"Here is the Death Certificate, sir, I think it is in order,"

I took it from him and checked the date and time, "And the body?"

"Dead as a Dodo, Unrecognisable, look." he showed me the photograph, some poor girl burned, alive perhaps, to a blackened mess.

"Car crash," he announced.

I had been waiting nearly a week for this, ever since London sent Miss Reilly to audit the accounts in the Harare Branch, which I managed, well it took almost a whole day for me to decide to actually kill her. She had demanded an office, and computer access and dived right in going right over my head checking, probing, spying without so much as a by your leave.

She could have been beautiful but for her evil nature, she was only just out of accountancy school, a dangerous freshly hatched predatory accountant, with a nasty evil inquiring mind. The nasty gleam in her eye as we first met took my attention from her  her very shapely if rather small breasts, her trim waist, her perfect calves and ankles and the stylish high heels beyond her plain mid length skirt, and her severe mouth full of perfect pearly white teeth.  All the ingredients for beauty spoiled by such a nasty disposition, her mid brown hair tumbled to her shoulders, would it darken to black or bleach to blond in the harsh sun I wondered.

From some angles she was almost a carbon copy of Lucinda, my former supposed fiancé, who had decided a fifty year old impotent baronet was a better prospect for a life partner than me, and it was Lucinda's betrayal that had sent me to this shit hole.

Miss Reilly not a great listener, she quickly found that twenty Million was missing from our vaults, unaccounted for with no paperwork, but she was deaf to my arguments that we had to pay that to Mugabe just to stay open, she just said she must report the matter to head office and hoped it would lead to my with dismissal and prosecution.

What was worse was that she did it in front of the blacks, humiliating me, it was so unfair after all the business I had sent head office, all the safety deposit boxes back at Finsbury Park which Mugabe and his cronies had stuffed full of other peoples wealth which they carried out in diplomatic bags.

But Miss Reilly tried to apply European standards to the jungle that was once proud Rhodesia, an urban jungle where the stupid were ruled by the even more stupid with their AK47s.

I needed a nice burned body: Black, white, yellow we all look much the same with our skin burned off and when some poor girl had met a sticky end,  and I asked around for a suitable example my friends Jon Rapsenberg, a doctor at the Robert Mugabe Infirmary and Ido McToto, Inspector in charge of Harare north precinct, had found one for me.

Miss Reilly was becoming restless, I had her arrested before she could do any real damage, put under house arrest in her apartment, before she could send her findings, personally  I would have simply have created a third central eye socket with my Kalashnikov and terminated her, if she had not enjoyed humiliating me in front of Desmond and Jannia, my assistants, quite so much.

A bullet was a low risk strategy, she could have turned down any number of side streets in Harare and been shot for her car, her money, her phone even her designer tee shirt by a War Veteran or some other urban Guerilla, Gorilla as I called them.

With the cadaver now available and the death certificate signed we could move forward.

Ido drove me to Miss Reilly's apartment, he parked the Range Rover and the guard at her door saluted as he let us past and we strode in.

She seemed shocked at our intrusion.

Ido spoke quietly, "You must come down town, I am afraid  Miss Reilly,"

"What?" she queried.

He continued "Mr Hanson has formally identified you and he has sufficient evidence to make taking you into custody nescessary, I can allow a few minutes for you to pack as I think Mr Hanson wishes to use this property for a new tenant."

She complied, muttering "You will not get away with this." and with practised ease she  packed her cases and told me to bring them down.

She had this superior air about her, like she was better than everyone else, not just the blacks, but Jon and myself, we were as white as her by ancestry, more suntanned, but ethnically the same.

We drove her to the Bank, business had finished for the evening and I unlocked the back service door and showed her into a long concrete corridor, the emergency lighting cast a soft glow and I led the way past the elevator shaft, to the stairs, no one used an elevator in Harare unless they wanted to spend the night there when the electricity supply failed yet again.

We climbed four flights of stairs and then I showed her in to room 406, an ordinary but soundproofed room with cabinets, an easy chair and a couch and a small wooden dining table.

"Mr Hanson tells me you tried to steal from him." Ido suggested as he motioned her to sit.

"No." she protested.

"A man's character is important here in Africa, did you know that?" Ido continued.

"So charge, me." she barked.

"I hoped to keep this informal," Ido sighed, "but as you insist." He took the handcuffs from his back pocket and clipped the shiny clamp round her left wrist then pulling her to her feet he pulled both arms behind her and secured the right wrist as well.

I showed her the document.

"It's a death certificate?" she seemed bemused. "It's my death certificate, I died this morning?" she read on in disbelief.

"Yes," I showed her the photos of the burned body, "You died horribly, I am so sorry,"

"No" she cried but Ido slapped her face and she quietened down.

"I shall take her watch and jewellery," Ido announced and slipping her good luck charm and ear rings from her and placing them in his pocket Ido wished me good day and left the room closing the door behind him.

Despite the cuffs she still struggled, but in the noise of the city her screams were just another cry of despair, and  within a few minutes I had a leather dog collar and leash around her neck.

She had a kick like a mule and so fixing the hobble chains around her ankles was both difficult and essential but as she lost her balance, crashing to the floor I pinned her down face down and then I was able to stop her kicking long enough to buckle the leather straps round bot of her ankles and connect the short hobble chain.

She squealed like a pig but I decided that the gag could wait.

I moved over to the table, a standard polished wood extending dining table intended for a small dining room, it extended by sliding the two halves of the top apart which in turn allowed an extra section to slot in the middle, except on this one the extra section was split in the middle and had crescents cut from each half providing a neat neck sized hole, it was a work of art, the sawn edges polished to match the rest of the table top the work of a craftsman, well, me actually, everyone needs a hobby.

The table was  screwed down to the floor and the top secured so it could not be lifted off, it was intended for the correction and the discipline of disloyal employees but I had expected blacks to require it not a white bitch.

"What are you doing?" she asked. as she struggled to her knees again, she looked incongruous, cuffed and bound but still fully clothed in a grey business suit, jacket and knee length skirt with a red shirt or blouse and her trademark black high heels.

"Your new home," I told her, "I will fetch the tools and a tin for your teeth then I can get started.

The pliers were in a drawer of the cabinet at the far end of the room and I returned with pliers, rags and an old red biscuit tin.

She struggled and swore but it was easy to drag her with the leash and I passed the leash between the table legs and up through the table top and dragged her head through.

The extra pieces fitted neatly around her neck and I screwed them in place.

"So very clever, I suppose you torture me for information, well I know nothing." she stated rather too condescendingly for my liking.

I shattered her little bubble of security.

"No for pleasure, like when you humiliated me in front of my subordinates, did it turn you on?"

"No but you're all bluster, all your type are, shits the lot of you."

I held her nose and when she opened her mouth to breathe I jammed a tapered wooden block in to keep it open.

She stared unbelievingly as I took the pliers from the table top and taking a firm grip I started to work her left upper front tooth backwards and forwards, she screamed beautifully as it came free and then I started on the right front, her lower Jaw wobbled furiously and I expected it to break but in the end all the teeth came out as she screamed and wailed, it took about an hour and twenty minutes of hard patient work but finally there were a full set of her teeth sitting in the biscuit tin.

Yellowed teeth with expensive veneers, false like her.

Blood streamed from her shattered mouth, and tears streamed from her eyes.

"Don't worry." I comforted her, "The pain of having your Clitoris burned off with a soldering iron will be much much worse but I may decide not to bother, I will probably shoot you at the weekend."

"Why?" she pleaded, through bloodied gums "You are English, why do you behave like an animal, I have only done my job."

"Disrespect: you humiliated me in front of the blacks, it will be weeks before they stop laughing at me, as if it is not hard enough to survive in this shit hole." I ranted.

I carefully cleaned the pliers, and placed them back on the table. wiped her mouth with the filthy rag, and checked that the CCTV had recorded the operation.

"See you tomorrow." I suggested and closed and locked her door.

My own apartment was next door, soundproofed, bomb proof, the managers apartment built into the bank building, it had to be after so many kidnappings.

I ordered a Chinese, but she turned out to be Korean, she arrived by Taxi, wearing a Kimono, for a few seconds, but she was very smooth and willing and after she reoved my tensions she shared my food, in fact she wolfed down her plate full and then had most of my portion as well, it seemed funny, making her eat Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with Chop Sticks, but I have this sadistic streak and she was too hungry to object.

Even agency prostitutes struggle to survive in Mugabe's wonderland. I thought of the bitch next door, she was probably in agony, her legs and arms cramped, in agony from her shattered mouth, bursting for a piss. I found myself rock hard again and I took my little Chinese once more.

She licked me clean and asked if she could have some cake, she was still hungry, I guessed she had not been able to catch many rats, the staple food of many Harare whores in these difficult times, and I said yes as long as she ate it naked. She looked so sexy eating black forest gateau, the crumbs falling down between her naked breasts, to nestle in her wiry pubic hair, I almost wished she could be my full time slave, but no, I wanted an unwilling slave.

I paid her with a gold ring, from a safety deposit box of someone who did not need it any more, the label on the lid had said Mr Lolo Iuzmu, a gentleman  gunned down along with his whole family by Mugabe's Gorillas,  well waste not want not I always say.

She asked to stay the night, I agreed, and we watched video's late into the small hours.

"I think you soldier, very brave I think, like man on TV." She told me.

I realised there was a tear in my eye, perhaps Private Tucker from Soldier Soldier was not the image I sought, but she sensed my affinity for those lads, skiving slackers to a man but they would willingly die to save their mates if needed and that made them the British Tommy the finest soldiers in the world.

I remembered Private Doyle, a lad in my platoon, shooting a running Afgan, at about three hundred yards right between the legs taking the meat and two veg right off clean as a whistle, then Doyle had stepped on a landmine, poor bastard, he begged me to shoot him, I could not, its against the regulations but I helped hold a captured AK47 against his head as he pulled the trigger,  "Thanks sir, do the same for you one day," he joked as his finger flinched and he sat off to meet his maker.

My Chinese left with the dawn, and I checked my captive, the stench was overpowering.

"Let me go, please." she pleaded.

"You shit yourself, you filthy cow." I accused her. "For heavens sake you are totally disgusting."

"Please don't leave me like this," she croaked.

I left her to her agony.

The Blacks were getting uppity, Desmond and Jannia, taking liberties, I had Jannia's friend Samoe in my office, "Look, it's not easy to say this but, well your performance has not been to standard, and someone has to go."

She burst into tears, "No sir, please my mother and my sisters rely on me, please sir, oh I beg you sir."

I asked her outright. "So who should go?"

She replied with conviction, "Mugabe sir, he must go."

I smiled at her, "You are a good girl, Samoe, I will let you stay, I shall tell head office something, god knows what, I have been lying to keep us going for months, but that is my problem, run along."

I knew the word would be round within minutes Mr Hanson struggling to keep the bank open, looking for someone to sack.

The office atmosphere changed immediately, the respect returned, no one knew about Miss Reilly, locked in her stinking prison.

I held out until about eleven thirty that second day, but curiosity got the better of me and I went to see her, the stench hit me like a sledge hammer, and I nearly vomited, but she looked so sweet, her broken body trapped in my prison, my erection strained and I stood before her and as she silently watched I undid my pants and asked, "Do you like it?"

She shook her head, "Please, don't rape me" she croaked.

"No, I would have to release you for that," I replied, I stroked my shaft and suddenly I felt the relief flowing, warm, wet, the creamy white cum shooting up my shaft and flying through the air to splatter her face.

She looked horrified, yet she still tried to lick a splodge of cum from her cheek.

"Are you thirsty?" I asked.

"Yes"

"Shall I piss in you mouth?"

