Perhaps black would be a better name." He roared at his witticism, and the crowd about him whooped.
	Soon she was trudging head down in his wake, aware of all the eyes fixed on her nude figure. The crowd tagged along, stirring the dust of the beaten roadway, until they came to a large hut, in front of which was a small roughly fenced compound. Vee stared, her own misery in abeyance as she saw a pale form in the doorway, framed against the dimness of the over-hanging grass roof.
	A white girl, entirely naked like herself, gazed back at her! She was tall, willowy, with a wonderfully youthful figure. Her long hair streamed down on both sides of her face, hiding most of her firm breasts. It was of a dazzling white gold, many shades lighter than Vee's own fairness. A very small patch of hair over her mound, over which her slender hands fluttered instinctively, was almost as light. There was a lingering hint of coltish adolescence about the long legs, in spite of the womanliness of the figure.
	The two Europeans stood staring at each other shyly, despite the incongruous circumstances of their meeting, as though waiting to be introduced. "You will stay here," Mavumbi rumbled. He nodded at an extremely young soldier, who, sloppily dressed in a uniform that looked too big for him, was holding a long, old fashioned service rifle, of the kind that Vee recalled seeing in old films of the war. "If you attempt to leave your quarters, the guard will shoot you."
	He turned on his heel and left, but most of the crowd stayed where they were, staring mercilessly, chattering and hooting with laughter. The guards made sure they did not encroach beyond the makeshift fence.
	At last the blonde girl spoke. She was foreign, her English carried an attractive trace of accent.
	"Come, let us go inside. I hate the way they look all the time!"
	She gestured, and Vee thankfully followed her into the cool, dim interior. Some woven rush matting was spread on the floor. A stout wooden pole rose from the centre to the conical roof. There was no furniture at all.
	"My name is Katya Burnsen," the girl said. "I am Danish. How do you do?" She held out her hand. Vee told her her name, made to grasp the filthy hand, then she gave a small cry and suddenly flung herself at the startled girl and clasped her tightly in her arms. Their naked bodies brushed enticingly as they hugged, their faces pressed together and their frame shook in a catharsis of weeping.

The dimness of twilight did not last long. The hut took on a ghostly gloom in which their pale skins shimmered insubstantially. Then it was opaquely dark. The curious spectators vanished, and smells of wood smoke and cooking drifted in. The two girls huddled closer, without actually touching. Vee drew her knees up under her chin, wrapped her arms around her legs. She couldn't stop shivering, She felt guilty at the huge relief, and pleasure, she found in having this lovely companion to share her misfortune. They had talked non-stop, telling each other of their backgrounds, though, of course, there was a great deal which Vee did not reveal.
	Katya was out on a holiday visit to her parents. Her father worked for one of the United Nations' agencies, had been out in East Africa for five years.
	"I go to school back home," Katya said. Just two days ago, she had celebrated her eighteenth birthday with a barbecue in the garden of their bungalow. "I am going to training for a nurse after the summer when I go back home."
	Her voice caught on a sob as the implication of her words struck both of them. Who knew what would happen to them now?
	"Oh, my dear!" Vee cried, her voice rich with sympathy. She reached out her hand, touched the smooth skin of Katya's shoulder, then they were half lying, clinging, seeking every inch of contact to comfort them in their fear. Vee was shamefully conscious of her excitement at the sight of Katya's pink-budded high little breast only inches from her suddenly yearning lips.
	All at once, she felt the young girl stiffen in her embrace, draw back a little, as though only just realising the intimate nature of their actions. Awkwardly, she eased herself out of Vee's arms, and stood. She moved over to the door way, called out so harshly that Vee's heart started racing with alarm. "Hey! You! We're freezing here! Bring us some blankets!"
	The young guard said something, gave a sneering laugh. "You can't treat us like this!" Katya's voice rose shrilly. "Who do you think we -" There was an abrupt cry as he grabbed her by her arms and pushed her down in the dust until she was kneeling in front of him. His hand moved quickly as he cuffed her head.
	Vee flung herself forward, crouching beside Katya. She put her arms around the thin shoulders, half shielding her, at the same time gazing up at the young soldier with a pleading expression. "Please! We're sorry! We didn't mean - it's just we're so cold. And scared. Couldn't you find us something?" She shivered violently, pulled Katya closer to her. The guard muttered in disgust, but he had calmed down, responding to Vee's humble approach.
	"Wait!" he snapped, and moved out of the compound.
	Katya wiped at the tears on her cheek with the back of her hand. "Pig!" she spat, in the direction of his retreating back. "You mustn't cringe to them!" She turned accusingly on Vee. "Don't let them see you're afraid of them. We must stand up to them!"
	"No!" Vee cried in fresh alarm. She glanced around anxiously. "We mustn't make them angry! Don't you see? Just do as they tell us - then they'll leave us alone."
	"Don't you believe it!" Katya answered. "I don't believe that!" Vee's insides hollowed with new fear, both for the lovely youngster and for herself.
	"Come!" The young guard had returned. Now he beckoned them imperiously, pushing at them with his rifle butt, and they moved out onto the roadway. Kerosine lamps were burning, hung on the outside walls of the huts, and several open fires glowed redly. Groups of people sat around them, taking their ease, children dodged about at their games, It was a peaceful enough scene, yet both the girls moved self consciously, their arms hugging their shoulders, trying to hide as much of their nude bodies as they could from the prying eyes.
	Raucous insults and laughter sped them on their way to the largest of the buildings. It was much more impressive than the surrounding huts. its walls were made of cement blocks, it had a tin roof supported by metal pillars.
	On a wide, roofed over veranda, a long trestle table was set up. Men were sitting over the remnants of a meal. The food had been placed on dishes, there were plates before each of them. Clearly, these were the leaders, and Vee guessed that this was what stood for the Officers' Mess. As confirmation of her speculation, she saw the general's huge frame seated at the head of the table.
	The bottle of beer in his fist looked tiny. He levered himself upright, came towards them, led them through into the inner building, to a small office.
	Vee's eyebrows rose in surprise at the sight of the pretty figure sitting at a desk. The military uniform of shirt and slacks somehow served to emphasize the shapely femininity. The girl was young, and Vee was painfully reminded of the attractive whore, Mira, that Keith had brought home on her last night at the house.
	"This is Lt Awina," Mavumbi said. "One of my aides." His thick lips spread in a smile, his teeth flashed. For a fleeting instant, the girl looked distinctly uncomfortable, and she threw a malevolent glance at the two unkempt naked figures before she replaced her expression with a look of cool disinterest.
	"Now. You will answer all our questions as fully as you can. We must have all necessary information about you, and your families." He nodded at Vee. 'You first. Full name. Address. Next of kin. Age."
	Vee answered everything, and the Lieutenant wrote her replies down. Surreptitiously, Vee studied the bent head. Her close cropped woolly hair was bound in the traditional tight circular plaits clinging to the rounded skull. She had the flat nose and broad lips of the Northerner, and the brilliant black skin. She was slim, her neck was long and graceful, her shoulders square. High full breasts strained the material of her drill shirt enchantingly.
	When it came to the young Dane's turn to be questioned, Katya spoke out before the general had completed his first sentence. Her voice shook, but she spoke forcefully. "This is an outrage!" She gestured at her stained body. "You must give us clothing! You cannot keep us like this! We are not animals! We demand that you - a-r-r-rgh!"
	For a man of his bulk, Mavumbi moved with lightning speed. His hand shot out, grabbed Katya by her long golden hair, twisting it like rope in his massive grip and forcing her down onto her knees, holding her thus.
	"Demand?" he roared, while Vee stared petrified. "Shut your mouth, you white slut!" His left hand moved quickly, struck the sobbing girl a heavy blow across one cheek, then back again across the other. Still holding her by the hair, he hauled her up and bent her over the desk in one fluid movement. The lieutenant moved with admirable swiftness, grabbing at her papers and leaping back just in time as Katya's helpless frame crashed down on the wooden surface, The General held her easily while she threshed and kicked out hopelessly.
	"You must learn a little respect, white meat! You say you are not animals. But this is what we do to animals who disobey, eh?" He rattled off a command in the local language, and Lt Awina smiled with malicious satisfaction. Quickly she undid the broad army canvas belt about her slender middle and handed it over. The general's ham fist closed over it, knotting it around him. Katya's shriek rose piercingly at the first appalling crack on her squirming bottom. Her hips twisted, her body writhed, making the desk judder, her long legs kicked out helplessly behind her, but he held her down. A red fiery imprint came up over both clenching cheeks. He struck again, and again she bucked, screaming wildly, sobbing hysterically. By the fourth or fifth blow, her bottom was criss crossed with the angry red lines, and her struggles had subsided to the involuntary flinchings at each cracking report, She wept dementedly and blubbered for mercy between her agonised screams at each scorching stroke.
	He flung her aside and she collapsed in a heap, moaning and clawing at her throbbing backside. He smiled at Vee, gestured at the desk.
	"We had better deal with you too. You British are notoriously stiff necked. Our former masters!" he chortled.
	"Oh no, please! I beg - I won't- I'll do whatever you say, I swear!" In spite of her frantic tears, Vee laid herself down at once, feeling the smooth hardness of the wood mashing her breasts, its sharp edge digging into her lower belly and the tops of her thighs. Her hands were folded under her, she laid her cheek on them, turning her head to the side. Her buttocks dimpled, clenched rock hard as she waited for the first painful blow to fall.
	There was a pause, she heard his deep rumbling laugh. "Look, lieutenant. I see someone has been here before us. What is this?" She felt his huge hand passing over her quivering behind, feeling the taut rounds, on which, through the dust and dirt, could be seen the fading pink stripes of Keith's beating.
	"I think we have what you English call a dark horse here."
	Her shame was forgotten at the blaze of torment which rippled over her tender skin at the impact of the broad belt. Her throat ached with the power of the abandoned scream which rose. Its deafening note rang on in her reeling brain, even as the next scorching fire flared over her writhing flesh, and the burning red swell of the fresh blows rose to mar the pale smoothness. The breath caught in her, she hung there, afire, sobbing, as successive strokes thudded into her resilient globes and brought up further blossoms of redness. She was limp, save for each arching response to the falling scourge, its agony spread its fine lines until she was one generalised mass of pain. Only the steady throbbing of her abused body told her when the ordeal had ceased.
	He picked her up, held her up on her feet by her hair, continuing to hold her while, with his free hand, he plucked up the sobbing Katya, who had lain curled up all the while, lost in her private world of misery. He held the pair of them at arm's length.
	"Do you think you can learn to be obedient now, my little white cows?" He shook them with playful force. Their breasts heaved, shaken by convulsive sobs.



11

The return of the two girls past the fire and lamp lit huts, with their cheerful, noisy throngs gathered in the compounds, was even more ignominious. They trudged heads down, their shoulders shaking with the force of the sobs which still erupted periodically, their hands inadvertently stroking the blistered flesh of their behinds.
	At least when they reached the hut which served as their quarters, some provision had been made for them, for there was a large dish mounded high with the white 'posho', the maize meal which was such a staple diet of the northern tribes, and another filled with a mess of dark beans and some thick gravy. As well as a gourd of water, even more welcome was the sight of two coarse grey blankets, which the girls immediately drew around them, both for warmth and concealment.
	There were no eating utensils of any kind, and the laughing young guard squatted down with them in the middle of the flattened earth floor, showing them how to roll the posho into round balls with the fingers before dunking it in the bean stew. He chuckled, and with a further shake of the head, he left them to it.
	Katya gave up after only a few mouthfuls. "It's disgusting!" The tears spilled yet again down her cheeks.
	"We'll have to get used to it," Vee advised. "We must keep our strength up. We mustn't get sick. Not here."
	Although the water was tepid, it seemed clear, and tasted reasonably pure, and they shared most of the contents of the bellied gourd. Their guard had hung a lantern in the open doorway of the hut. The girls surveyed each other in its dimly flickering light.
	The slightest movement sent spasms of pain through their weary frames from the scorched and throbbing rounds of their buttocks. "I need the toilet," Katya muttered forlornly. She stared with revulsion at her battered and encrusted body under the draping blanket. "And I wish there was somewhere we could wash."
	Afraid that she might give way to another foolish outburst, Vee rose, clasping the rough blanket about her shoulders, and went over to the doorway, "Excuse me," she called out nervously. The soldier was lounging outside the fence, chatting to a companion, also in uniform. "We need to go to toilet. The choo," she added, using the Swahili word. One of the men muttered something, and both burst out laughing.
	"Of course, madam," the guard answered mockingly. "If you would come this way!" Self consciously, the girls followed him, clutching their makeshift covers around them. They did not go far. The communal latrine advertised its presence before they arrived by the powerful stench borne on the night air. A rough fence of woven branches and grasses had been erected, behind which a long, deep trench had been dug. Planks of wood had been laid to act as duckboards on either margin of the trench. There was no roof or any other screening of any kind.
	The sentry pointed with his rifle, stood there, grinning. He made no move to depart. "Go away!" shouted Katya, in outrage, and once more Vee felt her heart race with alarm.
	"It doesn't matter!" she said hastily, but the soldier guffawed quite good naturedly and turned his back, moving out beyond the fencing to the trackway. Embarrassed at the crudity of the facility, the girls squatted, folding their blankets to hang like scarves about their shoulders, a little distance apart and keeping their backs to one another. Vee dug her toes into the roughness of the wood, and tried to breathe as shallowly as she could to avoid the full effect of the noxious fumes drifting up from the pit beneath her jutting knees.
	Back at the hut, the sentry unhooked the lantern. His shadow loomed in the doorless opening. "You stay inside now," he warned. "Sleep." He moved off, bearing the lantern with him. The girls' breath caught in convulsive, echoing sighs of despair. The earth floor was cold, and hard as iron. There was not even any grass or straw to ease their discomfort.
	After a few miserable, shifting minutes, Vee sat up. "It's freezing cold," she murmured. "Why don't we try to get comfortable? With each other, I mean." She felt herself blushing in the dark. "If we put one blanket down and lie together, cover ourselves with the other, we can keep each other warm."
	"I stink!" Katya answered pathetically, and choked on a fresh sob.
	"No more than me!" Vee said. "Come on! I need you - I really do!"
	She knew at once that Katya was glad, as glad as she was herself, to feel the human contact. Soon, they were wrapped tightly together arms and legs around each other, they were pressing their bodies together, their mingled breath adding to warmth they were able to create under the musty wool, which they drew over their heads and shoulders as if it would protect them somehow from all the terrifying miseries which surrounded them.
	Vee's lips brushed against the tangled locks, nuzzled the delicate ear of the Danish girl, placed light kisses on the tear dewed cheek.
	"We've got to help each other," she whispered. "Stick together. There's only the two of us." She squeezed the pliant body even tighter, felt their soft breasts rub together, and quivered with a shameful yet strong inner excitement. She was  thrilled to feel the instinctive response from her new companion.
	She hugged Katya closer, squeezed her thigh between hers, pulled her close in a clearly passionate embrace. "We have to obey them. Whatever happens, you understand, Katya, don't you?"
	She felt the shivering body against hers heave in another racking sob. The young face pressed against hers. Vee felt her nod. "Do you think -" There was a heavy, painful pause. "I am a virgin!" Katya's sobbing voice went on. "I have never - had sex. Not fully, properly, never!"
	"Oh, my darling! Come here, my love! Let me hold you!" Vee hugged her, her mouth moved over the wet face, bestowing light kisses all over it, until her lips met those of the sobbing girl, and remained there, gentle, loving, but with increasing passion. Vee's blood was thrumming, she felt the thick rise of desire, thrust her body against that of the girl in her arms. Katya stiffened involuntarily, in shock, then Vee felt the muscles relax, that lovely flesh surrender, moving against her in tender reciprocation.
	Vee was half lying on her now, hanging over her. Their mouths locked again, this time open, searching. Vee's tongue moved, slid into that delectable wetness. They were both gasping when they broke the kiss, their heads spinning. Vee's lips brushed against the delicate ear once more. "I can help you," she breathed softly. "Make you ready. So that -"
	"Oh no! I am not intact!" Katya's reply was louder, almost shrill with surprise. "At school, we have - all the girls, they have, er, vibrators, yes? My girlfriend she shows me, she used it on me. I - just haven't done it yet - with any boy -".
	"How about with girls?" Vee whispered faintly. Her hands were moving, one caressing a warm breast. She could feel the small nipple brushing in rubbery hardness against her palm, her teasing fingers. The other hand crept between their bellies, the fingers strayed through the wiry little tuft of pubis adorning the swell of the mound.
	This time, the stiffening of the body was far more noticeable, the movement to restrain her clear. The tone was even more shocked.
	"Oh no! I'm not - lesbian!"
	"I know," Vee crooned. "Neither am I. But now, like this with everything happening to us I just want to feel close, really close. I want us to be as close - as we can be." Katya's hand had clamped tightly over Vee's wrist, preventing her from exploring more intimately the quivering belly on which it was resting. "Just lie still, my darling," Vee whispered, her lips again brushing against the earlobe, which her teeth now nibbled, drawing an automatic shiver of response which she felt against her. "You don't have to do a thing. Just relax. Go to sleep. I've got you. My love."
	Katya was crying softly again. "No, no!" she muttered, like a child tossing in a bad dream. But the iron grip of her hand on Vee's wrist relaxed, and fell away. With a huge sigh, she let herself go limp once more. Vee wriggled, moving on top of her, pushed with her knees against the long thighs, which parted after a mere token resistance. Vee's sensitive fingers moved and trailed over the curve of Katya's mons, traced the groove of the labia, which she stroked lightly until she felt the slipperiness of those outer folds yielding their moist, virginal secrets.

Vee came slowly awake, reluctantly surfacing from the warm, sensual world of her dreams which, for a few seconds, merged confusingly with reality. She felt the warm length of her companion's body fitted limpet like to the shape of her curving back. Katya's arms were slipped through Vee's, the hands cradling Vee's breasts. Full awareness returned, together with the agony of her sore behind, and the pressure of the unyielding ground on her left hip. There was a dull grey light filtering into the hut, and a chilling damp which set her teeth chattering despite Katya's clinging contact.
	A figure was standing over them. Vee gave a muted scream as she realised the soldier had pulled the blanket off the entwined couple. His grin flashed in the dawn gloom. "Come. UP. You must wash. Then work."
	The white mist was hanging thickly about the camp. Katya was still whimpering, only half awake, as the girls, huddling under the blankets, trooped after the sentry, who led them past the latrine, on along a narrow grassy pathway beyond the last of the huts. There was a small round pond, steeply banked at one end as though it had been man made. Several figures were already crouched at the muddy edges, either washing or drawing up water in the silvery metal 'debis', containers made from old petrol cans.
	At the guard's insistent gestures, the girls dropped their blankets. The water looked black, and was freezing, striking up through their shivering frames with numbing force when they stepped into the muddy shallows, but they were so relieved at being able to cleanse themselves that they forced themselves to wade out a little way and crouch until the icy liquid covered their hips and lower bellies. They washed as best they could, rubbing vigorously, with blowing breath and little moans, even at their faces and necks, before hastily clambering out again.
	They used the blankets as makeshift towels. Their bodies were shaking as though suffering from ague as they shuffled back along the track. But they did not stay at the hut longer than to shed the blankets, again at the guard's command. Hugging their own shoulders now, once more they hurried in his wake through the slowly waking camp, where bleary, heavily swathed figures paused to stare with frank interest at the pale nude forms.
	He led them back to the HQ building where they had been questioned the previous evening. An elderly man in ragged khaki shirt and flapping shorts, grinned toothlessly at their approach. Two young boys, no more than ten or eleven years of age, stood staring wide eyed at the newcomers. They wore only shorts, as holed and venerable as the old man's clothing.
	"This is Achoke. Boy for Officers' Mess," the sentry told them, indicating the skinny old fellow. "You work for him. Do as he say. OK?" He turned on his heel and left them.
	The old man smirked lecherously. "Kuja! Fanya kasi msouri. Mimi bwana mkubwa!"
	Katya gazed wonderingly at Vee, whose kitchen Swahili was scarcely adequate. "He says that we must work well. That he's the the big man - the boss!" Vee translated. Katya snorted in disbelief, but he began to pull them about by their arms, issuing a spate of orders, much to the delight of the two youngsters, whose grubby faces split in identical grins of dawning pleasure at this unexpected diversion. It was the boys who showed the dismayed girls what to do. One of the first jobs was to set out the places at the long table on the veranda, where the officers, about a dozen or so, would take their breakfast later.
	Achoke supervised them, carrying on an endless tirade, mercifully incomprehensible. But then he produced a metal spatula, with a long wooden handle whose paint was chipped and worn, and with this delivered a series of stinging swipes across the girls' bruised backsides at every opportunity, so that they were soon skipping about, yelping in pain struggling to carry out the unfamiliar tasks as quickly as possible, while the two kitchen totos hooted with laughter.
	A large enamel teapot was filled with strong tea, already sweetened with sugar and pale with milk, from the crude looking iron stove whose wood burning interior was already fiercely alight. It was placed on a round tray, together with two large enamel mugs. A dish was filled with hot water. Achoke said something, bringing the spatula down with a loud splat across Vee's bottom for emphasis.
	One of the sniggering boys told her, in quite good English, "You and other one must take this tea and water to the general." He pointed across the wide roadway at a building set apart from the others, and of clearly superior design, with two wooden steps leading up to its own narrow wooden veranda. There were slatted wooden shutters drawn closed across the window openings Vee picked up the tea tray, and Katya the dish of water, and nervously they made their way over in the rapidly increasing light of the new day.
	There was a wooden door, also closed like the shutters, and Vee put the tray down on a small table on the veranda, while she knocked timidly. "General!" she called out, her voice unsteady with nerves. "Your tea is here."
	She gasped at the suddenness with which the door opened, and with surprise at what she saw. The exotically dark, and very lovely, figure of the young Lt Awina, stood framed there. Vee had time only to take in a fleeting glimpse of the high, conical breasts and the dark circles of the nipples, the splendid curve of belly and long thighs, with their tiny little scrub of tight curls over the mound, before the girl came to them, knotting a brightly flowered sarong about her hips carelessly as she did so.
	"Hah! So! You are making yourselves useful. That is good!" She was frowning, her thick lips were set in an exaggerated pout, and her lovely face had the look of one just awakened from sleep and not too pleased about it - "Ah! The hot water. Put it down, girl! Over there!" Bad temperedly, she indicated the table, and Katya, still goggling at the lovely breasts, whose nipples had hardened in the cold air, hastened to obey her.
	Awina turned back to Vee. "You! Pour me a cup and pour another for the general." She smiled unpleasantly. "Take it in to him and wake him! Do it gently - he's not in a good mood when he first wakes." She reached out, pulled Vee round by the hips. "How is your backside?" She nodded when she saw the darkening stripes. "You don't want more, do you?" Vee shook her head, but the African had already turned impatiently towards Katya. "You! White hair! Bring me my towel and toilet bag. They are inside."
	One side of a mosquito net had been tossed aside, and the sheets displaced, so that the upper half of the bulky figure stood out in dark contrast with the white bed linen. General Mavumbi grunted, turned with a deep growling sigh. He was like a beached whale. His massive shoulders were a dusky chocolate shade, as were his great thick arms, and the smooth mound of jutting belly. His face looked even blacker, then a huge, pink cavern appeared as he gave an almighty yawn, and swung his legs out from under the covers.
	Vee stood there, trembling, holding onto the mug of steaming tea, and tried not to let her eyes stray towards the conflux of that great belly and those vast, meaty thighs. Without success. She saw the tiny patch of his pubis, and a startlingly small, wrinkled penis, of a delicate, lighter mushroom shade, curling in the crease of his flesh and shrouded in the folds of foreskin.
	Unselfconsciously, he patted and held his round belly, cradling it proudly, "Give me the tea! You don't find me staring at you like that!" She jumped, started forward, handed it to him. Katya meanwhile had found Awina's toilet things and beat a swift retreat to the veranda.
	Mavumbi stood, his great body quivering as he raised his arms high and gave another great bellowing yawn. Vee shivered as she saw his prick stir, seemingly stretching itself also, as though only just coming awake. Suddenly it was at least twice its former size, thick and long, the head poking out, lifting slightly in a potent curve, over the tight pouch of the testicles.
	Deep laughter rumbled in his throat. "What's wrong, Green? You've never seen a real man before? it's true then that the white bwanas' pricks are all so small they can never satisfy their women in bed. Come here."
	Somehow, though her face burned with shame, Vee could not take her eyes away from his penis, bobbing now, and growing even bigger while she gazed. The great helm, an even paler shade than the mighty column, rose hypnotically. She felt her feet move, take a hesitant step, then he seized her wrist in an iron grip, pulled her forward, and at the same time, down, so that she was kneeling, that huge dome literally in front of her riveted stare.
	"Why don't you get acquainted?" he murmured thickly, the chuckle of laughter rich in his deep tone. "As you haven't met such as this before!"
	Her hands reached out, timidly, her fingers grazed the satin surface of the pulsing shaft. It reared, swelled at her feathery touch, stiffened magnificently. She could see the gleaming slit of the small mouth, shining with the dew of his emission. It was only centimetres away from her. Her nostrils were full of his male odour. The yeasty excitement of it made her blood thunder. Her fingers curled, a little more firmly, held the throbbing shaft, and felt it respond powerfully. She began to stroke, starting off the rhythm of stimulation, and pursed her lips in a delicate little bow which fitted to the gleaming pungent tip.
	She tasted the salty fluid in a quivering ecstasy of fear and hunger. Her pink tongue flickered out, brushed the spongy tissue of the helm, her fingers tightened, drew him towards her searching tongue, her nibbling mouth.
	She heard the door crash open behind her, and she fell forward onto hands and knees as the general pulled away from her embrace with appalling abruptness, The deep rumble of his laughter echoed above her as she stayed crouched there, her eyes stinging with tears.
	"Get this white witch away from me!" he guffawed, "Before she eats me altogether!" His prick was thrusting out like a bowsprit, but he showed no embarrassment. His laughter redoubled as Vee was suddenly sent sprawling ignominiously onto her stomach by a well placed and vigorous shove on her behind from Awina's bare foot.



