Aid to Africa Rebel

Aid to Africa Rebel

Synopsis

Forced to go on an aid mission to an African field hospital, Kate, along with her companions, stray into rebel held territory and are arrested, imprisoned without trial, punished and forced to service their captors. Or are they?

Aid to Africa Rebel

by obohobo

Warnings

Please take note!

The text in this story contains erotic material and is expressly written for adults only.

MF bg NC. Spanking

If you are underage or offended by such material, or if viewing this file is illegal in your locality, then leave, close or delete this file-story now.

This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely coincidental. The ideas and thoughts that follow are pure fantasies.  In real life, at the very least they would be unpleasant and probably illegal. Fantasies are like that; daydreams where we can contemplate and imagine the sensations without suffering or inflicting the pain, despair or humiliation.

© obohobo 2008

Chapter one. Captured and punished

I didn’t want to go; in fact I did everything I could think of to prevent my going, but all to no avail. Mother insisted, my older sister insisted and Auntie Sara insisted I accompany them to a field hospital somewhere in the middle of nowhere, in a remote part of Africa during my summer vacation. “It will be part of your education Kate, to learn there are others in this world outside your own little group,” Mother lectured me at some length, “People whose lives are very different from yours. People who know what hardship really means, people so poor they can hardly afford to buy enough food to survive.” I’d heard it all before and tried shut out her voice and then started pleading to remain behind. Now, as we bounced our way along a dirt road in an ancient Landrover with no air conditioning, my hatred for this country intensified. Tired, irritable, hot and dirty, I longed to be at home away from the dust, the flies and the heat, but at best we might get to the makeshift hospital and have a cot in a hut tonight. My griping and complaining only got me relegated to the rear seat of the Landrover more or less out of their earshot.

Mother drove the vehicle, and I have to admit she was becoming pretty good at avoiding the worst of the holes, and Auntie Sara sat alongside her supposedly navigating but with only one track, she didn’t have very much to do. She liked to appear to be in charge all the time and anyone who disagreed with her, soon felt the sharp edge of her tongue. In my early years her remarks frequently cut me but since becoming a teenager, I fought back and rebelled against her and the cause she passionately supported.

Mother, Connie and her college friend Vicky Wilcox were so alike they could have been sisters. All three had short dark shoulder length hair, were fairly tall at 5 ft 6 inches and, while not fat, had ‘fuller figures’. They all tried to dominate me but I resisted as much as I was able. Auntie Sara was even worse for trying to dominate us. Her tall, buxom figure and overbearing attitude made me hate her and I tried to thwart her at every opportunity, never with much success. In a way, I was the odd one out. At 5ft 1 inch and with long blonde hair, I took after my grandmother and I suppose it was from her too that I inherited her feisty spirit.

Auntie Sara is not relation but a friend of mother’s since before Connie was born. At the time Dr. Sara Gallagher worked as a probationary doctor at the hospital where Jenny, my mother, was training to be a nurse and the two became lifelong friends. About ten years ago, Sara did a year’s Voluntary Service Overseas and saw the plight of the poor in the remoter parts of Africa and, seeing the need for hospitals, became actively involved in fund raising for African Aid. Mother, of course, helped enthusiastically and so did Connie but I found it all too much of a bore and rebelled by supporting charities for local children and hospices. This led to many arguments with me vehemently taking the view that charity should begin at home.

Perhaps the one thing I should be grateful to Auntie Sara for is that she got me on birth control pills. Once I started going out with boys, she persuaded mother it was better to have prevention than try and keep me safe and away from them. However, they used it as an argument to force me to go on the trip. “I’m sixteen now and can look after myself,” I avowed.

“And now you’re on the pill, with me being out of they way, you’ll take any boy to your bed.”

I might have done that but at the time I was still a virgin.

Connie and Vicky sat in the seats behind mother and Auntie and were enjoying the trip, or so they tried to make out. Every few minutes they would point out a fresh animal they’d seen or some interesting tree or rock. They chattered incessantly. Me, Kate Martrum, well I just lay on the rear bench and looked through the doors we’d opened at the back to let the air flow through the vehicle. For a while I’d given up complaining about the conditions and treated the whole holiday as a prison sentence.

We’d stopped for several minutes and when I looked over the seats I heard an argument at the front. “We take the left fork Jenny, the sign says ‘Awari’ and that’s where we’re going.”

“But Sara, the map shows we should take the right fork and the left one goes to the disputed territory where we might get into trouble.”

“Maps in these parts are totally unreliable.” The debate went on for some time before we moved on, mother having given way and following the track to the left. I lay back down again, hoping the journey would soon end.