She paused before she said no, it spoke volumes, she might last beyond Saturday after all.

I wiped myself on a handkerchief and left it on the table, so she could smell my scent as she suffered, and then I slipped from the room.

I came back a few hours later, she looked so wonderfully helpless, I just could not resist releasing my rigid tool and masturbating , I stood behind her and let fly all over the back of her head, then I rubbed it in like hair mousse, she sobbed throughout, but again declined a drink of piss.

I had to attend a function at Government house, I paid for an escort, she escorted me, it was a formal dinner except there was no food for anyone other than the Zanu PF top table. My escort was black,, tall slim, anorexic, or malnourished I don't fancy black girls, as a general rule but she was graceful and desperate and we did a deal, and I bent her over my office desk and she ate a a whole steak and kidney pie as I took her from behind.

"You're so bad, Mr Hanson, can I stay with you all time?" she asked hopefully.

I let her stay until morning.

Miss Reilly was asleep when I checked on her, I sat and watched as she slumbered, her head was too far from the edge of the table I decided and I fetched my saw, before I realised the legs were too far forward to allow me to cut the top back far enough.

Her gums had stopped bleeding, I really wanted to fuck her mouth but compromised by wanking and trying to get the cum in her mouth, most of it missed, but she woke and tried to lick some from her chin.

"Water" she demanded, "I'm dying"

"Piss?, you can drink my piss."

"No please water." she asked nicely.

"Piss is water,"

"No" she refused my offer.

"Ok"

The floor bore evidence of her continued fluid loss, the pool of piss on the Formica floor covering.

"See you Saturday," I suggested.

Her will broke.

"Can I have a drink of piss please."

"Yes of course." I said and walked round to stand before her.

The piss stream hit her chin then her nose before I got the aim right and pissed straight into the back of her throat, she struggled to swallow but she drank enough of the life giving liquid to allow her to survive a while longer.

"Say thank you"

"Thank you," she croaked "Will you kill me Saturday."

"Yes, if you like, good bye." I left her again.

I came back later, I brought her lap top computer and set it before her.

"Tell me the password and I will show you your emails." I suggested.

"Never" she answered, "it's private."

I typed NEVER, and got a wrong password, I tried Victoria and it fired up.

"Bastard," she cried.

There were messages of condolence, all her devastated friends emailing, I scrolled it for her so she could read, sharing an experience in the stench of her filth, her broken pain-wracked body living out her last days before the blissful release of death.

She sobbed and laughed occasionally, then I checked her outbox and she screamed at me, "No, it's private, No."

"It's like mind rape," I whispered.

I read intently. stupid emails to her mates, nothing interesting then Wham! my name.

"Whats this?" I asked, she knew instantly.

"Please no." she croaked.

"Mr Hanson, a bloody arrogant racist sandhurst bastard just like Justin," she had written.

"treats the blacks like shit, I hate him."  

"Who is Justin?" 

"Boyfriend,"

"Other name.?"

"Peters."

"Not lieutenant Peters?"

"Captain,"  she croaked.

I had spent too long with her, I switched the Laptop off and returned to my office locking the door behind me, her stench clung to me, so I back tracked and showered and changed before returning once again to the world of banking.

I tried to make sense of things, I knew Peters vaguely, and he was definitely a shit.

I let Miss Reilly rot in her filth for a while longer, and only as midnight approached did I once again open her prison's door.

"Its Saturday," I announced.

"Make it quick" she croaked.

I showed her the screwdriver, she tried to scream but her mouth was too dry, then she realised I was removing the screws holding the wood trapping her , I unscrewed the brackets holding the table to the floor and then removed the wood round her neck and lifted the table from her allowing her to fall over sideways.

I loosened her left ankle and tugged her leash to make her stand, she screamed, but managed to crawl and she slowly followed me towards the back of the room, I opened a cupboard door and dragged her through into the bathroom beyond.

Her eyes widened, just a narrow room, an old iron bath at one end, a shower nozzel and lavatories, one conventional low level and one two feet of the floor with a cistern for flushing, but no plumbing other than a two inch diameter clear plastic tube.

I undid her handcuffs and tugged her jacket off her, her shirt tore easily revealing to my surprised gaze a tightly laced corset, I cut the laces and her tummy bulged slightly. I threw the useless garment on the pile with her ruined shirt, and undid her bra, I ran my fingers around her nipples, they stiffened slightly, I resisted the temptation to kiss and suck on them, pleasure was off limits to her, she would know nothing but pain and humiliation while she remained with me, and I would decide whether or indeed when death would bring her final release. finally I took off her shoes and made her sit in the bath and hosed her down with cold water from the shower.

"Skirt off," I ordered. She obeyed slowly stiffly, revealing her soiled underwear, and she handed the skirt to me.

I hosed her privates and then ripped the sodden panties and pantyhose from her and threw them in a bucket along with her shirt. Her private parts were covered in a red rash from the ammonia in the pis and shit, it was obviously hideously painful and it did not seem any point whipping her when she was already so sore.

"Drink?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"Champagne?"

I handed her a glass bowl full of yellow liquid, she knew it was piss, yet she had to drink.

She drank then spat. "Its horrible."

"Worse than piss.?" I asked, she nodded. "It's flat Cider." I took the bowl and drank some myself, it was apple juice. she thought it was piss because I told her it was. "Yuck,  good enough for you though." was my verdict.

She drank it down. then lay back and stretched out,

"Have a nice stretch," I instructed "then take a dump and a piss."

"Not with you looking, I can't," she whined.

"Oh yes you can," I dragged her to the lavatory and made her sit, nothing happened.

"Is this it, are you going to kill me?"

"No, I want to hear about Peters first, and I want to fuck your nice toothless mouth."

"And then,?" she asked.

"Just think short term, flex those muscles because you made a horrible smell in my room, now I gave you full control over your bowels and bladder and you shit and pissed everywhere, so from now on I decide when you shit so shit away."

She literally shit her self with fear, I blasted her backside with cold water from the shower and simply rammed a butt pug inside her anus, she screamed a long animal howl

I pulled her to the ground and reattached her wrist and ankle cuffs, he struggles were weaker now and it was a simple matter to attach a simple leather belt around her waist and run a strap from it around under her crotch.

I led her back to her prison and carefully screwed it together again, she had the good sense to keep quiet and let me reassemble it.

Finally just to show what a reasonable chap I was, I fetched a plastic bucket and set it under her to catch any stray fluids.

"You didn't fuck my mouth,"she croaked.

"No, I forgot." I lied. "So Peters, what did he do."

"Told everyone he was marrying me for father's money."

"Not because you fucked like a dream then." I gloated.

"No."

"Thought not."

I left her until Tuesday, she was in a bad way, almost comatose, I woke her with a slap

across her face, she was a mess, boils and zits spoiled her complexion, her lips now

cracked and parched the whites of her eyes were that horrible yellow colour, and she

stunk.  On the plus side her tummy was lovely and taut, the hint of fatty flab gone.

I gave her an injection of a concoction Jon had made up for me, her eyes rolled and she swore.

"Heroin" I lied.

"No, please."

I released her from her prison again, and she collapsed onto her side and lay still, I fetched a horse whip and gently coaxed her into movement by taps on her legs and buttocks. she began to crawl slowly away from me and I guided her towards a bowl of water I had placed on the floor, she forgot her pain and charged across to it and tried to lift it, she expressed surprise when she realised it was stuck to the floor. "No" she croaked in despair.

"Good Doggy." I suggested.

She began to lap it up like a dog.

I checked her out, the rash round her ass and cunt from the ammonia where she had shit herself was almost gone, but her ribs were now visible, and her tits had shrunk even further.

I eased her lower lips apart as she continued to lap at the water bowl, she was dry, and squirmed away from me as I probed her, but not so far as to stop lapping at the bowl, I toyed with the idea of chopping her lower legs below the knee so she always had to remain on all fours, then realised I had just the lubricant I needed, my own cum.

I refilled her bowl and whipped out my tool and masturbated once more, I aimed my cum along her back, and then when I was spent I carefully scooped the slippery creamy liquid onto my fingers and began to work it within her, she moaned softly, and relaxed slightly allowing my fingers ever further inside.

She was weak from a lack of food and confused but her body responded naturally and  her own precious moisture started to provide its own lubrication as she started to thrust  back against my fingers, she made delicious little moaning sounds as I scooped more and more of the cum within her. She moaned and squirmed with pleasure that she desperately tried to disguise, then she shuddered, went suddenly limp and rolled on to her side.

I left her, free, just trapped in her soundproof room, I left the bathroom door open and returned to my own room to watch TV.

I decided to call in a favor, Michele Unzambuki ran a seedy brothel a few blocks away, he owed a huge amount to the bank, a sum of several hundred American Dollars which he had no hope of repaying.

I called him in and outlined my request, I suggested Miss Reilly took over his mothers job for a while. His mother, an ugly toothless hag, worked for him in a glory hole, a cubicle like a lavatory cubicle in the foyer of the whorehouse with a hole in the side through which men who could not afford a short time with a whore could shove their pricks through for the woman the far side to suck, or in the case of particular gymnastic ability, fuck.  Usually it was the unwashed dregs of society, diseased beggars, rather that the time constrained businessmen who used such facilities in Japan or the west. These men paid just a few notes, which was often a whole days begging money for the weak and vulnerable, in fact they often spent money they needed for food for the family on being sucked off.

Mr proposition was for Miss Reilly to perform this duty for a while, first Michele would have Miss Reilly's hair braided in the African way, then he guaranteed she would be chained in the courtyard under the hot sun until she browned nicely and then if she started to look like she would pass for a native she could perhaps become a regular prostitute.

We fixed her wages at a half slice of bread or small piece of meat per satisfactory suck.

Michele left my office grinning widely.

Part two

Miss Reilly stared at the pile of chains on the floor before her, "Please, let me stay here."

she croaked.

I shook my head and found a suitable Iron loop to fit round her neck.

I clamped it with the Mole wrench then slipping the aluminum heat shield against her neck I connected the earth clamp and started welding, The Mig welder showered the room with blinding blue light, and blobs of molten metal flew from the rusty iron but within seconds she was secured, I quenched the hot joint with oil then trimmed the edges with a hand file.

Manacles for hands and ankles followed, rusty iron with rusty chains, then I fashioned a crotch bar and a metal waist band, all welded up solid, making access to her cunt or anus all but impossible for penetrative sex, but allowing cleaning and use of the toilet.

The girl spent hours on Miss Reilly's hair, plaiting it like a natives, leaving areas of bare scalp between the rows of plaits, slowly transforming her from western woman to native whore.

I demonstrated the ring gag she would wear, just about the largest we could get, on account of her being toothless and she nodded sadly.

I dressed her in a cloak, someone had died in it, the blood and bullet holes were still there but it was ideal for her.

She clanked as she walked, the short chain between her ankles made the stairs impossible so I carried her down, then she walked barefoot possibly for the first time in her life across the broken tarmac to captivity in a stinking hell hole of a native brothel..

I checked on her a few times, she browned up nicely, her filthy plaited hair now adorned with ribbons, the price of a suck scrawled across her forehead in black paint and the prices of her colleagues upstairs advertised in red across her tits and belly.

She was reluctant the first time, I listened as Michele beat and slapped her then the little wizened shriveled old guy suddenly beamed with pleasure as she began to suck.

I don't know if she realised that it was me as she sucked me off. I wandered over after work a few times, one time I smeared worcester sauce on my tool and she seemed to like it but no words were exchanged, only notes.