12

General Mavumbi sat at the head of the table, enjoying to the full the assertion of power which the two pale, nude figures stationed on either hand emphasised.
	Their bodies were fragrant, their hair hung and gleamed silkily in the lantern light, for they had been groomed for the occasion. In the early evening, after a long and wearying day doing the menial chores, making beds and sweeping out the officers' quarters, including the general's hut, as well as washing dishes and preparing food under Achoke's critical eye and flicking hand, they had been sent off, led by Jackson, one of the pair of kitchen boys, to the unbelievable luxury of a covered bath house with hot water.
	The spurt from the crude iron pipes of the shower stall which they shared was somewhat irregular, but they did not mind that in the least. They were even given rough towels, a sliver of sweet toilet soap, and a bottle of cheap shampoo. Their spirits could not help lifting a little, in spite of their anxiety at Achoke's admonition, translated by Jackson as, "Tonight you must be looking sexy for Simba!" The boy rolled his dark eyes and clicked his teeth, before bursting into fits of laughter at the girls' blushing expression.
	Vee had an added private worry, which she did not share with Katya, for, as she had picked herself up and scrambled out of the general's bedroom that morning, she had not failed to observe the malevolent glare which had followed her from the young lieutenant, who was clearly the general's sleeping partner.
	In vain, Vee tried to reassure herself that there was nothing else she could have done, that General Mavumbi had forced her to caress him like that, dragging her down to kneel before him and thrusting that great prick into her face. She had the feeling somehow that Awina would not see it that way, or, even if she did, it would make no difference to her antagonism.
	Though the two prisoners had already endured the ogling of the officers in the morning, it had not been so prolonged or so public, for they had appeared in ones or twos. They had not lingered for breakfast was a snatched, hasty meal, and quite basic. Dinner was much more of a social occasion, which was why the general had wanted to present his captives at their best.
	Vee was all too conscious of Awina's burning gaze fixed on her from lower down the table. She wondered if the officers sat according to rank. Surely, she would have thought, given the intimate nature of the lieutenant's relationship with the general, she should have been sitting much closer to him? Vee had also quickly noticed that Awina was the only other female present at the table. In any other circumstances, she would have admired and felt for the lovely girl, having to uphold her position in front of all these men. Particularly in view of the African male's attitude towards women and the controversial feminism which was only just making itself felt on the continent.
	But now the girl's dark eyes fell on her with such ill concealed malice that Vee was afraid all over again. "They look just like those high class whores they use as strippers in the Nairobi night clubs!" Awina said now, as conversation turned yet again upon the hostages. Her remark, passed in English, brought an immediate blush to both the European faces.
	One of the men said something which caused a burst of laughter. "Talk in English, you uncultured ape!" Awina snapped. She nodded at the embarrassed pair standing beside the general. "Out of courtesy to our honoured guests!"
	The man she had unflatteringly addressed did not appear to take any offence. The general nodded. "Quite right, lieutenant!" He turned, chuckling, towards Katya and Vee. "My men are very flattering, my dears. Some of those girls in Nairobi are very beautiful eh? Very sexy!" He laughed deeply. "But I think it's true. I think you would make excellent strippers. Don't you think so?" he asked the table in general, and there was a chorus of assent.
	"I think all white girls are good at that," Awina announced. "They are all whores at heart." She looked at her fellow officers, shook her head in mock sadness. "And they have bewitched our own people. Everywhere you look, in the papers, at the cinema. We are always encouraged to copy them, to try and make ourselves skinny like them. To make our skins lighter. A black girl now is shenzi - uncivilised. Our men all want us to look like these bean poles -" she nodded at the two embarrassed figures, while her colleagues erupted in good natured cheers. "Tiny little titties like young girls and flat bottoms like little boys!"
	Vee and Katya became alarmed when the men lingered on at the table, and they were kept busy serving the large bottles of beer, from which the officers swigged, dispensing with glasses. But though the talk grew more raucous, it was clear that discipline was strong. No one stepped out of line, or offered anything more frightening or violent than a fairly brief grope as the girls brought the beer.
	Awina left not long after the meal was over, but not before she had flung one last hostile glance in Vee's direction.
	At last, the general rose, and his officers stood, too, dispersing with loud good nights. "You two, wait here," he said, and strode off across the roadway to his sleeping quarters.
	Katya's blue eyes looked huge with fear, Vee tried to smile reassuringly, and moved close. She slipped an arm around the slim waist, hugged her. "Don't worry," she whispered. "It'll be all right."
	They both quivered with dread at the sudden roar which erupted from across the road. The deep voice continued to thunder for a few brief minutes, then there was a shrill cry of pain. The door opened, light spilled out onto the veranda, and they saw the slender form of Awina coming out, still buttoning up her shirt. She was weeping. She turned away, but was still within earshot as the massive bulk of Mavumbi appeared in the doorway, naked to the waist. "Come!" he called simply, beckoning with his hand, and they moved over to him, clasping each other tightly as they went.
	He was sitting on the edge of the bed and gestured impatiently for them to close the door. "Both of you, make yourselves useful!" he growled, holding up his still booted feet, and they knelt, one at each leg and unlaced the heavy combat boots. They tugged them off, then the thick socks. He stood, unbuckled the pants and slipped them down. He stepped out of them, and Vee gathered them up, folding them neatly to lay them with the discarded shirt on a chair. Clad only in a pair of white Y-fronts, over which his huge belly thrust, he fell back onto the bed and held up his arms.
	"Come on, the pair of you. Let's see if it's true what Awina says, that you're all whores at heart."
	Katya began to sob pitifully. Vee put her arms around her, led her to the bed. "What's wrong with her?" the general asked. His voice feigned surprise. "Don't tell me she doesn't want it!"
	Vee cleared her throat. "She's a virgin!" she murmured, and cast a pleading look at his grinning face. She saw at once from the expression of eager lust which spread over his broad features that she had blundered.
	"You!" he growled roughly at Vee. "Get on with what you started this morning." He nodded crudely at his bulging loins. "And you, little one, come here!"
	Paralysed with fright, Katya stood there, shivering and weeping, until he leaned forward, caught her roughly by an arm and pulled her down with him. She gave a little scream and began to fight, panic stricken, her long legs threshing as he captured her wrists, held her clawing hands away from him. He loomed over her, swiftly pinning her down, reducing her to sobbing submission. Only when he felt her go limp did he release his restraining hold on her.
	"That's all right. I like a bit of fight. Shows you value what you've got. But learn from your friend here. She knows what it's for, don't you, eh?" He jabbed Vee painfully with his foot. "Meanwhile, I gave you an order, bitch!" He lay holding the sobbing Katya easily in his arms, and Vee bent over him. Carefully, she eased the tight underbriefs down, drew them off. His already massive prick flopped out, heavy with its fecund promise, and that rich odour sent her nerves tingling as she dipped her head in homage. Its yeasty flavour filled her lapping mouth as she bestowed feather light kisses along its throbbing length, while her fingers stroked at the column, which reared and hardened almost at once in response.
	Still clutching Katya in his arms. clasping her to his side, he rolled onto his back, his great legs lifting, the knees bending, slackening, and Vee knelt between them. She took hold of his penis near its base, and her movements were more vigorous now, massaging it until it stood up from his belly like a pole. Her blonde hair fell either side of her working face, brushed his thighs as she stretched her gaping mouth as wide as she could, and encircled the soft dome, taking it into her suckling wetness until it filled her entirely and she was gagging for breath, her nostrils flared like some wild creature.
	Vee sucked noisily, until she was forced to withdraw in order to breathe, and the glans re-emerged with an audible plop. Her head bobbed again, her jaws stretched, and once more she took in as much of the straining column as she could, until she felt it press chokingly at the back of her throat. It pulsed mightily, and her own vaginal muscles spasmed in acute response.
	All at once, the great hams buffeted her aside, and rolled over, dragging the petrified Katya underneath him, sobbing loudly. Her white blonde hair spread out over the crumpled pillow, her eyes were closed, her head tossing from left to right. The great expanse of his dark buttocks rose, nudging Vee as she crouched in forgotten proximity, watching the vast bulk engulf Katya's slim form. He scrabbled furiously, forcing the thighs apart, the great column stabbing at the pale flesh.
	Instinctively, the pale knees lifted, the narrow feet waved in the air as the Danish girl's limbs encompassed the mass of dark flesh descending on her. The thick fingers, with their contrastingly pallid nails, pulled ruthlessly at the tight divide of Katya's labia, brutally forcing an entrance for that nuzzling dome, which sought blindly to penetrate, and all at once succeeded. The pinioned frame twisted, the feet scissored as the slim body shuddered at the shock, and the pain, of such a huge invasion, then once more seemed to relax, the strength ebbing from the struggling victim as the potent shaft sank remorselessly into her and she screamed and screamed.
	The broad backside quivered, dimpled as he thrust against the virginal resistance. Again, there was a corresponding shudder from Katya, again a limp yielding, then their coupled bodies were moving in a new rhythm, and Katya's initial cries of pain changed to short grunts which drew echoing responses from the smothering bulk driving down on her until the bed shook. Vee could feel the springing of the creaking mattress, was buffeted still by the writhing limbs of the joined pair.
	Katya's knees lifted higher, almost level now with the great slope of the general's shoulders, her feet crossed over the broad, undulating plane of the back. Vee stared at the narrow, faintly dusty soles, watched the pink little heels begin to drum against the dark flesh. Katya's wild screaming began again. The frenzied plunging grew more violent, and now Vee could see that the transfixed form beneath the huge shape was lifted, impaling to meet each spearing thrust, until there was a final, cataclysmic juddering, a micro-second when Katya's slim body was raised clear of the bed, clinging to him, soldered to his flesh as the spasm fired through him.
	Then they collapsed, leaving Katya crying desolately. Covered by the general's inert mass, she wept for her lost innocence, and for the terror which had swept her away, and from which she was now returning with the dim awareness that she would never be the same again.
	The general dismissed them with a single word, the curtness of his command flaying their sensitivity as badly as any physical abuse they had suffered. The encampment had settled for the night, and at first they could hardly see to move in the blanketing darkness, but gradually their eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, and they could make out the edges of the track, the shape of the trees, the silhouette of the round huts. Dogs barked. They both gasped with fright at the sudden looming appearance of a figure, then shook with relief as they recognised the quiet voice of their young guard, whose name they had learned was Edward.
	Vee realised that Katya was stumbling, walking stiffly, and weeping with shock and pain. "She is hurt," she said strongly, concern making her bold. "I must bathe her."
	"Wait." Edward led them back to their hut, lit the lantern, which he suspended on the central pole. He left without another word. Katya stood dumbly, spreading her legs at Vee's gentle insistence, letting Vee inspect her in the poor lamplight. The gash of the vulva gleamed rawly, the outer labia swollen, distended, and there were darker streaks of blood on the inner thighs, along with the thick residue of Mavumbi's semen, but the bleeding was nowhere near as copious as Vee had feared.
	She turned away, huddling forward, shielding herself at Edward's return. He was bearing a dish of water, some clean rags, a bar of soap and a towel. His face looked extremely boyish in the flicker of the lantern. He frowned with awkward concern, and embarrassment. "I leave light," he said. "You put out when you finish."
	Vee reached out impulsively, lightly touched his sleeve. "Thank you."
	Katya's weeping had almost ceased. Vee made her lie down on the blanket and spread her legs wide. She bathed the area of the genitals carefully, leaving the cloth draped over the swollen cleft of the sex lips. "Lie on your side," Vee instructed. "Hold the cloth between your legs. Draw your knees up. That's it." She positioned the girl, then knelt and leaned over her. She kissed the soft lips tenderly, and though Katya did not draw away from her embrace, there was a wooden acceptance, with no response. The blue eyes, washed with the tears, did not meet her own. Vee stood and turned out the lamp, then fitted herself around the curving back, snuggling in tightly as she pulled the blanket over them. She felt her own body's treacherous beating of desire at the contact of the cushioning buttocks on the front of her thighs, and her lower belly; unable to prevent herself, she slipped a hand under Katya's arm, and fitted her palm around a warm breast.
	"You'll soon be better now, my darling." She kissed lightly at the nape of the neck, kept her lips there. "I love you," she whispered. There was no answer.



13

The next morning, though the vaginal lips were a little puffy. and a little more pronounced, there was nothing more to show the frenetic activity of the previous night, except for Katya's stiff, hunched gait, the strained lines of her tragic young face, and the shame in those blue eyes which could not meet Vee's tender gaze. At her deeply felt compassion, those blue eyes misted once more with tears, and the sweet mouth curved. "I hate him!" the Danish girl whispered, a shudder passing through her.
	Over at the mess hut, Vee was astonished to see a slim female sitting alone at the table, eating. She recognised the scowling features of the lieutenant, whose superb figure showed to full advantage in the simple clinging sheath dress of a bright but cheap floral pattern, with a matching bandanna fastened at her woolly skull. Beneath the dress's hem, which ended at mid thigh, her bare legs shone with freshly applied perfumed lotion. Her feet were encased in flimsy plastic sandals. She pushed aside the bowl, rose as she saw them approaching. Her venomous look took in both of them.
	"I am leaving to go south. To see what those bastards are prepared to offer to secure your freedom - if anything! Personally, I think you're useless sluts! I hope you stay with us a long time!" She stepped very close to the cringing Vee. Her finger and thumb shot out, caught hold of a nipple, already erect with the early morning chill, and Vee gave a muted scream at the flash of agony which speared through the sensitive flesh. The dark fingers twisted cruelly, pulling the soft round out of shape, forcing Vee to double over as though bowing obsequiously.
	"I'll be back in a few days!" she hissed, in a tone rich with threat, before she released her and stormed out, leaving the trembling Vee striving to hold back the tears, while she massaged her throbbing breast.
	The second long day passed in a daze of menial tasks, with Achoke's grumbles and painful swats from his instrument, and the laughing mockery of the two kitchen totos, to speed it on its way until once more the girls stood, freshly bathed, one on either side of the general's imposing figure, during the evening meal. "Report to my quarters when you've finished your chores," Mavumbi said, nodding at the remains of the meal which covered the long table. He called out something to the elderly cook, who cackled and nodded enthusiastically.
	"I told him not to keep you too long," the general grinned. "And not to work you too hard. As I said, your hardest work is yet to come."
	He was lounging naked on his bed when they timidly knocked and entered. Vee had been afraid that the trembling Katya would not obey the summons, and had held onto her tightly all the way across the wide earthen track to the veranda. And, indeed, once inside, Katya burst into a paroxysm of sobbing She leaned against the plasterboard wall, her hands clasped tightly between her legs. "I can't!" she wept, the white gold mane tossing as she shook her head. "I won't!!" Vee looked on in dumb misery, her own eyes brimming with tears, her heart fluttering as she waited for the storm to break.
	To her amazement, she heard instead the general's rumbling laugh. "Would you rather be beaten?" he asked.
	"Yes!" Katya sobbed wildly, and he nodded.
	"Very well. Come here!" The tears streaming down her face, on which the fine strands of her dishevelled hair clung as they hung over her shoulders, Katya advanced slowly, her hands still covering her vulva. He rose, towering over her as she stood there, her head down. "Turn round! Bend down. Touch your toes!" There was a fractional pause, the willowy form gave a little start as though she could not take in his command, then she did as she was bidden, though a huge sob, appallingly loud in the quiet of the room, shook her as she moved.
	Vee stared breathlessly. In spite of her alarm, she felt a warm flow of appreciation at the pathetic beauty, and utter vulnerability, of the lovely creature. The golden hair brushed the floor. The pale haunches rose, elongated slightly by her stance, the deep cleft of the buttocks showed entrancingly in the lamplight which fell full upon her. The rounds stood out whitely, the central divide's shading contrast highlighted, and the peeping display of the puckered sex lips, fringed by the light coloured curls, at its very base. Though she kept her feet together, there was a touching little space between the tops of her thighs which allowed such an intimate view, and which brought a lump to Vee's throat.
	Mavumbi had moved, and, as he turned towards Vee, she saw the thick hawser of his prick curving out, already roused. He caught her gaze, grinned savagely. "You! Go round the front. Pull her legs apart and hold her down!" Vee moved quickly, put her hands on Katya's shoulders, felt them quivering as she stared down at the flaxen head on a level with her own sandy pubis, almost touching her thighs.
	The general had picked up a short cane, an officer's swagger stick. Vee could see the muscles bunching on the curving back below her, and on the thighs, saw the tight buttock cheeks hollow in anticipation of the pain which was to come. Instead, with an evil grin, the general pointed the stick directly at the cleft of the backside. One end of the stick was tipped with metal, and he pushed this gently against the peeping fold of the vulva, penetrating just a fraction. Katya gasped, and jerked convulsively, her head flying up as she propelled herself forward cannoning into Vee and pushing her back a few steps.
	Mavumbi roared with laughter. "What are you squealing for? You've had far more than that up you now, you stupid girl!"
	Sobbing desolately, lost in her shame, Katya made to bend over again, but he nodded at the bed, his gaze still on Vee. "Put her over there. You'd better sit on her head. Keep her down."
	Although she continued to weep noisily, Katya made no move to resist, letting herself be pulled over to the bed and bent over, with her toes trailing on the floor and her bottom thrusting like an offering. Vee tried to keep her weight off her, yet at the same time straddle her head, kneeling with thighs splayed, their inner surface tantalisingly grazed by the profusion of Katya's tangled locks.
	"Hold her!" Mavumbi ordered again, and Vee spread her hands on the heaving shoulders.
	The cane whistled briefly as the black arm rose, then fell with a loud crack. The prostrate body jerked, Vee felt the head thresh, bump against her mound, and encircling thighs. Vee pressed down to hold the arching back onto the springy mattress. Katya's scream was muffled by Vee's smothering body. The long legs scissored, and Mavumbi waited sadistically until the first violent spasm had died before he struck again, equally hard, and the bucking figure writhed in fresh agony.
	Six strokes were delivered, cruelly spaced, so that the full torment of the burning pain could be savoured at each pause. All six cuts could be seen, the thin red lines of fire criss crossing one another over the pale resilient flesh. By the sixth, Vee could feel the captive frame beneath her had ceased to struggle, except for those involuntary twitches at each falling blow, and the screams had faded to a deep gut wrenching sobbing which Vee could feel transmitted to her own body. She was also acutely aware, much to her private shame, of the throbbing arousal between her legs at the jerking of the helpless head beneath her.
	Katya was limp again now, the only movement those great engulfing sobs. Vee stared over the pale back to the massive bulk of the general. She could see his penis, fully erect, rearing over the curves of Katya's behind. The dome, exposed, pointed directly at her, its eye gleaming with the juice of his excitement. She thought he was about to plunge it into the weeping girl's exposed crevice as she lay still pinned there, but he dragged Katya upright by the hips, toppling Vee backwards in the process. He flung the limp girl back onto the hard wooden chair.
	"You need experience, girl!" he spat, "and you shall have it. For now,watch and see how fucking should be done!"
	Vee had little time to reflect on the implied insult in his words, for he leapt on her, grabbed her legs and hauled them wide apart. Desperately, she encircled him with her limbs, lifting them high about his waist as he crashed down, and she felt that gigantic prick stabbing and sliding over her belly. She scrabbled, caught hold of the rearing column, steered it to her own vulva, flicking and lifting her hips, stretching herself to take in his solid girth. She felt it thrusting for a second at her tightness, then her vaginal lips parted and the length of the shaft drilled into her. The fiery torment took her breath, she could not even scream. Her narrow orifice, wetly ready as it was, was stretched to capacity. She felt his hardness hammering against the neck of her cervix.
	Impaled, burning through to her very centre, she rode the fury of his assault, buffeted by the colossal bulk of him.
	Hazily, she tried to recall how long it was since she had been fucked, then lost the ability to think as pure sensation took over, and she grunted fiercely, spearing herself, pain and pleasure fused and mounting, battering the softness of her flesh against his consuming hardness. The world thundered to the force of their coupling, their mutual hunger and need. She was not aware of the scream which ripped from her throat, the convulsive clutch of her fingers digging into the great shoulders, the final frantic rutting at the burst of the orgasm shattering through her every fibre, dipping, soaring, then exploding once more, at the very point of surrender, when she felt the mighty surge of him pumping deep within her.

