An insistent pounding at her front door awakened Andrea early that fateful morning.
She had been staying at her father’s villa in the suburbs while her husband was away. One
of the last places in Africa where the whites still ruled, the enclave was under constant
pressure, and there were rumors that its defenses were nearing collapse. The white
populous was on edge. News of the military situation had been mostly bad for weeks, until
the past few days when the reports had stopped altogether. Andrea however, had always
tried to keep the wider anxieties of the war at arm’s distance. After all, her father was
a leading general who had great confidence in the bravery and competence of white
soldiers- and there was enough to worry about with her beloved husband an officer on the
front lines.
Andrea stumbled in the pre-dawn darkness. Except for the incessant pounding the
big, luxurious house was quiet, even peaceful in the warm African night.
Her younger sister Cecelia was still apparently asleep as she passed the girl’s
bedroom, so Andrea donned a robe and hurried to the entryway, wondering who it could
possibly be at such an hour.
“For God’s sake Andrea, let me in!” someone shouted desperately outside the thick
wooden door.
She recognized the voice and turned the lock immediately, but gasped in shock and
amazement when the door was opened and her husband stood before her in a soiled uniform,
blood streaming from a gash in his head.
“Jeff! My God, what’s happened?”
“The army has collapsed,” he said. “We’re falling back into the city.”
“Come in… here, let me help you,” said Andrea, aghast at seeing the blood.
“No. It’s all right,” he said. “It’s just a scratch.” He came into the house and
she led him to the kitchen, seizing some alcohol and gauze from one of the drawers.
“Where’s Cecelia?” he asked.
“Sleeping.”
“Better get her up,” he said. “We need to prepare.”
“Prepare for what?” she asked. She was frightened by the agitation in her normally
confident husband, but she was still unprepared for the news.
“Andrea, I’m sorry, your father has been killed. We fought hard but their numbers
overwhelmed us. Colonel Smithson is in command now and he is negotiating surrender. This
enclave will be under the control of the blacks by noon.”
“Oh my God,” said a voice at the doorway. Cecelia had arisen to see what the
commotion was and had just stepped into the room. “You mean the Negroes are here? Now?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” said Jeff. “I don’t know what they’re going to do, but you
ladies had best get dressed and get some things together, in case they come to collect
us.”
“Collect us?” asked Cecelia, her breath catching in her throat.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m sure they will register the population when they occupy the
city.”
“When is father coming back?” she fretted. “He’ll know what to do.”
“Cecelia,” said Andrea softly. “Father is dead.”
The younger girl’s eyes widened in horror and disbelief. For a second, Andrea was
afraid that she would faint. But she was able to sit down.
“No,” she said. “Oh noooo.”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t break the news to you under better conditions,” said Jeff.
Cecelia looked up at them, crying now. “So… so the Negroes have won?”
Andrea looked to her husband, who turned away.
“Yes,” he said with a choked voice.
The women shuddered, their faces pale with horror. Cecelia began to weep softly,
“What’s going to happen to us now?”
***
News of the impending surrender spread through the enclave like wildfire and was
greeted with an ironic mixture of despair, panic and relief. Whites in the coastal city
were still comfortable and affluent, trading with the remnants of Caucasian nations in
America and Europe. Their Western institutions were intact and they were deeply proud of
their culture and heritage. But after nearly ten years of war the population desperately
wanted the conflict to end. Now that the end was at hand, however, the specter of failure,
and surrender to the blacks brought an uncertainty that fostered fear.
While they were at war, the objectives had been well defined and the cause they
fought for was clear; resisting a hated enemy and maintaining the trappings of
self-evident white superiority. Now that the war had ended in defeat, they would be at the
mercy of an enemy they considered racially inferior. No one really knew what sort of
treatment they could expect at the hands of their conquerors- those they had dominated for
centuries.
Andrea, Cecelia, and Jeff waited anxiously all morning for news and official
information. The morning paper had not come. They watched the television and listened to
the radio, but aside from reporting the news of the surrender, those channels had little
more to report.
Jeff phoned around to friends and exchanged bits of information, but no one seemed
to know any more than they did. The white army had disintegrated and individual soldiers
were streaming back into the city in a disorganized rout- back to their homes and
families. The television reports did show many thousands of white residents fleeing in
panic to the waterfront, but the ships had withdrawn fearing capture themselves. Shortly
after noon, the broadcasters went off the air one by one in quick succession, and they
were left guessing as to what to do. The best course of action seemed to be to sit tight
and be patient.