I agreed two weeks, she stayed five months. spending her days chained naked in the courtyard like a dog, and spending evenings sucking cocks. Michele said she was the best he ever had, she had intelligence and never tried to escape, in any case she could not speak native so she was unable to communicate with the other whores, most of whom had been snatched from tribal areas, and sold into prostitution.

Finally after twenty weeks Michele rang me and asked about a delicate matter.

To be continued.

"I think she is pregnant."

Michele's words clanged around my brain.

"How many weeks, did the chastity iron break?" I asked.

"Many weeks, she never bled since she been here but that belly sure is swole."

Victoria had been working as the suck slut in Micheles' glory hole in his downtown Harare brothel for months since I decided to teach her a lesson for humiliating me in front of the blacks, I had personally welded a loop round her crotch to a loop round her waist making penetration just about impossible.

I arranged to go round there.

She was sitting in the courtyard, surrounded on all sides by buildings the courtyard allowed the necessary privacy for her to live naked under the hot sun, her pale skin now burned a dark brown, her tightly braided filthy brown hair burned black.

She looked at me with anticipation, hope even, not the hatred I expected.

"You're fat" I challenged.

"I'm pregnant" she croaked

"How?"

"It's your's" she answered. "Fingers you remember?"

I remembered lubing her cunt with my cum, when I played with her.

"I wish to god it was not, but it is." she muttered,

I looked at her, she looked about fifty, a broken hag.

"Whip Michele, Beat the truth out of her." I shouted.

"Yes whip me make me lose his bastard, go on kick me, beat me, go on." she sneered. "Kill me, death is better than this."

I dragged her to her feet and pushed the Iron Chastity frame  interimagainst her pubes, she screamed as it bit into her belly before it touched her crotch, and when I tried from behind it was the same, no way had anyone fucked her.

"It's yours." she stated flatly.  I placed my hands on her shoulders.

"Bloody Hell." I exclaimed, "A kid, I don't know what to say."

"An offer of marriage is usual." she said, sarcastically, as she dropped to her knees and knelt naked and filthy in the dirt.

I needed to think.

I went home and around eight I came back, she sucked me tenderly, through the side of her cubicle, whether she knew it was me or not I did no care but she brought me to  nice climax like a professional.

I knelt down and spoke through the hole. "I don't want a baby with a diseased fuck slut, so I will have it cut out for you."

"Please no. I'll do anything." she whined.

"You'll still do anything when the kid's gone" I reminded her cruelly.

"Get it sorted," I instructed Michele, leaving her to a further period of fear and uncertainty.

I assembled my team I, found a nurse through Jon Rapsenberg, Gloria was a typical black, big boned, large hips, robust, sort of girl who would have fifteen kids, and still want more, but she was starving, out of work and desperate for money. She had served as medic in the tribal regions until Mugabe decided that the tribe was disloyal and removed her funding, She hated what she had to do, but she needed to eat.

I had also recruited a young girl, Msala, she had a week old baby, she had been Erik Oldendorf 's maid and Erik had done regular STD and Aids tests and kept her in a chastity belt, so we figured her milk should be clean.

I took the Landcruiser, I drove, a couple of guys rode shotgun in the pickup section at the back with their AK47s and I collected Msala and Gloria from their shanties, Msala brought her kid and a small sack, I guessed it contained her worldly goods, I drove slowly to the brothel, switching between fuel tanks and backwashing the fuel filters alternately using the system I had designed and installed to cope with Mugabe's kerosene - water mix that passed for gasoline.

Victoria slept soundly on the filth and dirt of the courtyard floor, naked as always under the hot sun. Michele and I looked on as his dog pissed over her as it had been trained to do and yet still she slept. Gloria, our nurse, quietly threw up as she witnessed the scene, her stomach convulsing and shoulders heaving, as she emptied the pitiful contents of her bloated stomach.

Michele fetched a large wooden box like a coffin, and as she finished vomiting, Gloria laid out her tools, knives, needles, thread, on its rough surface. and wiped away some of the dust with a filthy rag. Michele woke Victoria with a vicious kick, she staggered to her feet, blinking and tried to get away from the box, but a few lashes from the whip brought obedience and she laid down.

Michele held her shoulders and I watched fascinated as the tip of Gloria's knife started to penetrate Victoria's stomach, the chastity cage impeded her access and Victoria's screams increased to a crescendo as she realised she was indeed to be cut open in the hot dusty atmosphere of a courtyard without anesthetic, Gloria steadfastly continued to cut, the knife was old and blunt, the blade pitted with rust and the handle cracked and bloodstained and it pulled at the flesh instead of parting it easily, a kitchen knife where a scalpel was really required.

The screams roused the household, faces appeared at windows as the other whores were woken and wished to see what was happening, they hated Victoria, she was burned as black as any of them but her thin lips and tight ass and delicate face bones still marked her out as a symbol of white supremacy, even though she was the lowest in their hierarchy, they knew that men would choose her over them, and the knowledge hurt, that they had rooms and chose who they fucked, while she had no choice was irrelevant.

Blood was wasting, leaking away, soaking into the filth as soaked with sweat Victoria continued to scream until at last she lapsed into the bliss of unconsciousness, and then quite suddenly Gloria plunged her unwashed hands deep inside Victoria and announced, "Its a boy."

A tiny struggling pale pink animal the size of a rat emerged, it was so beautiful, it was my son, I looked down at Victoria, lying there, her once taut belly now bloated and cut open, her life blood leaking away, that toothless cunt of a mouth, her blackened skin, and filthy blackened hair and I realised that I loved her.

Gloria cut and tied the umbilical cord and picked up a filthy rag and wiped the slime from the little creature, he whimpered slightly, shocked at his premature ejection from the comfort of the womb.

Msala was waiting outside, Michele called her in and handed my son to her, she cradled him him so delicately like he was a glass figurine and soon he was at her breast and suckling. "You must be proud man Mr Handsom"

"It's Hanson, but call me sir, and I am proud, yes." I answered with a smile.

I watched as Gloria closed the wound, dainty stitches in the finest surgical thread then coarse ugly uneven cat gut for effect. I wanted Victoria to think she had been cut by a Tribal woman or witch doctor not a fully trained nurse.

Michele took Msala inside, out of the sun's glare and Gloria and I waited until Victoria regained consciousness.

"It's gone, the baby, its gone." I told her.

"Gone, where." she asked.

"Don't ask, Gloria says you can start work again straight away, have you eaten?"

She shook her head and I sent Gloria to fetch some mush, all she could eat with her toothless gums. she could not know I had ordered it laced with vitamins, she would need building up after her ordeal, I had some bottled water, and we celebrated the birth of our son with mush and bottled water, she usually had to suck three or four customers before she ate so it was a real treat for her.

She finished eating, she was obviously in a lot of pain, but there were formalities to be done, forms to sign. birth certificates, death certificates for all she knew,  Ido had supplied a set of self certification forms, the ones blacks usually used when their parents had not bothered to register their birth or they wanted a new identity because they killed someone or something, or had just nipped over the border. She refused to pick up the pen.

"There's no reason you can't sign, obviously you are officially dead but I kept your name, Victoria, and made up Ibsosolama." I told her.

To my shocked surprise she refused, "I can't"

"Why?" I asked, 

"I lost my contact lenses weeks ago, I can't see to write."

"Just scrawl signatures." I demanded and she took the pen and became in turn Victoria Ibsosolama. and Victoria Hanson, and signed the birth certification form for our child, no way was my child going to be a bastard.

"You should be safe with this identity," I told her, "Just say the War veterans took you and you cannot remember anything."

She nodded, I continued. "If you ask nicely I will take the chastity frame off and you can work upstairs, fuck properly, have orgasms, would you like that?"

"No, not just now, thanks. will you still come to see me?"  he mind was working again desperate to cling to me, her only link to her old life, she held my hand.

I pulled away from her and left her, I climbed into the Landcruiser and after strapping the new born into a child seat previously occupied by Msala's child we set off Msala cradling her own kid on her lap..

I paid Gloria, she nearly fainted at the weight of gold I handed her, "Use it wisely."

"It's too much." she said in disbelief.

"No, you did well, call it a bonus, and get out while you can." I could see she knew she could no longer stay, she was too rich, she could escape to South Africa now, or Uganda, or Nigeria.

She asked me to stop and quickly sewed the gold into a filthy rag before she dared leave the car.

"Where to Msala?" I asked.

I knew she was struggling with her conscience.

"The orphanage."  We drove in silence, then as I drew up outside she picked up the tiny black bundle that was her daughter and took her inside the white marble portico of the children's hell hole.

I followed her in, Mrs Chakubati the administrator motioned me across and on payment of a few dollars, she took the child. Msala looked relieved.

"I now can live again, thank you sir." she said.

"It was half your wages for the year." I lied. It was half her wages but I would still pay her, this was just a gift.

"It was good, I feel happier." she said, "I don't like the after abortion."

"No" I agreed, when the husband died, before the woman gave birth in tribal regions, then the newborn child was left for the Hyenas or Lions, and still in the city tiny bundles were left to die on a regular basis.

Msala had been born to a middle class family, her father a lawyer, but he died when he criticised Mugabe , and she had slowly slid down society, unable to afford school fees her mother had sold her to Erik Oldendorf, who let her believe she was a servant, she was funny, good company, until she started getting interested in boys and Erik had taken her to bed.  Sadly the baby was not Erik's the Chastity belt came too late, so when I needed a wet nurse and Erik wanted to be rid of her it all worked out very well.

Msala had things to learn, she dressed in jeans and a shirt with a brassiere like a European, her hair and been straightened and she actually wore a breast feeding bra. We strapped my little boy securely into a child seat I had brought and I drove from the City to a small village a few miles out, a tribal village. I stopped the Landcruiser.

"I shall buy you some new clothes" I told her.

The native women were all bare breasted, wearing skirts to their knees and barefoot. I picked up a skirt from a market stall and started haggling, then a second, and then I returned to the car. "your clothes." I told her and handed her the two dresses.

She started to argue, but realised the futility of argument and stripped off her shirt and jeans to reveal her thong and the leather straps and lock of the chastity belt.

I took her bag and looked through it, the photographs I laid aside but the clothing I placed by the car, finally she took off her shoes, and pulled on a tribal skirt.  Then she took off the bra and her tits tumbled out.

"Thong" I reminded her.

She slipped her underwear off and sadly added it to the pile.

I kissed the back of her hand, "You're african, be african, now follow the Car, I shall drive slowly, it will help your feet harden."

She followed obediently walking in the wheel tracks obediently in the sunlight, her tits swaying as she sang some pop song to herself, "She's mine lads" I reminded my minders as they stared at her beauty.

The little one stirred so I let Msala climb into the Car again and my son was able to drink his fill, she looked so lovely sitting there, with this albino rat eating her, that I changed my plans.

I took her home to my apartment in the Bank building, she found the crib easily enough in the small bedroom which they were to share but as soon as she had put him down for the night I unlocked her chastity belt.

"Oh sir, I thought you wanted my milk." she giggled but as my fingers found the softness of her mound I knew she wanted me as much as I needed her, her flesh yielded so smoothly and easily to allow me into her haven, and the pent up tensions of the past days drained easily from her face as I fucked her, but she was no beauty, not to my eyes, and every time I shut my eyes I was fucking Victoria instead.

"I am going to change your chastity belt." I told her as I withdrew, and with my prick stil wet from her juices I went to fetch my tools. She watched as I laid them on the floor, the small grey double cylinder of the gold rod insertion tool caught her attention but she dared not object as I placed it gently against her engorged clit. It fired, she screamed and then I was drawing the gold rod through curving it into a circle.  She watched in stunned silence as I placed the heats shield against her, assembled the heat sinks and commenced to solder the ends of the ring together with the heat from my tiny blow lamp.