Perhaps we’d gone another mile or so when mother shouted, “There’s a tank coming towards us from that hill to the right.” A burst of gunfire shook me out of my reverie but when I peered forward, it appeared more as a warning as the bullets hit the sand well in front of us. Nevertheless I kept my head down and prayed that we could avoid trouble.

“Heh, look Connie, that’s stampeded that herd of deer, they’re coming straight at us. No they’re swerving and heading along the track,” Vicky exclaimed and kept up a commentary on the deer while mother and Sara argued as to what they should do but for the moment, mother slowed down and almost stopped. Then a tremendous explosion seemed to knock the vehicle sideways, upending the front, throwing me out and hitting something in the doorway before landing head first on the ground. Later I found out we were relatively lucky to be alive. One of the deer trod on a mine, which blew up quite a few yards ahead and, while the others were shook up, their seat belts held and none were harmed. Had it not been for the deer we would have set off the mine. Lying unconscious on the ground, I knew nothing of this until later.

When I came to, I found myself in the arms of an African soldier who carried me into a large low mud building and tried to set me on my feet but my shaky legs and blurred vision wouldn’t allow me to stand upright and I collapsed on the floor. In the background I heard Auntie Sara screaming that I needed medical attention and she was a doctor but her demands only got her a poke in the ribs with a rifle. As my vision cleared I saw they were all handcuffed and stood in a line against a wall, all had tears running down their faces. I closed my eyes again and tried to make the pain in my head go away but it continued to thump and when I felt strong enough to raise my arm I felt a huge lump on my forehead and the blood that trickled down my face. I passed out again.

My captor seemed content to leave me on the floor until a sergeant arrived and then he hauled me to my feet. Standing behind his desk, the sergeant looked leeringly at us and then turned his attention to Auntie Sara who was yelling at him and proclaiming our rights as innocent British citizens and demanding to be allowed to treat me. “Shut your fucking mouth woman!” the sergeant yelled crudely. It took the wind out of Sara’s sails for a few moments but, big woman though she is, I knew she was no match for the two guards that held her. “You all illegally entered Pwandra territory and as such will be imprisoned and treated as spies. Unlike your pathetic country, as prisoners you have no rights, no rights at all. You will be held here indefinitely until General Combara grants your freedom or we sell you back to your country or to some other government or institution.”

“You can’t do that! I’ll…” A large black hand stifled whatever Sara intended to say.

“While you’re here, you’ll do exactly what the guards want you to do, whether it be necessary work, or work that will bring in a little income or just to keep your guards in a good mood.” Even at that time I guessed what that would mean and by the outburst of crying, I knew the others did too. My legs began to sag again but my guard standing behind me, held me with his arms under my armpits and his hands clasping and painfully kneading my breasts. Yes, I knew what we’d have to do to keep them in a good mood.

For the next ten minutes we were interrogated. A soldier arrived and placed our passports on the desk and the sergeant studied each one and questioned the details concerning our personal information. He’d only just got to me when the proceedings were interrupted by the arrival of General Combara himself. Auntie Sara, of course, couldn’t keep her mouth shut or even ask politely, but went into a torrent of abuse and outrage and demanded our immediate release and our rights as British citizens to have access to a consulate official.

“Did you tell them the rights they had Sergeant?” The general didn’t raise his voice but it carried the authority of one who expects to be obeyed.

“Yes, Sir, I did and I explained they had none, none whatsoever, but that one doesn’t seem to understand our English sir.”

“Then perhaps she’ll understand better if we drive the message home with a dose of the whip.” He paused and then in a slightly louder tone, “Strip her and string her up.”

To my horror, the two guards ripped her blouse open, and despite her struggles and invective, more or less tore her clothes off and fastened her wrists to a rope from an overhead beam. I noticed they frequently grabbed her breasts and fingered her sex and I wondered if we would all be treated in the same way. For the first time I saw the busty woman completely naked, and watched as her full breasts rose and fell as she tried to recover her breath from the struggle. Sara, deathly afraid now, changed her tactics and begged for mercy, pleading that she was a doctor and only came to heal sick Africans but her pleas fell on deaf ears.

Picking a single tail whip from the wall the General handed it to one of the guards and to my horror ordered, “Twenty across her back and arse and ten on her tits. That will show the bitch what rights she has. Show her what we do to prisoners who misbehave.”

My still befuddled mind at first refused to accept that anyone could be so cruel and I half expected that the punishment would kill her. Sara continued to plead until the first stroke bit deeply into her backside. A horrible howl came forth and to my amazement, she peed herself, causing laughter from the others. The rest of us could only hope and pray that the General would relent and that we wouldn’t suffer the same ordeal. Tears ran freely down our faces.