There was so much Vee wanted to say, to explain to her beautiful companion. Yet, she reflected sadly, how could she, when she could not explain it properly to herself? How could she account for the primitive, animal excitement, the magnetism of that powerful black body possessing them so completely. so purely - as pure as their own lost excitement at their submission, the submission which brought its own sweet, paradoxical sense of power at the very moment of ultimate surrender?
	So they said nothing to each other of those things, pretended that they were helpless victims to his will.
	Vee concentrated all her energies, and her passion, into convincing Katya of the sweetness and the strength of the love they could share for each other. And the rightness of the physical expression of that love, the passion it could rouse.

	It became increasingly difficult to share such treasured moments. They were called upon nightly to service the general - "Like prostitutes!" Katya wept bitterly. And she was learning the art of pleasuring a man, and learning fast, in spite of her horror. She was shocked to the core when Mavumbi first demanded that she should use her mouth to arouse him, in the way that she had seen Vee do, yet, with Vee's guidance, she managed to overcome her repugnance, and the two of them crouched like acolytes between those meaty thighs and lapped reverentially at the soaring column of the phallus between their nuzzling faces.
	But there was no force about the passionate embraces the girls shared in the privacy of their own hut, usually all too briefly, at least in Vee's eyes, in the cold greyness of dawn before they were compelled to drag themselves forth for another day of servitude. There were times when Vee wept, too, though she hid her tears from her companion, at the sweet frustration of their loving, for, apart from the eagerly reciprocated kisses and the closely pressing embraces of their warm bodies, it was a one-sided consummation of their love.
	Whether from ignorance, or innocence, or maybe even, painful as it was to contemplate such a thing, a natural revulsion against such an act, Katya lay passively whenever Vee's mouth, and exploring fingers strayed to that region below the divinely heaving breasts where the core of their bodily desire lay.
	Indeed, the first time Vee's lips had moved from the sweet pink tipped mounds to trail over the fragrant, palpitating belly, pausing only to lap worshipfully at the shallow little dish of the navel before they centred on the quivering thighs, and the moist folds of secret flesh that lay between, the pliant young body had stiffened, a hand had clutched convulsively at Vee's hair, which spread over the heaving flanks, as though to prevent any further violation of her clamorous flesh. But Vee, trembling with urgent hunger, would not be denied. She persisted, gently, and the hand fell away, the young body surrendered, with another deep sigh, while Vee, delirious with pleasure, sank to slake her thirst at the musky fount of passion which yielded its last citadel to her irresistible caresses.
	Time ceased to have any normal meaning for them in the days that followed. The divisions of daylight and darkness, the routine of their servitude in the officers' mess, those strange, isolated hours which they shared with the charismatic leader in his bed, Vee's own snatched moments of bliss under the coarse blanket in the twilight of their hut - all of these rolled by with strangely little relevance to the normal passage of time.
	They were shocked one afternoon by a commotion, an excited running and shouting which made their hearts race. They were kneeling over the big dishes of greasy water, cleaning the pots and pans, when Jackson came racing back, teeth and eyes flashing. "Lt Awina!" he cried in English. "She has returned! And she brings a mzungu with her - a white man!"
	The commotion came nearer, they heard a jeep draw up, the engine cut. Mavumbi's deep tones bellowed their names, and they hurried out into the blinding sunlight, their hands still wet from their task. A large crowd had gathered. They cheered loudly at the sight of the two naked figures, but it was not this roar which made the girls suddenly colour up in a rush of shame, while their hands moved helplessly from breasts to fleece covered mounds. Nor was it the impressive bulk of the grinning Mavumbi, or the travel stained but still lovely form of the coolly mocking Awina.
	An elegantly handsome European, dressed in immaculately tailored and well fitting drill shirt and khaki denim slacks was climbing from the jeep. His hair was a dark bronze, with hints of redness catching in the sunlight, which caught also at the luxuriant growth of moustache tapered to two fine points a fraction below the corners of his smiling mouth.
	If he had been shocked at the vision of the nude girls, he recovered his poise with admirable speed, and advanced with hand outstretched. Aware of their foolishness, toes gripping and flexing with their embarrassment, the girls found themselves returning his handshake, murmuring the polite formula of greeting.
	"Hi!" His teeth sparkled, his tanned face, and tawny eyes, gazed at them with frank directness. "How do you do, Mrs Green, Miss Burnsen. I'm Frank Tully. International News. I'm here to get some pictures!"



14

"Go and put some clothes on, you shameless whores!"
	The girls blinked, gaping open mouthed at Awina's verbal attack. As they stood there in dumb astonishment, she hurried forward. Her fingers were like steel around their upper arms as she dragged them away from the stranger and hustled them into the dim interior of the mess hut.
	"Come with me!" she hissed, and continued to tow them along at a furious pace out of the back entrance of the kitchen, and across the compound to the long low structure where the officers had their individual bedrooms. She thrust them into the end room, They could tell from its neatness, the cheaply framed pictures on the rough walls, the small embroidered cloth draped over the crate which served as dressing table, and the faint fragrance which hung in the air, that it was hers.
	She delved into a giant suitcase which stood against one wall, on which its raised lid rested, and which served as a drawer for the clothing neatly folded within. She pulled out two pieces of brightly patterned, thin cotton cloth, the 'kitengis' which local girls, and white women too, wore as wraparounds. Awina flung one at each of them. "Cover yourselves, sluts! And keep yourselves covered! Titties as well! Our visitor will think you are completely shenzi!"
	Stung by the injustice of her words, the girls nevertheless had the good sense to say nothing. They draped the thin cloth around them, knotting the upper corners over their breasts, the upper half of which showed enticingly above the cloth.
	"Wait here! Don't move!"
	Awina went out, pulling the door to but not bothering to lock it.
	The girls stared at each other, then moved together, held hands as they sat down on the edge of the creaking metal bed. "International News, he said. To take our pictures? Does that mean -?" Katya's voice faded, as though afraid to voice the hope which had made their hearts race.
	Vee nodded, squeezed her hand tightly. "It means they know about us - outside. Back home. I'm sure it won't be long now." Oh God, I hope so, she prayed vehemently.
	Awina returned shortly. The sun was low, the light mellowing towards sunset. "Come with me!" she muttered, and the girls scurried after her. Strangely enough, they were suddenly newly conscious of their bodies, of their nudity under the clinging fineness of the cloth. Awina led them through the late afternoon ease of the crowded encampment to the general's own quarters. He was standing on the veranda, talking to a small group of men, but he ushered all three females through into the crowded privacy of his bedroom at once.
	Vee could feel herself blushing at the thought of their other visits to this sanctum. It was the first time they had seen the spartan little room in daylight. Her discomfort was aggravated by the general's deep, knowing chuckle at observing them covered by the kitengi cloths. "I didn't recognise you!" he beamed.
	"I'm not surprised!" Awina said, with bitter sarcasm. "Really! Did you have to let that news reporter see them like that? Naked!" She gave an exclamation of disgust, "What on earth will he think of us!"
	"He can think what he 1ikes!" Mavumbi countered strongly. "They are our prisoners. We do what we like. That's what he's here to see!"
	"He'll think we're nothing but a bunch of uneducated savages!" Awina fired back. Her dark eyes were blazing, her face alive with her anger. She made a great effort to control her fury. "In the last ten days the eyes of the entire world have turned on us. On our cause." Her arm shot out, she gestured towards the closed door. "That mzungu, he's a big man in the press. His story, his pictures - they will go everywhere. We are hot news! The capital is packed with foreign journalists. They are flying in from Nairobi every day. Television crews." She shook her head. "I don't think you realise -"
	"I don't think you realise who's in command here!" the general thundered. "If I want them to go around with their arses showing, naked as baboons, then that's how it will be. These whites have to learn they no longer run things here. And soon their brown faced lackeys in the south won't, either."
	Though the young African girl had quailed a little at the force of his riposte, she spoke out spiritedly. "If we want international sympathy and support for our cause, then we have to appear humane. Civilised, on their terms."
	"I didn't notice you showing much sympathy when I leathered their backsides with your belt their first night here. Or since," he sneered cruelly, "when I've been fucking the hot little bitches every night!"
	The blow struck home. Vee saw the hurt and humiliation on the lovely features, though the girl tried hard not to let her emotion show. She did not answer, and the great hulk of a man swept on, his disgust rising. "You are as bad as they are, with your western ways, your perfumes and your powders, your frilly knickers and what not! That is what education does to a woman. No wonder no man wants to marry you clever bitches! Too many foreign books! They take away the life, drain it from those parts that really matter, and stuff your heads with nonsense instead!"
	"I haven't noticed you complaining!" she cried.
	"Nor you!" he replied, with final brutal insult. It was like a slap in the face. Vee heard Awina's soft gasp. "You can play it your way to a point with that reporter," he went on, "but I want him to know that we are not treating these two whores like VIP guests in the Hilton. Is that clear? And I want him off the camp and on his way by tomorrow afternoon. Now get out!"
	The sun was almost down below the tall trees edging the village. The long shadows of the three figures stretched before them. Awina seized their arms once more, her fingers like painful claws on the softness of their bare arms. Her lovely face smouldered with rage. "You go to your hut and stay there. Don't report to the mess tonight. The mzungu will come to you after dinner, Answer his questions, let him take his pictures. But don't tell him about the beating, or how roughly we've treated you." Her head tossed savagely back towards the building they had just left. "Or how you've been spreading your legs for Simba every night. Unless you want the whole world to know what whores you really are!" She thrust them away, and the girls hurried off, whimpering quietly with fright.

"Is it really only ten - eleven - days since we were taken?" Vee said wonderingly. Their incongruous initial shyness was only just beginning to wear off in the presence of this handsome man, who appeared to them to be as exotic as an alien from another galaxy. They found it impossible to believe their sudden fame in that outside world from which he came.
	"Believe me, you're headline news," he told them. "Everyone knows your faces. You've been on television practically every night." He tapped the bag at his side. "And these pics will travel round the globe. If they'll let me, I'd like to get some shots around the camp. The ablutions and so on. Where you wash, toilet facilities."
	Katya gave a derisory little cry, and Vee shot her a warning glance.
	Frank Tully said delicately, "When we first met outside the officers' mess. You being starkers. That lieutenant, Awina. She sort of suggested that it's quite common for people, some of the young girls, to go round naked. When they're working. How did it grab you? Did you mind?" He smiled, trying to sound as casual as possible. He had already sensed the caution in the girls' answers to his questions about their treatment by the rebels, and guessed they were keeping some things back, through fear or embarrassment.
	"Mind?" Katya's voice shrilled with h er outraged sensibility. "You think we have a choice?" she asked, her voice breaking with emotion.
	"Katya!" Vee said, the urgency in her tone plain, But all at once, the Danish girl's reserve of strength broke. She brushed aside Vee's hand, which had reached out gently towards her, and stood. Dramatically, she flung aside the thin covering, exposing her beautiful body, whose curves and planes were highlighted and shadowed in the light of the lantern hanging above them. Frank stared up at her. Vee had risen, too, and tried to take hold of her, to screen her, but once again Katya shook her off. She faced the reporter, the tears streaming down her face.
	"This is how we have been the whole time!" she wept. Her fists were clenched at her sides, she forgot to conceal herself. "We have been beaten! Look!" She turned, ignoring Vee's cry of shocked protest, and, bending slightly, thrust her bottom almost literally in the journalist's face. Though the belting Mavumbi had given both girls had faded to pale insignificance the marks of the caning he had inflicted upon Katya were still quite clear. "That was some nights ago, I don't know how many. Because I wouldn't -" her voice caught on a sob.
	"Don't, darling!" Vee pleaded, but the mane of gold hair tossed defiantly
	"I don't c-care what they do!" Katya sobbed. "They should know the truth about these animals back home!" Her breasts shook as she gulped, fighting against her grief. "I was a virgin! He - the general - he raped me. Both of us! Every night he makes us go to him. Together! Makes us do things - have sex with him. Each night!"
	She broke down, and Vee clasped her to her, mothering her. A shadow loomed in the door way, and they saw Edward, the young guard. He advanced warily, holding his ancient rifle. "What is happening?"
	"It's all right, Edward," Vee answered soothingly. "It's just Katya is upset. All this talk of home. Of her family. You know?" She smiled at him over the quaking shoulders. His eyes were wide as he stared at Katya's unclothed rear view, and Frank Tully hastily picked up the discarded cloth, draped it over the weeping girl to conceal her. He nodded in support of Vee's explanation, and the boy nodded in turn, somewhat sheepishly, and went out again.
	Vee released the sobbing Katya, and put her hands on Frank's arm. "You mustn't print any of that!" she said, her low tone rife with alarm. "They'll punish us! God knows what they'll do! Promise!"
	"OK," he answered placatingly. "But I'm going to let the authorities know what's really going on, don't you worry!"
	All at once, Vee gave a soft moan and flung her arms around him. He felt the softness of her body, its sinuous shape pressing to him, smelt the damp freshness of her blonde hair as it nuzzled under his chin, Her tears wet his shirt front, and he hugged her to him. Now she shook, too, with muffled weeping.
	"We just want to get out of here. To be safe!"
	He thought of the vision of the Danish girl's lovely body, lit by the lantern, savoured the feel of this other slim form pressing so close. Ashamed at himself, he felt his prick stiffen, throb against the tight restriction of his clothing, and he eased his hips backward slightly, afraid that the girl would feel his erection.
	Escorted back to his rough quarters by the young guard, he sat on the edge of the narrow camp bed, waited for his excitement to die before he undressed. He wondered how intimate would be the photographs he would be allowed to take tomorrow. If only he could capture the girls naked, as he had first seen them, out in the open, preferably with their captors surrounding them. These thoughts were not helping to quieten his blood, he thought wryly.
	He had just slipped off his socks and shoes, then his shirt, when there was a gentle tapping at his door, and he heard the husky voice of Awina. "Mr Tully, are you awake?" He stood, opened the door. She had a short white towelling robe pulled tightly about her. His eyes were drawn to the deep V of her breasts, contrastingly dark, showing between the folds of the robe. Her closely kinked hair had drops of water in it, shining like miniature jewels. She smelt of perfumed soap and gave off the damp fragrance of the shower.
	He had been deeply attracted to this outstanding young woman from their first clandestine meeting in the crowded anonymity of the Suzy Bar. At first, he had thought she was another of the educated girls who were turning their talents towards prostitution in order to supplement their income. Many of them were stunningly good looking, and had good jobs as secretaries or waitresses in the city's hotels during the daytime. He thought this one had come up with an ingenious scam concerning the kidnapped Europeans in order to make herself a considerable bonus. But she had quickly convinced him that she was indeed what she purported to be, a member of the Liberation Army, and a trusted member at that. And one who would bring him an exclusive scoop that would make his own fortune on the international press scene, as he had always hoped.
	He liked African girls, had enjoyed a good many during his time in the region. Unfortunately, he never got the chance to pursue his private inclinations towards the lovely rebel, never even found the opportunity to be alone with her, not even during the rough two day journey to the rebel stronghold, the final hours of it blindfold. Now here she was in his bedroom! And wearing only a bathrobe. As for him, all he had on was a pair of slacks and a mighty hard-on which threatened to split them in two!
	"I just came to see how the interview went. If our prisoners cooperated with you. Gave you the full picture, as it were." She moved, sat down on the protesting bed, and crossed her legs. The robe fell open almost to the top of her chocolate coloured thigh. Her feet were bare, one swung with a hypnotic rhythm in the air. He gazed at the narrow little line of pinkness just above the sole, which contrasted so exquisitely with the darker skin above.
	"I don't know about that!" he grinned. His heartbeat quickened, with both excitement and an edge of fear. "But I'm sure you haven't!"
	In the fractional pause that followed, the tension was screamingly apparent. She stared coolly at him. "Really? What do you mean?"
	"Come off it!" he replied strongly, standing close in front of her. He could see the swell of her breasts rising, moving the fold of the cloth. "I'm not that thick! I saw how they were when we arrived. Naked. Terrified out of their wits. Like they are now. And I saw the marks on the Danish girl's backside. Someone's given her a damned good thrashing. And more than once, I'll be bound. They've had more than that done to them, too, haven't they?" He dropped on one knee, dug his fingers into the gleaming thigh, pressing hard. "Haven't they?"
	She made no effort to push him away, or wriggle free. She laughed scornfully. "Rape? Is that what they told you?" She shook her head in amusement. "The only one who's touched them is the general. And they couldn't wait to open their skinny legs for him, believe me. Maybe they thought it would help, keep them safe. Or maybe that's just the excuse they gave themselves, but don't let them fool you into thinking they've been forced into it. The only noise you'll hear are the howls of delight when they come, the lying little whores!"
	"You sound like you're a mite jealous!" he smiled, and for a fleeting instant he saw the hate and pain flicker in the dark eyes which told him he had stumbled on a hurtful truth.
	"Of those skinny, shrivelled no-tits?" she exclaimed, her woolly head shaking in vigorous denial.
	"You don't have to be!" he murmured thickly. He reached out, caught hold of the lapels of her robe, and ripped them apart. It fell open, exposing her gleaming body. She remained sitting upright as he leaned forward, pressing himself blatantly against her knee, rubbing his straining groin against her, while his mouth fastened on those ripe thick lips, and his tongue flickered between the even teeth to the passionate wetness beyond.
	Her sharp breasts were heaving when the kiss ended. He saw the deep burnished hue of the rounds, the exotic shading of the generous areolae and the dark violet tint of the swollen nipples, towards which his mouth now dipped eagerly. He nuzzled, lapped, then took one teat inside his mouth, relishing the rubbery roughness of its texture on his tongue. His hands still gripped the edges of her robe, and he pulled them down off her shoulders and arms.
	Her need was as great as his. She stood, leaving the robe, a ripple of white, discarded on the blanket beneath her. And now his breath was warm on her belly, made her shiver as he clamped his arms about her hips, pulled the smoothness of her flesh into him, cradling his head between her thighs, where he felt the rough rasp of her small pubic patch on his cheek. He kissed the apex of those thighs, drank in the musky fragrance of her, felt the play of muscle as the curves of her buttocks flexed at his caress.
	He stood, too, now, and her fingers stroked at the huge bulge of his penis beneath his clothing. "You will be sympathetic to our cause?" she whispered, her mouth against his, the rest of her body also moving against him.
	His fingers dug into the full rounds of her bottom, grinding her loins against his as a foretaste of the passion they were to share.
	"Of course!"
	He bit at her long neck and smiled in male triumph. "But still, I think, as a white man, I ought to give you a taste of your own medicine."
	He swung her round as he spoke, pulling her down with him and bending her over his knee. She gave a gasp of shock, then a muffled squeal of mock alarm. "There are people next door!" she hissed. "If I scream, they'll come and beat the shit out of you!" 
	"You'd better keep quiet then, hadn't you?" The pale heels of her legs kicked out as she lay across him. She made no other movement, and he slapped with an open palm at the clenching globes of her behind, so delightfully spread below him. She made small mewing noises, squirming her hips, thrilling at the rub of her belly on his trousered thighs and the feel of her own thighs fanning her excitement by their rapid friction. But then he struck harder, until his palm was stinging, and her flesh throbbed hotly, and she reached for a corner of her robe and stuffed it into her mouth, biting down on it.
	Her bottom was burning when he stopped, and she turned on his knee, his image indistinct through her shimmering tears as she lay there. His hand was gentle now, It nestled between her thighs, brushed the moist palpitating folds of her vulva, parted her beating flesh to the wetly flowing centre of her desire, its slippery slopes yielding gladly to his invasion, while her trembling body hungered madly for more.



