Lilith Taylor gave her flight-attendant colleague a cunning smile of
reassuring sympathy, for the arrogant she knew only too well how to deal with
the supposed African troublemaker.
BA flight 088 to Kansas City was barely forty minutes in the air and
already some black bastard had had the effrontery to complain about a few tiny
brats from the back of the aircraft making their screaming way up to invade the
precious sanctuary of the first class lounge.
She’d made a quick appraisal of the irate passenger and concluded he was
a Nobody, so she decided to be insufferably cool with the upstart.
‘Now, my love ─ you cannot monopolise my time with trivia─’
Mkomo couldn’t believe his ears.
‘I beg your p─’
‘Hate children, do we?’ She sneered down her aquiline nose at him and
made sure to give him a good eyeful of her ample cleavage.
Love to get to get your wog’s hands on these, wouldn’t you?
‘What did you just─?’
‘Now, now ─ I’ll have to ask you to control yourself ─
otherwise I’ll be forced to report the incident to the flight crew─’
What fucking incident?
‘─ and we all know where that might lead, don’t we? Now, do you
really want to spend the rest of the flight in handcuffs to be met by the
Kansas City police on touchdown?’
Her delicate nostrils flared with joy as she felt the growing explosive
heat of his anger. How she just loved to
drive innocent male passengers to the brink of raging insanity!
Daniel Mkomo ground his teeth in helpless
rage. One word from her ─ especially in these troubled times ─ and
he knew he could find himself in serious trouble. And she clearly revelled in
her power to abuse her authority ─ the fucking little ─
So he did nothing. He swallowed the unimaginable insult to his person
and endured the rest of the flight in furious silence but he made sure he
memorised the name tag pinned to her uniform.
That information would be handed to his kidnap team ─ He made
himself a blood-curdling vow that in the very near future, the insufferable
little bitch would find herself oh-so-nude and utterly helpless in a distant
cell within the walls of his personal harem ─ and then she’d be singing
him a far, far different tune.
Lilith turned in a cloud of expensive duty-free perfume and made her way
back to the front of the cabin, her lush buttocks swing seductively from side
to side. She gave her admiring colleague a wink with one eye.
‘That’s how it’s done!’ she cried and the two girls began to snigger...
Albert Denton poured himself another hefty swig of Courvoisier and
continued scouring the adult channels in the vain hope of finding something
that might actually turn him on.
Hetero, lesbo, oral and anal, group sex, shaggy dog shagging, fake
schoolgirls, inter-racial gangbangs, voyeur shower scenes, solo-girl frigging,
squealing sybian masturbators, mother and daughter
dildo lessons and glory-hole cock-suckers and
None of it worked.
Not after the harem.
His cock wasn’t having any of it ─ so he raised a weary eye to look about the penthouse instead.
The ultimate in luxury ─ Open-plan, state-of-the-art exclusivity
right here in the heart of London’s Knightsbridge.
How many three-grand-a-night call girls had he brought back here?
Russian birds.
Drop-dead, fucking gorgeous.
Six?
A dozen?
Same bleeding difference.
Couldn’t get it up, could he?
No wonder ─ after all, what could possibly compare with the real
live rape of three nubile teenage slave girls or the beating and forced fucking
of an utterly nude and helpless Philippa De Winter?
Man, imagine being let loose for another bout of Texas Hold’em with those simpering, cowering Lone Star triplets!
So, Albert, me old son ─ there were some things that money
couldn’t buy after all.
And money he had ─ in spades.
Or should he say buckets.
Fuck-snakes!
When he opened that safety deposit box in Zurich and saw all those
unbelievable piles of hard cash ─
Jesus!
All 223,000 of it ─ in Pounds and
Dollars and Euros ─
Philippa De Winter
─ you sly little fox!
And of course, he’d gone apeshit for the first
couple of months, hadn’t he?
Spend, spend, spend ─ like there was no bleeding tomorrow ─
Piss-ups and nosh-ups and the best of threads and a Merc
convertible downstairs in his private parking space and some serious bling to
flash in the boozers ─
But all that soon palled. He was still on his Jack Jones with absolutely
no interest in the gold digging little whores that miraculously began to appear
about him.
What was he? Born fucking yesterday?
All lovey-dovey and trying to give him that load of old romantic
bollocks ─ But he knew the score ─ Anyway, where were they when he
needed them?
Nah, they were only sniffing after his money.
OK ─ he got a couple of blowjobs out of them before he showed them
the road and he half-got off on the looks of outrage on their mean little
faces, but nothing really satisfied.
Nothing in his poor head but the relentless longing to get himself
somehow back in again through the gates of a far away
African paradise.
Lungara, in the land of the leopard.
Daniel Mkomo could have the penthouse
and the money.
Gratis.
Anything he wanted ─ Why, Denton would happily spend the rest of
his natural cleaning the harem latrines just for the chance to get his aching
cock back into Philippa De Winter.
And what about those three blonde cheerleader sisters!
Ah, for fuck-sakes ─ he’d pay the leopard for the freedom
to help himself again to a daily triple dose of that delectable teenage Texas
totty ─ to feel his throbbing prick buried up to the hilt in those
delicious hairless slots and mouths and squeaky-clean assholes ─
Arrgh!
It was driving him fucking crazy!
He still had one tenuous link left to hump-heaven, though.
He’d been savvy enough to keep the original invite to Mkomo’s pussy-palace with its now precious phone number,
for he knew the leopard retained a legal brief in every major city in the world
─ so down he’d gone to Lincoln’s Inn with his heart in his mouth, wondering
how he was going to tell the lawyer what he was really after ─ but he
needn’t have bothered. The highbrow copped it on straight away.
Denton had sat there with his face on fire, certain the bastard was
laughing at him on the inside, but on the outside the bloodsucker acted like it
was nothing more than a request for a holiday visa.
He promised Denton that he’d pass on the message, but more than that he
couldn’t give the suffering man.
‘Sorry old chap, but it’s simply not possible for me to speed your
request. I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait. I will of course contact you when
─ er ─ if I hear something.’
And that had been that.
Three months later ─ and still nothing.
Maybe Mkomo wanted shot of him. Maybe the
geezer felt that he’d paid him off for the fracas in London and Denton knew the
African had done more than enough for him by handing him De Winter’s money and
her property on a silver plate.
Fucking hell, Albert, but you’ve got some front trying worm your way
back into the harem ─after all Mkomo has done
for you! What more do you want, for
fuck’s snakes?
What more?
Cunt!
That’s what.
Snatch
Cooze
Twat
Pussy
That’s what he really wanted.