One of the guards yelled through the open door and seconds later a black man and woman appeared with buckets and cloth. Immediately I knew they were prisoners. Their only clothing, a flap-like loin-cloth or toga that covered their front genital area, leaving the rest of their body bare and available for punishment. Both pairs of buttocks and backs showed the welts of recent whippings. Again I wondered if that would be our fate too. Quickly and silently they cleaned the floor and left and the horror of the whipping began again. Unhurriedly the guard applied stroke after stroke applied until poor Sara’s bottom and back showed a latticework of raw welts and her screams diminished to loud, hoarse groans.

Finally that part of her punishment was over and they gave her a short while to recover and for us to view her badly bruised and extremely sore arse. I again prayed that it wouldn’t happen to me. Looking around I saw mother and my friends weeping but the guards had huge grins on the faces and erections pushing their shorts out. How could they enjoy such barbaric punishment? Worse was to come.

“Turn her around so they can see her tits feel the lash.” Further pleas to the General from Sara and from mother, had no effect and we had to watch as the cruel whip smashed into her breasts, sending them flying in all directions as the whip struck the underside or the top or right across her nipples. The guards thought it a great joke but I shook with fear and only the support of my guard stopped me collapsing on the floor. Sara passed out after the eighth but they didn’t stop until she’d had the full ten.

Her ordeal wasn’t over. She’d hardly recovered consciousness when they bent her over the desk and forced her tortured breasts hard against the wood and her terribly welted bottom openly displayed for us to see, or at least, that’s what I thought. It was only when the two guards dropped their shorts and I saw their large, erect pricks that I realised they were going to rape her. Having only seen or felt two pricks and those were of boys of my age, they seemed enormous and I wondered if the stories whispered between us girls about the bigger the prick the better, would be true but certainly the scream that came from Sara as the man roughly shoved it into her, belied that. Gripping her hips heedless of her suffering, with brutal thrusts, he raped her, indeed, he laughed and grinned the whole time. His fellow guard was no better but at least he didn’t take so long before removing his prick and wiping it on her sore backside. The sight almost caused me to vomit.

“I trust the rest of you ladies now understand your position here and what happens if you refuse to obey our instructions.” The General spoke as though nothing extraordinary had occurred. “As prisoners you have no rights at all and any refusal to do as you are told will incur punishment, although usually not as severe and that given to the bitch.” Our sobs and wails only resulted in a curt. “Shut the fuck up! That’s an order!” We quietened a little until the next order. “Undress, we need to examine you.” Like the others, I knew better than refuse and with fingers that hardly functioned, I slowly undid my blouse and lowered my shorts. My head still spun and I thought I would pass out again when I tried to get at the clasp to my bra but I needn’t have worried, my guard did it for me and then pushed my knickers to the floor. My sandals had disappeared sometime previously so I stood completely naked and had to withstand the lewd stares of our captors and the fingers of my guard playing with my nipples. All eyes seemed to be upon me causing my whole body to blush red and for once I regretted the attention my fair hair and skin created.

Looking furtively to my left, I saw the rest of our group, apart from Auntie Sara who lay moaning in a heap on the floor, were all held in a line, naked and looking down to hide their shame. The General had started to inspect us and comment of our bodies and sexual experience. Connie and Vicky somewhat reluctantly admitted they were not virgins. I knew that but I wondered if mother did. “You had a prick up here?” the General asked when he came to me and fingered my vagina.

“No Sir,” I said very quietly.

“This one’s for me. You can have one of the other girls,” he told my guard. I looked into his face and wondered what it would be like to be the personal whore of the head of state. Would I be worse or better off? Time would tell.

Returning behind the desk, he addressed us. “You entered this state without permission and therefore must be punished for that. Afterwards you will be taken into the prison itself and given a uniform similar to that worn by the prisoners you saw earlier. The money in your belongings will keep you for a week but afterwards you will have to earn sufficient to keep you in food. That may be by working in part of the prison, or on the land or by being hired out to individuals and employers who are wealthy enough to pay for your services. As you are white and attractive women, I’m sure those services will be of a sexual nature.”

“Oh God, no!” I heard Vicky cry out but by the loud slap and scream that followed, I knew her outburst had been punished.

“Each of you will be given ten strokes of the strap as punishment for the crime you committed and then, of course, you will have to service your guards for their trouble in looking after you.” Mother protested until the General upped her punishment to fifteen strokes and asked if she wanted it to be with the whip across her tits. When she shook her head, no, he said they would start with her.

