 |
|||
|
|
WARNING: This story is strictly for adults! If you are a minor or offended by BDSM, torture, talking about or inflicting serious pain and the like, don't read any further. Please keep in mind that this story is a pure work of FICTION. Nothing more.
This is the translation of part one: Katrina.
English v 1.0.
the original is here: http://www.bdsmlibrary.com/stories/chapter.php?storyid=8093&chapterid=25978
translated by kimber22, goa, xxx and xxx in Nov. 2010
If you wanna help me translate some paragraphs, parts or even just noticed some better phrasing, just drop me a line: kimber22@sonnenkinder.org
Somalia, One Way Only
by kimber22
It was right after I’ve finished school. I got my Bachelor degree and, before starting working life, I wanted to party as much as I can for as long as I can. During my university studies I missed that somehow. And with the girls it didn't work out either. I’m not really tall, I have long hair like the guys in the Metal videos and I am - for a boy - rather slender with thin legs. Looks like that’s not what girls like. But if they knew! I had shagged every girl that came under my nose. I had done things with them they never heard of! Right between the university and my flat there was a video store with a large, seperated area with all kinds of pornos. I was there almost every week.
They had everything there. The normal stuff of course, then videos with gays and trannies sticking their cocks one into another, and also a lot of S/M. The heavy S/M: Young boys bound to tables and chairs and dommes who mercilessly did all kinds of things with them. My favourite video was one where two black guys strapped a boy just about my age to a gynecological chair. Afterwards a tall, muscular domme with long, black cornrows spanked the hell out of him, worked on him with needles and pliers and kicked him in the balls that he was yelling in pain almost throughout the whole video. It’s hard to believe one would let someone do this to him! But I’m sure he got a lot of money for the ultra-painful role. He was playing a tourist somewhere in africa. In broad daylight, when he was in some side road, a van stopped and two black guys pulled him inside. A really good actor! He fought and struggled so that you really thought the kidnapping was real! Unfortunately I couldn’t find him on any other video.
However, there were enough other videos there. Every other week I borrowed one. Most of the time I was alone in the hardcore area. Only one black guy was there now and then at one of the small tables smoking a cigarette.
--
One day, when I just happened to have the video with the boy on the chair in my hands, he stood beside me. “Hm? What do you think? He’s playing really good, isn’t he?” I looked at him. He was in his thirties and about 6 feet tall. “Too bad he did only three videos. But these three were all he needed to finance his university studies. He’s living somewhere in Germany now, a controller or something.” He smiled. “Jep, with the heavy stuff you can still make a lot of money!"
He looked sympathic. His name was Jay. He came here many years ago with his parents, his father was Secretary of the Embassy of Somalia. We talked at the table in the porn area, smoked a cigarette and had a beer. I told him about my plans to travel around the world and he suggested to start it in Africa. His father, he said, must fly back to report to his minister in a few days and he surely could arrange for me to travel with the Diplomatic Corps. That would be completly free. Sorry? A flight around half of the world for free. There’s only one thing, Jay said, I shouldn’t tell anybody about the flight because I would travel with the papers of a Somali diplomat. No one really checks the diplomatic staff, he said, but it would cause a lot of troubles with the airline if they found out that there are external friend is flying with the corps. Hmm... what can I say? No problem! One can't let such a chance go by! I promised I won’t tell anybody about it!
The departure was sooner than I expected. I just could tell my parents and my friends that I’m off for a few months doing a world-trip, starting in Africa, then maybe to Europe, later Asia, Australia and so on. Some told me to better start in Europe, after all it’s a lot safer than Africa, but they all looked envious when I told them they needn’t worry since I’m in contact with an embassy there. That was good: Telling all the stupid guys who were better at university, did some stupid jobs, had a wife and kids, lived large, a big house, five cars, were in charge ((C) Eminem & Cypres Hill: Rap Superstar^^)) that I know the Ambassadors of several countries...
A few days later I was already standing at the airport waiting for Jay. But I couldn’t find him anywhere. Then my mobile rang. It was Jay. There were troubles at the embassy that delayed the departure of the whole Diplomatic Corps for a few days, maybe longer. But, he said, his father doesn’t like to make promises and then back out, so he arranged for a pre-flight ticket. A limousine would pick me up at the Mogadishu airport and the few days ‘till the whole Coprs arrived I could spend in a guest room of the embassy.
Hell! A free flight around half of the world, full service in an embassy for days or weeks? Too good to be true! I was jumping for joy while I desperatly tried to sound disappointed... “Oh, that’s too bad. Then it looks I can’t do other but travel ahead!” Jippii! One hour later I was aboard the plane.
--
When I landed in Mogadishu, I was surprised that no one was waiting for me in the arrival hall. But I found the limousine just in front of the airport. It was a long black stretch limousine with those little flags on the bonnet. The driver lifted his chaiffeur hat and helped me put my luggage in the trunk. Then he opened the door and I was looking into the dark inside of the car. A tall white, muscular woman with long, black cornrows was sitting inside. She smiled while putting her hand forth to greet me: “Hi! I'm Katrina. You're coming from Jay, right?” I nodded and shook hands with her. “Welcome to Somalia!”
When I tried to release the handshake she surprisingly held my hand as if in a vice. I looked up and directly into her eyes. This cold look that accompanied her words I will never forget: “Now we got you, at last!”
A hand at the back of my head pressed my nose and my mouth into a wet cloth.
Chapter One
When I wake up I don’t know if it’s day or night. I am lying on a dirty mattress with handcuffs on my wrists and ankles. The room has no windows and is only lit by a neon lamp. A video in one corner is positioned directly at me.