Both women engaged in nervous conversation, while Jeff tried to make contact with
someone on the military short-wave frequencies.
“Father said the stories of black atrocities are merely war propaganda,” said
Cecelia. “And Mr. Pratt, at the school, says at worst we will have to move to Europe. He
says the blacks have a right to be mad at us for all the years we’ve exploited them. But
he says they will treat us well if they win because they want the white man’s ingenuity.
He says they know we can teach them how to run their society and economy. They need our
expertise…”
Andrea could sense the fear in her younger sister’s ramblings. The sixteen-year-old
had always been her father’s daughter, sheltered and eager to please. What effect their
father’s death would have on her was unclear, but Andrea was concerned. There was
something fragile and malleable about the girl who was so innocent and chaste of spirit,
and Andrea felt the need to try and reassure her.
“Surely the bad stories can’t be true,” said Andrea, as her husband returned to the
room. His effort to glean something useful from the radio had been in vain.
“I’m sure their people are told the same stories about us,” continued Andrea. “Now
that the war is over, the black government will want to rebuild. Your teacher is right.
They will need our help, so I’m sure we will be treated well.”
Jeff nodded, but Andrea could tell by his eyes that he was unsure himself just what
to believe of the horror stories of abuse and slavery. The war between the races had been
fierce and total, and little was known in recent years about black African society or
economy. Nothing except that their army grew ever stronger. He had not been privy to the
scant military intelligence available to the white army, but he did know that with the
fall of this last stronghold, there was no longer a viable white government anywhere in
Africa. Indeed white populations were being encircled and overrun even in the remotest
corners of the continent. There was absolutely nothing to stop the blacks from doing
whatever they wanted with their captives.
He looked at his wife and sister-in-law. Andrea with her light brown hair and hazel
eyes, Cecelia honey blond and gray eyed. Both women had gloriously lithe figures and
flawless white skin. Both had attended an exclusive girl’s school and had grown up
extremely sheltered, especially for these turbulent times. General Taney’s daughters were
so lovely, and so charmingly prim and proper. They trusted him totally. It was his
instinct and duty to protect them- but how?
Andrea embraced her young husband. She was so thankful he was here with them.
Without his quiet strength and resolve she knew she would be deathly afraid, especially
since the news of her father’s death a few hours before. She clung tightly to him, putting
her cheek against his solid chest. He encircled her with his strong, muscular arms and she
felt the warmth of his well-trimmed beard as he kissed her face. Then their lips met, and
all she wanted was for the world to go away. Somehow in his masculine arms Andrea felt
safe, protected, and she realized how much she needed a comforting male figure, now that
her father was gone.
Suddenly they heard shouts outside and felt a rumbling in the floor. Jeff went
outside to see down the street and returned seconds later.
“There are two tanks, one at each end of the street,” he said. “They have
antipersonnel machine guns mounted on them.”
“But what are they going to do?” asked Andrea.
“I don’t know,” said Jeff, his voice quiet and calm, so as not to alarm the younger
girl. They made their way to the window, where they could see one of the street corners. A
convoy of military trucks was winding slowing toward them.
“Looks like they’re making the rounds in trucks now, loading up civilians. That
much I heard on the radio before the last channel went off the air.”
Cecelia entered the room. The younger girl was also very frightened.
“The phones are dead,” she cried, on the edge of hysteria. “I was talking with my
friend, Gina. She said that the blacks came pouring into the city with trucks as soon as
it was noon. Our soldiers are being arrested as they surrender. She told me that all the
men are to be taken and held and they’re rounding up the women as well. Then the line went
dead!”
“It’s probably nothing to worry about,” said Jeff, trying to calm the girl. “When
one army takes an area they always inter the soldiers. I’m sure everyone will be released
after they report and are disarmed.”
The two women moved to the window and peeked cautiously from behind a curtain.
Large military trucks were moving slowly down their street now, and soldiers were going
from house to house. They were removing whole families from each house at gunpoint, and
lining them up in the street. It looked as though they were separating the men, women, and
children.