She continued to look in surprise as I took another toy from the box, an egg with a stalk with a ring at the end of the stalk.

I laid her on he back for the next bit, legs apart and high in the air and with the application of some lube the egg slid neatly into her anus. I clamped the hexagon on the shaft with a monkey wrench and unscrewed the ring, just the small shaft protruded from her and then I inserted a small hex key inside the hollow shaft and started to turn it.

"Aw" she squealed, the egg was changing shape as the gold petals making the egg shape were forced open by the action on the center block being pulled down by the screw thread, and as she started to complain I refitted the hook and strung a gold chain from clit ring to the new firmly embedded anal plug.

"Try to walk but don't sit down." I ordered.

She took a few steps then stopped, the chain was tickling, she tried to change its position but I knew it would nestle just within her lips.

"I don't think I can stand this." sir.

Her fingers sought to provide relief, and I took the chain away to let her play, she looked lovely, an animated ebony statue, I realised she could provide so much more than milk for my son.

I let her live as my nanny, the jeans reappeared, she asked nicely to be allowed to wear them, the anal plug was more trouble than it was worth and bras and shirts reappeared, but she had to learn to wear heels, that was the deal, and she wore an apron, nothing else, except high heels, when we were alone.

The months passed, little Jon, named after my friend, not spelled John like me thrived and I had sex on tap, little one was happy, and I had lots of time to sort through the safe deposit boxes, Mugabe's scum had no idea what they had stashed and no one ever came to claim anything, so I scanned the obituaries and when everyone else had gone home I swapped things around.

My model making and engineering hobby was real useful, diamond filled gold crutches, Gold ballast in my model railway coaches, even gold rails, but the press was a sod to work and the rails really too soft, but screwed to a board and dirtied up they just looked like regular brass.

I literally lost count of how much I took, I did not care really, it was trickling home to England  through all sorts of routes, but then disaster.

I caught Msala screwing the janitor.

I employed him because he was a half wit, but I had not bargained on him being hung like a donkey.

I sensed something was wrong, she seemed somehow satisfied before I took her to bed, I  usually left the CCTV switched off but on a hunch I left it on and instead of the vault I spent some time in the main office. She emerged into the corridor minutes after I left and scuttled down towards the corner, the next camera failed to pick her up and I was confused until half an hour later  the Janitor came into view of one camera and she appeared on the other heading back to my room, I caught up with her before she could hide the evidence, his spunk still spattered between  her legs.

She was real scared, there was no need to hit her.

"You betrayed me." she tried to look innocent, "With the janitor in the broom store."

"I'm so sorry" she wailed, "it was only a small piece of gold."

My mind reeled, they were stealing from me as well.

"You know the penalty?" I asked, we never reported theft, the thief was always caught in the act and shot.

"Yes, we will be shot." she hung her head.

"You will be, but my son needs his milk, so serve him."

I fetched my tools, and started to design something, something painful, I sat at my drawing board and checked pages of anatomy on the Internet then it came to me,

I called Msala in and sat her down beside me and started playing with her clit ring, she did nor want to respond, but she was incapable of resistance as I began to ease her  lower lips apart, then I inserted a gauge inside her, a gauge I had made up some time earlier, I turned the screw expanding the outer diameter until I felt serious resistance.

Blood trickled from her lip where she bit it as she tried to stop herself from screaming.

but I checked the gauge carefully and figured the baseline dimensions I needed.

She knew it was over when I took a condom and had her put it on me before I fucked her, she tried so hard to please me but it was too late, I could not take any chances..

I rose early the next morning, made some phone calls.  Msala was playing with Jon, I felt sorry for her but she needed a severe lesson, she had fixed my breakfast, she was nervous clearly scared. I left her and went to work.

Around eleven a white woman and a couple of minders arrived, Jon Rapsenberg had recommended her, we went to my rooms and collected little Jon, he squealed, he liked Msala, he did not want to be separated from her, the woman just took Jon, and turned on her heel and left, no drama, little was said but Msala shrank back and  cowered in a corner, she was scared, she needed to be, her reason for living had been taken from her.

By mid day the clothing I ordered had been delivered, Islamic type robes in local coarse cloth, the all enveloping one where the poor bitch looks out through two holes and speaks through a grille, I took the package to Msala, told her to strip and try one on, she tried to be sexy as she stripped, but my mind was on other things. The robe fitted perfectly hiding everything but her hands and her toes as she walked. I told her to pack her Western clothes as she would no longer need them.

She was naked again when I returned in the evening, the meal she prepared spoilt, she waited in frustration, then I took her to room 604.

I never thought she worried about her looks but she cried as I fired a gold rod through her nose not the middle bit, right through side to side. 

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"Because you betrayed me." I replied.

I had to use a hole punch on her tongue, so I could insert a screwed gold stud, and then she screamed and wailed as I curled the rod through her nose into a ring and led a thick gold chain from the nose ring to tongue stud before I soldered the ring closed.

It must have hurt, it grated against her teeth and pulled at nose and tongue, but the bitch would not be giving blow jobs in a hurry.

I tried the rod-gun on her legs, just above the ankles, I seemed to miss anything vital and soon she had a neat golden loop on each side of her legs, flat on the outside but a proper loop on the inside to which I padlocked a stainless steel chain.   She bled a bit, but when I set her down she showed me she could hobble around, the chain preventing her from taking anything more than short steps.

The robe hid everything, local African Muslims slashed their wives faces before they made them take the veil on their wedding night in the belief that  they would not then be attractive to other men, but who looks at a face when she is giving you a blow job or you are doing it doggy style? I decided facial slashing ws a step too far.

I watched TV. for a while before I went to room 604 with my drawings. She ate some porridge, she could not chew with the chain in, she was realising how foolish she had been.

I worked steadily with the gold rod I had made from melting down some trinkets, curving it into a complex shape, strong yet flexible, easy to insert impossible to remove, and I made the tools to insert and extract it from plastic pipe.  It was a work of art, something a Medieval torturer would have given his right leg for, something an Arab would like his favorite daughter to wear.

It looked more like a golden bed spring than a contraceptive coil, gold, made of soft gold, it would fit neatly inside her, but within the encircling coils. running up the centre was a hardened shaft with a wicked three pronged spike, I had it worked out, the man would barely feel the spike as he thrust in but, as he pushed the spike would be forced outwards and the coils would be forced to expand jamming it ever more firmly into her and the spikes would be pulled ever more forcibly into his prick as he tried to withdraw.

I joined Msala about an hour before the Janitor started work, Msala was on the bed, naked playing with her clit ring, trying to show me what I was missing.

I held her in my arms, kissed her shiny smooth black neck, I played with her clit for a while then I just slid on a Condom and took her. she spread her legs as wide as she could given her ankles were chained together, I hope I gave her a good time, I could never compete with the donkey like appendage of her lover but I gave it my best shot, and then as she lay I took my golden coil and its hollow plastic tube applicator and slid it neatly inside her.

"Its protection, now go find your janitor friend tell him to go before I kill him, Oh just a minute." I showed her the golden anal egg, "bend over."

She was too scared to resist and soon I had slid it deep within her and expanded it to prevent easy extraction, but this time after expanding it I unscrewed the extension rod. allowing her anus to close.

"That should make it feel even better," I told her, "but I think you will die of peritonitus if I don't remove the plug, you can't shit with it in so your bowel will swell and burst, so don't run away, no one else can remove it."

She twisted her head round to look at me, as I finished working on her ass, the look was one of sheer terror. but she had run out of options.

I sent her out to meet her lover "Tell him to run I said, I will shoot him as he crosses the car park," The Computer on the desk was showing the CCTV pictures. "he has just arrived at the back door, go let him in."  She hobbled away, collecting her robe, and she headed for the back door.

I watched and listened to the  CCTV as he greeted her and stared in disbelief, her had undressed her with a single movement and seeing her plight had tried to remove her mouth chain but he just tore her tongue making it bleed, she warned him about her coil as he checked her anus but found the egg blocking his entry and finally unable to restrain his animal instincts he pushed her against a wall and drove his manhood deep into her pussy.

His screams echoed around the building "Aaaaggggghhhh" a beautiful sound, a mans scream, somewhere in the high Baritone range pure agony, a sound rich but filled with passion., he tried to pull out, making her scream as the coil expanded into her and contracted onto him as the coils were forced into new shapes.

I often wondered about that  moment, the realisation that something was piercing his penis, did he try to stop his thrust, I wondered?  Did she feel the inward pressure of the base or the outward pressure as the coil was forced to expand, as I had designed it, but

I never envisaged such a scene as he broke into a frenzy writhing and thrashing as he tried to escape, squealing, screaming their cries mingling in a cacophony of agony..

Finally he tore the encircling coil free from her vagina, tearing her soft flesh, the gold coil had jammed and wrapped tightly around his prick as  he tore it from her, their blood poured from between her legs., his and hers.  She screamed with  the pain of her lacerated cunt, while he looked in disbelief at his torn member encased in gold, he looked straight into the CCTV camera lens , screamed and turned and started to run out of the building, "Don't leave me," Msala cried as she lay in agony. but the Janitor slipped away, a fortune in gold weighing down his ruined prick, running aimlessly like a wounded animal, running away, with no idea where to run to.

I sent for the native doctor, she came with her tools and stitched Msala up, she chided me for the rings, "She is lovely girl, you are cruel" she told me.

I let her take the rings out, and the rods through the legs, she thought it was gold plated steel and was amazed it was gold, I let her keep a piece as a souvenir.

The doctor stayed a while, she stitched the hole in Msala's tongue, and put bandages on her legs and stitched the wounds on her nose closed, and then she slipped away.

Msala dozed then woke. "You can hardly expect me to feel sorry for you," I told her, "anyway you will live, its just a scratch or two, you do know I should kill you for stealing from me?"

She nodded.

I wiped the CCTV footage, and next morning the Police arrived, a trail of blood led from our back door, to where they found the Janitor three blocks away lying dead in a pool of blood, with his prick sliced off. I guessed the gold was too much for some Native to resist.

Msala was very weak, I thought she might die so I tried to recover my gold egg, getting it out of her anus was a pain, it had twisted and it took ages to pry it round with a screwdriver before I could get the extension rod screwed in and the hex key inserted so I could contract it and remove it but eventually it was out.

I called the native doctor again, she was surprised as Msala was recovering, "Will her cunt recover or is it permanently damaged," I asked.

"The muscles are torn, I have stopped the bleeding but I can do no more, look."

she removed her wristwatch and easily slid her hand inside the girl. "Many african women are this loose, a child each year and malnutrition, fifteen kids by thirty, she will be fine." she removed her hand, It was barely smaller than mine. The idea of fisting a girl intrigued me.

I went to see Michele, Victoria was working, she was as brown as any native and seemed pleased to suck me as I presented myself to her through the hole.

I discussed the future with Michele and suggested he take Msala on.

He listened, I offered to deliver her without teeth as a Victoria replacement but he was interested that she was damaged, "She takes a fist?" he queried. I nodded.

"Then she is wasted here I shall contact my friend Mr Manser Smythe, he may have  an opening for her."

To be Continued.

I paid a visit to Victoria, she was in the yard as usual but chained up, I queried it with Michele but he said someone had tried to steal her, she lay against the wall, some nasty boils spoiled her looks, Michele had trained his dog to piss on her and the infections would not heal up.

"Get her cleaned up and chain her in the hole." I instructed.

He chucked a bucket of water over her and dragged her inside.

I needed someone to go to England for me to set things up so Victoria and her baby, my baby, could go home.