15

When Awina appeared, Vee was brooding, deep in misery. She had lost count of how long it had been since the journalist had appeared and disappeared again, within a day. Was it one week? Two? She blushed at the subterfuge he had employed, with their connivance, to obtain at least one photo which reflected something of the true circumstances of their imprisonment. Vee had been extremely reluctant. It was only when Katya had added her pleas to those of Tully that Vee, ashamed of her cowardice, had agreed.
	He had managed to snatch a brief moment in the dimness of the hut when they were unobserved, He had called in Edward, persuaded the compliant youngster to adopt a martial pose, holding out the 303 Service Rifle, with his two captives looking suitably cowed in front of him. At the crucial second just before the flash bulb popped, the two girls had cast off their kitengi cloths, letting them fall at their feet to reveal their nakedness, and Edward's bug eyed expression of outraged decorum. The boy had protested volubly, but young Katya had seized his arm, led him to one side and argued earnestly, with such success that, though he muttered sulkily, he said nothing further.
	"You will be my maid!" Awina's words jerked Vee back to the present. "You'll sleep on a pallet outside my door. Then I can get you whenever I want you. And I'll want you a great deal, I should think!" She chuckled. "Anyway, it' s time you and the Danish cow were separated for a while. From what I hear you and she will be wearing each other out if we don't prise you apart!" Vee's crimson blush told that the bolt had struck home, and Awina gurgled with delight. "She'll be kept busy enough with our gallant leader, I suspect!" she went on, a scowl replacing her expression of pleasure.
	Vee strove to keep back the stinging tears. As if their suffering wasn't enough! Though they should have expected something like this, Vee reprimanded herself. Two nights ago, Mavumbi, no longer diverted by having his two captives servicing him together, had immediately and brutally coupled with Vee, leaving Katya to stand ignored in the shadows watching the writhing bodies. To the horror of both, he had then dismissed Vee, ordering Katya to stay behind.
	Vee had lain in the unaccustomed solitude of the hut, shivering under the blanket, frantic with worry for her friend and reluctant lover. Eventually, she had dropped into a troubled sleep, to be woken in the grey dawn - the time they were normally required to report over at the mess hut to assume their daily duties.
	Katya was crouching stiffly, her face drawn, etched in lines of agony. She turned wordlessly, and Vee was sickened at the sight of the angry red lines imprinted on the pale bottom. She supported her along the damp track to the pond where they took their hasty morning bathe. Vee even found the courage to protest to Achoke when the cook began an abusive tirade, accompanied by swats from his trusty spatula, aimed at the exhausted Danish girl.
	Vee was afraid to ask Katya what had taken place in the general's room after she had left. Apart from the obvious fact of the beating. And why had he thrashed only Katya? Why not her, too? Vee was sure that Katya would no longer attempt to deny or defy him, no matter how repugnant she found his forced possession of her to be.
	Then, last night, when the evening meal was over, and the general had risen from the table after a lengthy drinking session, he had said casually, "Green. You can have the night off. You're wearing me out with your insatiable appetite, I'll make do with our little Danish friend tonight."
	They had said nothing, but the tragic looks the girls had exchanged had been eloquent enough. Katya had not put in an appearance even at dawn, and Vee had had to bear the full brunt of Achoke's bad temper, and double the amount of work, to prepare the simple breakfast for the officers. And now this bombshell, delivered with such malicious pleasure, by the lovely African girl.
	A sudden cut across the outside of her left thigh brought Vee back to the present. Awina was holding a short swagger stick, identical to the one Mavumbi had used to chastise Katya. Vee felt the thin hot line coming up on her brown skin. "I'll tell you your duties. And you'd better get them right, skinny cow! The rest of the time you'll continue to help Achoke here in the mess. Clear?"
	"Yes."
	"Yes what?" The cane swished, struck again, and Vee gave another skip of agony, rubbed at the sting on her flank. "That's no way to address an officer."
	"Yes, sir - er - I mean, madam!"
	"That's better." Awina suddenly giggled, an incongruously girlish sound. "I think you'll make a good maid. Don't you?"
	"Yes, madam," Vee murmured.
	Her duties were not too onerous, and, contrary to her expectations, Awina did not resort much to physical violence. An occasional slap, or a light cut with the bamboo switch sufficed. Although Vee felt keenly the humiliation heaped upon her by her new role, she was careful not to offend, and her abject servility gave the lieutenant all the pleasure she needed.
	One of her first tasks in the morning was to bring a basin of hot water from the great cauldron in the mess kitchen. Then she hurried out to return with a mug of the steaming, sweet, milky tea. Awina was usually awake by this time, her black head peeping snugly from the blankets up to her chin. Vee laid out the scented soap in its plastic holder, the face cloth and the folded towel, beside the basin which she placed on the cloth covered crate.
	The first time she performed this duty, she hovered indecisively, then made to go, but Awina called her back grumpily. "Stay! I haven't dismissed you!" She swung herself out of bed.  She wore a simple kitengi cloth of bright, deck chair stripes, which she allowed to fall carelessly to the matting as she moved to the crate. Vee stared in shy admiration at the tall slim figure displayed with such unselfconsciousness, though she sensed that Awina was well aware of her covert stare and derived much pleasure from it. Certainly, she turned and stretched provocatively, her darkly tipped conical breasts proudly high as she reached her arms up sensuously towards the roof, then brought them down, allowing her hands to slide lingeringly over the curve of hip and the tops of her thighs.
	Vee learned to lay out clean clothing - the tiny white cotton mini briefs which were all Awina wore in the way of underwear, the drill shirt and trousers, the thick woollen socks. Another job which she learned to perform meticulously was the polishing of the heavy black boots. Jackson, the grinning kitchen toto, showed her how to rub in the greasy polish, making small circles on the smooth leather, then spitting and rubbing, spitting and rubbing, until the boots reflected the light like mirrors. She also had to shine up the buckles of the canvas belt, the one the general had used to thrash them so painfully - and the gaiters.
	After breakfast, Vee tidied the small room and made the bed. She used a broom of bundled twigs to sweep the cement floor, carrying the strip of rush matting outside to shake it free of dust. She then had to do the laundry, with hot water from the kitchen, hanging the clothes on the lines strung across the grassy area immediately behind the mess building. She invariably coloured with embarrassment at the inevitable comments and sniggers from the boys and Achoke when they saw her pegging out the tiny underpants. She knew they drew unfailing pleasure from the spectacle of a naked mzungu performing such menial tasks.
	The most painful aspect of this new regime was the separation of the two captives. Vee suspected it was by design that they were allowed scarcely any time together. And none in private. Katya seemed to be spending less and less time in the officers' mess, and more and more  at the general's side. The Danish girl's face coloured deeply, and took on an expression of acute shame, as she muttered reluctantly, "He makes me go with him - around the camp. In his office, when he's working, or seeing people he makes me stand there. Bring the tea, or drinks. I am his slave!" Her voice shook, the blue eyes swam with tears, and Vee's heart ached. Another, much lower part of her anatomy ached, too, with a hunger to feel the sweet young flesh wrapped around her, to taste the nectar of those kisses she had forced, and which had now been snatched so cruelly from her.
	There were other worries. "What do you call this, eh?" Awina, back from her after-work shower, the towelling robe cast aside on the narrow bed, stood splendidly naked holding out one of her drill shirts. "You call this ironed, you lazy little cow? Do it again, right now, before I take the skin off that skinny behind of yours!" The charcoal iron was an instrument whose intricacies Vee had found difficult to master, even though the smiling Jackson had tried to teach her its use.
	But Vee persevered, concentrating on the moment, learning the myriad duties her life was now taken up with, until it seemed even her mistress was impressed with her effort, if not her skill. "You'll make a good housemaid yet," Awina teased. "I think I will offer you the job. You can stay here forever."
	Vee could not help speculating whether the gradual thawing of the lieutenant's attitude towards her had anything to do with the fact that the general never sent for Vee now, leaving her to slumber comparatively undisturbed on her draughty pallet outside her mistress's door. He also never sent for Awina, Vee noted, which no doubt accounted for the lieutenant's glowering hostility towards the Danish girl. Luckily for Katya, at least as far as her relations with Awina were concerned, she was seen less and less frequently in the communal officers' mess.
	The quietest part of the day was in the heavy heat of the afternoon, after the midday meal had been cleared away, for which there were often very few takers anyway. The boys and Achoke would disappear to snatch a siesta, in common with the majority of the inhabitants of the camp, and Vee would sit in the shade against the kitchen wall, where the washing flapped or hung limply in the indolent atmosphere. This was the time when she could allow her mind to drift, to think of other times, other places, though such thoughts did not always bring her comfort.
	What was happening in that unreal outside world? Frank Tully had said that they were famous. She tried to imagine it. Not only out here, but back home in England, too. What about her parents? Were they celebrities now, making appeals on television, being interviewed on News at Ten? Inevitably, her thoughts would turn to Keith and their troubled relationship. How was he handling it? Would everyone know that their marriage had been about to fall apart, that he was in the process of sending her away in disgrace? She thought of the adverse publicity, and how much he would hate it, the damage it might do to his career. Surely, after this, after all that had happened to her, he no longer felt that implacable hate towards her? She nourished a tiny hope, beating in a corner of her heart like a fragile new born bird, that they might after all be able to resurrect something of their life together, make a new start. She prayed to be given the opportunity to try.

Her head had nodded onto her chest when she started awake. Except that at first she wasn't sure that she had woken, for a figure in military uniform was towering over her, had just kicked her painfully on her bare thigh, and was yelling at her furiously. She scrambled blearily to her feet, her heart thundering with alarm, and staggered in his wake back through the kitchen, then out again into the blinding sunlight. She was almost running after him.
	He led her across the compound to the general's quarters. She saw him sitting at his desk on the veranda. A small group, amongst whom was Awina, clustered about him. Then Vee's stomach hollowed when she saw the pale form of Katya, her shoulders heaving as she sobbed. She was kneeling in front of the desk.
	Vee's insides had jellied. Someone thrust her down by her shoulders, and she sank beside Katya, her eyes huge with her fear. "You bitches!" Mavumbi roared. "You treacherous mzungu bitches!" His desk was covered with newspapers, and magazines. He leapt up, came round the desk, holding a magazine, which he flourished in front of them. Vee saw that the print was in German. But it was the rather poorly reproduced black and white picture which caught her gaze, for she saw her own naked body, and that of Katya, and between them the white teeth and eyes of a startled Edward.
	"So! We are animals, are we? Murderers and rapists, are we? By God, I'll show you what harsh treatment is, you whores!"
	Mavumbi issued a rapid stream of orders, while the two girls knelt there, sobbing pitifully.
	They watched in horror and disbelief as two heavy logs were carried into the compound and dropped onto the red earth directly in front of the general's hut. There were rusty iron rings, set in pairs, along the length of each. The girls were hustled down the steps by many rough and eager helpers, and stretched out on their stomachs in the dust. They kicked helplessly, but their struggles served only to add to the jeering merriment of the thick and growing crowd gathering about them.
	Their aggressors did not try to force the girls' feet. through the iron hoops, merely using them to tether the helplessly kicking limbs with strips of leather. The other log was trundled into position so that their arms, stretched out above their heads, could be tied to the corresponding rings on its rough surface. Thus the pair of them were staked out, their struggles instinctive and useless, their sobs dying to whimpers of terror.
	Mavumbi used a whip with several long slender strands of soft black leather, in which knots had been fastened at intervals. He was accurate in his aim, and the jerking bodies could do nothing to avoid the blows which whistled down upon them in rapid succession, so the majority of the burning strokes fell on their clenching buttocks, which were soon scored and crisscrossed with red weals. Inevitably, though, some of the blows landed on the hollowed backs, or the backs of the threshing thighs, so that soon it seemed to the howling victims as though the whole of their bodies were afire.
	A fine sheen of sweat broke out on their scorched flesh, to which the dust clung stickily as they squirmed, their fair hair flowing and mingling at the anguished tossing of their heads.
	Lost in the private mists of their torment, only gradually did they realise that the whipping had ceased, and the roars of the crowd had diminished to an excited chatter. Mavumbi, his black face shining with sweat, its stains evident between his massive shoulders and under the arms of the straining material of his shirt, boomed, "Well ladies! How's that for savage punishment, eh? And that is merely the overture, my little harlots. The best is yet to come, as they say!"



16

Eventually, the crowd thinned out, people drifted away. The naked pot-bellied little totos grew tired of swiping at the pale, dusty figures with their branches, and moved off, leaving the snapped off fronds lying in the trampled earth. The girls' sobs died, too, and they groaned fitfully. Their heads shook, their limbs and muscles twitched now and then, tormented by the fat flies which settled on their sweat drenched bodies.
	Even these movements sent darts of agony through them from their wealed and throbbing skin. The rough bark of the logs scraped against the fronts of their shins and the bridges of their feet because of the way they were secured.
	They made no attempt to communicate. Each was wrapped in a private world of shock at the brutal punishment, and present physical misery. The Danish girl did figure in Vee's random thoughts, but only as an object of mean resentment when she thought of Katya's responsibility for that infamous photograph which had brought this dire punishment down upon them.
	Mavumbi's ominous words kept echoing in her head. 'Merely the overture.' What other horrors could he have planned for them? As the air cooled, the evening shadows lengthened. People went about their business, ignoring the racked out bodies. Vee began to wonder if they were to be left pinioned like this all night. Perhaps for days! Though one entire day exposed to the sun would be sufficient to burn and dehydrate them catastrophically. The chill of the approaching night would be torture enough, Vee thought. She moved, the muscles in her shoulders and back ached abominably, her breasts were crushed painfully against her rib cage by the hardness of the ground under her.
	She was half dozing, in a stupor of apathy, when she suddenly felt a booted toe prodding between the cheeks of her flayed bottom, pressing into the cleft itself.
	"How's my naughty little housegirl? You've neglected your duties, haven't you? Come, you little hussy!" Awina was standing over her. Tearful with relief, Vee felt the girl's fingers fumbling with the tight bonds, releasing the ankles, then the wrists. Vee whimpered in fresh agony as she moved stiffly, crouched to kneel with her forehead on the ground, unable to stand, while the blood flowed back into the cramped, chafed limbs.
	Awina stooped and pulled her roughly to her feet. The lieutenant held onto her, otherwise she would have fallen. She began to lead her away, one arm round her waist.
	"What about Katya?" Vee croaked, turning her head back towards the still staked out figure, whose curtain of blonde hair lifted now to stare mutely at them.
	"Don't worry about her! She'll be taken care of, believe me! The General knows it was her fault, or I couldn't take you away like this."
	The pressure at Vee's waist drew her on, and, ashamedly, she turned away again, and hobbled over towards the officers' quarters and the sanctuary of Awina's small room.
	She was amazed to find a bowl of soapy water standing on a large towel which had been spread over the centre of the floor. Over the fragrance of the suds, the sharp aroma of disinfectant advertised its presence. "Get in. Stand in the dish." Even more astonished, Vee obeyed, felt the blessed warm water close about her feet and ankles. She stood with an air of unreality while Awina carefully washed her weary body with a face cloth, from neck down to the immersed feet. Vee shivered as she felt the cloth rub at the fleece of her mound, then gently insist, until she parted her thighs a little, to allow access to the folds of her vulva.
	Despite her exhaustion, and her throbbing pain, a spasm of excitement made her catch her breath at this stirring contact. On, down the thighs, and knees, the black skull below her as Awina knelt to perform this menial chore.
	Vee could not suppress the hiss of pain at the first touches of the warm cloth on her bottom. Awina dabbed gingerly at the welts which spread over the slight curves, both upward and downward. Eventually the bathing was completed, though Vee, weary as she was, felt that she would have liked to stand there forever, passively submitting to the dark girl's ministrations.
	After wrapping her in a clean towel, and patting her dry, Awina ordered her to lie face down on the narrow bed, where she proceeded to smooth in a wonderfully soothing cold cream, whose perfumed fragrance hung heavily about them, as the dark hands moved with slow caresses over the tender flesh.
	By the time this leisurely task was ended, Vee's pulse was racing, her vaginal muscles tingling with a powerful arousal. Her reeling brain told her that, from the slow caressing of Awina's hands, she, too, was finding the experience deeply sensual.
	"Is that better, my little housemaid?"
	Vee could feel the breath warm on the back of her neck, Awina was so close, her voice a breathy whisper. The bed creaked and moved as Awina abruptly stood up, and Vee closed her eyes, which felt suddenly moist with sadness at the passing of these precious moments of closeness.
	There was a rustle of cloth, a sharp intake of breath, then a nervous little giggle which sounded as tentative and fragile as Vee's own sigh.
	"You're very pretty, white one. So fine, delicate. I don't want to hurt you."
	Fingers ran through the tangled spread of locks over the pillow, then Vee shivered at the feather soft touch of those dark lips on the wounds which marred the paleness of her buttocks. She turned, wincing with pain, to see Awina kneeling by her side, a strange, vulnerable expression of yearning on the lovely face. She was naked, except for the white briefs. The pointed breasts, their nipples swollen with desire, quivered inches from Vee's gaze.
	"Edward said you and the Danish cow make love," she whispered raggedly. The dark eyes were wide, naked as her body in their appeal. "Could you love me?"
	Vee wondered fleetingly if she were dreaming, then, the throbbing pain forgotten, she moved, they came together, breasts, bellies, thighs, brushing, thrusting, locking, while their mouths clamped together in a blaze of passion that was as powerful as it was sudden.
	The bed shook, they twisted like wrestlers seeking for a hold, though the delirious Vee felt from the first the flowing weakness, the willingness to be conquered, in the dark, lovely flesh against hers. She was on top, parting the jutting knees, which fell away helplessly, and then her mouth was everywhere, devouring greedily, from the thick, parted lips, to the throbbing cones of the erect nipples, down over the undulating belly, and its tiny scrub of pubis, to the ripe, unfolding treasures of the sexual cleft lifted and offered in such helpless need.

"Oh, my God! You have killed me, you delicious whore! I have died and gone to heaven!"
	Vee lifted her head from the warm breast, smiled blearily. She wondered if she had been dreaming, or if she had really heard Jackson's piping voice calling her mistress to the dinner which was almost over, and the replete, sleepy voice rumbling from the warm flesh against which she was pressed telling him to go away. Somewhere in her drifting mind, Vee acknowledged that she should be horrified, scalded with shame that everyone must know by now of her loving with the beautiful African girl, but she pushed it away. Later, all that would come.
	But not much later.
	"Go and get us beer!" Awina patted her lightly on the shoulder, and Vee's heart began to race as they slowly disentangled themselves from their embrace. All at once, the torment of her sore body flowed back, and she was bent like a crone as she made her way fearfully out into the narrow passageway, then along to the mess building. The kitchen boys were dealing with the piles of dishes. They snorted and snickered as she delved in the huge cooler, grabbed two of the large bottles from the vast number clinking in the melting ice, and scurried back to the haven of the tiny room.
	Awina was standing over by the basin of water. She was holding the white knickers she had just picked up from the floor where they had fallen earlier when Vee had dragged them from the kicking feet. "White witch!" she smiled. She took the bottle, neatly flicked off the metal caps with the opener. She held it up. "Essential equipment for the NCO." She swigged eagerly from the long neck of the bottle, giggled when the frothy foam spilled down between her breasts.
	"Drink up, mzungu. Here's to your victory." She touched the ice cold bottle to the soft fold of tissue between her thighs, and gave an exaggerated shudder. "My God! I thought I'd got over all that lesbian shit. Left it all behind at that expensive boarding school where we learned all your decadent western ways! Then you come along and start me off making those disgusting creamy little messes in my pants again. You must have noticed! I've been mortified with shame at the thought of you washing my smalls, seeing what a filthy creature I am!"
	Vee's head was spinning. She felt still as though this was not real, this stolen intimacy. "I thought you - you hated me," she offered humbly.
	Awina gave a hard laugh. "Hated you giving me the hots! Setting me off again. It was a white bitch that seduced me in the first place." She laughed again, in more gentle reminiscence this time. "Mary Ayres. Let's get back to bed and I'll tell you about it."
	Vee felt her heart melt with gratitude as she hastened to comply with Awina's order, and they settled themselves, bodies snakily entwined, blonde and black heads nudging on the pillow.
	"The general's right when he talks about how unfit us educated women are for this society. You bloody whites have ruined us, you hear? I should have been married now with at least four totos. I'm already an old maid by our standards. And all because my daddy thought he was being oh so modern and enlightened, sending a girl to the whites' school. That's all he did it for. To show everyone how rich he was, and how he was as good as the whites who used to rule us. After independence, when they opened up the schools like St Margaret's to everyone, everyone who could afford it, that is, there were lots like daddy who wanted to show how progressive and powerful they were. Even us black shenzis from the north!" she laughed in satirical self mockery.
	"And of course, there were still plenty of you whites around, trying to cling on to your privileged status. As you still are, only you have to be a bit more subtle about it now, eh?" She gave another mocking laugh, the underlying bitterness showing through. "There's a great chumminess now, of course. A wonderful liberalism - no more 'Whites Only' at the sports clubs. All pals together, eh? Mary Ayres was pally all right. And her chums. It was all a bit of a giggle." She mimicked a shrill European voice, the drawling refinement of upper class accent, with cutting accuracy. "Awina what a lovely name! I had an ayah called Awina once! This is a knife and fork, my deah! This is loo paper, we don't wipe our bums on banana leaves at St Margaret's!
	"But she was keen enough to get into my school knickers, however much she liked to make fun of us. I didn't even have hair on my belly, and she was in my bed every night. She couldn't get enough of my little black cunt!" Suddenly, all the emotive bitterness was gone with the next infectious giggle. "And to tell the truth, I couldn't get enough of her superior little poking white fingers and her wicked pink tongue!" She seized Vee's hand tightly and pulled it down to the scrub covered mound nestling against her thigh. "There! Enough true confessions for tonight. Now, do what you do best, white bitch, and make me squeal for mercy!"