“Perhaps we should flee,” said Cecelia, panic evident in her tremulous voice.
“Through the back gate!”
“No,” said Jeff. “The enclave is completely surrounded and we’re cutoff from the
sea. There’s no place to go. We’d surly be caught and then it could really be bad.”
“But where are they taking those people?” asked Andrea. “Where will they take us?”
“Probably just to register us as enemy citizens. Relax, ladies, you don’t see them
shooting anyone, do you?” He tried to sound as calm and confident as possible, but he was
more than a little disconcerted himself at the current turn of events.
Andrea looked back outside. As Jeff had observed, there were no shootings and no
gunfire. But that was far from completely reassuring.
She could tell that the men, women, and children were indeed being segregated and
loaded onto the trucks. Soon the soldiers would be at the Taney house. In fact, she could
see men running up the driveway now.
She looked at her husband’s face again, seeing him through teary eyes as he tried
to smile reassuringly.
“Can’t we do something?” she asked. “Hide until they leave?”
Jeff shook his head. “Don’t resist or try to hide. Just answer their questions and
follow their orders. Maybe it will be all right.” A trained fighter, he hated the
impotence of his words and worried that the women could hear the indecision in his voice.
But he could think of no solution save capitulation. He could not believe his wife and
sister-in-law would be harmed. Surely even Hakeem’s savage men would respect women of such
noble bearing and virtue. They were white women after all!
There was a sharp pounding on the door and Jeff reached to open it, then stepped
back to embrace his terrified wife.
At the entryway stood a black sergeant and two black soldiers brandishing automatic
weapons.
“Everyone out of the house, now!” shouted the sergeant. The two young soldiers
rushed past them to search the home.
“Line up at the street,” bellowed the sergeant. “Anyone hide, we shoot. You first,”
he added, pointing at Jeff. “You soldier?”
“Yes, Major Jeffery Forester.”
“Take him out,” he ordered to the two young black soldiers, who stepped forward and
trained their guns on Jeff.
Andrea quailed as even more men entered the house. She was crying, clinging tight
to her husband. She looked fearfully into his face and he gave her one last kiss. Then she
felt the steel grip of the soldier’s hand on her arm, pulling her roughly from his arms,
tearing her away from his comforting grasp.
“Oh Jeff,” cried Andrea. “Don’t leave us!”
“Apparently I have no choice,” he replied grimly. “Don’t worry, I think they are
just going to register us as prisoners of war and let us go. The war is essentially over
now.”
“But why are they separating the men from the women?” asked Cecelia, on the edge
of panic.
“Probably just routine,” he said, smiling bravely. “Look, you two, don’t worry.
I’ll bet we’re back here in a couple of hours.”
“Oh Jeff, I love you!” cried Andrea.
“Go. Now!” ordered the sergeant. One of the soldiers struck Jeff brutally in the
head with his rifle butt.
Andrea cried out in anguish as he fell. Two soldiers picked him up and dragged him,
half-conscious out of the house. When he was gone, the sergeant turned to the women.
“You have jewelry, gold?” Demanded the sergeant.
“A… a little,” said Andrea, shaken. “Upstairs.”
“You show me,” he said.
The two women led the black sergeant up to the bedrooms. Soldiers were already
ransacking the upper floors, stuffing whatever small objects of value they could find into
their fatigues. The sergeant barked something at them in Bantu and they reluctantly left.
Andrea knew their home was being looted, but she was too frightened to protest. As
she looked out the second story window she could see her husband laying in the back of a
large truck crammed with white male prisoners. A soldier waved to the driver and the truck
left with Jeff.
Inside, the sergeant rifled through drawers and closets, finding a few items worth
taking. Then he turned to the women and summarily ordered them to disrobe.
Both Andrea and Cecelia held their breath, thinking they hadn’t heard him
correctly. He repeated the order sharply, and Cecelia turned to her sister, eyes wide with
terror.
Andrea knew her sister was a virgin, and was sure that the younger girl was so
innocent that she had no real mental concept of sex in such a context. She was reacting
with instinctive fear to the idea of exposing her body to a fierce man of color. Unlike
her older sister, she understood only vaguely that such a demand under the circumstances
was certainly a prelude to rape!