I checked the Bank records and found a lady, Celia Duncan, who had a sterling account with the bank who was clearly living off capital, and her balance was just about exhausted, in fact she could barely cover the next months direct debits, she was twenty two, our records showed she had dual nationality, so she could go to England with out a visa or any hassle, and when I phoned her she sounded very definitely white.

I asked her to come in, she was a bit plain, mousey haired, nondescript, and worried.

"I am worried about your direct debits." I told her as I looked at her from across my office desk.

"You're worried, I can't sleep at night." she admitted.

It rapidly became clear she was involved with pre school children but no one could afford school fees let alone pre school fees any more and she had no income, husband or boyfriend, her parents were dead but she had dual nationality so would have no trouble entering England, but as a downside she preferred girls to men.

"What do you plan to do when the funds run out?" I asked.

She held her head in her hands, and shook her head.

"Then would you consider a proposition?"

"What, do you mean, something sexual?" she sensed my interest.

"Take my baby son back to England."

"What?"

I explained, she was to look after Jon until they bonded then take him home to my mother.

She agreed, immediately and within forty five minutes she had signed the agreement I put before her without reading the small print, the bit about providing such sexual services as I might require.

Celia spent a while clearing her apartment, packing disposing of junk that sort of thing and then she moved in, I arranged for Jon to be returned when Celia had  settled in.

Celia was fine, she moved some of her stuff in that first afternoon but come evening she was very cold and distant, I wanted our first time to be warm and cosy, but she put up quite a fight, shouting and screaming, oblivious to the soundproofing, eventually I got her hands secured behind her back with handcuffs and got her trousers and voluminous blue knickers down only for her to knee me in the groin, the pain was intense. I staggered away and sat down for a while then I just grabbed her and forced her legs apart, applied loads of lube shoved a condom on and simply shoved my manhood up her gloriously tight love tunnel.

"It hurts, don't, please, stop, please." she wailed, but I was enjoying the experience far too much to stop.

I shot my load in her and lay still, she still had a cardigan and bra covering her tits and I soon had them up round her neck so I could nuzzle her tits, I dared not suck Msala's tits as she was lactating, but Celia's were lovely specimens.

"Mmm" she sort of half muttered, then asked "Why did you rape me, you bastard?"

"You signed to say you would provide sex" I pointed out, I went and found a copy of the agreement. "See."

She read "Oh god, It's nothing personal but, you see I like girls."

"You'll like men better when I have finished with you." I told her. "I like sex three or four times a day." In her naievity she thought I was exaggerating.

I handed her the phone, "Care to ring the Police?"

She shook her head, "In England perhaps"

"Then the deal is off," I stated bluntly.

"Ten thousand pounds." she blurted out, "I want an extra ten thousand"

"O.k ten thousand, and that gets me all the sex I need, deal?"

"Twenty" she tried.

"Twenty then, do we have a deal?" I demanded.

"Oh, I never expected. " She said, "You will pay twenty thousand?"

"Gold or deposit in a UK bank?" I asked.

"Uk please, oh god this makes me a whore." she gasped

I shoved my prick in her face, "No but this does."

She kept her mouth shut but I was so excited I came over her left eye , the spunk dripped down and off her chin on to her bare breasts.

"Filthy pig," she chided. "Do you really have a child for me to look after or do you just want to humiliate me?"

I felt guilty, I just wanted sex from her, "No Jon is real enough, I just need sex and you are an attractive woman, I am just using you. I am sorry you feel humiliated."

I wiped her chin and started to wipe her breast but it was obvious she was getting excited once again. "Let's go to bed," I suggested.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I collected Victoria from the Brothel one afternoon, the evidence of her improvised Caesarian writ large across her belly, and clothed only in a blanket I took her to the Bank, to my room, room 604

I fetched my tools, an angle grinder and an aluminum sheet backed by wood to use as a heat shield, and started to grind off her manacles, it took a long time.

She seemed unsure of what I intended, frightened even, but had no objection when I filled a bath with warm water and ordered her to climb in.

The water turned brown almost instantly and then when I turned the shower on and aimed it at her head the dirt cascaded down her face.

I emptied the bath and started to fill it again, she was scrubbing herself raw, I had to take the scrubbing brush from her, "Its sunburn not dirt" I told her. Then I started to unpick her hair it took hours, and it was in awful condition, I helped her wash it, with shampoo.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"The fucking baby, it was mine, right?"

"Unfortunately yes." she replied.

"So it needs looking after, and you can't do that in a fucking shit hole."

It was late into the night when I finished grooming her, it was very restful, like grooming a horse, sitting combing her long dark hair, she must have thought she was dreaming, to be treated so tenderly. I kissed her neck, she responded, she though I wished to make love.

I kissed her again, kissed her breasts, each one and then I moved down kissing her belly and then her engorged clit, as it stood erect like a tiny penis. I lifted her and laid her gently on the floor.

She never suspected a thing, I was kissing her, administering loving caresses, almost at the point so she thought of seeking penetration, when suddenly she felt the tool cold against her clit the pressure both sides as I tightened the clamp and then she certainly felt the pain as I fired the pure gold rod through her most tender part.

Her scream was beautiful, like Pavarotti hitting High C, pure terror.

I admired my handiwork and released the clamp and quickly laid the tool aside , the tool a sort of double barrel grey cylinder about eight inches long with its separate clamp at the end of its lower chamber simply fired gold rod through the skin and flesh, possibly bone as well, although I had not tried it, propelled by a standard point one seven seven bullet, no needles no freezing, bang and it's done, a rod ready for curling into a ring. I designed and made it myself.

She continued wailing as cut the rod to length and started to curl it round, it was soft so it was easy, and then when it was perfectly round, I assembled the two heat sinks and my tiny blow lamp on the heat shield and as she sobbed uncontrollably as she looked down horrified I soldered the ring closed.

She carried on sobbing as I undressed, she dutifully spread her legs, she even held her lower lips open and then I simply shoved my Penis straight into her, one not very energetic shove took me ball deep, she was so wet and soaking, it was not satisfactory, she was supposed to be tight like a virgin.

I shut her up by kissing her, running my tongue round her toothless cunt of a mouth, then she started a different sort of moan, she hated herself, I knew but her orgasm was building and she could do nothing about it, her cunt muscles seemed to be dancing a fandango and suddenly I was coming, shooting my sperm deep inside her.

We lay still afterwards, two sweating bodies together yet worlds apart. I had work to do, I took my set of gauges, brass rings, each a different size which fitted a different size wooden plug in their polished mahogany box, carefully I tried them on her fingers and toes and wrote down the size of each,  she had no idea why I was doing it, and she would never have believed me had I told her.

"You hurt my back, will you rape me in a bed next time please." she suggested, some of her old bravado creeping back.

"Fine," I said, I stood up, basically knackered, and gently hauled her to her feet by her hair before walking the short distance to my room where I threw her on the bed. "Your turn to be on top."

She just lay there, so I left her and tidied room 604. When I returned she was sleeping so I just covered her with the Duvet and joined her.

The first rays of the morning sun woke me and my first touch of her bloodied and swollen freshly pierced clit woke her with a start, a few exploratory caresses between her legs brought the lubrication necessary, and I lifted her and slid her gently down on to my prick. She was quiet this time, no tears, just slightly ragged breathing to betray her excitement and enjoyment.

"Do you like married life?" I asked her.

She realised straight away, "I signed a marriage license didn't I?"

I nodded. "Honor and Obey. you already got the ring."

The day passed quickly, she found a pair of Levis and a Tee shirt in my drawers and we went shopping for some clothes, not the easiest of tasks in the wilderness that was depression wracked Harare but we found some second hand  outfits, and bits and pieces, and then I took her to my dentist and the optician.

We came home with clothes and promises, but it cost me several gold rings and a diamond necklace, paper money being worthless here, promises of glasses and false teeth

She moaned about the clit ring, and at one stage I am sure I caught her masturbating, certainly she was very keen to put a skirt on and made no comment when I said she was not to wear underwear.

"It's driving me mad," she confessed.

"Good" I replied as I gently caressed it, making her face contort in pleasure.

I needed to keep her aware of her status so one evening I took her back to Michele's brothel, she knew better than to complain and I took her to her former workplace, the Glory hole, she expected to be stripped I am sure but instead I sat on the floor and held her hand as with the light switched out she waited for customers.

I squeezed her hand as the tip of a stinking black prick appeared and she stooped to take it in her mouth, my hand massaged her clit ring gently and she squirmed in pleasure and confusion then I took my hand away, she tried to look round then I saw her desperately trying to pleasure herself with her own fingers, suddenly the guy was spurting and she was pushed over the edge of orgasm and she collapsed on the floor as he withdrew.

"Bastard," she whispered.

A second prick appeared shortly after and as she started to suck I moved round behind her in the darkness and flipped her skirt over her back before shoving my prick deep within her, I slid my ands under her shirt to caress her breasts and whispered so softly

"I love you".

She tried to clean the poor guy up after but I was still banging into her, and she started crying out, "Yes Yes," 

"What the fuck" asked the guy waiting at the hole and Michele had to admit she was doing two customers at once.

"That’s dirty" he said as he shoved his prick through and she started to suck. This time we all came just about together, she had black mans spunk going down as white mans spunk went up and she seemed to be enjoying the experience.

I ushered her straight from the hole, straight into the street and straight to an exclusive restaurant, she could not eat much with no teeth but she wished to taste of spunk from her mouth with soup and caviare followed by Ice cream, and then I gave her a little present, a ring, platinum with diamonds, I slid it on to her finger to signify our engagement, I knew it would fit.

"Your head really is screwed up." she told me.

"I'll have it back then." I suggested.

"Love and cherish," she reminded me, she smiled, I guess it was the first time I had seen her smile, the lack of teeth spoiled it.

I think it was Newton who wrote about actions and equal reactions, well when we got home she found the flip side, the toe rings, a gold band on each toe, I had to split and solder the big toe rings using heat shields and heat sinks but the little pinkies just needed soap and agonising force.

She looked fantastic, her toes glittering, walking was agony, but who cares, she cried a bit and called me a bastard again, but later she said sorry and asked if I wanted a fuck.

"Do you?" I asked.

"Yes," she admitted.

So I guess we made love.

She was admiring her toes next morning, she tried to pretend she hated the gold bands but I knew she was vain enough to trade a lot of pain for the right look.

Again we went shopping, glasses and teeth, suddenly she was the sort of girl you could take home to mother again, I bought her some ridiculously expensive high heels with open toes to show her toe rings off, and suddenly I figured I needed to smarten myself up. she was certainly getting the stares of the low lifes many of who had probably been sucked off by her not so long ago.

She was learning her place, tottering on high heels, her toes ringed like a native whore.

"How is my baby?" she asked.

"Our baby, He's fine, but you can start work at the Brothel properly now, now you got teeth and everything, no need to worry about Aids or diseases because I am going home, to England, so I don't need you any more."

She stood sobbing, "Look after him. please."  It was the right answer.

"Would you like a drink before I escort you to the Brothel, sort of a farewell drink, we got off on the wrong foot, but I would like to think we part as friends."

She nodded, I stood back and motioned for her to step inside, then I showed her to my room again, made her sit while I spread her legs and marveled at how fuckable her cunt looked, then lifted her gown from her, her tits were still tiny, "I must confess I am worried that you may misbehave back at the Brothel, so Jon sent this."

I showed her the restraint Jacket, he called it a straight Jacket, white with long sleeves which ended with tapes which tied round behind the wearer.

She looked so sad, but knew she had to co operate, and she allowed me to slip it over her,  making no comment as I fastened the buckles then wrapped her arms round her to tie them securely behind her.

"Do you want to go back to England, live in a big house, ride your horse to the Fox Hunting or work in a brothel again?" I asked.