Waking in the grey light, trapped by the warm black body and the clinging wreckage of the bedding, Vee hardly knew where she was at first. The dark hip slamming against hers roused her. "Go and get my water. And my tea." Awina grunted, heaved herself over, dragging the blankets with her, and Vee, shivering, put her foot out onto the cold floor. A wave of deep contrition and shame swept over her.
	She hurried through to the kitchen, where the grinning boys and the rumbling Achoke were waiting. Ignoring their sniggers, she hurried through to the front of the building and gazed across towards the general's quarters. The two logs were still there. She sighed with relief as she saw the emptiness of the space between them. She stared at the closed door and shutters of Mavumbi's room. Was Katya reinstated there, after all? Whatever the Danish girl might think about it, Vee found herself hoping fervently that she was.
	Katya did not appear, even to collect the general's morning tea, and his hot water, which Jackson took over to him. Vee was afraid to ask, but vowed that, at the first opportunity, she would endeavour to find out Katya's whereabouts.
	People stared at her striped behind, and made laughing comments, most of which she couldn't understand. She wondered if she dared ask Awina if she might wear the kitengi they had been given during Frank Tully's brief visit, She knew, however, that she would have to tread extremely carefully, that she could not make any assumptions, despite the new level of intimacy she shared with her mistress.
	That was made very plain by the role Awina adopted towards her in public that first day, for she was even more cuttingly harsh and casually dismissive towards her, abusing and making mock of her in front of others until Vee's eyes stung with wounded tears she had trouble in hiding. Perhaps, she wondered dismally, the lovely African was already regretting the weakness which had made her yield to her own sexual appetite and surrender herself up to Vee's ecstatic passion.
	It was not until mid afternoon, when the lethargy settled on the drowsy encampment, that Vee found an opportunity to slip away from the kitchen area. She searched where she could, going to the pond, the latrines, the bath house, even the bare hut they had shared, but there was no sign of Katya. She began to feel more and more uneasy and when the kitchen boys came back, yawning hugely and scratching themselves after their siesta, she asked Jackson if he had seen anything of her. He shrugged, shook his head.
	By evening, she was seriously alarmed. As she knelt, cradling Awina's boot between her thighs while she untied the laces, she plucked up courage to enquire. "Where is Katya? I haven't seen her since - since yesterday."
	"Forget her!" came the bald reply. Awina stood, shrugged off her shirt, unbuckled the heavy canvas belt, then unhooked the fastener of her slacks. Vee tugged them down, and Awina lifted her legs while Vee dragged them clear. She stood there, grinning down at the crouching figure, then pulled the blonde head tightly into her loins. Vee felt the moistness of the thin cotton, the rasp of the pubic curls, and her nostrils filled with the pungent flavour of the damp sex lips beneath. "There! See how hot I am for you, you wicked witch! Early to bed tonight!"
	That evening, her legs shook when she served Mavumbi at the head of the table, then stood slightly behind his chair. She tried to summon up the nerve to ask him about her missing companion, whom she had not seen since Awina had led her from the scene of the whipping. But those stripes were still throbbing painfully, and her fear closed her throat. Mavumbi made no reference to her, at least, not in English, and Vee suffered dumbly, not least for her own cowardice. She would tackle Awina again, she vowed, Surely, after they had made love, she would at least give her some reassurance as to Katya's condition?
	But the black girl was already sprawling, magnificently nude, the long 1egs wide apart, on the bed, when Vee came in after finishing her duties in the kitchen. "Don't wait! Come and do your worst! Or your best!" the throaty voice commanded, and Vee moved, her head dipping subserviently, to obey.



17

"Simba wants you! You are to take this to him." Vee gazed dumbly at the grinning features of Jackson as he held out the tray with the mug of tea on it. The dank mist tendrils clung about the camp, the sun had not penetrated the greyness of the dawn.
	"What about Awina?" Vee croaked, nodding back towards the long row of rooms. where she had just left the arms of her sleeping mistress.
	"You better go now, damn quick!" Jackson warned. and Vee took the tray. Her heart thumped painfully, her knees shook as she crossed the damp ground, skirting the twin logs which lay in her path. She mounted the veranda of the general's hut, feeling the cold grittiness beneath her bare soles, and tapped nervously on the door. She did not know whether to be relieved or alarmed to see that the general was alone in his bed.
	He pushed aside the sheet and blanket. She stared at his naked hulk, found herself automatically covering her loins with her hands.
	"Come!" he growled. "Don't hide yourself. You're no virgin." He chuckled, shook his head, letting his gaze travel critically over her cowering frame. "Wazungu! No breasts, no backside! Why are you whites so thin? Like boys!"
	You still shag us! she cried fiercely, in her mind, but she was tremblingly silent. "The other one just the same," he went on grumblingly. "Scarcely any more meat on her! You like sex?" he asked suddenly. "I think so, eh? You like with men, with boys. With girls, with blacks, with whites."
	He laughed cruelly, shook his head once more in amusement. Vee floundered, her face crimson, her throat choked with impending tears. His body looked incongruously young, innocent. His belly was smooth and round, a rich chocolate colour. It reminded Vee of a heavily pregnant woman. It thrust out from under his breast, ballooned up from his loins, so that the insignificant scrub of tight little pubic curls was almost hidden.
	The penis was soft still, vulnerable looking as it curled against the crease of his thigh. It looked shorter because of its stubby width. The glans was paler. It peeped delicately from its thick collar of foreskin. The bag of his testicles looked small, nestled beneath the curving column.
	"I think you are a whore, a natural whore. Is that why your husband beat you?" Her eyes gazed at him, luminous with the tears that welled up. She could not speak, shook her head. "Rouse me!" he growled, and, when she gaped at him blankly, gestured brutally towards his loins. "Now!"
	Her frightened eyes stared directly into his, and, along with the cruel animal conquest, she saw, too, an inner mocking knowledge. It felt as though he had glanced for one microsecond at all the darkest sensations lurking under the stone of her character. How could he know? How could he tell that, in the very core of her terror, beat the quivering pulse of her excitement, the shameful heat that brought her on her knees, her hands lifting, cupping in prayer, her lips opening, fearful tongue peeping forth to pay its homage, to make its shocking submission to that looming, exotic phallus towards which every part of her flowed?
	Even as her stomach clenched, the muscles of her throat spasmed with the hot bile of threatened vomit, she moved, opening, stretching her jaw, taking in his girth, suckling, her senses lost to its power.
	All at once, she felt her scalp lift as he hauled her face away from his loins, dragging her onto the creaking bed. Blindly, she lifted and spread her legs, braced herself to take his entry, even scrabbled with frantic fingers to guide and facilitate his bludgeoning manhood, to open herself wider to ease him.
	Still the brutal thrusting shocked her, and she cried out at the clash of pelvis, the tearing of her soft flesh and the white hot stab through to her cervix. The great, blubbery, crushing, sweat-slippery weight engulfed her. She whimpered, raised her knees and thighs about his bulk, raised her hips to take his pinning thrusts. He pounded her. Smothered in the burden, the feel and smell of him, her mind spun away and she registered only sensation - the bursting pain, and, under it, the counterpoint to its pistoning rhythm, the dark, fluttering beat of her own excitement.
	It was soon over. She felt the mighty surge, the electric jolt of his final, releasing spasm, the potent explosion overflowing to her, and then, in the very instant of the dying afterthrust, her own shocking, breath shattering climax, catching her almost unawares at the violence of eruption, the consuming force, as, jaw clenched, grunting in wild ecstasy, she battered herself under his bulk.
	Then she lay skewered in martyrdom, her mind empty, her body utterly sated, until awareness opened the floodgates of despair, racking her from head to toe. All the while, he lay dead on her, still deadly in her. When he moved, slid coldly out, she felt her shame and desolation could not be surpassed.
	"Where's Katya? What's happened to her?"
	She was astounded herself to hear her catchy voice, quavering with fear, ask the question. She stood there, aching, sore, feeling the cold seep of him from her distended labia, her fear, just for that moment, overcome by her desperation.
	To her surprise, there was no backlash of anger, no violent reaction. He sat up slowly, wiping at himself with a corner of the sheet, turned his great head towards her with that spreading grin. "She's not like you. She has a lot to learn. Besides, she's scarcely more than a child, in spite of her age. If she was one of us, she would have been a wife, a mother, long before now."
	His words made her think fleetingly of the lovely girl with whom she had spent the night. "I've sent her to join the initiation class. Some of our young girls they are of an age to become women." He chuckled evilly. "White head will become one of them. She too will become a true woman!"
	Vee felt the cold fear spread from inside, devouring her with its panic. Initiation. A true woman. The general's phrases rang in her head like a sickening bell. The horror of what they meant stifled her. She thought of all the mysterious, horrifying ritual connected with such things. Circumcision! Surely that was what he meant by this talk of becoming a true woman? She tried to smother the choking terror which rose like a scream into her throat.
	"What will they do to her?" she whispered.
	He laughed, as though he was fully aware of her terror. "Of course, it's not like it used to be in the villages back home. But we have a few youngsters here girls who are ready to be taught the basics. To be prepared for making proper wives and mothers, for our young bloods."
	"But she's - she's -" Vee's voice died away, she shook her head hopelessly. "Where is she? Where have they taken her?"
	"They have a place, on the edge of the village. They should really be far away, in the forest, where no one can find them, but it's too dangerous. So we've given them a small compound on the edge of the camp. Just past the dam, and the vegetable shambas," he added helpfully. "I don't advise you to go anywhere near, though." He chuckled again. "The mamas and their assistants don't like being disturbed, I can tell you. They don't even like me showing my face there!"

Vee caught at Jackson's arm. "You know about Katya?"
	He grinned, glanced around. "She go with initiation class." He giggled salaciously. "The girls who are ready to become women." Again, panic fired through her as she thought of the barbaric rites associated with such practices. Did they practise female circumcision in the north? She thought of the beautiful body of Awina. There was certainly no sign of any mutilation there, as Vee well knew by now. But then Awina was not exactly a typical village maiden, as she herself had told Vee. She had gone to secondary school, her father was rich and powerful.
	"Where is Awina - Lt Awina?" she amended quickly.
	Again, he grinned. "She go work. She very damn angry with you. You jig-a-jig with Simba, yes? I think she beat you when she come."
	Without waiting to hear more, Vee hurried away from the mess huts, heading towards the pond, and the rows of vegetable gardens. Her anxiety about Katya overcame her own stomach churning fear. There must be something she could do to save her. From what the general had said, this class or whatever it was was run by women. Elders of some sort. Surely they could see that Katya was not like one of them, that she could not be subjected to... to what? Vee shivered with dread at her imaginings, even as she hurried forward.
	She picked her way through the large expanse beyond the pond, which had been turned into a neat patchwork of tiny plots, intersected by narrow raised paths just wide enough for one person to pass. The women and children were weeding the shambas. The pendulous breasts and the high, firm little cones glistened freely as the workers bent forward in their distinctive straight legged pose, the lower halves of their bodies draped in the bright, simple cotton kikois or sarongs. They glanced with curiosity at the hurrying figure, pausing in their labour to watch her progress through their midst.
	Widely spaced, silvery columns of eucalyptus trees stood at the far edge of the shambas. The sun dappled space between the trunks was thickly covered with the pale yellow fallen leaves, and the breeze set the high branches above dancing with the continuous sighing sound of waves breaking. The whole atmosphere was of light, cool airiness, with the vast wash of sky overhead.
	But then Vee saw through the trees the split bamboo fencing, and the tall grass roofs sloping steeply in the traditional hive shape. She faltered for an instant, felt the tremble in her knees, and forced herself on before her courage should fail her.
	There was an unlocked gate in the fencing. As she passed through, she heard girls' voices singing in unison. They sounded loud, aggressive, challenging. About a dozen girls were sitting on the grass in front of the larger of the two huts, their backs to Vee. An imposing woman of statuesque proportions stood facing the girls. She was wearing the traditional sarong of the matron. The heavy metal necklaces hung across the tops of her full breasts, the bracelets covered the right forearm almost to the elbow.
	There was a shrill cry, an outraged yell of protest. Vee saw two younger women, dressed in similar fashion to their leader, who had been sitting at the front of the class, but who now rose, pointing at her.
	An instant later two men appeared, one on either side of her. They too were not in uniform or modern civilian clothing, but had only a simple loincloth wrapped about their bodies. Their burnished dark skin shone smoothly in the sunlight. All this, Vee noticed in the fraction before they had seized her, twisting her arms painfully behind her, and frogmarching her forward, through the small group of astonished, chattering girls.
	Dimly, she heard Katya's voice cry out her name, then the heavy hands forced her down upon her knees in front of the imposing figure of the woman, who seemed to tower over her as Vee squinted up into the sunlight.
	"I'm sorry!" she whimpered abjectly. "I didn't - I wanted to see my friend -"
	The thick lips curled in disgust. The large hand swung up and then across towards her in a swift blur, and she flung her head sideways instinctively. The open palm struck her a ringing slap, and her vision was cut off in dancing tears as the fiery pain stung the side of her face. The soft inside of her mouth was cut against her teeth. She tasted blood. Now the cheek was burning, branded a livid red.
	She sobbed breathlessly, gulping in fear and shock. The woman in charge rattled off a spate of orders. The two young men, grinning now, moved. One reached out, grabbed her by the ankles, the other held her by the wrists, and they lifted her clear of the ground. They began to swing her back and forth, as though they were playing a game, then released her, so that she sailed through the air in a flurry of limbs for a couple of yards before landing on the hard ground with a force that knocked the breath from her body.
	The bone wrenching thud left her stunned, choking to fill her tortured lungs. She was lying against the base of the mud wall of the smaller hut. It was many minutes before she could regain her shattered senses. The singing and haranguing went on. Everyone ignored her.
	When she was sufficiently recovered, she was able to pick out the bent form of Katya sitting in the midst of the others. Another shock awaited her, for she realised why the girl had looked so startlingly different. Her fine long white-gold hair had been removed. Her head had been shaved, so that now only the lightest pale stubble remained, and the large round of the skull was revealed in all its prominence, emphasising the long slenderness of the neck, which now seemed as delicate as a flower stalk.
	Vee's head and face throbbed from the blow, while her joints ached. Her hip burned where she had fallen so heavily. There was an angry red graze, and it felt as though she could scarcely move, though she had the sense not to try. She did not want to incur any further displays of wrath.
	The songs went on and on. The big woman spoke a verse, the girls chanted it, then they would fit it to the loud, monotonous rhythm of the tune. Three girls kept beat on tall, slender cow hide drums, which they gripped between their ankles. At least Vee was lying in the shade. The young girls were in the full ferocity of the sunlight, and their shaven heads and bodies shone with sweat. The sharp body odour hung pungently in the air.
	Vee saw with a pang of acute anxiety that Katya's head drooped forward almost on her chest. Her lips looked cracked and pale. Her mouth was hanging open, and her eyes were deeply ringed with hollow shadows. The flies hovered and buzzed and swarmed about the sweating mass. They tormented Vee even more, constantly alighting on her face, even on her lips, greedily feeding on the perspiration that streamed from her.
	Her mind wandered, drifted, her awareness gone, so that when the girls suddenly rose, she jerked back to consciousness. She saw that, like the others, Katya now wore the tiny brown flap which covered her genitals. Its beaded string snaked darkly across those narrow hips.
	Once more, Vee found herself the centre of attention. The two male guards pulled her roughly to her feet. She groaned at the pain the movement brought, but they dragged her before the leader once more. Vee stood there, head down, sobbing quietly, while the big woman's voice rang out scornfully. Clearly, she was pronouncing in very uncomplimentary terms on this vile foreigner who had violated their code.
	Her hands were forced behind her and someone swiftly and expertly bound her thumbs tightly together. The big woman's hand landed derisively on her right breast, hefted its slight contour, tweaked the small pale pink nipple, rolling it between thumb and finger until it hardened. The harsh voice poured out a scornful commentary, and the girls hooted with laughter, and gave their strange, shrill, undulating cries. Vee's head stayed down. The hand swept contemptuously over her belly and the bony hips, pinched the tops of her thighs, in clear condemnation of their scrawniness, then those cruel fingers plucked painfully at the soft brown curls of her pubis, Again, the explosion of laughter, the screams, and the loud slap of hand claps.
	At the termination of the leader's speech, there was a deafening shout of applause, so that Vee looked up in renewed alarm. She screamed as the glistening black bodies closed in smotheringly. The world tilted dizzily, then she was spread out, the sun beating down on her as countless pairs of hands lifted her high aloft, at the ends of their uplifted arms. She screamed again, kicked out feebly, but the sounds of her protests were drowned in the high pitched cries of glee.
	The long fronds of grass thatch hanging down from the roof brushed down the length of her body when they carried her through the doorway of one of the huts, where she was dumped on her feet again. She swayed, disoriented by the move, and by the dimness after the blinding glare full on her face. She tottered. Her vision swam back slowly, and she gasped, for there, in the dusty half light, illuminated by the window opening high in the wall to their left, was a row of objects that looked at first glance like the posts of a miniature fence.
	There were seven of them, each about eighteen inches apart, rising from a long beam of wood. Rounded and tapering, they resembled stalagmites. They were all roughly the same height, about twelve to fifteen inches from tip to base, but the diameters of the upper portions varied considerably. The thinnest, an extremely slender object, was no thicker than a stick, a finger width, then they increased in girth until the thickest was several inches across.
	Vee's eyes widened in alarm as their purpose became clear to her. The base of these phalluses was a light brown, the colour of the baked mud which formed the outer surface. The upper tips were worn smooth and shone blackly, as though polished, the darkness fading unevenly a little way down the stems. She had no time for further reflection. With hands still bound behind her, Vee was thrust forward, placed at one end of the column, in front of the slimmest upright. The girls formed an eager circle. The big woman called out a question, grinning hugely, and the girls screamed their answer, their heads shaking.
	Vee was nudged along the row, the pantomime re-enacted before each post, until she arrived at the thickest. "No!" she wept, but her tormentors manipulated her easily, until she was straddled over the final column.
	She could feel the faint indentations where previous victims had dug in their heels. They positioned her carefully, with slow enjoyment, while she wept and pleaded with them. She offered no resistance. One of the senior women stepped forward and coated the upper surface of the phallus with some strong smelling grease, smearing it until it glistened. Vee screamed as the woman turned to her and applied the same substance to her genital area, even spreading her labia and probing the inner surface with her fingers.
	They spread her splayed out knees, fingers pressed on her shoulders, and all her muscles clenched as she felt the cold hardness of the tip nuzzle her. On and down. She felt her tissue yield, the inner lining began to burn, then the tight ring of muscle burned against the unyielding intrusion. The invasion continued. She felt the grudging surrender, and she gasped at the shock of swift, awful penetration, the awful, stretching, splitting sense of the lifeless object boring into her. The interior muscles clenched and tore in agonising protest. A warm wetness came suddenly, and faintness welled up. At the same instant, there was a surrendering relaxation. She felt it in her belly. Dimly, she heard the yelling, was aware of the stench of closely packed bodies, of her own acrid fear sweat.
	The burning was steadier now. She felt utterly exposed, pinned on a rack of degradation. Then an unspeakable, white, tearing flash of pure agony at which she shrieked. Her throat ached with the sheer abandon of her scream as they lifted her off the instrument, which shone with her blood.
	She became aware of a delicious coolness. Someone had placed a dark glossy leaf, thickly coated with some soothing ointment, between her sprawled legs. She was lying on a grass pile, they were wiping her face and body with wet cloths. A steadying hand lifted her head supportingly, another held a cup to her lips. She drank and choked, the fiery spirit bit at her, burned its way down. The warmth began to glow and spread, in her stomach and belly, coursed through her limbs, absorbing the agony, lifting away the pain.
	"Thank you," she murmured weakly, crying, her head sinking back to the grass. Her eyelids were heavy, she couldn't hold them open, and she drifted out of her helpless, abused body, away from the shame and the humiliation and the fear. Gladly, she allowed herself to go.