Quickly her two guards bent her over the desk and while one held her down the other removed the leather belt from his trousers, doubled it and proceeded to thrash her bottom. Each stroke landed with a loud ‘CRACK’ as it flattened her bottom cheeks. Mother screamed and through my tears I could see the flesh become momentarily white and then turn a livid red. Time after time, the belt landed and her poor bottom became one huge bruise. I wondered if I could withstand such a punishment or if, because I was the General’s woman, I would be let off. I doubted it. He stood smiling and watched mother writhe and scream in agony. Fortunately the strokes were laid on quickly and that part of her ordeal was over but she still had the ‘service’ her guards. As soon as he finished thrashing mother, the guard kicked her legs wide apart so we all saw her sex openly displayed until he undid his shorts and fucked her. Mother struggled and screamed but she was no match for the big black man who held her. As far as I knew, she’d not had a man since daddy left five years previously and in any case, I very much doubted that he was as well endowed as the black guard and even without a sore arse, she would have been in pain from the rape but the thrashing magnified it exponentially.

Much to my disgust, and I’m sure hers too, when he pulled his messy prick out and exchanged places with his mate, he forced her to suck his prick while the second guard had his turn at raping her. She had to do the same when he finished. The thought of sucking a clean black prick was enough to make me feel sick but one that had been inside me and was coated with semen was utterly abhorrent but less so than the thought of receiving further punishment.

Connie was next and she cried and wailed loudly at each stroke but she didn’t react as much as I feared when they raped her and made her clean their pricks. The second of her guards took her back to the line and made her kneel to suck him probably to speed up things.

Vicky earned herself a few hard slaps as she tried to avoid being laid over the table but it was a futile gesture and her punishment followed the same pattern as Connie’s except that my guard fucked her too.

For that time I wasn’t held but there was no hope of escape and I still fervently hoped that the General wouldn’t use his belt on me and that he would take me to the privacy of his room to fuck me. It was not to be. My guard carried me to the desk, opened my legs wide and held me firmly. As if in an unreal slow-motion film, I heard the snap as the General folded the belt in two and then the swish of air as he swung it harmlessly close to my bum. For a moment I thought I was going to get away without being hurt but disillusionment came a few seconds later when a hellish pain of fire crossed my bottom. I knew why the others yelled so loudly and I did too. Stroke after painful stroke crashed across my arse and the pain combined with what I was already suffering from my fall, caused me to pass out at the eighth but I came round fairly quickly and in time to hear him say to mother, “You are privileged woman, few mothers get to see their daughter’s being fucked for the first time.”

Seeing all the previous fucking had aroused me a little and my vagina, I suppose I ought to call it a cunt now that I am a whore, flowed with my lubrication, even so the large size prick for my small opening, made entry painful, more so because of my sore muscles. He didn’t even try to be careful but thrust in hard and, bursting my hymen, pushed in to the full depth of his prick, forcing his loins into contact with my tortured arse. I screamed, I cried all to no avail but he didn’t last long and when his movements slowed, I felt him loose his load inside me. Like the others I had to kneel in front of him to suck him clean. The sight of his prick stained with my blood and his juices close to my face, revolted me but the guard squeezing my tits, hissed, “Open your mouth.” I did but closed my eyes to avoid actually seeing it. The taste was bad enough but the pain in my arse and head overrode all other feelings.

Chapter 2. The General’s slave

“Hello, I’m N’bukta, the General’s latest wife. Come on in a I’ll see what I can do to get you cleaned up.”

Like all the females I’d seen so far she wore only a strip of cloth around her waist but hers was richly coloured and embroidered. I had to admit she was beautiful and probably not much older than me. Her white teeth flashed as she gave me a smile and took my hand to lead me into the building.

Over an hour had elapsed since my ordeal and the pain is my arse still made itself felt but was not as intense except when I moved. My tender, violated cunt throbbed and my mouth tasted like a sewer, not only from the General’s prick but I’d been forced to suck the guard and swallow his spunk while we waited in the Sergeant’s office for the General to return. “Take them to the prison quarters and get them settled in,” General Combara ordered and as the rest of my family and friends were led away, I wondered if I would ever see them again, “Keep her here until I return, and keep your prick out of her cunt.” My guard acknowledged with a “Yes, Sir” and sat in a chair in a side room, opened his shorts and made me kneel between his legs and suck him until he came in my mouth. Perhaps the worst part was knowing it was going to happen. I’d sucked two pricks at home and had some idea but his prick was far bigger than the boys and he produced much more spunk, and I wasn’t allowed to spit it out.