"Oh my God you are twisted." she squealed, "I can cope with the brothel, I hate it, but perhaps one day."

I interrupted her, "Big house or Brothel?"

"Big House of course but you can't make it happen so don't torment me."

I eased her up from her chair jammed a eight inch dildo against her anus and waited as she slowly and painfully subsided driving it inch by agonizing inch inside her.

"Don't doubt me" I told her, "If I want you to run my Manor House, be my fuck slut, and ride to hounds with your posh friends that is what you will do."

"You are getting off on this, aren't you?" she stated flatly.

I nodded and whipped my penis out and started wanking over her, "Yes," I admitted, do you hate me?"

"Yes." she agreed as the stream of creamy cum flew through the air to splatter her white jacket.

"Now, there is a problem because I love you, because you are my child's mother."  her stare of confusion was priceless.

I helped her to drink a glass of milk, holding it to her lips as she drank, she never tasted the sedative and soon she was sleeping peacefully.

I guess I never considered that she wouldn’t want the Manor house life because the plan was already set up to repatriate her, all I had to do was make a phone call to confirm the arrangements, I started to make her look respectable, then I made the call.

The Dildo was surprisingly difficult to remove, but I had her cleaned up when the Ambulance arrived, cleaned up and respectable with Jog pants and slippers, and then as they took her on the stretcher, I too left the building taking the hired truck I had loaded up earlier.

We stopped about thirty kilometers north of the city, a rough airstrip, just mud on the African plain but to the minute an old wartime Dakota landed and we were aboard in what seemed like seconds. We flew noisily and low to civilisation, and transferred to a chartered Lear jet configured for Medevac duties. I even wangled clearance to land at RAF Northolt instead of Heathrow because "My Wife" was traumatised by being captured and held to ransom by Gorillas.

From Northolt we travelled north, Victoria in an ambulance and me in a taxi towards Buckinghamshire and a rehabilitation unit or lunatic asylum to give it it’s original Victorian title.

It was a former Victorian vicarage, set in immaculate gardens tended by two full time gardeners, Lesbians, chosen so the did not impregnate the inmates and Victoria joined twenty other patients and she slowly settled in to a restful pattern of life, sedated most of the time.

I flew home to Harare leaving her in their capable hands.

I already had a substantial shareholding in the asylum so I gradually bought the other shareholders out to become sole owner and then I started to move the business to a new unit, a former country house hotel five miles away.

As the business was being wound up and as the nurses and patients drifted away, builders came and started to transform the building into a house again and soon Victoria was the only patient left together with a few nurses, working shifts to cover the 24 hours.

They gave her a refurbished room on the second floor, her things had reappeared, she was allowed out of her restraint jacket more and more and then one day she was told to move into the master bedroom. "Your Husband is coming to visit," she was told.

She looked radiant as I arrived, I spent a bloody fortune on a Saville Row suit to impress her, and she looked down from the steps under the portico, as I parked the Bentley.

"Hello darling" I greeted her,

She bounded down the steps like a gazelle.

"Hello, are you taking me away?" she asked hopefully, the months of sedation having dimmed her memory.

"Hardly, I just spent two Million doing the old dump up, I thought we could take a spin and look at some horses." I replied

She looked puzzled.

"You can't ride to hounds on a push bike." I pointed out.

She looked bewildered, "What?"

"You heard, and you did not ask about Jon,"

"Jon?" she asked.

"Our son."

"Oh".

She liked the Bentley, she had dreamed of a Bentley, a proper one, Like a re badged Rolls Royce, I knew she would just love it, she had expected to earn one as she worked her way through the Bank heirarchy, but she had earned it simply by marrying me, Oh and by walking through customs with about five million pounds worth of diamonds sewn into her restraint jacket.

We drove towards Newbury, I pulled over to the side of the road and told her to drive, she needed her confidence built up, ready to cut it down again, and she struggled to cope with the Bentley's power, I sneakily turned the Traction control back on before she killed us, and we cruised westwards, "That miles not Kilometers" I reminded her as she kept religiously to 100 mph, thinking it was 100 kph or 62 mph.

"Oh fuck" she replied and then I had he pull over as we approached the rolling Downland

"Do you like it?"

"Yes," she smiled, the sun glinting off her perfect dentures, I decided to get her mouth filled with some genuine fake teeth, it would be agony for her, but that was a bonus.

I held her hand, and said quietly. "You are a stupid bitch."

She looked wide eyed.

"You nearly fucked all this up. the house the cars" I continued as she stared. "I was systematically emptying all the safe deposit boxes of Mugabe's henchmen. I’ve already  shifted nearly a hundred million’s worth, mainly diamonds and gold, and as yet I have barely cashed in the tip of the iceberg, so if you turn me in, you lose everything,” I paused, “or you can enjoy all this."

Her eyes filled with greed "I don't know what to say," she admitted, she switched the motor off. shifted in the seat, and demanded. "Will you let me take the rings off my toes, and see if I can get some proper teeth implanted."

She seemed surprised when I just said "Fine."

"Oh," she said.

"It's all right, you will think of something else." I acknowledged.

"I want to see mummy and daddy," she added.

"It can be arranged," I agreed.

"No you are lying."

"No," I reiterated firmly, "now drive, we have horses to see."

She drove on, the confidence slowly returning.

The Sat Nav took us easily towards the narrow lane leading to the stables, a quadrangle of loose boxes, with an arched gateway stood to one side of an impressive modern farmhouse.

The gates were firmly closed, we could see the stables across a hundred yards of immaculate white gravel, I suppose I could have got out and opened the gate myself but I chose to hold the horn button down, a face appeared at an upstairs window, then a girl was sprinting across towards us.

"Sorry," she gasped between ragged breaths, "Should have been waiting." her eyes added "you lazy bastard."

"Steady." I advised Victoria as we crunched across the gravel, making the girl jog to keep up with us, her brown hair swaying in the breeze, and her breasts jiggling nicely.

The horse was nothing special, it looked nice, but the owners had realised it would never make the grade for "Events" as they called them, show jumping, dressage and cross country and so he was on sale, still a cool hundred thousand but then they paid quarter of a million for him, a year previously.

The owner appeared. "Oh my god it's Julian." Victoria exclaimed.

"Victoria, this is Julian Peters, we served together briefly."

"Charmed" he said looking straight through her, completely oblivious to the fact that he had fucked her and even offered marriage not so very long ago.

She shrank back. "Hello."

"And this is my wife Caroline." Peters indicated the breathless girl I had made run.

We wandered through the arch and along to the stable, most of the stalls were empty, but a noble black face peered out from one.

“And this is Eastwind Avenger.” Julian observed.

“He’s lovely!” Victoria said earnestly.

“Do you like him? you’ll have to muck him out and that sort of thing.”

She nodded.

“It’s a lot of money pumpkin, but if you want it you shall have it.”

“Yes!” she said excitedly and she turned and kissed me spontaneously, “I love you!”

Julian went green with envy as I handed over a bankers draft for the full amount, “Looks like we have a deal!” I said with no attempt to negotiate or beat the price down.

Victoria stared at me, "John," she said, "Where is little Jon, where is my baby?"

"In safe hands, Celia Duncan is looking after him," I assured her, "She's expensive but."

"You're screwing her." Victoria deduced, I smiled.

"John," she said, "Can we start again."

"No, lets just carry on," I suggested, "I own the house, I'll move in."

"John," she said, "I want another baby."

"Sure, as many as you like but," I cautioned, "Mine, ok?"

"Ok," she said, "There's some fresh straw in that stable."

"Oh yes," I agreed, "Shall we."

"Yes!" she agreed, and she sprinted for the stable door, "What are you waiting for!"

Part four

I’m afraid I got ahead of myself in part 3, racing ahead to the events in England where Victoria went though rehabilitation whereas in fact there were a number of loose ends to tie up back in Harare.  I shall back track and take up the story of Msala again.

It seemed Manser Smythe was interested in Msala for his Oomzakoolu wildlife reserve that is if she was still  lactating so I decided to send out for a breast pump, I sent little Mimi Alouette one of our counter clerks out to find one but when she returned empty handed I called her to my office.

She stood before my big Mahogany desk as I lounged in my big leather swivel chair.

"You are truly useless, here are your documents, you are fired." I told her.

She rounded on me, "No you cannot do this." she raged, "I went everywhere, there is no such thing in Harare."

"Admit it, you went shopping, those shoes are new." I challenged.

"Sorry, but it was five minutes, I promise it was only five minutes." she admitted.

"Then I am I not right to dismiss you ?" I queried.

"I was doing a personal errand for you, not company business. you could be dismissed too, if I complain."

I flicked the switch under my desk locking the office door.

Her thin blouse tore easily as I reached across the desk to her, then I lifted her small frame and swung her across the desk and sat her across my lap before popping her breasts from her bra.

She looked stunned.

"You tried to seduce me I think." I informed her, she was a tiny little mousy sort of thing, she looked so small, almost child like, "So take the rest of those rags off and get you fuck hole nice and moist for me." I pushed her away.

She started sobbing, "No not like this, I am a good girl."

"Virgin?" I asked, she nodded. she looked child like, malnourished I guessed as her papers said she was 18, but in Zimbabwe anyone could get papers saying they were 18 if they had something to trade.

"Can you stay overnight?" I asked, "because I think you might sill have a job tomorrow if you can."

"I have to sleep with you to keep my job?" she asked slowly and deliberately.

"Not sleep necessarily, but yes I want sex."

"I need the job, so yes, may I phone Mr Gerontimus who can tell my mother?"

I agreed and she used the phone and lied that she would be stocktaking.

I found her a spare jacket to cover her torn blouse but she said it was only a seam split and she would mend it.

I took her to my room as soon as the last of the day staff left around seven and she seemed surprised to find Msala there.

"Undress then," I ordered. Mimi undressed, and I rummaged around in the cupboards until I found what I needed, a medium size white towel, I motioned Mimi to come to me, she tried to cover her little breasts and her pubes with her hands but merely drew attention to the disgusting curly hair round her black snatch. She seemed totally confused when I wrapped the Towel around her like a Daiper and pinned it in place.

"Msala, you have a new baby, perhaps you will feed her?

"What," Mimi cried.  I explained she failed to find a pump so she must milk Msala herself.

I let them play, the embarrassment was plain but they soon they found a comfortable position and before long Mimi was slurping like a baby, a contented baby.

"Is it nice?" I asked.

"Mmm" Mimi answered before she remembered to scowl.

I went to room 604 and spent the evening melting down gold for my next project.

It was late when I returned and I ate a quick snack and headed for bed. A small warm body slithered in to join me.

"Msala says you are kind man but I must not betray you, she says she wishes she had been a better prostitute for you and says I should let you do whatever you want and ask you to take care of me."

"Climb on my prick then, I am hard already" I suggested, and in the darkness she fumbled and shuffled before she forced herself down onto me and became a woman.

The experience was not entirely satisfactory for either of us, so after a short rest I made her lie back on the bed so I could penetrate her properly, my weight crushing down on her pelvis and tormenting her clit. I hope I gave her a taste of proper lovemaking she could remember for all ways, it was better for me too, but still when I closed my eyes I still saw Victoria.

I decided Mimi would do for now, and in the morning we rose early and I carefully shaved her pubes with a tribal knife, she literally shook with fear but I barely even nicked her coarse black skin. I suggested she slip out at lunchtime and have herself waxed, and keep herself smooth if she did not like my knife.

She dressed in her uniform, she had repaired the seam perfectly and around eleven I took her to see her mother in the shanty town area, their shack was tidy, I said I wanted to buy Mimi as a slave, her mother was not happy but she named a price, I doubled it and she  agreed and I paid her on the spot.