18

Vee's brain felt as though it were spinning crazily. Her body was warm and languorous, her limbs moved slowly as she drifted up through the deep layers of unconsciousness. Am I still dreaming? she wondered, sensing the unreality of her returning world. Then she didn't care, surrendered to the unbelievable joy of the moment. Tears spilled over. "How did you get here?" she asked tremulously, as Keith bent over her, tenderly brushing back the hair from her eyes. His wonderful fingers moved on down her responsive flesh, brushing off the pieces of grass.
	She wanted to move, but somehow couldn't find the energy. Still that lazy, cosy warmth spread through her. Had she been ill? Was she drugged? But what did it matter? Keith was there, miraculously, and gazing at her with a tender love such as she had not seen from him in an age. He bent so close to her that their lips were almost touching, would touch, any ecstatic second, his breath mingled warmly with hers.
	"Don't worry, darling. You're safe now. Everything's going to be all right."
	His hand moved intimately, possessively, across her belly, the heel of his palm pressed tightly at the apex of her thighs, the cushiony flesh of her mons, and she shuddered, her muscles locking rigidly, her belly jerking at the rippling orgasm his touch produced. She sighed, and released a sob of abandoned joy, her frame quivering again.
	The strong, sensitive male fingers played with the slippery folds of her melting cleft, explored with sure tenderness her pulsing inner core, found the quick of her desire, and she closed about the hand, capturing and squeezing, lifting her deeply clenching buttocks, shaken by another powerful orgasm. It flowed on until she cried, rolling her tear-wet face in a torment of ultimate delight against the cushioning flesh that held her, the lips that clamped fiercely about her own trembling mouth.
	Lips that moved as his strong arms settled her down on her back and the magical hands opened her, lifting and parting her thighs until they rested on his smooth warm shoulders as his mouth blazed over her flesh, from throbbing breasts, over the quivering belly, down to her wildly surrendered loins.
	Her spinning brain thought that this could not be, she must surely die at this lapping. sucking heaven, she could not stand such feeling, as the spasms built and built to the crescendo of their explosion.
	She came, on and on, seized and buffeted, torn apart by the potency of the climax. It soared, wave after wave, until she felt consciousness slipping away from her. She howled for mercy, sank almost gratefully into the darkness.
	She was on her back, legs spread immodestly. She shivered, felt the after tremors of the potent sexual release, at the same time felt the soaking wetness between her thighs. The big woman and her two acolytes were kneeling beside her, gazing at her. Someone was wiping at the sticky mess. There was the blessedly cool, cleansing touch of water, a cloth gently wiping her clean. Too weary and lost to be embarrassed, she lay there, the fog persisting in the cloudiness of her mind, letting them do what they would. She rolled her eyes about her, seeking in vain, as she knew she would, for her husband.
	"Good dream, yah?" The big woman smiled. Vee could hardly believe her words. it had been so real. She could still feel his caresses, her body tingled with them. Bitterness welled up, the tears spilt, ran down the sides of her face. She gave a choking sob as the misery engulfed her at the realisation of the truth. That drink. Her head still swam with it. The magic brew, which had induced such mind bending illusions that her body, too, had been deceived. She was stunned at its terrifying power. The big woman was stroking her, the huge palm amazingly gentle.
	"Come."
	The three of them lifted her easily, carried her outside. It was evening, almost sunset. They took her into the other, smaller hut. The girls filed in after them. They did not shout or jeer this time. They spoke in hushed whispers, as though waiting for some momentous event. Vee was placed on a high, narrow table, like an operating table, she thought, and then her heart pounded with fear at the aptness of the comparison. There were leather straps hanging from a horizontal pole above.
	They tied her ankles, lifting and spreading her legs exactly as at a gynaecological examination. Vee was shivering with renewed terror. The horrors of the rape with the phallus came flooding back, though she realised bemusedly that, for a while, it had been obliterated from her memory, and, indeed, the physical pain, which had been so acute, had vanished after their ministrations. Now, however, she was sure something equally horrible was to be perpetrated on her.
	Weeping hopelessly, she felt them prise open her outer labia. Something was inserted - later, she was to witness this operation being performed upon Katya. It was a contraption made from two short twigs, fastened to form a kind of frame. This served the purpose of a dilator. The women were holding her by the thighs, though, apart from the instinctive, flinching jerk at each touch, she gave no resistance.
	The leader spoke, her fingers lightly probed the gleaming raw tissue of the exposed surfaces, and the girls crowded closer, staring wide eyed. Among them, Vee saw, through her shimmering tears, the outline of Katya's head. The girl was trying to shrink back, and being held by her colleagues.
	Vee waited, tensed, for some new, excruciating agony, while the leader's strong voice continued. She seemed to be explaining some point of anatomy to the riveted audience, using Vee's helpless body as a model. Then, instead of the torment she was anticipating, Vee felt a shameful stirring at the tight caress of her inner flesh, just above her vaginal entrance, and centering on the normally hidden core of sensation, the clitoris.
	The tiny peak of flesh was roused, then captured in a pair of extremely fine tweezers. Utter panic seized Vee at the thought of its removal under the knife, but, almost before her brain had time to record such a terrifying notion, she felt the tiny fold of flesh being drawn out, raised and elongated from its glistening surround, while skilful fingers swiftly bound a collar of fine cotton around it, tightly enough for Vee to whimper a little with the sharpness of the pain.
	The whole procedure took little more than a minute, but to Vee, spread-eagled, peeled back, exposed to her very centre, it was a timeless ordeal. Then her ankles were released, she was set on her feet, and there was this burning, quite heavily felt appendage, once more hidden in the secret folds of her flesh. Yet she was acutely aware of its beating, engorged state - a permanently, shamefully rousing state, despite the soreness and the stinging tightness.
	It was a weird sensation, both painful and titillating in its bizarre way. It focused attention, demanded it, on that part of her anatomy, for she could not help but be conscious of it, the binding constriction against which it seemed constantly to beat and strain, whether she was moving or still.
	She had hoped that when they released her from the table they would allow her to go. The darkness was coming down. Her head was still muzzy from the concoction they had given her, though she guessed it had helped a great deal to deaden the pain of the cruel abuse she had suffered.
	It occurred to her that she might have slept through a whole day and night, or perhaps even longer. Now, she suffered the added fear of what punishment Awina would inflict on her for such dereliction of duty. Though the relationship between them had changed, because of the physical intimacy they shared, it was still very much that of mistress and servant. The black girl was still largely an unknown quantity, and Vee feared her.
	When the youngsters had filed out of the hut, Vee tried, haltingly, to ask for permission to return to the main compound, but Oduori, the bulky chief of the initiation class, brusquely silenced her, "You will stay. You will join the class. Though you are old enough to be the mother of many sons, you are ignorant like a little girl. You will be initiated."
	"But -"
	Vee quailed before the roar of displeasure. "Silence, heathen!" Oduori called out, and, magically, the two young men appeared. They seized the weeping Vee and tied her wrists together with a thin leather strip. Her hands were bound in front of her, and they made her raise her arms above her head before they thrust her down, bending her over the table on which she had been spread before. This time her feet trailed on the floor, her behind raised in readiness for the punishment she knew was to follow.
	One of the young men held her carelessly by her hair. The other stood behind her and proceeded to thrash her with a thin cane, which cut painfully, bouncing off the taut cheeks of her bottom. Vee began to wail and wriggle madly, much to the amusement of the watching women, whom she heard chuckling deeply.
	Shockingly, the sting of the cane, and the vigorous squirming of her belly and thighs against the hard surface of the table, set off a tingling excitement which was intensified by her bound clitoris to such a degree that she gnawed at her lower lip in an excess of sensation. It was soon over. They untied her, and she straightened up, blubbering and rubbing at her throbbing buttocks, despite her knowledge of the shameful spectacle she presented.
	"Go and join your little white friend. She has no courage at all. She is like water." Gratefully, Vee fled. The girls were sitting about, near the open air kitchen where the cooking fire was burning, and the air was rich with the preparations for the evening meal. Katya was curled up on the ground, quite alone. They hugged, fell into one another's arms, weeping, oblivious to the sniggers of those around them.
	Presently, Katya had recovered sufficiently to tell Vee of her ordeal so far. She grimaced at the fat with which her body gleamed. All the girls oiled each other with the strong smelling stuff, to enhance their beauty, and to protect their skin from the burn of the sun and the cold at night. The Danish girl stared at her solemnly. "They have not - done what they did to you yet. The tying of the clitoris. That will come later, they tell us. But they have done something. Look."
	Glancing around to make sure the others were no longer watching them, Katya opened her thighs even more as they sat facing one another, and lifted the flap of her apron. With some difficulty, she pulled at the narrow band of bark cloth beneath that hugged her genitals tightly. She managed to pull it slightly to one side with her fingers, then she pulled back the outer lips of the narrow divide of her sex. Vee saw something pale, a smooth rounded surface filling the small aperture.
	"It is a stone," Katya muttered. "It must not be removed. It feels - funny."
	Later, Vee learned that they were known as 'love eggs' and were made from the distinctive soap stone quarried to the west of the country. Their texture was as smooth as marble. The pebbles, of varying sizes, were inserted in the vaginal passage, where their constant chafing kept the girls in a state of teasing irritation. The girls were made to wear them for days before the tying of the clitoris. The others in the class had already gone through these stages in the elaborate rituals.
	Vee was embarrassed at first at having to be with these adolescents, for the African girls were far younger than either Vee or Katya, the oldest being no more than fifteen. But the white girls had the considerable consolation of being at each other's side. They could even sleep together in the communal hut. All the girls paired off, lying huddled in tangled union beneath the blankets provided for them, even though one of the female keepers slept on a mattress of grass near the entrance.
	Overt lovemaking was forbidden, and the initiates were prohibited from removing their sole garment, except for their ablutions, which were strictly supervised, but from the sighs and rustles and wrigglings, and thrusting of hot bellies together all about them in the dark, it was clear that the girls made amorous contact aplenty.

Next morning, after their breakfast of the thick, cloying porridge and the sweet, milky tea, they were assembled in the larger hut. The narrow table was still there, centre stage, and Vee's heart sank when she was once more called forward by Oduori.
	The two younger women stretched her out on it, and then began to anoint her body with a heavy aromatic oil from her shoulders down to her feet, until its musky perfume filled the entire hut, hung heavily in the charged air. She gasped, and bit at her lips as their fingers probed into every crevice, delving into the cleft of her buttocks and the fleshy divide of her labia.
	Then her embarrassment was temporarily forgotten. She gaped, and gasped, along with all the others, at the dramatic entrance of one of the young men. This time, his body was entirely nude, and gleamed with its own coating of the oil. From the black scrub of pubis, his slightly paler penis curved, long and thick, in semi erection. He stood, feet apart, the muscles on his lean thighs bunched, his belly projected forward, proffering his prick for their admiration.
	You could almost smell the girls' tense excitement, feel their pounding blood as they watched, their eyes fixed on the unfolding drama.
	Oduori spoke, moved easily to Vee, pushed her knees open, drew them up, lifting her thighs, placing her in the classic pose to receive the man's penetration. Dazedly, Vee realised that this was to be a practical lesson in the mechanics of sexual intercourse. She closed her eyes against the tears of shame that stung them and lay back helplessly. Oduori's voice droned on hypnotically, Vee felt fingers prising her open, felt the nuzzling of his member against her narrow divide, then the slow entrance of him into her gripping tightness.
	Her feet were raised, her thighs embraced the warm feel of his body lowering slowly on top of her. Then, all at once, she gave a strangled squeal, wriggled madly at the inexorable slide of his rigid column into her vagina, for the sensation of her bound clitoris at the friction his flesh caused was unbearable. She squirmed madly, her hips hammering against his crushing body, her feet kicking wildly in the air. Mercifully, she was not aware of Oduori's pungent comments or the shrieks of the delighted audience.
	The copulation was not allowed to continue for more than thirty seconds or so before, to Vee's sobbing relief, he slid smoothly out of her. However, her relief was short lived. Again, Oduori closed in, to turn her over onto her front, and force her to kneel, her bottom raised, her head resting hidden in her folded arms. Again, she felt that remorseless penis driving into her receptive sheath, this time from behind. He knelt, holding her by her hips, and, for a short while, the intense wave of pleasure flowed over her so strongly she felt her responsive wetness further lubricating the passage in which his impressive weapon plunged. But, again, the pressure of the clitoris drove her mad, so that she was turned once more into a wildly struggling, howling creature, while the staring girls hooted and clapped.
	Other positions were demonstrated. She lay on her side, her leg hooked over his thrusting hips, facing  the gleaming black body of the stranger buried to the hilt in her. She sat, straddling his lap, while he knelt, and she clung weeping, her head on his gleaming chest, her hands interlocked behind his neck. It was at this point that the first of the building orgasms erupted, transforming her into a demented thing, head flung back, her whole frame jarring and shaking with the force of the climax, so that he had the greatest difficulty in holding onto her.
	Finally, she was made to stand, her head once more thankfully hidden in her arms on the table top, as she stuck out her behind, her legs, knees straight and tightly locked, her thighs wide apart, while he, standing behind her, entered her, plunging home with one magnificent thrust. She felt the power of his driving belly and thighs buffeting her bottom. Within seconds came another tidal wave of sensation, and she threshed, lost the consuming power of the climax, so that she was not even aware until later, at the messy aftermath, that he too came, flooding her with his potent discharge.

Drifting in a restless half sleep, Vee felt a tugging at her ankle. A shadowy figure crouched beside her, indicating that she should go outside. Katya stirred, muttering something as Vee eased herself from her embrace of the girl, but she did not wake up.
	Vee shivered in the night air, hugging herself, blinking owlishly to remove the trailing clouds of sleep. Someone was waiting for her - a girl, dressed only in the maiden apron, though Vee could see that she was older than the other initiates. In fact, she slowly realised, staring in admiration, this was a beautiful young woman. Her breasts were high and proud, the dark nipples long and roused, hardened by the cold. The neck rose, long and graceful, from the slender shoulders. The waist was narrow, the hips slim, the buttocks and thighs far leaner than was customary, and, therefore, to Vee's eyes, far more attractive.
	The tiny brown apron, the beaded necklets above her breasts, the metal bracelets on her left wrist, all enhanced the naked beauty.
	"So! This is what you do to hide from me, eh, little stick insect?"
	Vee gaped in amazement, then gave a small cry. "Awina!" The next second she was pressed tightly against the splendid body, and their mouths were fastened in a passionate kiss.



19

"I came to find you earlier," Awina said, long seconds later when they finally relinquished their hold on one another. "But they would not let me into the compound. I was not dressed properly, they said." She glanced around, though no one was within earshot. Vee was surprised; it was hard to imagine anyone pitting strength against this formidably determined young lieutenant. Vee had seen how much power she commanded in the rebel stronghold. It served to emphasise the extraordinary influence this unknown and isolated corner of the community must exert.
	"Anyway," Vee said, "I'm out!"
	"Oh no, not really. I have to take you back. They will not let you out until you have been initiated."
	"Oh God, no! Please get me out!" Vee almost screamed.
	"If they think I want you out they will keep you even longer. Oduori is very powerful. She has the ear of the general. She is the keeper of tribal culture." Awina frowned again. "It is a damned nuisance. I am used to you, little insect. I will have to make do with Jackson, or Joseph again. Those boys are fools."
	Vee gasped as a hand shot out and grabbed a handful of her hair. Awina tugged it with playful force, shaking Vee's head from side to side. "You are a naughty girl! I should punish you!" She gave a final pull. "At least they haven't shaved your head. I think perhaps they will spare you. Married women can grow their hair." She seized Vee's hand. "Come. Let's go into the schoolroom." She pulled her towards the smaller hut, the scene of Vee's public humiliations. "We can sit and talk. It is too cold out here."
	The floor was covered with the traditional rush matting. Awina left her briefly, then returned with two blankets. She spread one over the matting. "Let us lie together," she said casually. "We can keep each other warm." She sat gracefully, patted the space beside her.
	Shyly. Vee joined her, She felt a faint stir of excitement, which made her wince, for she felt the distinctive sharp twinge of secret flesh stirring in its tiny bonds. Awina chuckled. She reached out to a low round stool and upended it, holding it by one of its three short, thick legs. The base of each leg swelled out in a clear representation of the male erection. "You can see what is the driving force behind our culture. What our forefathers were obsessed with. Everything they carved - even our furniture - looks like a penis!"
	She lay back on the coarse blanket and held out her arms. "Come here. I won't bite you," she grinned sarcastically. Disturbed. yet deeply affected, too, Vee moved hesitantly. and the girls lay side by side. Vee revelled in the silk smooth, cool sensation of Awina's firm flesh so intimately connected to hers. Hotter, more urgent feelings came to the surface. feelings which were clearly reciprocated. Awina's body pressed closer, her arms tightened about her, and their lips came together.
	Then Awina's strong arms were loving her, pushing her over, while the fingers plucked at the beaded strings of Vee's apron. But the knot that held the inner flap to the back of the waistband remained obdurate. "Those bastards make it impossible!" Awina tried to force her fingers in through the side of the flap, but it was extremely tight.
	"We're not supposed to take them off," said Vee. "I guess they make sure." She felt Awina's impatient thrusting movement against her, and she saw the lips so close to hers part in a grin.
	"Well, they didn't tie mine." Her hands left Vee's hips and moved to her own. She wriggled swiftly. She grabbed Vee's wrist, and fiercely guided her hand to the bared loins. The dark girl gasped. "You must do it to me then, angel. I'll work out how to get to you later. Please! Oh God!" She scrabbled, guiding Vee's fingers more specifically to the already wetly welcoming, slippery cleft. Vee needed no second bidding. She was afire with desire. Excitement burned so strongly that the pain of her constricted clitoris became screamingly apparent. She twisted back and forth vigorously, groaning aloud. There was only one way to lose this discomfort, and she embraced it eagerly, obsessively bending to lose herself in the gloriously proffered, delicious, dark flesh that meltingly rose to engulf her.

Becoming Awina's lover somehow fitted with fatalistic inevitability into the crazy pattern of total physical obsession that the next two weeks brought. Scarcely a conscious minute of that time passed without acute awareness of her very alert sexual force, and a great many unconscious ones, too, for the initiates were given regular and liberal doses of the potent brew which could induce shatteringly vivid erotic dreams. The sleeping hut echoed and re-echoed to the sighs and groans, the tossing of fevered limbs, and, frequently. the climactic yelps and screams of the girls, about which they were delightedly and mercilessly teased the following morning by the mamas.
	Both Vee and Katya lived on the edge of fear, and of shameful excitement too. The verbal haranguing, the lectures, the songs, they were entirely ignorant of, although occasionally someone might make a brief attempt at translation. However, there was visual stimulus enough - and participation too. Vee was present at the tying of Katya's clitoris, and she herself had to endure the insertion of a 'love egg' which, together with the effect of her bound and distended clitoris, drove her wild with clamorous arousal, so that when, that night, they all took part in the seemingly endless 'jumping dance', which consisted of the participants standing in a long row and performing a series of increasingly vigorous leaps in the air, accompanied by the singing of an infinite number of doubtlessly obscene songs, she was hotly, finally screamingly eager. She was covered in dust, awash with sweat, when at last the fevered pitch of sexuality within reached its explosive climax, and she collapsed with a threshing, jerking abandon on the earth where many had already fallen, and subsided into weeping exhaustion.
	There were demonstrations - tableaux of living, explicit sex techniques - performed either in the 'school' hut, on the narrow table, or in the open air, before the breathless, wide eyed gaze of the young captive audience. Although more often than not either of the two younger mamas provided the willing partner for the young men in these exhibitions, Vee was sometimes called upon to take an active role, to her intense shame and her captors' amusement. Any perceived reluctance an her part was swiftly rewarded by a caning, again in front of the highly diverted onlookers, so that she strove hard to hide her emotions at these painful times.
	As a backcloth to all this, Awina visited her almost every night, apparently with Oduori's gracious consent, and Vee found herself as eager for her role of lover as the beautiful young lieutenant. No matter that it was the white prisoner who indubitably took the active part in their lovemaking. Vee was besotted. thrilled to be the harbinger of such wild passions as she was able to release in the turning, whimpering figure spread helplessly beneath her. After all, she was living practically every waking minute with this sweet yet torturous sense of unfulfilled excitement within her.
	Katya was pierced with jealousy, literally red eyed with it, from her bitter tears. "Duh - don't see her any more!" she sobbed, clinging to Vee desperately.
	"I have to, sweetheart," Vee murmured, suffering too. "I daren't refuse. You know how it is. I have no choice." Katya wept inconsolably, and Vee's private pain was increased, for she knew only too well what a willing victim of circumstance she was.
	The end of the initiation came with great drama. There was an air of anticipation. The girls were in a new fever pitch of excitement, though it was some time before Vee and Katya discovered the reason. It was Awina who told Vee during their nightly rendezvous. "Each girl is given to the man she has chosen. Oh yes - it is mostly the girl's choice, though she is often guided by her family. There will be a big ngoma - a dance. Then the girls go off with their partners. For the honeymoon."
	She laughed cruelly. "I wonder who you and your little friend will get." Vee gaped at her in dawning panic. Awina's broad grin softened a little. "I think perhaps you will not be given a partner. You have a husband. But your skinny little friend with the chicken head. It could be the night of her life!"
	Vee was horrified. Later, she appealed to Awina. "Please - you can't let them just give Katya to a man!"
	Awina smiled wickedly. "Probably it will be good for her. I thought Simba would have kept her to himself, but he thinks that would cause too many problems with some of the other officers."
	She caught hold of Vee, pulled her head down to her bare breast.
	"Anyway, how will they take notice of me? I have had to plead with them to let me keep coming in here to see you. Humble myself before them." She gestured at her nudity, the discarded scrap of cloth, the beaded necklets. "I can do nothing."
	Not that you want to, Vee thought bitterly. Any attempt to approach Oduori or any of the other guardians would merely bring some extra brutal and degrading punishment. The two 'ghosts', as the white girls were called in the vernacular, had already sampled enough harsh abuse to know that they could expect no favours.
	Despairingly, Vee acknowledged that to warn the younger girl of her impending fate would simply push her over the edge of hysteria. Besides, there was always the hope, forlorn though it seemed, that Awina was enjoying a sadistic joke at their expense.
	One of the final rituals of the Initiation was the removal of the clitoral bindings - a delicate operation which they all had to witness. Many lewd comparisons were made of the sizes of the angrily scarlet little triggers. At first, the release made the soreness worse. Then came a maddening itch. The aprons had been removed, and the smooth stones, and the naked girls spent the day indelicately hawking and scratching, unable to leave themselves alone, to the cackling delight of Oduori and her team.
	The last night came. All the girls had looked forward to the final hours of unbridled and unfettered love in the darkness of the sleeping hut. Even Vee was praying that Awina would not pay her clandestine visit on this last night, for she wished to spend it with Katya. There was much consternation, and heartfelt disappointment when, at each sleeping space, four stout pegs were driven into the ground, and the girls made to lie on their backs while wrists and ankles were tied to the pegs with straps of the softest padded leather, but which held firmly against even the most determined pulling.
	When they were staked out, tormentingly close to one another, yet not touching, the mamas came round each one, and supported their heads while they were made to swig copious draughts of the fiery spirit. Wickedly caressing hands moved over captive flesh, until the air was filled with the sighs and gasps and groans of the frustrated occupants.
	The night was endless. Vee sank rapidly into the weird scenario of dreams thrown up by her subconscious. Dreams peopled by a host of unlikely participants, others more expected, in a wild variety of sexual permutations. Ruth, Gerard, Mary, Keith even the ruinous carcass of George Kyriakos, figured in her fantasies.
	One of the most powerful featured her brother, David, who came to rescue her from her present captivity and to confess his undying love for her. They made love furiously, endlessly, they even coupled on the reclining cushioned seats of the plane which carried them back to England, where they settled down to a life of bliss, boldly challenging the rooted prohibitions of their society. It was so real she woke sobbing in the cold grey dimness, wrists and ankles burning where she had chafed constantly against the supple restraints.
	All the girls were exhausted in the morning, but they were given a root to chew which revived them and kept them on a nerve tingling 'high' all through the preparations - the bathing, the painting of the face and body, which Katya and Vee had to endure fully. They were given the beaded collar, the iron bracelets, and another fringed apron, this time with no protecting crutch piece underneath, so that at every movement the pudenda was provocatively displayed.
	Heads were shaved once more, Katya's copious tears a source of unfeeling merriment, and Vee was thankful of her status as a married matron.
	At long last, in the heat of the afternoon, they were ready. They formed a line, and with the distinctive, swaying, hopping step, hands on the hips of the figure in front, singing and chanting in unison, they set off, out of the gate, through the eucalyptus grove and up through the village, where the path was lined with cheering crowds.
	The feasting and dancing went on long into the night. And the drinking - the girls drank more of the blood-stirring secret spirit, and the pairing off began. Katya seemed in a trance, semiconscious with the drink. All at once, she was being pushed forward, and suddenly Vee recognised the gangling, grinning form of Edward, the young guard who had been appointed to watch over them in the early days. He appeared before them, decorated with tribal markings, wearing the anklets and armlets of a young warrior. His genitals bulged beneath the skimpy loincloth.
	Katya's piercing scream ripped out above the hubbub, then she fell forward, fainting, as he swept her up over his shoulder. Vee watched the pale little buttocks, peeping above the blackness of the arm that lay possessively across them, disappear through the jostling, drunken throng. Vee stared after them. She felt numb and sick. Her head was reeling, her heart pounding. The sense of her utter helplessness pinned her like a weight. Somehow, she found the strength to fight against her inertia. "No!" she screamed, and staggered to her feet, pushing, fighting, to follow, to save Katya from a man who had every reason to hate her...
	Then suddenly Vee was pitched forward, sprawling head first in the leaves at the side of the path. There was a deep bass rumble of laughter. Some force plucked her easily up from the cool earth, held her easily in his arms. She lay there, the brief spark of her rebellion quashed, overcome once more by her weakness, her inability to move. She stared blearily. That broad, grinning, shining face. How did she know it?
	All at once, she remembered the day and night of her capture, the journey, the giant of a sergeant. He of the massive, solid bulk, the sheepishly exploring fingers. She had not seen him since then. His unit served in the bush, in a dangerous commando role.
	She lay back like a baby as he moved purposefully forward with her. She felt that deep, bubbling laughter transmit itself to her yielding frame, as the shouts and the singing grew fainter behind them.