Finally, the General returned and escorted me, still naked, to a waiting car and the driver took him to his office and me on to his residence.

The place was well furnished, but not lavishly, and it certainly wasn’t opulent. Even so, I guessed it had far more facilities than the prison. N’bukta showed me into the bathroom where there was even a western style toilet and indicated for me to use it while she prepared a bath. ‘Ooooww!” I squealed when I sat down too hard on the seat. N’bukta grinned and said she knew what it was like. England seemed a million light years away otherwise I would have been totally embarrassed to piss in front of another person, let alone a black woman but having been naked in front of many men and having been publicly raped and beaten, pissing in front of another woman, was a minor thing. By then the tub was half full of tepid water and she bade me get in and washed me as though I were a child. I relaxed a little and only tensed when she thoroughly cleaned my cunt and bottom. She was more concerned over the lump on my head and carefully cleaned the wound and applied a different ointment, which she said, should reduce the swelling and ease the pain.

“He didn’t hurt you bad,” she commented as she rubbed some paste into the welts, “He didn’t use the whip and didn’t hit your tits.” I disagreed with her but immediately thought of Auntie Sara and wondered how she and the others were getting on. “You do what he say and you no get hurt bad. You refuse and you get whipped till you do.” I resolved to be an obedient slave for by then I knew that was now my station in life.

Clean and in a little less pain, and dressed in a white ‘toga’, we awaited the General’s return. “When General comes in, you do what I do. Remember you are his now. He can love you and he can beat you.” It was a timely warning because when he arrived minutes later, N’bukta flung her arms around his neck, pressed her tits to his chest and kissed him fervently. Had it not been for the warning, I would have declined to kiss him but as soon as he released her, she gave me a little push and will only a little hesitation, reached up and hugged him, perhaps not as fervently as N’bukta, and gave him a kiss. He didn’t let it go at that but lifted me and kissed me hard a number of times. In doing so my tits rubbed on his shirt and to my amazement, I found myself becoming aroused and wet. Perhaps the ointment N’bukta put on and in my vagina helped but I’d no idea what she used.

“Where’s C’mora?” the General roared. N’bukta sat on his right with me to his left. Either side of us were other women in clean white loin-cloths and men in shorts and shirts.

“In the kitchen Sir,” one of the waiters replied.

“Fetch her.”

Dining at the General’s table at least gave me a decent meal, which I doubted the others would get in the prison, and part of me worried over this but another part said, “They shouldn’t have forced you to come here in the first place.” From the way he showed me to his friends, I soon realised that I was not only his fuck toy but also ‘arm candy’, a prestige trophy that flaunted his position. Few had ever seen a white woman let alone a young girl with long blonde hair and white freckled skin. I could see the envy in their eyes and I wondered if I would have to service them too but at the moment the General seemed intent on keeping me for his personal use.

My thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of C’mora helped in by another woman. The sight of her almost made me throw up because she, like Auntie Sara, had been severely whipped across her tits and back, and I guessed she was being used to reinforce the message that I had to do his bidding otherwise I could receive a similar punishment. “This one thought because I favoured her with my attentions, she could get away with stealing extra food and selling it. She got a bit too greedy. You won’t do it again will you C’mora?”

“No Sir,” she muttered. The welts looked several days old but she was still in considerable pain.

General Combara fucked me twice before we went to sleep. N’bukta used her mouth and tongue to keep him hard and me wet and held my legs widespread, and my cunt open and ready for him to fuck me. She also whispered instructions so I performed to his satisfaction and afterwards slept the other side of him, Although my cunt was sore, my juices flowed freely and I enjoyed the second fuck and actually orgasmed.

In the morning, N’bukta took his prick into her body and told be to watch and learn while she put on a very energetic performance and quickly brought him to a climax. From the huge grin on her face I knew she, as well as the General were enjoying themselves, and that he would want me to try and emulate her later and he did. I wondered if I would get the same enjoyment after a few more fucks.

“On my God! Noooo!” General Combara just grinned as we drove to the main gate of the prison and the doors opened to allow us in. “Haven’t I served you well enough Sir?” He didn’t answer but continued to torment me with his smile. From the stories the servants, who were actually trustees from the prison, I knew I was far better off in the residence than confined to the prison like my family and friends.

Several times over the course of the first few days of living with the General, N’bukta and I had to accompany him to meetings and lunches with his staff. Each time N’bukta washed me and brushed my hair until it glinted golden in the sunlight although I kept in the shade as far as possible so that my skin didn’t lose it whiteness. I probably would have anyway because even at home, I only burned to redness and peeled. Never did I get a tan on my fair skin. She had less success with the bruise on my forehead but make-up managed to reduce the intensity of the colour so it didn’t show too badly and whatever the ointment was, it certainly reduced the swelling and the pain. Nobody seemed to care about the bruising on my arse.

