Chapter 1
Tanya had never heard of Dingara. Few people had. The small republic near Nigeria
did not encourage tourists but its frontiers, apart from where they crossed the main roads
were not defined and since Tanya was on a walking holiday through north western Africa,
she had no idea she had strayed over its borders and that she was now subject to the whims
of the worst dictator since Idi Amin—at least to foreigners.
Its people were largely agricultural and lived in hamlets and villages and the
ruler, one Jean Busumotu, left them alone as long as they paid their taxes, behaved
themselves and didn’t stray into his capital. The tribal chiefs ran things at the local
level and for the most part, did it adequately. The one thing President Busumotu insisted
upon was that any foreigners found without permission outside the capital be immediately
apprehended and handed over to his area police chief, who, in turn, would send them up to
the capital for interrogation. The President-for-life had a real paranoia about spies and
foreign takeovers and he wished to interrogate any ‘spies’ personally.
He also delighted in women, particularly exotic women: foreigners, white women of
various shades; Eastern girls: particularly Japanese and Thais. His wife was of his own
race and tribe but his harem, ruled over rigidly by her, was exclusively foreign. He had
a voracious widely ranging sexual appetite and while he normally restricted himself to his
wife, his harem and any beautiful female ‘spies’, he wasn’t averse to violating the
backsides of any good-looking and youthful males who came his way either.
His delight in women was matched only by his pleasure in torturing the ‘spies’ who
strayed into his clutches. These were of both sexes and it was all the same to President
Busumotu. If the ‘spy’ was old or ugly, he didn’t waste much time on them, but if they
happened to be young and handsome or pretty as the case may be, then the poor fool could
expect many days of agony.
This was the scenario into which Tanya Roberts strayed without even realising it.
Had she researched that part of Africa better, she might have come across the references
to Dingara and the warnings to stay well clear of it. As it was, she had glossed over
much of the reading matter she had acquired when securing her visas and had therefore
missed all such references ...
She was a beautiful girl. Just 19, blonde, with shining, silky fine hair; smiling
deep blue eyes and skin that was pure honey. Her body was svelte and lithe since she
spent a lot of time at her chosen sport: athletics. It could, in fact, almost be
described as muscular and when she appeared in the tiny bikinis that hid almost nothing,
eyes turned to stare at the slender waist, the flat but well-defined belly; the curvaceous
but muscular legs and fine calves. Her breasts were not full but they were well-shaped
and creamy-smooth—as was all of her body. Her shoulders were a trifle too muscular for
her to be a model but many men were most attracted to her shape.
She was a professional trainer at her local gym and she delighted in her work.
She had been on this holiday with Mandy. But then, after only a week into the
planned six week walking tour, Mandy had received a telegram that her mother was seriously
ill. She had insisted on Tanya staying on, saying she would get back if possible and meet
up with Tanya later. Tanya hadn’t wanted to go on with the tour, feeling her duty was to
be with her friend but Mandy had been most emphatic and so she had reluctantly remained in
Africa—which was how she had come to stray, quite alone, over the unmarked border into
Dingara.
When she was arrested by the villagers she hadn’t been able to make herself
understood. Few tribesmen spoke any language other than their own. There was no lingua
franca here or pidgin-English here. The tall, beautifully muscled tribesmen looked her up
and down appreciatively, grinning to each other and pointing out her athletic body and
even grabbing at her breasts, buttocks and thighs from time to time as they marched her to
their chief. She was wearing what was considered a fairly normal walking outfit: boots
and socks, rather too short shorts and only a very brief bikini top over her breasts as
well as a cloth walking hat.
The chief wasted no time in handing her over to the area police officer who in turn
took her up to the capital himself. It paid to keep in with President Busumotu. Rapid
promotion sometimes followed for those who assisted the dictator in apprehending spies.
On the other side, if you procrastinated, you were not only out of a job; you sometimes
faced a most unpleasant death.
She was handed over to the police chief who locked her in the cells and reported the
latest arrest to his boss forthwith. Busumotu was presiding over a cabinet meeting but as
soon as his aide whispered the police chief’s news in his ear, his eyes brightened and he
announced that the meeting was adjourned.
The presidential complex in the capital was a Kremlin-like compound surrounded by
high walls and inaccessible to all except those with business inside—and it had better be
important business. Most citizens kept well away from the huge steel gates at the ornate
front entrance. The police building was quite near the presidential palace and had
perfectly adequate interrogation cells in the cellars but the president was not content
with that. He had had the cellars of his own palace converted to holding and
interrogation cells for ‘spies’ and political prisoners and it had been a labour of love.
With his delight in giving pain, he had acquired many books on the subject and he was also
quite ingenious when it came to gadgetry.
The chief had therefore had Tanya taken straight to the palace. She had been
unceremoniously locked into a cell in the basement and there left to contemplate her fate.
She looked around her, very worried, but still not clear as to where she was or why the
so handsome and beautifully muscled warriors had arrested her and brought here.
President John Busumotu lost no time in descending into the favourite part of his
palace, looking with delight around the clean corridors and itemising in his mind what was
behind each of the steel doors on either side. He settled himself in the interview room
and gestured for the prisoner to be brought to him. She was brought in between two of his
personal guards. This body was comprised of the best the army had to offer and each man
was tall, handsome and among the best built physiques in the land.