20

Vee's mind was slow to clear. Sensations flooded through her first - light and warmth, the rough texture of blanket wool against her damp skin, the stale atmosphere of the confined space, overlaid with the sharp outdoor smell of canvas. The morning sun came strongly through the stretched sheet only inches above her head. Awareness came, too, of the hard unevenness of the ground pressing her soft flesh, and of the aches and pains that emanated from almost every part of her battered frame.
	The aching of her belly and the soreness between her legs brought at that same instant the memory of the elemental sexual activity in all its force, the furious rutting of the huge sergeant, and her shocking complicity, her surrender to the screaming animal in her that came bursting to the surface in such violent consummation.
	And when she turned her head, there he was. Her lower limbs were still sweatily entangled with his, the blanket slipping from the hulking body. The hairless expense curved smoothly like the carcass of a beached whale. The belly, for all its girth, looked solid, firm. She could see, just visible in the gap of the fallen blanket, the dark, tight, somehow inadequate scrub of his pubis. Its blackness was deeply highlighted against the soft chocolate shade of his skin.
	Their stretched bodies filled almost the entire volume of the low one-man ridge tent. She could hear voices outside, reduced by distance, but still clear.
	He woke!
	The cracked red of his eyes stared at her blankly, simply. Then the great, sparkling teeth flashed as the pale thick lips pulled back in a grin, that smile of simple, unalloyed pleasure that made her liken him even more to some friendly great animal. "Jig-a-jig!" he announced gruffly, catching her completely by surprise.
	Before the import of the word had even registered, the wall of flesh rolled over her, the ham hands captured her thighs and swept them up and about his broad waist. He bludgeoned into her, excruciatingly hard, tearing her tenderest flesh, so that she gasped, bit her lip as her face pressed into the muscled hump of his sweat moist shoulder.
	She gripped him, raised her knees still further, instinctively riding his thrusts to accommodate him, and, as she did so, she felt her own stirring beat of excitement, fluttering stronger and stronger, in spite of all the discomfort.
	When he came, after no more than two or three pounding minutes, her body was clamorously ready to continue the plunging ride to its own explosive conclusion, and she threshed madly, her head rocking from side to side, as she hammered herself against his pinning weight, the dying hardness buried deep within her spasming sheath. and slipped in ecstasy over the cataract of her own climax. He lay on her, a dead weight, pungently, wetly, while her blood thrummed crazily for a torturous interval, until she recovered a sense of her thinking self and wept for shame and humiliation.

The return of her towering sergeant marked a watershed in Vee's status in the rebel camp. Perhaps it was the initiation which had, in its strange way. identified her in relation to the community, but Vee felt it was rather the decisive action of the sergeant, who had, with his unthinking simplicity, swept her off her feet and carried her off to his tiny man made cave. Until that momentous event, everyone, with the exception of General Mavumbi and Awina, had treated the prisoners with a certain natural deference that inhibited them in any excess. It might have been the shocking fact of seeing their white skin so nakedly exhibited. Whatever the reason, they had hesitated to carry out any serious forms of physical abuse.
	Certainly, no sexual threat had ever been offered, other than the ordeal with the leader himself. Now that the sergeant had so spectacularly changed this state of affairs, and Katya had been carried off by Edward, Vee felt a vulnerability that she had not experienced since the earliest days of her captivity. It seemed to her that the hulking figure had demonstrated so clearly her availability, which others had never dared to assume, and now, fearfully, she saw that knowledge in all men's eyes.
	True, Awina protected her. The morning after the ngoma, Vee had finally escaped from the claustrophobic tent to seek refuge in her mistress's room. The 'gentle giant' had come later to claim her once more, naively assuming that 'the skinny white one' was now his for the taking. In the compound outside the officers' mess, Awina had, in a monumental display of spitting she-cat fury, disabused him of this assumption. It was tense for some moments. Vee could see that his brute masculinity was at odds with this pretty young female of such stinging tongue, in spite of the lieutenant's insignia on her shoulders. It was pathetic to see his final retreat. Pathetic, and a great relief.
	The mobile patrol was gone again the next day. But now Awina warned her, "I cannot protect you always. Other men will want you. You may have to accept it."
	They did. The novelty of the 'white meat' pulled them, as did the inescapable barrage of propaganda from outside media which had deluged their country and promulgated among the rising generation the pale slimness of the western woman as the essence of sexuality and desirability. Again, it was Awina's intervention which largely prevented her from becoming common property, available to all who had a lust for her.
	The very next night after the ngoma, as she lay sleeping on her pallet in the corridor outside Awina's door, three very drunken men appeared, crying out for the 'malaya mzungu', the white prostitute, Vee fled shrieking into Awina's room, and eventually the drunks were dispersed. The African girl at first seemed extremely angry with her, but Vee had learned that Awina's outward manner could be deceptive, or at least could change dramatically within seconds. Next day she told Vee, "You sleep in my room from now on." Then she gave one of her dazzling, radiant smiles, and reached out to fondle Vee intimately. "It means you will be all the handier for me when I want you, eh?"
	But she could not keep her from the general's regular use of her body. Nor, what was much worse, from having to service certain of the more privileged officers, a generous concession from their leader. Though her almost nightly visits to their rooms, and their beds, were carried out with discretion, it did not make them any less painful for Vee to bear. Nor did it help in the close and cherished sexual bond she had forged with Awina. The lieutenant's ill disguised jealousy caused her to take out her bad feelings on the hapless victim.
	One morning, Awina used the excuse of a badly pressed uniform to give vent to her frustrations. "You stupid white cow," she raved, while Vee stood dumb and miserable, choking back the tears. She yelped in alarm as Awina's fingers suddenly wound about the blonde locks and dragged Vee face down across the end of the bed. There was a whistle of air, and Vee screamed louder at the sudden flaring agony which rippled across her bottom as the short bamboo swagger stick made resounding contact with the quivering flesh. Vee squirmed and kicked helplessly, pinned down by that merciless hand gripping her by the hair, while the cane descended five more times in swift and fiery torment.
	"Therel" Awina panted, in mean triumph, as she stood over the blubbering Vee, who clawed at her throbbing backside as she crouched on the floor. "Perhaps that will teach you not to be so lazy, you idle little slut!"
	In spite of her very real woes, Vee's thoughts had not been entirely preoccupied with her own misery. She had had time to dwell on the hapless Katya, and to wonder with some dread how she had survived her ordeal. She had wanted to seek her out, but had been expressly forbidden to do so.
	"The warrior huts are out of bounds!" Awina had grinned, enjoying her discomfiture to the full. "The honeymoon is for seven days and nights. The lovers never leave the bed!"
	But, eventually, after more than a week of the new routine, Awina, her conscience perhaps pricked by the red stripes across Vee's buttocks, told her carelessly, "The honeymoon period is over. You can visit Mrs Chicken-Head in the new wives' quarters this afternoon, if you like."
	Full of trepidation, Vee made her way to the small circle of beehive huts, within its own fenced off compound, which the 'newly weds' occupied after an ngoma ceremony. The sun was already quite low, the shadows lengthening, the light mellowed. The haze of cooking fires drifted on the air. Vee recognised some of the figures tending the blazing twigs underneath the blackened pots. They called out raucously, cheerfully, and Vee greeted them shyly. She noted how proudly they wore the bright cotton sarongs that covered the lower limbs completely. With much giggling, they directed her towards one of the huts, outside which no cooking fire burned.
	Vee stepped into its cool dimness, bending to pass through the low doorway. Katya was lying on a mattress, her pathetically shorn white head in the crook of her arm. She gave a wounded cry, then they were clinging and kissing frantically, tongues and lips tasting their tears.
	"Oh, my darling, I've missed you so!" Vee held her, feeling every tremor of pain through her own responsive body. Long minutes later, they had recovered sufficiently to smile tremulously, and to release one another, though they continued to hold hands tightly as they sat on the grass stuffed mattress.
	Vee tried another smile. She nodded at the small pile of bright cloths. "At least you can cover up now. You don't have to go naked."
	"Oh Vee!" Again, they clung together tightly. Vee's mouth sought to draw out all the hurt that was in the anguished sobbing, both her own and that of the lovely girl in her arms. "It hurts so! He is so big -" Katya shook her head, fought for some measure of control again. She shook her head hopelessly, gestured through the open doorway to the distant figures bending over the fires. "I can't - I'm not like them. I can't be a wife. The cooking - everything!"
	Soon after they had stepped outside, Katya self consciously draping the sarong about her hips, Edward appeared, in his drab uniform of baggy trousers and shirt. He was carrying two old fashioned enamel coffee pots. "He brings food from the mess," Katya explained, blushing.
	When the girls exchanged their final, tearful embrace, Edward awkwardly touched Vee's arm. "I take care of her. I take good care." Vee nodded gratefully, stumbled away, blinded by her tears.
	She tried to visit whenever she could, usually in the afternoon, when she had her brief freedom. They were able to be on their own. Katya had a patch of garden, she was trying to cultivate vegetables under the mocking tutelage of the other girls. They were also teaching her how to cook. Their days were far more leisured now that they were wives. They collected firewood, tidied their huts and the communal compound, cooked, washed clothes. They enjoyed playing at housewives and gossiping, revelling in the sudden improvement in their lifestyle, their elevated status. Their chief job, as they well knew, was to be child bearers, so they made the most of their pampered existence, which would not last. The sharpness of their cruel behaviour towards Katya had eased, just a little.
	Being so close to Awina, Vee was able to keep track of time's passing, though sometimes she wondered if this was an advantage or not. She was shaken when she calculated one day that they had been held prisoners for more than three months. Yet she was uncertain why she should be so surprised. It might as well be three years. The time before her capture was in the dimness of long ago, it seemed. Even the visit of the white journalist and the violent aftermath was consigned to the distant past. Their life, servile as it was, seemed to have settled into a long established pattern.
	The intimate nature of her relationship with her beautiful mistress occupied a great deal of Vee's thought. She was quite sure that Awina's occasional outbursts of anger towards her were caused by her jealousy of the fact that her fellow officers were making regular use of Vee's body. Usually, these displays of temper did not erupt into physical violence, as on the occasion when she had thrashed her. At worst, there might be the odd slap, or kick with a well placed boot. And, always, afterwards, there would be some clear sign of her penitence, some small or large favour granted to her in recompense.
	Although, for a long time after their relationship had become a sexual one, Vee's role was to be the active partner in their lovemaking, that, too, changed, not long after the ngoma. Vee had believed she was more than content to play the part assigned to her. The powerful excitement with which she approached her task was in itself an aphrodisiac of such force that her body found spontaneous release while she went about ensuring that of her exotic new lover.
	The texture and taste, the musky odour of that heavenly dark flesh so totally abandoned to her during those rapturous moments, had been enough to trigger her own climactic response. She thought she wanted nothing more.
	But then, suddenly one ecstatic night, she found her lover as passionate as she was to be the bearer of those ultimate sensations. Each kiss, each search of mouth for hungry flesh, each stroke and squeeze and rubbing of hand and limb was strenuously matched. Like twin champions, they wrestled and threshed, so vigorously that they were forced to spread the bedding out on the rush mats, for the narrow cot quivered and creaked in alarming danger of collapse. Thighs locked, hips twitched, bellies thrust and slapped in soft abandon together. One would roll uppermost, upward thrusting knees would slacken, part, fingers search out the wet crevices of love, and tongues thrust in joyous conquest to the warm cave of submission.
	Then the shivering thighs would harden, muscles bunched, those other weakening hands find strength, and their fingers in turn storm the stronghold of melting desire. The coupling frames would topple crazily, now reversed, one kneeling, thighs astride the trembling belly. On, until the love play grew more and more stormy, and the black girl, with a sob of half frustration, half plea, fought Vee down, threw her body furiously over hers, and, capturing the slim wrists, pinioned her arms above her head. The fine, strong teeth sank with passion into the proffered neck. Vee stiffened, felt that magnificent body spread over her, shivered throughout her frame, and tearfully, joyfully, surrendered.
	It was almost dawn when they finally lay in total exhaustion among the tangled sheets. Sore and stinging, bruised and utterly sated, they still sought contact in this after-storm calm. "My God!" Awina groaned, with a small laugh that contained something of the wonder she was just now experiencing. "You are a tiger. No more stick insect. My white tiger. I feel you have eaten me up, every inch."
	Vee nodded. She turned to face her lover, felt the crinkly hair touch her forehead, pressed their sweat damp brews together. "It's never - I know you won't believe me - but it's true. It's never been like that for me before. With anyone!"
	"And me," Awina answered. She spoke softly, solemnly. "I am not a lesbian." Then she gave a small laugh, shrugged. "I guess that is nonsense. But it was true until tonight. I let you do it to me. In school we fooled around. We would lie in each other's arms and kiss. I let girls put their fingers in me sometimes. But it it was not making love. Nothing ever happened like this before." She shook her head vehemently. "Not with a man! No! Never like this!"
	She reached out yet again, drew Vee into her. "Curse you, white tiger! Woman lover! Lesbian! What have you done to me?"



21

More days rolled by, turned into weeks which slipped by unnoticed. The long dry season came to an end. The white morning mists hung about the tall dripping trees, reluctant to depart, and the skies were grey and louring, until about mid afternoon, when the sun would return with its brief burst of fiery splendour, every bit as potent as before.
	Smoking charcoal braziers appeared in all the huts at eventide, and were kept burning all through the night, while even the totos covered their nakedness with ragged dresses,  or T-shirts and holey shorts.
	Vee sneezed and streamed, and shivered miserably on a morning so that Awina took pity on her and allowed her to wear a kikoi. The flimsy covering was more of a psychological than a practical help, but she was grateful none the less. And there were still those magical moments when she clung hungrily to Awina under the blankets, with the brazier glowing cosily in the corner of the fume-filled hut. Then the cold receded, and young flesh on flesh responded with a different kind of fever, and mouths met and re-met in ever renewing ecstasy.
	One night, in the early hours, Awina was strangely withdrawn after the almost desperate passion of her lovemaking which had left Vee wetly, sorely, but blissfully exhausted. The black girl, instead of settling down to the limb locked sleep towards which Vee was drifting with sweet anticipation, propped herself on one elbow and stared at the fair head so close on the pillow. Despite her sleepiness, Vee became aware of the scrutiny, and opened her eyes to gaze at the dark face contemplating her.
	"What is it?" she asked shyly.
	Awina grunted. "God! You white bitch! I'm going to miss you so much!"
	Vee's heart began to thump. "What? What do you mean? What's happening?"
	The dark eyes regarded her sombrely. "I have to go away again tomorrow. You may not be with us much longer."
	Vee pleaded to be told more, but Awina shook her head. "No questions! I shouldn't have said anything. Nothing's definite yet."
	"But -"
	Almost angrily, Awina covered Vee's lips with her own, lifting herself over the supine figure and pressing her down. She caught the thin wrists and pinned them by the side of the tousled head. Deliberately, she let her breasts rub insistently against Vee's slighter, paler mounds, until both girls felt the slow, stirring rekindling of passion. Thighs and bellies pressed in slow mirror image.
	"I'm meeting someone from your government," Awina whispered, her face still close to Vee's. "Don't say a word to anyone, you hear? Not even to the Danish cow - otherwise, I'll be in trouble. Give me your word!"
	"Of course." Vee puckered her lips, began to return the gentle kisses. "I knew there was something different in the way you loved me tonight. I -" Suddenly, her eyes filled with tears. "I'll never forget you. I love you."
	Awina's smile was sadder than ever. "I bet you say that to all the girls!" But those thick, luscious lips descended fervently to claim Vee's eagerly upheld mouth.

Vee felt strangely vulnerable and isolated after Awina's departure next day. She was shocked at the confusion of her emotions. Her heart should have been beating with wild joy at the prospect of her imminent freedom. Why then did she feel this clawing fear hollowing at her insides, and the loneliness? It shocked her to acknowledge how close she had become to Awina, and, perhaps as a consequence, how far apart she seemed to have drifted from Katya.
	Of course, she urged herself, it was not really her fault. After all, she could only see Katya briefly now, in the afternoons, and in such public circumstances.
	The physical intimacies she had sought were a thing of the past. Vee had the feeling that Katya was relieved. She had been, at first anyway, a reluctant lover. The precarious quality of their existence had been the vital spark which had brought her to an acceptance of a sexual relationship between them. Now, she seemed embarrassed in Vee's presence, and guarded. What was more, she seemed to have come to terms remarkably with her status as Edward's concubine, or whatever the term was for the role she occupied with the young soldier.
	The first night after Awina's leaving proved that Vee's anxiety was not ill founded. She wondered if she were merely being hypersensitive, but it felt to her as though there was an air of general tension which communicated itself to all levels. It began badly, when the general came across to the mess hut in the early evening and saw Vee wearing the kikoi draped round her body from breast to mid thigh.
	"Get that thing off!" he roared. "Who the devil do you think you are, white slut? You're getting ideas above your station!"
	Terrified, Vee pulled the thin garment off and dropped it on the ground. Lately, now that the novelty of sex with a white captive had worn off, she had been called upon less and less to satisfy the desires of the officers, while Simba himself had not sent for her for weeks, Jackson had told her that the general was working his way through the new young wives who had formed the recent initiation class, and that Katya, too, had been sent for. Vee had found herself too embarrassed and estranged from Katya to ask her such a delicate question. It was sufficient that she herself was not having to couple with the menfolk, especially as the bond between her and her mistress was growing daily, or nightly, closer.
	"You'll wait on us at dinner tonight!" the general roared at her now. "And you'll wear what nature gave you, scrawny as it is!"
	There was a new maliciousness about Mavumbi's behaviour that frightened her from the outset. He made her stand close to him, beside his chair, and he let his great greasy hand fondle openly between her thighs while he ate and chatted. "I'm just checking," he told his laughing subordinates, deliberately speaking in English so that she should be spared no shame, "to see if her cunt hasn't closed up. I know our gallant young lieutenant's been doing more than her duty in these regions, but she hasn't really got the equipment for such things, has she, white meat? I bet you've been missing it, haven't you?"
	All at once, he seized her round the waist and pulled her forward over the table, the dishes spilling and scattering as she sprawled, her feet waving in the air.
	"Look at this!" he bawled, and the sobbing Vee felt his hands hefting and pinching at her bottom. "Not a mark on it! You've been missing that, too, I bet, eh, white meat?" He kept his hand spread over the clenched rounds, holding her down easily, for she made no resistance, only her feet waving as a token instinctive protest.
	"She likes a good beating, this one!" he informed the ogling company. "You know, it excites	 these decadent white bitches. Releases some chemical that gets them all worked up. I read it in one of their clever magazines."
	He let his thick fingers probe deeply into the tight divide until they pressed against the hidden slit of the anus, and Vee gasped.
	"I guess it's because the wormy little pricks of their bwanas are so unsatisfactory. You'll never be the same now that you've tasted what real men's pricks are like, will you, Mrs Green? Will you?" he bellowed when she failed to  answer, and gave her behind a resounding slap.
	"Nuh - no, sir!" sobbed Vee.
	"Well, let us make her day on both scores!" the general grinned. "Hold her, gentlemen. Take her ankles, and her wrists!"
	The two nearest men needed no second bidding, and Vee felt herself mercilessly exposed, spread like a star on the table top, amid the litter of the meal. A cane had appeared, and Mavumbi made it whistle through the air, the sound striking fresh terror in Vee's thumping heart. But, as if to prove his earlier point, wickedly he struck her with nowhere near his full strength. In fact, the first strokes were almost parodies, taps which stung only a little, and raised the faintest of pink marks on her clenched buttocks.
	"See how she wriggles!" the general guffawed. "She'll be begging for more soon. Am I teasing you, my little slut?"
	Gradually, he increased the force, until the hot fire flared across her tender flanks, and she yelped aloud. The last few strokes were delivered with violence enough to cut more deeply, to set the rounds quivering, and to raise livid lines of angry red that throbbed abominably. When they released her, she knelt there, weeping pitifully, her head down, her blonde hair trailing in the morsels of spilt food and drink, her hands clawing at the fiery torment of her bottom.
	Worse was to follow. She had expected that she would be ordered to the general's room. His voice was worse than the caning he had delivered when he said coolly, "Well, gentlemen, I'll leave her to you. She's warmed up for it now. I hope you'll be able to give her something to remember us by!" And he left her, still kneeling there, sobbing and thoroughly degraded.
	An endless nightmare followed. Rough hands seized her, she was borne aloft, carried through into the nearest bedroom, flung on her back on a narrow bed. For the first minutes, the room was shamefully crowded while her first assailant swiftly peeled off the clothing from his lower limbs. The dark penis thrust out like a lance as he dived unceremoniously between her spread-eagled thighs and hammered at her. She lifted her knees, her feet turned towards the ceiling, and in pure self preservation, she scrabbled frantically to capture his stabbing column and guide it into her. Her labial cleft was already moist, but the bludgeoning thrust of his prick jarred her, and the fury of his rutting made her whimper with pain. He came after no more than a minute or two, though she had little time to endure the shame of his withdrawal before his place was taken by another rampant penis, another crushing, driving weight between her sprawled limbs.
	A third, a fourth - she tried not to count, tried not to feel the burning pain, the friction of sweat slippery bodies on hers, the discomfort of her tender thighs as they hugged one body after another to her. Tried, too, to forget the most haunting, darkest shame of all, to bury it far beneath her conscious memory, for, somewhere in that kaleidoscope of heaving rutting flesh, rising imperiously over all the agony, came the unstoppable thunder of her own blood, her own threshing, finally shatteringly fulfilled excitement, that made the rest of the desolate, weeping ordeal even more atrocious to bear.