By the end of the week, I began to get acclimatised to my situation. The General proved himself much more virile than most men I’d heard about at home. Four fucks a day was normal for him, sometimes it was as many as six, and N’bukta and I shared these and the sucking before and afterwards. I even did it after he’d fucked his wife or some other woman and as the days went on, I just took it for granted, knowing what a refusal would entail. Now it seemed that my efforts to please him were in vain. Shaking, but trying to keep calm, I followed him into the Governor’s office.

To my great relief, the visit had nothing to do with my being placed in their care but concerned a disturbance in which a prisoner had stabbed one of the guards. Standing respectfully at the back of the room, I half-heartedly listened but I learned the guard was still in the hospital wing and the prisoner had immediately been executed. No court hearing or trial.

While I waited I wondered if I would get to see my family and friends and I debated whether or not I could ask to see them but I didn’t wish to jeopardise my living at the residence. Perhaps I was being cowardly but again I remembered my unwillingness to come to Africa in the first place. The decision was made for me. “I’ll do a quick inspection while I’m here,” the General announced to the Governor. From the surprised look on his face, the Governor wasn’t expecting it and neither were the guards because we caught many of them putting their shirts and caps on.

It quickly became apparent that the ‘inspection’ was more to show me the horror of life inside than for the General to check the running of the place. Most areas were dirty and smelly with the prisoners of both sexes dressed only in their soiled loin-cloths and doing menial jobs. We passed through the cell block with open barred walls and two palliasse type straw mattresses on the floor. “We’re fairly well down in numbers at the moment,” the Governor explained, “So we rarely have more than four to a cell. Usually we try and have one woman per cell to keep the men satisfied but they sell easier at auction so we can’t always keep to that quota and, of course, our guards have to be satisfied too.” I thought of the suffering my family must have gone through and the number of rapes they had suffered.

Connie and Vicky looked utterly worn out and depressed when we came to their working party moving garbage with their bare hands from a bin into a truck. Both girls were filthy and Connie looked at me with hatred. “Look at Princess Muck come to gloat over us,” she muttered but soon regretted it when the guard slashed his belt across her back. Both girls had far more welts across the bodies, back and front, than when I’d last seen them and I wondered if I dare ask my master if he could have them moved. Even though I had no great love of my sister, I resolved to ask when he was in a good mood.

“Where are the two older white bitches?” General Combara asked.

“In the hospital Sir,” the Governor replied. I had visions of Auntie Sara causing more trouble for both of them and getting themselves seriously injured. “They were at the stabbing and Gallagher said she was a doctor and the other was a nurse and between them they treated the injured man and went with him to the hospital wing. Our man might have died had they not done some emergency first aid and stopped his bleeding. The doctor there commandeered them and they’ve been there ever since. As you know Sir, we are short of skilled medics and I agreed to allow them to stay.”

“Mummy!” I cried and ran from the General’s side and gave her a hug.

She must have seen the look the General gave me and after a few seconds pushed me away. “Go back,” she whispered.

“Sorry Sir,” I apologised to the General.

For a moment I thought he’d be angry but he just said, “I wish to talk to Doctor Nemenko. You have ten minutes.”

At least Mother and Auntie Sara were clean but they both looked very weary and had received more punishments while in the main prison. Sara’s whip welts still looked terrible but she said they weren’t so painful and after what they’d done with the guard, the doctor gave her some painkilling medicine made from local plants. “It’s not quite so bad here,” mother told me, “But we work long hours and still have to keep the medical staff and guards satisfied. How are you getting on?” When I told her, she said to try and keep in with the General, something I had already resolved to do. All too quickly our time together came to an end.

In bed that night, I asked if Connie and Vicky could be moved. “They’ll be moved in two days time. Tuesdays are auction days and they will be put up for sale with many of the other prisoners who are not dangerous. Being young and white, they should fetch a good price so it will be wealthy buyers who get them and I doubt it will be for manual work.”

“Will you buy them Sir?”

“I don’t need them when I have you!”

Tuesday evening I alone accompanied General Combara to the auction so I knew we were going for my benefit and this was confirmed when the organisers, not expecting him, hastily set chairs for us in front of the stage. Apparently he didn’t buy slaves because he could have the pick of them from the prison. This same notion dispelled any thoughts I had that the General had changed his mind about buying Connie and Vicky.