“Take off white woman’s clothes!” he shouted impatiently. Then he seized Cecelia by
the collar and yanked her blouse down from the back. Buttons scattered everywhere and the
garment tore away from the front, but the girl panicked and bolted to her sister, clinging
to her and crying hysterically.
The sergeant grinned with lust and moved to grab her again.
“Don’t touch her, please,” pleaded Andrea. “She’s only sixteen. She’s a virgin!”
The sergeant laughed under his breath, but stopped for a moment as if thinking. He
took Andrea by the arm and led her into the hall where the shuddering Cecelia could not
hear them.
“You wife of officer?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Who other girl?”
“My… my sister.”
The sergeant’s eyes sparkled, but he appeared undecided. Then he smiled.
“We make deal,” he said. “You fuck me good, I let other girl go. Good to take
virgin, but even better to fuck pretty, young wife of Cauc officer!”
Andrea’s blood ran cold. She could not believe the “deal” this man was suggesting.
She wanted to fly out of the house and run to Jeff. Her instinct told her to flee, hide
until her husband returned to protect her! But she could see a hardness in this man’s
face. She knew if she did not do something he was going to rape them both within the next
few moments, starting with the delicate, fair skinned Cecelia.
It was a horrible dilemma, but the young wife could not bear to see her innocent
sister defiled in such a coarse, obscene way. Andrea’s love for her sister won, and she
decided to make the bargain to get her sister out of the house. Then she hoped she could
reason with the sergeant and dissuade him, or stall him until Jeff returned from being
registered.
“Let… Let my sister go first,” said Andrea.
The man frowned, but shouted downstairs to the soldiers who were pilfering on the
first floor now. The men came in and took the trembling younger sister from the bedroom,
escorting her out to where a group of white women were being held in the street. Andrea
could see from the window.
“There,” said the sergeant. “Virgin girl gone. Now wife of officer fuck me good in
husband’s bed. Take off clothes now.”
“There’s still some valuables in the house,” she said helplessly.
His eyes narrowed. “What, where?”
She led him though the upper floors, but all the small objects of significant value
were already gone. It was obvious she was stalling.
“We fuck now,” he said seizing her by the hair and pulling her roughly back to the
bedroom. He tossed her sprawling onto the large, canopied bed, yelling sharply, “Get
clothes off!”
Andrea’s head was spinning with shock and horror. She sat on the bed weeping, but
made no effort to disrobe.
“Please…” she gasped. “I… I’ve never betrayed my husband!”
The sergeant calmly went to the closet and selected one of her husband’s thin,
black dress belts from a hanger. He smiled cruelly.
“Take off clothes now. I beat you ‘til they come off!”
Andrea could scarcely believe that a man would do that to her. The propriety of her
upbringing would not let her immediately come to grips with the brutal realization that he
actually meant to rape her, and thrash her if she resisted. She swallowed hard but
continued to plead.
“Please… Just take what you want and… please, I can’t…”
The sergeant walked behind her, waving the belt slowly, then without further ado he
brought the leather down on her back with savage force.
“Aaaiiiieee,” Andrea screamed, pitching forward beside the bed and onto her knees.
She had never been whipped in her life and the sting of the leather striking her flesh was
psychological as well as physical. Another blow fell almost immediately, then a third. The
white girl’s shock and disbelief were so great that for a few seconds she was frozen,
paralyzed with the pain and knowledge that the big Negro sergeant was actually whipping
her!
The belt continued to come down on her defenseless back and she made a desperate,
instinctive attempt to get up, escape. His hand was on her soft white neck in an instant,
squeezing and forcing her back down. She was crying out continuously now, fear and pain
and outrage causing her to shout with a whimpering urgency.
“Please, aiiieeee… please stop. Aiiiieeee… please… I’ll do what you want! Aaaiii
eeeaaaahhh.”
He stopped. She remained on the floor, sobbing, but immediately began stripping,
pulling off her shoes and stockings as she cried from the humiliation and her still
stinging backside.
“Hurry,” he yelled. “Take all clothes off or I whip harder.”
Literally and figuratively beaten, Andrea hung her head and continued undressing.
He struck her twice more with the belt to emphasize the need for haste and seconds later
she stood, shaking with fear, naked in front of him.
He quickly pulled off his pants, boots and shirt, then pointed to the bed. “Lay
down on back. Spread legs.”