The ending of their captivity came with a swiftness that left them with a numbing sense of unreality. Vee was still hobbling like a crone, her bottom bruised and scarred, her genital region swollen and tender to the lightest touch, when Awina returned four days later. The time had slid by for Vee in a daze of numb despair after the multi-rape, though no one touched her again, or scarcely acknowledged her. Then Awina was back, and she was lying weeping in her arms, hardly able to comprehend the rather terse tones of her mistress and lover.
	"You're leaving at dawn tomorrow. We have achieved all we're going to get out of those bastards! Some recognition of our struggle. And some help. Not that they'll ever admit it. But we're keeping our word. So! This time tomorrow, you'll be in your husband's arms again!"
	But her bitter taunts vanished when, in the privacy of her room, she examined Vee's naked body and saw what had been done in her absence. "Oh my God! The swine! The filthy swine!" She bent, tenderly traced the dark bruises on the delicate inner surface of Vee's thighs, then the softer, bruised tissue of the labial divide. Her tears mingled with the sweet saliva from her lips and gentle tongue, and Vee shivered with ecstasy.
	Aching, tired flesh, sated appetite, was found to be rechargeable. This time, they knew inescapably that this was the last, and they made love with a hunger, a yearning that neither would forget, abandoning their bodies to each other with a new willingness to possess and be possessed, exploring inches and surfaces, slopes and crevices never before exposed to their love. Teeth bit, salty tongues licked, fingers picked and probed, on and on, until they felt for those magic seconds, minutes, hours, that their flesh had indeed fused.
	It was greyly light, the noises of the waking day had begun, when Vee sank into the sweetest sleep she had known since parting from Keith. It seemed to last no more than a micro-second before she was being roughly shaken back to reality. Awina, dressed in a crisp uniform, was towering over her, the room was full of daylight. "Put on your kikoi. There is a sweater, too. The landrover's waiting."
	She turned, was gone, without goodbye.
	Shivering, feeling sick and empty, Vee wrapped the kikoi around her waist, pulled the thick sweater over her head. She went outside. The landrover was drawn up right outside the mess tent. Katya was standing there, her white gold hair a tangled mass, her face drawn and pale. She looked totally bemused. Armed uniformed figures crowded about them, Mavumbi came striding from his quarters, snapped without ceremony, "Get in! You're going home."
	"No! Please, sir! She must stay -" A wild figure, in shirt and trousers, burst through. It was Edward. His eyes were rolling, his black face contorted with emotion. "She is my wife!"
	Katya was staring, looking more bewildered than ever. Tears began to roll down her ashen cheeks. "Get her in the truck!" Mavumbi hissed, and Vee realised he was addressing her.
	"Come on, Katya," she said gently, taking her arm. The Danish girl shook her off, stared at Edward, almost as distraught as he was.
	Mavumbi rattled off an order and two men grabbed the weeping Edward, dragged him away. Katya gave a cry, and made to follow them, whereupon Mavumbi flung his great arms about her and, hoisting her in the air, dumped her through the raised rear doors of the vehicle. A figure who was already inside grabbed her, held her down, as she began to scream and struggle. Vee scrambled inelegantly after her, the door slammed, and they were off, bouncing on the uneven track, passing in seconds through the morning bustle of the camp, the roar of the engine muting Katya's agonised sobbing.
	She ceased to struggle, and the soldier released her. When Vee put her arms tentatively round her, she accepted the embrace, collapsed against Vee's breast in a welter of grief. Vee's lips nuzzled at the white gold hair as she whispered, "We're going home, Katya. It's all over. We're going home."
	Vee's words, meant to encourage, had a startling effect. The golden head lifted once more, and the blue eyes gazed at her in a naked anguish which shook Vee. "I'm pregnant! I'm going to have his baby!"



22

Vee watched the small group of upturned black faces fall swiftly away beneath the clattering chopper. At the last glimpse of the rebels, she saw the bulk of her sergeant, solid, statue like, diminishing in the whirlwind. She felt her muscles stir at the memory of his hugeness inside her. She raised her hand in a little wave as the group vanished in a swirl of pale dust, and she noticed the British official opposite staring at her, then, in particular, at her brown, bare, scratched, dirty, leg, which projected in full splendour from the folds of the kikoi.
	All at once she was engulfed in mortifying shame in front of these white people, so clean and elegant. She became aware, in newly dawning revelation, of her general unsavouriness, and, above all, her nakedness under this inadequate makeshift clothing.
	They landed in the grounds of the large modern hospital, Britain's gift at the country's independence. The crowd looked terrifyingly large, though, in fact, access to the grounds had been strictly limited. The journalists and cameramen fought and jostled to get to them, calling out, waving microphones with forlorn hope. Surrounded by police, the two girls were hustled away into the ground floor of the glass tower, where a more official welcome waited.
	"Papa!" Katya's scream cut through the opening remarks, and then Mr and Mrs Burnsen, weeping openly, were hugging and kissing their daughter, while the African government ministers strove to look on benignly.
	"Hello, love." Keith was standing there, white with tension, looking unbelievably young, and clean. His image dissolved in a flood of tears and she flung herself blindly at him. Her arms clasped about his neck, but they did not kiss. She pressed the side of her face into his chest, her thin frame convulsed with great sobs. His arms came up to hold her, but, even in her abandonment, she sensed his stiffness, the almost recoil he fought to disguise.
	Vee was privately stunned at the transformation which her young companion in misfortune had undergone. The physical changes were only just becoming apparent - the riper, increased size of her breasts, the general air of blooming health, the more generously rounded curves, despite the ordeal of captivity. But it was her mental attitude which confounded Vee. Far from rejoicing at their rescue, Katya was torn with doubt and confusion, and Vee was shocked to realise that the girl was feeling a deep affection for the awkward young boy soldier she had been forced to live with - and regret at being parted from him.
	Most shocking of all was her fierce determination to keep the baby. Her parents, and the doctors who treated her, assumed that the  pregnancy would be terminated with all speed. No difficult matter. They, too, were shocked at Katya's refusal to cooperate. "She's unwell - in her mind, I think," her distraught father told Vee, and appealed to her for help.
	"There's one thing, darling," Vee murmured wretchedly, when she was alone with the Danish girl one evening, "This baby - how do you know it's Edward's?"
	Vee was appalled at the tragic look which Katya gave her. "What do you mean?" she whispered, her face white.
	"Well," Vee stumbled on, "you were - didn't you have to sleep with the general? After you and Edward - after you went to that compound? Couldn't it be - well, couldn't the baby be the general's?"
	Katya's eyes gazed at her with a haunted, wounded expression that brought the tears to Vee's eyes too. "No!" the girl whispered, then cried out fiercely, "No! No!" The white gold head shook furiously, then she fell back onto the bed and sobbed heartbrokenly.
	Meanwhile, Vee had her own griefs to contend with. She swiftly understood that, in public, Keith was keeping up the image of the faithful husband tortured with anxiety for the safety of his virtuous wife. That was the role he must have played throughout the months of their imprisonment. He therefore visited the hospital every day, smiled bravely for the staff, and for the world's media, and kept his arm firmly about her shoulder when they were seen together. In private, there was an awkwardness which hung between them.
	One morning after they had been at the hospital more than a week, Vee went along to Katya's room, to find her bed empty. She met Mr Burnsen in the corridor, his face split by a smile of pure relief.
	"Katya has agreed. She's having an abortion."
	Vee nodded, smiled too. "I'm glad," she said. Was she? she wondered. Suddenly, she was deeply dismayed at the depth of emotion which welled up inside her, so that she had to mumble her excuses and beat a hasty retreat. She locked herself in a toilet and began to weep desolately. She realised suddenly, with genuine shock, how physically roused she was. Her hand slid between her thighs, under the lifted nightdress, to caress her tingling flesh, tracing the contours of her vulva. Her body ached to feel the passionate warmth of Awina, to savour the musky heat of her loving once more.
	Keith had still not so much as kissed her on the lips. All at once she was assailed by the feeling that he would never make love to her again. She snatched her hand away, and, instead, used it to dash away the tears which were pouring down her cheeks.

In the end , the tragedy was that she would never know if the break up with Keith would have been inevitable. She actually went back to live at the bungalow with him. Menya had gone, thank God, replaced by another houseboy. "Sleep in the spare room," Keith said baldly, his face red, and she fought down her dismay. He had brought her home. He had not thrown her out. That was all that mattered. He was away all day, and most of the evenings, too, but still she clung to that flicker of hope. It would take time. And now they had time.
	One day, feeling guilty but unable to prevent herself, she went snooping about his drawers, his desk, scarcely knowing what she was looking for. She found a file containing all the press cuttings about her captivity.
	She spent the whole day reading through them, sickly fascinated. The British press were mostly full of vague allusions to their conditions and full of salacious speculation. But the foreign press was not so delicate. There was an American magazine in particular, carrying Frank Tully's article, She recognised his picture at once. The article pulled few punches, describing their conditions and the sexual servitude they endured under the rebel leader. The centre piece was the blown up, intimate photograph he had taken in the hut that night. She stared at her image; the small points of her naked breasts, her solemn, wide eyed stare. She was amazed, and humbly grateful, that Keith could even bear to look at her again. She knew how much his pride must have been hurt at all this. She put the file carefully back, determined he should never know she had seen it.
	Katya returned to Europe. Vee exchanged a tearful farewell, they kissed tenderly on the lips, Vee praying that all the intimacies they had shared could be translated into that one embrace.
	"Write to me," she whispered. "I'll never forget you." She let her fingers brush softly against that fine hair, which had grown back with added lustre, but which was now shaped in a more sophisticated, shorter style, transforming Katya from girl to an elegant young woman.
	"I'm coming back soon," she whispered in return, and Vee glimpsed the veiled determination in the blue eyes. "I'm going to find Edward again."

	Vee was lying on her bed after a lonely dinner, wearing a pretty satin negligee of pearl. The sheer gown beneath hugged her body with seductive softness. Her shining hair, in its simple style, had been carefully arranged, her nails filed and polished. She was subtly perfumed, looking her best she felt, wishing as ever to appear desirable in the eyes of Keith, longing with an intensity that left her weak for him to find her so.
	He came crashing through the door, that awful mad glare in his eyes. He flung a thick, heavy magazine at her. It fell across her thighs.
	"Look at it!" he thundered, his words choked with rage. "Look at it!" She had a sensation of falling. She thought he was going to strike her.
	She turned it over with nerveless fingers, flicked at a page, and there, in glossy abandonment, was George's pencilled portrait of her, the one in which she sprawled in the chair, in all its erotic detail. The promise of the peak nippled breasts, the fluffed curls of the pubis, the proffered lines of the vulva, the exposed out turn of the thigh, the delicacy of the hanging, tapered calf, the pointing toes.
	On the opposite page were the other sketches George had done of her. The captions, the article, were in English. 'Sexpatriots in the sun. The truth behind lovely kidnap victim, Vera Green. Lover tells all.' There wasn't much. There was no need for more words after that explicit pose. Gerard wasn't even mentioned by name - out of his professed wish 'not to embarrass the beautiful Mrs Green, who has already suffered enough'. A fine irony, the final touch in a devastatingly effective act of revenge - for which, she heard later, he received $200,000. It was a revenge aimed more at Keith than at her, she guessed, and hit the mark disastrously. And so perfectly timed, after all the effort Keith had put in through the long months of her capture to hide the truth from the world.
	"So, here we are again then!" Keith snarled, with a bitter kind of triumph. "You must have been missing it all so much."
	She made no effort to struggle, or even to plead, as he hauled her up from the bed, and stripped the thin silk from her body. When he thrust her down once more, she pressed her face into the satin of the covers, clutched at their softness with her fingers, muffling the screams which rose in her throat at the wicked sting burning over her flanks as he chastised her for the last time. The chosen instrument, purely by chance as it was the thing which came nearest to hand, was the long handled, imitation tortoiseshell hair brush, which he had bought her when they first set up home together, and which had figured in the early days in the stinging, stirringly naughty spankings which had roused her so fiercely.
	He struck now with a savage force that tore the breath from her, and her frame quivered at the fiery consummation. She could not prevent her body from jerking instinctively at the agony he inflicted upon it, but, after every blazing stroke, she pressed herself submissively against the yielding mattress, surrendering to the pain and to the punishment she felt she had richly earned.



POSTSCRIPT

Even on the plane home, days later, her bottom was still tender, so that she shuffled uncomfortably and had hardly any sleep. She was using her maiden name, and was thankful that there were no reporters waiting at the airport. They milked the story without her help. She was not even able to go to her parents' home, though it was doubtful if they would have welcomed her had she done so. Her notoriety as a fallen idol, or at least heroine, was briefly such that she had to shun any of the places where the media might latch onto her.
	She was too beaten down to care. She arranged a meet up with David, her brother, in the anonymity of London, where she found a dingy bed sit, not through lack of finance, for Keith had insisted she take a generous enough settlement, but she was determined to make herself independent of him as soon as possible.
	The meeting with her brother was painful for both of them. Vee suddenly remembered the vividly erotic dream she had had during the initiation class and her forbidden adolescent fantasies. She found herself clinging to him, lifting her mouth, open, for his kiss, pressing her thigh and loins to his, so that he almost thrust her away to break the embrace.
	She felt even more desolate. "I don't know what to do," she wept.
	"Go back to college," David advised. "Finish your degree. You can get a teaching job meanwhile. They'll take you on unqualified in Inner London."
	She took part of his advice, finding a post at an inner city comprehensive, relearning the knack of living in the present, and keeping memory at bay. And the present, bleak as it was, had plenty to occupy her thoughts. Her pupils of both sexes were rowdy, often totally unmanageable. There were times when she was stomach churningly afraid of them, sick with fear. She was a bad teacher, she knew very soon. Most of the time she dreaded facing her classes, longed for the escape of the final bell at four o'clock, woke up with a lump of apprehension in the pit of her stomach each weekday morning.
	Uncomfortably, she perceived that dark, masochistic element at work in her personality, that kept dragging her back to the ceaseless battle, the obscene insults. There were other dark tendencies, too, the long, coltish legs of summer, the sharp little breasts of the girls, the tight, pert behinds and promising bulge of the boys. But fantasies, indulged in the lonely, steamy solitude of her lumpy bed, were harmless after all. To compensate, she assumed a persona of prim old fashionedness, a strait laced schoolmarminess at odds with her still youthful prettiness, a combination her students delighted in. They vied with each other to shock her, and were never disappointed.
	Summer ended at half term, and a wet autumn heralded a dank, bitter winter. School finished, with the hectic pre-Christmas festivities. The biting cold made her muscles ache, and she thought longingly of the warm bath of the African sun, every time she saw her almost faded tan. She felt even more isolated at the excesses of good will all about her, She lied to her parents, sure that she would only be an embarrassment at their home during the holidays. She derived a kind of masochistic pleasure almost from her loneliness, lying in the warmth of her bed like a little animal in its lair, daydreaming, allowing the slow, sexual yearnings to filter through her body, tormenting herself by lying perfectly still, trembling still, until she could stand it no longer, and her hand would creep with lover's stealth to a breast, her other hand sliding lasciviously down her belly, across her thigh, to the clinging dampness of her sex.
	She didn't dress, kept the gas fire going, and moved around the flat naked, constantly, teasingly aroused. She liked that strange sense of unfulfilment her behaviour brought. She held onto it as long as she could before she was forced to bring herself swift, consuming release.
	Two days before Christmas, she decided she had to visit the nearby launderette. She dressed in front of the fire. All these clothes! She was wearing a clingy body warmer these days, instead of bra and pants, and she wriggled into the tight garment, smoothing it to her contours, fastening it awkwardly at the crotch. She eased it into place, sliding an index finger in the high, cut away ribbing of the legs. She pulled on a pair of thick black tights, then the heavy skirt and sweater. With the scarf and bobble hat, and winter coat, she felt weighted down, like a deep sea diver.
	The launderette was busy, but not too crowded. She sat through the procedure, then dried the first lot, pulled them out and replaced them with the remainder. Another fifteen minutes and she would be back home, free to strip off again.
	"'Ow do, miss. O'righ'?" The voice startled her. A burly coloured youth slumped into the plastic bucket seat beside her. Wayne Grainger. A sixteen year old whom she tried unsuccessfully to teach six periods a week. He was a tearaway, one of the many in 5C, a choice collection of misfits she had been saddled with. There were a lot of coloureds in the school, probably three quarters of its population. She found it oddly comforting. She could relate to them more than the pimply faced or make up plastered whites, though she was sure they didn't realise that.
	He was grinning at her and staring with a rude directness that made her blush uncomfortably. "Not out wid de boyfrien' ternight then?" She shook her head, smiled distantly, freezingly. "Very nice. Oh yus. Very choice!" he drawled, with exaggerated slowness.
	At first, she did not realise  what his words referred to, then she saw with amazement that he had reached down deliberately into her canvas bag and picked out a pair of knickers. Her tiny white tango briefs, with the twin cotton roses on the front panel. The little crumpled triangle of  lace and cotton looked minuscule and startlingly white against  the brown and black of his hand. He rolled them in his palm, then brushed them very delicately over his thick lips.
	Vee blushed deeply, shivered, felt a shooting, twingeing spasm of her vaginal muscles, exactly as though he had caressed her there. She fought against the breathless constriction at her chest. "Put them down," she managed faintly. "Huh how dare you!"
	His grin widened He held up the knickers even more prominently, and Vee squirmed with burning shame at the amused gaze of several onlookers. "Wot's 'at?" he enquired in a parody of wide eyed innocence. "Wo'd you say? Pull 'em dahn? I'd love to, but not 'ere, darlin', know wot I mean?"
	Galvanised into action, she snatched at them, and he moved  his hand deftly, avoiding her clumsy grasp. Tears of helpless rage blinded her. He dropped the garment insolently back into the bag. "Let's not get 'em in a twist, eh? Only bein' friendly, like. Don' take offence, eh? Stay cool, darlin'."
	"Don't call me that!" she snapped unsteadily, breathing  hard. "You're going to be in serious trouble!"
	"Ooh, please, miss." The mockery of his tone stung her. "You  gonna spank me, are yer? Tell my mum of you, I will."
	She flung herself out of the chair, tugged at the door catch  of the rumbling drier. In clumsy haste, she pulled out the  articles of clothing, thrusting them into the bag. More delicate underthings. She felt a violated sense of his eyes on them. As she made to go, he seized her wrist in an iron grip, pulled her back into the seat. "Come on! Don' be so toffee nosed, miss. We  ain't in school now. Lighten up. Come dahn the caff. I'll treat  yer to a coffee, seein' as it's Christmas."
	"Let go of me!" she hissed through her teeth, struggling not to cry. Suddenly, he released her hold, flung her away in disgust.
	"Go on then, fuck off!" he snarled, dark eyes blazing. "All the fuckin' same, incha? Bloody stuck up toe rags! 'Oo d'yer think you are, so bleedin' special? Don' wanna know us black barstards, do yer? Can' even speak to us ahtside school. Go on, piss off!"
	His rage startled her. Without thinking, she fired back, "Listen, sonny! I lived with you black bastards for three years. I was a prisoner of you black bastards for nearly six months!"
	Oh no! She groaned at her own stupidity. A new life, a new name. And, miraculously, no one had known her, no one had recognised her, despite her notoriety. It had never happened. Just as David had said. 'Nobody looks at anybody here. We don't  see anything.' And she had blown it all.
	He was gazing at her in astonishment now. "Hey, miss. Wo'd yer mean? Sorry fer gittin' yer mad. Let's start again, eh?" He continued to talk, polite, friendly. He picked up her bag, linked her arm with antiquated courtesy, led her to the door and the brightly lit cold night. Unbelievably, even to herself, she  allowed herself to be escorted outside before she made a belated, stumbling protest.
	"Aw, c'mon, miss. I don' mean no 'arm, honest. Just a coffee. Be 'uman. I won' tell nobody. I jus' wanna talk to yer. I've alwus thought you was smashin', miss. Even though you think we're scumbags!"
	"No!" she murmured involuntarily. He had her bag. Confidently, he held onto her, steering her through the still crowded streets.
	In the steam-weeping coffee bar, they found a quiet corner booth and sat opposite each other, knees touching. Wayne beamed a grin. His dazzling teeth flashed, and with a painful clarity, Vee remembered her sergeant. The boy nodded at her bag, on the seat  beside him, his dark face alive with mischief.
	"They're real pretty, your knicks. Jus' like you. All dainty, delicate like. You're a real toff, incha, miss?"
	She shook her head helplessly. His deep, uneven voice poured on over her, its childish banter having a curiously hypnotic  effect on her. "We gotta get acquainted proper like. I wanna know all about you. Wot you meant back there. You bein' in prison."
	She stared at him like a frightened, trapped rabbit. 'No!' Her lips formed the word soundlessly. He merely grinned. He took her cold hand in his rough palm and kept it there, his fingers playing firmly over her knuckles. Her huge eyes pleaded with him. "Don't!" But he grinned again, shushing her protest.
	Inside her head, she screamed out a warning against the invidious lassitude that was stealing through her body, the tight, clenching, weakening spasms deep in her belly. She felt the swelling, dampening tightness  between her legs. The vivid premonition of danger crushed the breath from her even as she throbbed to its fatal excitement.
	She gasped. She felt his fingers softly, insistently, rubbing along the ribbed tights, at the inside of her knee, then on, up the quivering softness of her inner thigh. She began to weep quietly, but she did not move, except to clench her hands more tightly on the plastic surface of the table. "We'll go back to your place," he crooned thickly. She watched the movement of his gleaming throat, in the solid, muscled column of his neck.
	The precipice was there. She felt the gritty stones, the sliding, sharp definition of the brink. "Don't hurt me," she begged. The tears shone on her cheeks.
	He laughed deeply, a terrible, primitive, male animal laugh, and, as they left together, placed his broad hand with possessive claim over her buttock through the thick winter coat.