No doubt Connie would have again called me Princess Muck if she could but all the prisoners and other slaves that were being resold, were tethered to a single bar fence so that prospective buyers could view them. We didn’t, and for that I was glad, but from where we sat I could see they’d been washed and given clean loincloths. “They’ll probably be sold first while the buyers still have money in their pockets and so will bring the best prices,” the General informed me, and so it proved.

The two girls were bought on to the stage directly in front of us and tears ran down my cheeks as I shared their humiliation even though I wasn’t on stage with them.

“Tonight we have two unusual lots, two white girls from England who entered our country illegally and who have been introduced to our ways for the last week or so. As you can see they’ve needed some training but now are beginning to accept their status in life and I am sure they will serve their new owners well and be an attractive addition to the household. We’ll start with this one who is named Connie but of course the new owner can change that, and she is the older sister to our honoured General’s new mate.” I felt the eyes of the crowd turn to me and wanted to shrink into my seat but the General forced me to stand so they could see his prize pet. The auctioneer continued his degrading dialogue by going through all Connie’s physical attributes, hefting her breasts, lifting her loin cloth to show her sex and making her turn round and bend over so everyone could see her bottom hole. Connie wept through the whole performance. The bidding started and I could hardly get my head around that it was my older sister that was being sold like a cow at market. A human being, a member of my family, sold for money like some seventeenth century slave. Indeed that’s what she was although this was the twenty-first century. Gradually the price rose from the starting point of 500 bahns and she was finally sold to a portly, well dressed African for 11,000 bahns. “He’s in charge of officer training,” the General informed me, “She’ll have to serve a number of officers, but if she behaves, she’ll be better off than in the prison building.”

Vicky’s sale went much the same way but she commanded a higher price, 14,000 bahns. Why I don’t know, but it seemed she provoked a bidding war between three men, each determined to have a white slave. Her buyer, a tall, elderly man who I knew was one of the General’s advisors and whom I’d met at several meetings. “With any luck, she’ll be kept as arm candy like me and I might get to see her sometimes,” I thought.

We sat through a few more lots, which gave me some idea of the normal prices paid for prisoners. Reasonable looking girls went for less than 1,000 bahns and men generally for under 500. Some didn’t even get a bid.

The degrading auction was frequently in my mind for several days afterwards so it came as a complete shock when at lunch two days later, the General casually announced, “Kate, I’m loaning you to Rushmu for two weeks. Gather up such items as you will need and be ready to go with him after dinner tonight.” The look he gave me when I was about to question him, immediately stilled my voice but I know I shed a tear or two. I’d become used to having his prick in me and had started to enjoy it and would push back to meet each of his thrusts and N’bukta and I had become friends. At least he said it was a loan and for two weeks only. Rushmu, one of the General’s elderly advisers, frequently sat at the dinner or lunch table with us and I’d spoken to him several times but never had he indicated any desire for me. Our conversations were always on more mundane things, mainly my life prior to arriving in Africa. Mostly I thought he was trying to con information about England that could be useful in some diplomatic way in any dealings he’d have with our government.

A military vehicle took us across the town to his modest single storey home and on the way I learned that he borrowed me for his son, not for himself. “My son, Sim’b’wa,” awkwardly for my tongue he chopped the word into three syllables, “Is going to England for his education and I wished him to know more of life there. You will, of course, serve him as a slave but that shouldn’t be a problem for you now.”

“But how will he get to England from here? There’s no airport.”

“You got here, Kate. Sim’b’wa will have to work his way into a neighbouring country too. I lived there many years ago but things are much changed now.”

Sim’b’wa and I got on famously. He was only slightly older than me, had a ready smile and an enthusiasm to learn and treated me as an equal except when he wanted to fuck. Even that I enjoyed. His prick being smaller than the General’s, suited me better and he used it vigorously and with playfulness lacking in the General’s fucking. Early in the mornings and in the evenings when the heat of the day had passed, we would go out and visit villages or farms but during the day we stayed in the cool of the house and studied, or at least we did when he wasn’t thrusting his prick in me. After a week, I wondered if I was in love with him and if it would be possible for me to accompany him to England but Rushmu dismissed the idea. “You belong to General Comara, not us. We could be in serious trouble if we do not give you back.”

By the end of the fortnight, I knew I was in love and couldn’t bear the thought of parting from him. What a change from my thoughts on Africans while I was in England. The thought of kissing one would have revolted me but now I kissed every part of his body and he returned the favours. The day of course arrived when the jeep came to take me back, and when the driver tried to part us, I clung tenaciously to Sim’b’wa’s hand and refused to let go.