Andrea whimpered and obeyed, wincing as her chastised back made contact with the
bedspread. A second later, he delivered a blow again between her naked breasts.
“Spread legs wide! Open white cunt up!”
Andrea squealed when he made another motion with the belt and spread her legs as
wide as they would go.
She stared up at his robust barrel chest and powerful brown hips, but had to look
away from his gloating face. The moment seemed to stretch into an eternity, his black
strength and potency regarding her delicate whiteness, her fragility. Then he fell on her
splayed form, mounting her without preamble, guiding his stiff member to her slit. He
smiled broadly when he found, to Andrea’s utter mortification, that she was already wet.
“Cauc wifey like big, black sergeant,” he said, sliding into her in two or three
strokes. He began a rhythm immediately, rutting lewdly onto her as she bit her lip and
closed her eyes tight.
“Jeff… forgive me,” she muttered to herself. “But I just can’t let Cece go through
this!” Andrea was struggling to keep control, but the black man purposely ground himself
against her clitoris on every downstroke, sending waves of unwanted pleasure straight to
her brain. Now, to the appalling reality of rape was added the even more emotionally
devastating knowledge that her body was deriving pleasure from it. She turned her face
from him, utterly ashamed of the servile, traitorous need that was simmering in her guts.
He was really fucking her now, plying her with long strokes that pushed the head of
his penis all the way to her cervix. It was beginning to take Andrea’s utmost
concentration to keep from responding to him.
Suddenly her chest erupted in pain as he brought the belt down with sadistic force.
She screamed but he lashed her with the whip again, striping her other breast.
“White wife fuck back good, pump hips and wiggle. Not lay like dead fish.”
Andrea groaned but complied, thrusting back at him in the most salacious way. Her
deep vaginal nerves exploded with pleasure. There was nothing else she could do. She began
to hump and gyrate like the most wanton whore. It was now a race to save the last scrap of
her honor. She had to end this act before he made her cum. Then she could tell herself she
had hated it all along.
“Don’t close eyes,” he said. “Look at me. Smile.” She obeyed, tightly smiling and
looking at him with glazed eyes.
He lay his belly flat against hers, pushing his barrel-like upper body down until
he could feel her nipples bounce with his thrusts, dragging the tips through the hair on
his chest.
“My name N’guna,” he hissed into her ear. “Say ‘I love you, N’guna. Fuck me good,
N’guna’.”
She merely groaned, but he knocked her hard in the ribs with his fists.
“I… I love you, N’guna,” she gasped, the demeaning words spilling from her lips.
“Please f… f… fuck me.”
“Get arms and legs around me. Fuck back now!” he demanded.
Andrea finally gave in; completely encircling him urgently with her limbs and
rutting back with abandon. She tried to tell herself it was just to get it over with, but
deep inside she knew. She was enjoying it. She was cheating on Jeff.
“Say I better than your husband. Say ‘cum in me, N’guna. Cum in me on husband’s
bed.’”
The words gushed from the defeated girl without volition. Even as she said it she
was horribly confronted by the truth. He was better than Jeff. He was much larger and her
beloved husband had never given her feelings like this! Dear gods did she really want him
to cum in her?
“Yes… yes,” she whispered with genuine passion as he rode her. He was pounding her
now, building to his climax, dragging her unwillingly to her own.
She told herself she didn’t mean what she was about to say. He was forcing her and
she just wanted the act to be over. Yet he was now pushing her over the edge of a
precipice and as the words tore from her she knew deep inside that she meant every word.
“Oh yessss. Fill me. You are better than my husband, N’guna… Cum in me on my
husband’s bed… Fill meeee!” she cried. He gave her one last, long stroke, pinning his
raping rod up to her very heart. Her legs tightened around his back and she pressed her
bare heels into his buttocks. Then the room began spinning as she rocketed into orgasm,
and she reveled in every word and movement that might excite her ravisher.
“Yesss… yesss… fuck me N’guna!” As her orgasm swirled inside her like a vortex,
she turned her head. She happened to look right at the wedding picture she kept on the
night stand, fixing her eyes on it just as the black sergeant began to cum, bellowing out
his lust.
“Whiiiite Cuuuunnnt… cumming in it!”