They let her go as soon as they had her standing against the front of the desk while
the president looked her up and down with interest. He liked what he saw. The
outstanding physique—he certainly was among those who preferred a girl to be athletic if
not downright muscular, the pretty face and the honey-gold, flawless skin. If he was
appalled at her rather too brief clothing for this part of Africa, he didn’t show it. In
fact he very much approved it in this case since it showed off her well built thighs and
shoulders, and her lean flat belly to a tee.
“So, you are a spy?” he said.
She shook her head, looking utterly horrified at such a bizarre suggestion. “Oh no!
I’m a tourist. I’m on a walking holiday through Africa,” she replied, as if this
explained everything.
“I don’t believe you. You are a spy working for the British government …?”
“I’m not!” she said spiritedly. “Look at my passport.”
“I have,” he said, flicking the document aside as if it could cover anything—which
of course it could. “It proves nothing.”
“But I am a personal trainer. I work at a gym in London. Look at my address book.
It shows my friends are all physical fitness fanatics. They all attend my gym …”
“It proves nothing. I wish to know which department of the secret service you work
for and what you have been sent here to find out.”
“I’m not a spy,” she cried, beginning to get desperate now.
“As I said, I don’t believe you. One more chance …”
“I’m not a spy,” she repeated, forlornly and uselessly. “I’m not a spy!”
He smiled. “Very well, we must use more persuasive tactics … Strip her!”
Now it was the turn of his men to smile. They did, turning in on her and while one
ripped the brief bikini top off her breasts, the other dragged her shorts and panties down
off her hips. His partner held her tight while he removed her boots and socks and then
the shorts and panties. She was now naked, her clothes on the desk in front of the
president. The two guards held her tight by her upper arms.
The president looked up and down her stark naked form with obvious approval. A
perfect body, in his view and most men would have agreed with him. Lean and lithe, her
skin smooth and tanned (except for a small triangle at her loins and even smaller areas
over the middle of her two smallish breasts) she was a picture of loveliness.
He stared at her body for long minutes while she stood between the two tall and
powerful black men and cried softly. The president smiled as he ogled her nakedness but
then turned his attention to her clothes. “Let’s see what we can find here,” he said, and
taking out his penknife, began slitting them open, as if looking for codes or some other
evidence of her espionage. When the bra, shorts, panties and socks were in tatters, he
took her backpack and, emptying it out onto the desk, went through the rest of her clothes
in the same manner until there wasn’t a single item capable of being worn.
Tanya watched all this in fear and resignation, occasionally snuffling in her misery
as she watched the last of her clothing being torn and cut to shreds. When he had
finished, the whole kit and caboodle was consigned to the waste paper basket, together
with the rucksack and her documents (including her passport) which had all been torn into
small pieces. She now possessed nothing in the world and no identity.
He leaned back in his chair and again allowed his black eyes to wander up and down
her lithe form. “Still nothing to say, my little spy?”
“I am not a spy. My name is Tanya Roberts. I am a physical training consultant at
Leeds Gym in London. I have never worked for the government.”
“So you say. Unfortunately for you, I don’t believe you …” He turned to his men.
“Bring her to be prepared for interrogation.”
The two men wheeled her about and out of the room and down the passage to a room in
which the far wall boasted two large and ominous-looking hooks. These were made of
gleaming steel rods an inch thick, projecting out of the wall for twelve inches then
curving up vertically for another twelve. They were about three feet apart and were set
up from the floor about four feet apart. Above them, also affixed to the wall but set
considerably wider apart, dangled chains with steel manacles on the ends.
Tanya was led straight up to the wall, turned about and her thighs hoisted up and
over the hooks. This left her spread wide apart and quite horizontal with her legs
dangling below them. The strain on her groin was horrible; so was the huge hand of one of
the guards, pressed against her breasts to keep her back to the wall while his mate went
for a small step-ladder which he put in place, climbed up and took her hand and fastened
first the one and then the other of their wrists into the manacles. To prevent her
lifting her legs off the hooks, they now took more chains, each with a manacle on one end
and a huge weight on the other, and locked them around her ankles.
President Busumotu moved up now and let his hands stray all over her beautiful
flesh, savouring the velvet-smooth skin and the warm muscles beneath it. He squeezed her
firm breasts and stroked the flat, muscular belly. “Good, firm flesh,” he murmured,
staring into her blue eyes. “It would be a pity to spoil it, wouldn’t it?”
She didn’t comment. Her face was a misery, her eyes wet with tears. She felt
totally ashamed now that her vagina was so flagrantly exposed to these three men, all of
whom quite openly and unashamedly ogled her lovely body and two of whom sported massive
erections which were clearly apparent through the thin material of the army uniform
trousers. The president smiled at her misery and now let his hand wander down to her
loins, cupping the pubic mound in his huge hand. Her pubic hair was as soft and silky as
that on her head but the president appeared to dislike it.
He pulled his hand away as if stung and then pointed down to the silky bush. “Pluck
it,” he said slowly, grinning into her eyes as he enunciated the fateful words.
The two guards first stripped off their uniform blouses and Tanya gasped as their
youthful upper bodies were revealed to her. If she had thought the tribesmen (who still
for the most part wore only loin-cloths) were well-built, then these two men far surpassed
them. Each had boulder-like and very pronounced shoulder muscles; a column-like neck;
broad, smooth chests whose two parts were cleanly separated by a sharp cleavage; very lean
waists with belly muscles that seemed to leap out at her; and arm muscles that were
beautifully defined. One of them went over to a cupboard for the tweezers while the
president explained:
“You may be wondering why I am having you depilated?”
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