The door opens and two guys enter, both black as the night, muscular and at least one head taller than me. “What do you want from me?” I’m asking but one of the guys slaps me with the open hand in the face: “Shut the fuck up!” Like two medieval torturer the one of them takes my arms, the other my legs and so they lift me up. I’m struggeling as hard as I can but it’s absolutely useless. They hold and fix me without a problem. They carry me out of the room, along a dirty floor, then another floor. When we come by a door with the label “Interrogation Room 2“ I’m hearing a long, high, bloodcurdling cry. They carry me a bit further and then into the next room.
This room is about 60x30 feet, dirty and shabby. There are no windows as well. In the middle a lamp throws a cone of light on a chair as in a gynecological hospital. It has holders for arms and legs with leathern straps on it. Next to it there’s a rolling stool and a low table with some instruments on it. Some chains are dangling from the ceiling. As they put me down on the chair, it feels like I’m in a middle-class S/M-porno.
The one is pressing my upper body on the chair while the other fastens a broad leather strap around my waist. With the second strap, around my throat, my body is almost securely fastened. Then they pull my legs apart and push them into the holders of the chair. Also, they tie leather straps around my thighs and ankles. Last, my arms too are spread and pressed into the chair’s holders and fixed with leather straps. Then they pull my arm-holders back, so that at last I’m spread-eagled, helplessly unable to move on this satanic chair. After the guys once again have checked that the straps are tightly pulled, one takes a mobile out and presses some buttons. “Miss K? Yes. He's ready for you!”
Katrina
Soon after, the door opens and the tall, white women from the limousine comes in. She nods to the two black guys who, thereafter, leave the room.
The woman is in her thirties, about 6.3 feet tall and extraordinary ripped for a woman. Her cornrows, black as the night, are waist-length. She wears lether hotpants with a zip. Below, black, silky fishnets cover her muscular thighs down to her boots. When throwing some cornrows over her shoulder, her whole body looks like a mountain scenery and her biceps contracts thick and round on her upper arm. Well-shaped breasts press themselves into a white sports bra. On her belly thick waves of muscles form a strong six-pack. A real butch femme, an amazon.
Her face has sharp features, chisel-chinned with thin, black eyebrowes bowing to her long, straight nose. Her full lips contrast her bright skin in a dark red. She examines me with eyes, as dark as the night. Her gaze goes over my body: up my legs, stopping at my penis, up my chest and then directly into my eyes that my blood runs cold. It’s a cold, mean gaze. Then she smiles, as wicked as only an evil teacher can before he lets a student fail the class. She holds the gaze until I must look away. Then she pats me on the thigh and turns to the table nearby. She carefully inspects the instruments on the table. Although I somehow don’t really want to know it I can’t resist - in a mixture of curiosity and fear - to see what is there.
In a row, carefully assembled, there are a long cane, a riding crop, a paddel made of heavy wood and above it a rolled-up bullwhip. Next to it there’s a small box with clamps of all different kinds. Sometimes she looks at me and smiles sadistically. Until now she hasn’t said even a word.
--
“Ah? What? You're the gal from the...” but I immediately fall silent as she rushes at me like mad and grabs me at my throat. She leans over me, with her thumb and forefinger pressing into my throat and her eyes sparkling fiercely. “Listen, boy! And listen carefully!”
“First of all, I’m not ‘you’!” As some kind of affirmation she digs her fingers deeper under my jaw, her palm exactly over my voice box. “Second: If you open your mouth, you say ‘Miss’ or ‘Madam’ before you plead or say anthing. Or, if you’ve seen to many pornos and can’t help under the pain, ‘Mistress’ ... but not just ‘you’!” She presses harder on my throat, cutting the veigns to my head. “My name is Katrina, got it?”
Gradually I feel my blood start pumping in my head.
In pure panic I’m like paralyzed. In this very second I don’t know what to say or how to react. In her eyes I see how the seconds run off. She bows deeper over me, pulling her arm like a boxer to the punch, her biceps again contracting to a thick, round ball. She comes so close to my face that our noses touch. Still, the blood pumps in my head. With every second the pressure becomes stronger and stronger, on my forehead, on my temples, on my eyes. It feels like every second a vein in my head could burst. My eyes are wide open, staring directly into her eyes. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I’M SAYING???”
Still, I’m paralyzed from the shock. I try to nod but my head doesn’t do what I want. In pure despair I shake my head in all directions!
God! Make that this looks like nodding!
“Good” is all she says when releasing my throat. The congested blood rushes out of my head and back into my body. With all my power I suck all the air I can in my lungs. I breathe deeply.
While she turns back to her table she just drops as if it was nothing: “Don’t disturb me again or you’ll be in a lot worse troubles!”
God! What a kind of hell is this place?
--
End of Somalia, part one: Katrina. English version.
All comments and reviews welcome at kimber22@sonnenkinder.org
Chapter(s) missing compared to the original (german) story:
The Queen of Pain (4pages)
More descriptions of Katrina and the instruments on her table. Description of the chair which is firmly screwed to the floor. Katrina’s explaination about where the protagonist-boy is: “a paramilitary complex in a desert, miles away from every village.”
The first caressing of the boy’s cock, Katrina telling him that she’s making a movie - with him crying of pain all the time. Description of the cameras and mirrors around him (this description comes again in the beginning of chapter 2 = part 8), Katrina telling him about electricity - and the very much better effects compared to the glowing iron.
This part of the story contains no necessary information about the main plot. I’ll translate it, if at all, after the german story is finished and the main parts’ translation is done.
kimber22
PS: If you’re native English or know English better than I do, just feel free to drop me a line! Every suggestion, better phrasing or whatever is welcome! If you can contribute to making this story better for everyone, just do it! ^^ All I care of is the story and my readers!
And, as always, every motivating mail or review is welcome: kimber22@sonnenkinder.org
|
|
|