******

“She’s coming round!” Bewildered and still somewhat groggy, I looked at the faces staring at me. Mother, Auntie Sara and others peered back with smiles on their faces.

“Where am I?” Before anyone could answer I realised I held someone’s hand. “Sim’b’wa? Sim’b’wa, you’re here!”

He looked perplexed. “How did you know my name and say it so correctly? I haven’t spoken to you and everyone here calls me Sam.”

Bossy Auntie Sara took over and tried to send him away but I protested and gripped his wrist tightly. “You’re in the field hospital we came here to help and you’ve been unconscious for the past week after you fell out of the van. Now you need to rest and recover slowly. Let the boy go.”

“No!” I yelled or tried to, “We’re not going to be parted again, not so soon. I’ll speak with General Combara. Have you recovered from your whippings? Are Connie and Vicky still slaves in Pwandra?” I could see they had no idea of what I was talking about.

“She’s been dreaming, that’s why she’s been tossing around,” Mother stated, “We’d better let her rest until her mind clears. “We’re all here Kate, we are all safe and you were the only one injured. The gunfire was to warn us not to go any further because of the mines. When the deer blew up one mine and we’d recovered, the military escorted us here. Now rest. Let Sam go, here’s just helping here until he goes to England with us to improve his education.”

“I know, I talked with him and Rushmu while I was his slave.”

“You know my father?” Sim’b’wa sounded incredulous. “I last saw him two months ago.”

Mother interrupted, “Okay Sam, something strange happened but she needs to rest and recover. You’d better stay Sam as for some reason she feels that she knows you and it upsets her to let you go. We need to keep her calm until she comes too properly.”

Sara poked her stethoscope under my shirt and I knew she was trying to hide my tits from him until I shocked her by saying, “I was Sim’b’wa’s slave for a fortnight so he knows everything about my body – and I his.”

“Okay, okay, just rest for now. We’ll talk about your dream later when your mind has cleared.”

Later, when I’d had a meal and tried to stand, albeit a bit shakily, I snuggled into Sim’b’wa’s arms and let him support me. He led me outside into the shade of a grove of trees and sat on the bare earth beneath them. I knew mother and Connie were keeping a watchful eye on me but I wasn’t about to let that deter me and we kissed passionately in full view of the others. Sim’b’wa was reluctant at first but soon became as enamoured as I and held me close. “Kate,” he paused, “Something strange happened three days ago. When I woke in the room I rented, I had no need or any thought of coming to the hospital and yet I couldn’t help myself and when I saw Vicky keeping an eye on you tossing about the bed, I took a seat alongside the bed and held your hand. You calmed immediately. I’ve stayed with you day and night since then because when your mother moved me away, you became so distressed she left me and I only left your bedside for moments and each time I said I would return. You seemed okay with that and it felt that we were a part of each other.” Again a longer pause and more kissing, “What did you mean when you said you were my slave for a fortnight? How could that be when you were only in a coma for a few days?”

That evening, after a meal, I tried to explain what occurred. At first mother and the others in my group, thought it just an erotic tale conjured up by my slutty imagination, that was until Sim’b’wa commented that all my facts were true about life in Pwandra territory. I had the place names correct; I accurately described the locations and descriptions of the buildings, the names of the staff and the interior of the General’s residence. I described everything correctly including the way prisoners were treated and the selling of them as slaves and which day they were auctioned. Other Africans, who listened in on the story, confirmed his words and this only deepened the mystery of my time in my unconscious world. How could I have known about Pwandra in such detail? How could I have known Sim’b’wa by his tribal name and be able to pronounce it? How could my month’s stay in Pwandra have been compressed into a week? No one had answers and still the mystery remains. All I knew was the almost unbreakable bond that I felt for Sim’b’wa and I wanted to spend my life with him. Mother and my sister objected when I said I was going to sleep with him like I had whilst his slave but Auntie Sara said to prevent it could incur a return to my coma and suggested that we use one of the hospital beds with the curtain drawn so if anything untoward occurred, staff would be on hand. I wondered what they thought of our noisy lovemaking. Just to add to the mystery, I found I wasn’t a virgin and that we melded together as though we’d known each other for a long time.

Back in England now, Sim’b’wa, still Sim’b’wa to me but Sam to everyone else, attends college with me and sleeps in my bed and I pretend to be his slave but my punishments are never more than a few spanks.  Gradually Connie’s and Vicky have become accustomed to us being together and have begun to treat him as part of the family.

I still wonder what actually happened in my subconscious during my coma. At times I relive the horror of the whippings but then I realise the outcome and am thankful that my rebelling against Aid to Africa was vetoed and that I’d been forced to go.

Finis