I made Mimi take off her blouse and bra and said she must remain bare breasted from now on as she was my slave not an employee, then I watched as she gathered her possessions, I checked through them and threw out the blouses and underwear, leaving just her sexy party dress, a few odd bits and her collection of tapes and CDs and photographs.

I insisted she walk barefoot and that she wore no knickers, he mother looked so ashamed, her bank clerk daughter now a slave, and painfully Mimi followed me through the narrow lanes as the people looked on, Mimi the educated one now a slave.

I took her uniform, "Bank property" I told them but as we got away from the teeming shit hole of the shanty I handed her the blouse and jacket, and then her shoes.

"Get dressed I have plans for you" I told her.  She did not go out to get waxed at Lunchtime, she had to milk Msala, and at close of business she again scuttled away to Msala's breasts.

She padded back down the corridor looking very satisfied, licking her lips, and then she helped me with the close down and finally I asked her to lock up, I checked on her but she was very efficient.

Msala had made us a meal, something tribal with rice, but Mimi ate little and allowed Msala to finish her portion off, suddenly I realised she had been taking so much milk from Msala that she was no longer hungry, it all seemed rather kinky, Msala could hardly complain, and later on I found I could take Mimi from behind as she sucked from Msala's breasts, Mimi confessed she loved it.

"Do you want me to piss in my diaper?" she asked, I had forgotten about the towel but I nodded and she slipped it on.

She wandered about watching TV chasing Msala and trying to get to her tits again then she started crying. "Baby wet" she blubbed.

I am not sure whose fantasy I was acting out as I bathed and changed her, but it was nice to be intimate, and I left a small deposit of cream within her before I wrapped her in another towel. "I am the luckiest girl in Harare." she beamed.

I gave her the morning off, Msala and Mimi had a wax kit to play with and I wanted Mimi hairless below the chin, hairless and oiled.

She was back at Msala's breast when I called for her, I thought she would have to be ordered to suck but she was becoming addicted, I knelt  beside Mimi briefly and sampled Msala's spare breast, but I never did like milk much and it did nothing for me.

Mimi was all right but hardly my type so I let her drift back to Bank clerk mode, she looked good in designer lingerie, yellow/gold, red or blue against her black skin, stockings, suspenders, half cup bras, she must have felt like a clothes horse as I kept finding her sexy new things to wear, but it was fun, and it was not as if I did not have the money to finance our little bit of fun.

The weekend approached, I figured I could trust the staff, especially Mimi and I decided to accompany Msala to Manser Smythe's place and maybe shoot some game while I was there.

It was early morning when Msala left the bank for a final time, I made her wear western jeans and tee shirt, her breasts and nipples still ripe with milk strained the thin fabric as she climbed into the Landcruiser with Michele some bodyguards and myself and we set off out of the city into the countryside.

We had been traveling about fifty minutes when we rounded a bend and saw a crowd of blacks clustered at the roadside, A Black guy lay in the road, a War Veteran, I realised they had set a trap, so they could rob us, steal the car, and probably kill us if we stopped, Nicco my driver slowed.

"No," I cried, but he laughed and crashed down to second gear and gunned the motor.

Nbuko, his friend with the AK47, shouted, "Yes" as the wheels thundered over the prostrate body. "His head came right off." he shouted "Right off" they really hated Zanu and enjoyed their jobs.

We drove on and on until a sign to the Oomzakoolu  wildlife reserve attracted our attention, we took the impossibly rutted track to the dry river bed and bumped for half a mile across the rocks and tree roots before we rejoined the flat level dirt track on the far side of the seasonal river.

The wildlife sanctuary was like a throwback to colonial times, the bungalows all white painted wood with immaculate lawns, and an equally immaculate quadrangle of stables and cages for the animals.

Manser Smythe ran the animal sanctuary, like all Zimbabwean enterprises it had fallen on hard times. Manser was about seventy, an archetypal white haired expat, and he claimed to be Africa's leading expert on training exotic animals.

As donations had dried to a trickle and then finally stopped Manser had explored alternative income streams. and exploiting a niche in the market he developed  his bestiality roadshow, which brought in the currency to keep his conservation projects ticking along and he had jumped at the chance of giving Msala a trial, young fit attractive lactating black ladies with a loose stretched cunt were rare in a land where malnutrition reigned.

Manser greeted us and wasted no time showing us to the quadrangle, he showed us to the special stables with the raised roof where the Giraffe were kept, he showed us the giraffe saddle used in his show.

"Oh," Msala was speechless, as Manser showed her the Giraffe saddle.

A black leather phallus stood proud from what looked like a horse racing saddle.

"The Back slopes too much for an ordinary saddle so I invented this." he said proudly"

"W'what do you want me to do." she asked.

"Surely it's obvious?" Manser asked.

"No, not that surely?" she whined.

"You lock her onto it then fit the whole thing on the Zebra," I asked incredulously.

"Sure do." Manser agreed, "Can't tighten it up otherwise,"

I grabbed a pen and sketched something like a press stud fitting. "Why not this."

"Sure, but who's going to make it." Manser asked.

"If you have the tools I will make one," I offered.

We retired to Manser's workshop, large building behind a stable, big doors, big enough to get a truck inside, old dusty but really well equipped with blacksmith's forge,  welding gear, a Pillar drill and a couple of lathes driven by a line shafting from an anicent diesel engine, and in the store room behind a large pile of scrap, I found a suitable aluminum shaft straight away, a ball bearings, springs, everything I needed.

Manser was keen to get Msala installed, I tagged along as he introduced her to the native girls but they spoke little English and Msala did not speak their dialect, but she was to be a performer and soon he introduced her to the baby Gibbons she was to feed, and the new born tiger cubs, he badly needed tame tigers and breast feeding from a human was a very good starting point.

Msala seemed to like Manser, she let him dress her, he tried various costumes on her before we decided on a very short skirt over a basque and stockings with her bra less breasts supported by the boning of the basque alone.

She was still not my type but she looked sexy as hell, I could see Manser was aroused so I gave him some space, I fear she was too loose to give him much satisfaction but he looked relaxed and she satisfied when I returned, the splodge of cream on her basque revealed that her mouth had been most efficacious for his needs.

I made my way to the workshops after lunch, the sounds of the countryside and the lack of the city's smell and gunfire made a pleasant change for me as I started work.

I dismantled the saddle, and checked the expansion mechanism, It worked smoothly enough and by simply boring away the center to fit over the aluminum tube and boring in turn the tube to clear the adjusting screw it was clearly going to work,

I made a flange so the tube could be stitched to the saddle, to form a spigot, drilled holes for the spring loaded ball bearings assembled the, spigot tried it in the phallus and then it was time to fit the Phallus into, well into Msala.  Msala came to find me, she sat on the bench watching intently.

I wondered how to broach the subject of testing the Phallus but when I lifted it off the bench but she simply took it, wiped it clean and slid it within her, I cranked the hex key, she moaned and sighed but soon she was saying enough, I tried the spigot, moved it around, she squealed, I suspected a sharp edge but she was not complaining, she wanted more. I had started work on a spare spigot and Msala was waiting to try a second Phallus when I heard shouts from outside.

A dark episode was about to engulf us, an episode I shall not relate here, but for those with a strong constitution I have related it elsewhere in my memoir "Feeding Time."

After the excitement, I returned to find both spigot assemblies sewn neatly to their saddles I assumed they had been done by the nimble fingers of Manser's native girls but Msala told me she herself had done the stitching, and so all that remained was a live test.

Manser brought the Giraffe, he had already strapped the saddle round it so Msala just had to lower herself onto the spigot, except she could barely walk with the phallus inside her and it took two of us to lift her on and three natives to hold the Giraffe, but suddenly everything was engaged and the Giraffe started to walk around, surprised by his human rider but not surprised at the weight, Manser had trained him well, Msala gasped audibly as she realised that not only was she was not going to fall off but the ride was driving her wild.

She nodded. I helped take her stuff to the bungallow, things she thought I had thrown away, even a breast pump in case she wanted to continue the native contraception, although it seemed pretty ineffective.

I went to see her one last time before I departed for England, she smiled at me, "Thank you Mr Hanson," she said, "You are a true friend."

True friend, I thought I was the most sadistic evil theiving bastard that ever worked in a Bank, "I am safe now!" she said, "And I love the animals!"

I sort of grinned, "I'm glad," I lied but perhaps I meant it and then I bade farewell to Manser and the reserve and made my way back to the UK via Harare to my new life with Victoria and little Jon, and indeed to negotiate my peerage with Gordon, shall we call him Gordon White, half a million for party funds for a peerage, Baron, ah Oomzakoolu was suggested, but we found a compromise.

And then it was merely a case of honing my motor racing skill, but that, as they say, is another story

"Guns on the floor please." Manser demanded as Steve covered the thugs.  You remember my memoirs "As a Dodo" when I wrote about my time in Zimbabwe, when I rambled way off the story about torturing Victoria?

Well this is a bit gory, so I decided it was best to tell this tale or anecdote separately, I'm John Hanson by the way, I managed a bank in Harare for a while, before I came home to the UK, you may have seen me on TV racing the Aston Martin, or in the House of Lords, bloody good value that peerage only half a mill, thanks Gordon.

Sorry, back to the plot.

It was at Manser Smythe's place, back in Zimbabwe, sort of a game reserve, I had agreed to let Manser have my old native girl Msala when she started screwing the Janitor, I had made up this sort of vaginal mousetrap, I told her it was a contraceptive coil, but it's all in "As a Dodo."

Manser's place was way out on the plains, an immaculate little cluster of bungalows and stables cum cages among the trees by the river a short way from the river, accessed by the dry river bed in dry season, by speedboat if at all in the wet.

I was in the workshop when I heard a shout, Msala was lying on the bench as I checked my contraption, or is that "Cuntraption" fitted into her snatch easily when fully contracted, and I slipped it from her with an audible plop and wandered to the door.

I was making this fitting to hold her firmly in place on a saddle. I think you get the idea. up inside then it expands, I am sure you can see it in your minds eye.

A truck full of Mugabe's guerrillas "Gorillas" I called them, had arrived popping off AK47 clips like it was chinese new year.

Their truck was in a bad way, pouring water from a smashed radiator and juddering from a severely bent propshaft.

"We need new truck, we take yours." the lead thug announced.

Manser stood facing them, a white haired archetypal ex pat, the wrong side of seventy.

he faced down a thug half his age and twice his weight.

"Don't be hasty my friend. That is a fine English Bedford Truck, and fair exchange indeed for my Landcruiser, but, where is the fault."

"Are you blind, the whirling thing is Fukt and the water is steam." the thug explained patiently using technical jargon.

His companions stood round, occasionally frightening an animal with a burst of gunfire.

Manser called me. "Hanson, look at the truck, something is wrong, see if it can be fixed for our friends."

"Yes sir Mr Smythe sir." I answered deferentially. old Manser was protecting me, Zanu thugs liked to torment those in authority not servants.

It was not too bad, a rock had bent the rear propellor shaft and the bottom hose connection was torn from the radiator, but she sounded sweet enough so I figured a bit of work, and they could be on their way.

"Couple of hours sir" I suggested, "I'll work through, have dinner later."

The shaft came off easily enough and there was a forge In Mansers workshop so I got it good and hot and got a Gorilla to turn it as I smashed it back to shape with a sledge hammer, I had a rest and had a look at the water leak, the radiator came out easily enough and I soldered the bottom hose connection back on using the gas torch and refitted it..

"Got any Antifreeze?" I asked to ribald laughter. "It protects the water pump bearings." I protested, but they thought me completely mad so I just used river water.

They planned to kill us, steal anything worth stealing and move on but greed and the thought of their truck being fixed took their eyes off the ball, in fact it was not until I went to refit the propshaft and smashed the splined end into the Chief thugs eye socket as he stood watching me that they realised we knew what they had planned but by then it was a bit too late.

It is a funny sight a bursting eyeball, you really have to see it, splat, and as the great fool went down I guided  the propshaft so the 200 pounds, (90Kg) of steel already jammed in his eye socket squashed what little brain he had against his skull as his head hit the ground.  The rusty brain streaked spline exited the back of his head to pin him to the hard baked earth, then the falling shaft squashed his skull like an egg.

His lights went out pretty much instantly, almost no blood flowed the heart must have stopped instantly

"Guns on the floor please." Manser demanded, as he pointed to Steve high above aiming his gun at them.

There was a stunned silence, I pulled the shaft out of the mans head and wiped the end clean.

Steve Akimboso stood on the balcony of the clock tower building with a pistol in one hand and the tranquilliser dart gun in the other. Manser's native number two Steve had kept a watching brief in the clock tower and emerged quietly on to the balcony as I took out the thug.

Ten leaderless thugs stood around, I figured why the tribal loin cloth was such a good clothing choice, as the brown stains appeared in a couple of thugs pants as they shit themselves.

"Just stay still Gentlemen, if you please," Steve advised in the cultured tones he had absorbed from Eton and Cambridge University.

An Ak47 spluttered, sending a row of holes across the clock tower. a second thug grabbed the barrel "No" he cried as the gunman looked puzzled then as blood oozed from the small new hole in his forehead the gunman sank slowly to the ground.

Manser returned his smoking pistol to his underarm holster.

"Guns on the floor please." Manser again demanded as Steve covered the thugs.

"Check the Truck Hanson." Manser ordered keeping in character.

I did a quick recce of the truck, I found several AK 47s some pistols and several cases of Ammunition, which I laid on the ground before I drove the truck across to the far side of the buildings, being a four wheel drive it did not matter that the rear prop shaft was disconnected on this level ground, as long as I selected the centre differential lock.

"Ah if you would care to step up into the lorry if you please," Manser asked them politely.

They climbed back into their truck the low sides offering little protection while the canvas to cover the framework of metal ribs over the load bed was torn and useless.

Their leader lay still and nearby the gunman lay face down in the dust..

A row of interested black faces now peered from almost every window, Manser gave orders and natives appeared, soon one by one the Thugs were taken from the truck and tied securely hands and feet. then carried to a spare cage. iin stable number three, they peered through the bars like a pride of gibbons, their frightened black faces a stark contrast to their earlier bravado.

Manser selected two particularly truculent Thugs and ordered their feet untied.

"Your Leader lies dead, we must see to him." Manser explained, but if they expected a civilised burial then they had no concept of Manser's personality.

Manser's friends Harry and Jennifer Wainwright were keeping a low profile throughout the incident and Manser invited them to see the show.

Harry was around fifty, white but suntanned mid brown, fat, lazy, overeducated, while Jennifer was slightly younger, white from keeping indoors and using a parasol, or wide hat, still slim, not pretty but pleasant for all that. She carried a Winchester Carbine as if she knew how to use it, her khaki shirt and shorts contrasting with her pink knees, she looked at me with interest. I guess I reciprocated because I had not fucked a white woman for months, and the prospect was not unwelcome.

We climbed into Manser's old Land-Rover and as soon as the thugs had placed their leaders lifeless body on the tailboard we set off, initially at below walking speed the old machine ticking like sewing machine in its low range low gear as we crossed the boulder strewn track.  The track led to a fork Manser shouted "Right" and we set off towards the river. The Thugs jogged along in front of us, Manser keeping scant inches behind their flashing heels, the thugs aimless lifestyle took its toll, they sweated under the unaccustomed exertions but soon the river came in sight.

Well it was called a "River" but in this dry season barely a trickle of water sparkled among the rocks but as we followed the bank the dilapidated fishing lodge and the wood and iron jetty of the fishing hole came in sight, and below the jetty's spindly legs the cool inviting water of the fishing hole.

Fishing hole, a geological freak, twenty feet deep even in drought, an oasis where every living thing had to risk life and limb to drink in the heat of the dry season, and the predators queued up to dine on the thirsty meals who came to them.

Snakes, poisoned and constrictors, Cats, all sizes Lion downwards, Crocodiles, while the bleached white bones gave clues as to the meals enjoyed antelope seemed to predominate but the monkey skeletons looked horribly human laying a sense of fear over our party.

Everything was still, complete silence just the ticking of the engine cooling down, yet we could feel those thousands of eyes watching

"Take him to the end of the Jetty." Manser ordered.

"I fort we bury him" the smaller thug challenged.

"No, along the jetty please." Manser suggested.

They carried their friend slowly to the spindly jetty then cautiously walked to the end, faint ripples broke the surface of the water then the croc's eyes could be seen,

Jennifer was intrigued, "I say is that a crocodile,"

"Yes best place for crocs for miles" agreed Manser, "Hundreds of them"

"Toss him in" shouted Manser.

They stood like dummies. "Bloody shoot them then"

Jennifer was a wonderful shot, with her short barrelled carbine she got a red stain spreading from one thugs crotch and the other one shot in the kneecap with single shots, the leg slowly buckled and the thug tipped into the water, suddenly the water boiled, crocs swimming furiously towards their meal and then horrifyingly the water turned a frothy pink stained with blood.

"Push him in there's a good chap." Manser suggested sending a bullet vaguely it the direction of the Jetty.  The wounded thug eased the body over the edge and the water again boiled into a swirling malestrom as the crocs challenged for their meal.

The remaining thug knelt traumatised, facing death, was he praying?  Manser invited Jennifer to try a headshot, the Carbine barked and the thug threw his arms wide and toppled into the seething mass of scales and teeth as the crocs fought over his friend.

"Yes," she said punching the air indecorously.

Death must have been instantaneous but we watched until the waters stilled and peace returned to this little oasis of the parched plain before setting off back to the stables.

"Did you enjoy that Jennifer?" Manser asked. she nodded.

"You disgust me," Harry muttered.

"I imagined it was you dear." she replied.

The eight remaining thugs were a motley bunch, one lad looked about fourteen, he had not even stated shaving yet while mostly they were late teens and one old guy, probably thirty, toothless, scarred.

They looked hopefully.  "They know where we are, the army will come" the old guy insisted plaintively.

"He may be right."

Night was falling, the dinner bell clanged and we went to dress for dinner, I heard distant arguments from the Wainwright's tent.  They were still arguing when they arrived in Manser's Dining room.

Jennifer's black dress left nothing to the imagination, deep cleavage which barely covered her nipples, and split sides revealing flashes of  her hips and showing she could not be wearing panties or bra.

"Its thirty years too young for you, you silly bitch." he finally blurted out.

"Its beautiful, I gave my Fiancée one somewhat like it once" I admitted.

"Then you know my secret" Jennifer smiled,

"I think so" I smiled, the secret was the knickers and a rudimentary bra were sewn in to the dress, she was properly attired, but appeared to be a slut without underwear.

Over dinner we discussed Mugabe, the Lions the weather and the possibility of more soldiers arriving, "I think we have rendered this lot Harmless" mentioned Manser.

It must have been the wine, "Armless, yes" Harry nodded.

"Completely Armless" I muttered, I doodled on on napkin Harry Wainwright peered at my drawing.

"Bloody hell Hanson," Harry exploded, "You are sick." but Jennifer's eyes shone with excitement.

I rather rushed the sweet ,and the coffee and biscuits and excused myself to head for Mansers workshop were I quickly found a thin mild steel plate, I bent the edges over to give some strength and welded the corners then burned an arm size hole in it and without setting the gas torch down I welded a yard long steel tube on ending in a down angle with a hook at the end. so the hook was central with the axis of the hole.

I heard a faint rustle behind me and went for my gun but then the soft voice and scent revealed it was Mrs Wainwright, She put her arm through the hole and allowed me to attach a manacle to her wrist.

"You have me at your mercy Mr Hanson." she simpered.

She looked incongruous, with the sheet against her side so I gently bit her arm she wailed. "Yes" imagining the pain of an animal slicing her limb off.

I moved to her leg gently biting her thigh then I quickly released her arm and placed the steel sheet on the floor.

I slid the dress from her shoulders, helping her to step out of it and then sat her on the bench so I could get at the soft flesh of her belly, licking, biting, exciting her, my erection strained painfully, trapped in the leg of my safari shorts but Jennifer released me and guided me within her where I put out her fire with my cum.

She seemed tired but happy and satisfied. "Age catches up with you eventually," she confessed breathlessly.

"Thank you" I said sincerely as I helped her dress.

We fed the Lions next morning, one at a time, the Thugs did not realise what the steel sheet with its arm did until it was too late.

We fed Zimba first, Manser had reared him from a cub, a magnificent specimen and highly intelligent, With the plate and metal arm holding his arm out straight Steve and I manoevered the Thug against the bars of the cage, his arm sticking invitingly into the cage, held by the manacle, Zimba circled cautiously, "Turn the plate so the arm thing is behind, let him get a bite,"

We could smell the fear, or had he shit himself, but with his ankles roped by a short belt and free hand tied to his thigh the Thug was unable to resist, the fear complete yet te shock of the first bite absolute, Zimba took a firm hold and tore at the limb confuced at his ridgidity then he worked it out and severed the hand at the wrist before taking a firm grip and wrenching the limb free from the shoulder.

We let the guy collapse to the ground blood oozed into the ground, then Zimba came across for more food,  we reversed the plate so the arm passed behind the guy's back and raised him so his arm dangled through the bars, Jennifer found some smelling salts and he came round as Zimba grabbed his remaining arm and wrenched it off to eat in the privacy of the back of the cage.

We fed a few more lions, an arm or two was really an aperitif for them, and then we threw the armless bodies on to the truck.

The sense of fear was overwhelming, these guys whose friends tortured and killed white farmers with impunity were not so keen on being the recipients of torture.

I had a look at the truck, It had a steel roof over the cab, which was a nuisance so I set to and unbolted it, leaving the driving seat open to the sky, I threw the roof section and the propshaft in the lorry bed and then we let the prisoners go, except one, a youngster, he looked terrified, smooth skinned, a child, perhaps he could be spared?

I grabbed his arm and pulled him away, his shirt pulled against his chest and I thought his breasts were unduly pronounced, tears streamed down his cheek. he spoke in a high pitched tribal dialect, he smelled funny, feminine, I realised the he was in fact a girl, and whisked down her shorts and underpants to reveal her sex, I made her strip, she was underdeveloped, under nourished or was it just young.

"Put her in the Baboon cage," ordered Manser and Steve led her away.

The Lions gathered around the wire mesh gates of the outer perimeter fence, hungry yet tantalised by their snacks of limbs, the smell of blood attracted them as Steve opened the gates and the truck lumbered steadily through the gates with its cargo of dead dying and scared War Veterans.

They thought it was misplaced compassion that led us to release them but without its four wheel drive in working order the lorry had no chance of crossing the dry river bed and the Lions were already following.

We gave them about an hour head start and set off in a pair of Landcruisers, the show was all but over, when we arrived, Lions clustered around the Bedford truck we counted the bodies, accounted for all the thugs and watched the magnificent beasts feeding for a while.

It did not matter now if the soldiers came, the story was written in bones and scrap metal, the truck had stalled and the guys were overwhelmed, perhaps the missing guns would have caused questions to be asked so we returned them, after heating and subtly bending each one to make it not only useless but lethal to it’s user.

I don’t think anyone ever did find them, they may well still be there, at least the truck may be.