Andrea gazed dispassionately at the picture, helpless under the huge black
sergeant’s weight as she felt each spurt of his semen splash deep inside her. She felt an
unfathomable sense of shame, as she looked at the image of herself in her white wedding
dress, the virgin bride of a proud husband. How could she ever look at that picture again
and not think of this act, not feel like a whore. For that was exactly what she was. She
had purchased the chastity of her innocent, virgin sister with her body and that could
never be undone. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, inaudibly. “Jeff… I sorry!”
Finally he was sated and his dark mass lay twitching upon her like an obscene
burden. They lay that way for several minutes, each of them panting in temporary
exhaustion, still fused in loveless intimacy.
Finally the sergeant withdrew himself from her. He got dressed quickly and so did
Andrea, dreading to look at his face. She felt such shame that she could not bear to look
any human being in the eye at that moment, even her rapist.
The sergeant went to the nightstand and picked up the wedding photo. He chuckled,
then broke the frame and glass on the bedpost. He took the photo and tore it in half,
separating Andrea’s image from her husband’s, and placed the remnant in his pocket.
She had her clothes back on now and he grasped her hair and pulled her face to his.
He kissed her passionately and then said. “I keep bargain. Virgin sister go on truck
untouched. Go now. Out to street.”
There was no time to freshen up before he seized her hair and led her, his jism
leaking lubricously into her panties, down to the first floor.
A soldier took her arm and walked Andrea out to the street to join the other women,
her face red with shame as much for the reaction of her own body as for the rape itself. A
strange man, an enemy had just raped her in her own bedroom. And she had enjoyed it!
“And… Andrea… are you all right?” asked Cecelia. She didn’t know why her sister had
been gone so long and was startled by her disheveled condition. “They didn’t hur… hurt you
did they?”
Andrea shook her head but could not meet her younger sister’s concerned gaze. How
could she relate what had just happened to her untried sibling. She felt oddly dirty in
the chaste girl’s presence and didn’t wish to reveal the nature of the sacrifice she had
made to preserve her sister’s virtue. It was enough that the sixteen year old remained
safe, her virginity intact.
“I… I’m fine,” said Andrea, trying to steady her voice. “I’m just a little scared
that’s all.”
A large military truck pulled up in front of them. “Get in,” shouted one of the
soldiers. “Hurry, get in women’s trucks. You go to register then you be released. Hurry
now.”
Dozens of women struggled to climb aboard the vehicle, the high step to the truck
bed taking its toll on their dignity. The soldiers grabbed some women and threw them
onboard, barking at others to climb faster. Cecelia cringed at the grasp of a black men.
She had been raised by a conservative father and brought up in the culture of white
supremacy. She disliked intensely having the black soldiers handle her. But though she
whined and tried to push his hands away the man did not release his grasp until he had
thrown her sprawling up onto the truckbed. Once on the heavy vehicle they found places to
sit, then listened and watched what was happening to their neighborhood.
All around them, the normally placid street was in an uproar. Andrea could see the
panicked commotion in houses of their neighbors and friends. The spacious, neat, modern
homes and their manicured lawns told of affluence and order, but the setting contrasted
with the sight and sounds of physical violence, coming from those houses whose occupants
had not co-operated. Desperate male voices of protest were met by the sickening thwack of
rifle butts hitting flesh. Pandemonium now reigned, building like some demented symphony
of pillage, to the screams of women, the harsh guttural laughter of gleeful African
soldiers, and then shots- the killing of guard dogs. A jeep was cruising up and down the
street, an officer yelling into a bullhorn for everyone to leave their houses and report
to the trucks.
Down the entire length of the street they could see the chaos as families were
sundered, children packed into one truck, women into the next and men into a third.
Everywhere the air was rent with shouts and curses, screams and abject pleading.
Some of the residents still refused to capitulate, but the black soldiers seemed
pleased at the opportunity for sport that such resistance offered. One white man was
beaten bloody by three soldiers on the street in front of his house. He was unconscious or
dead when his wife, half-naked and bruised, was dragged from their home and thrown onto a
vehicle.
A few children tried to run but were easily caught. Some mothers clung to their
crying sons or daughters and had to be pried away. All the children were tossed onto a
separate truck and chained together by the neck.
Elsewhere, many of the whites were passive. Couples exchanged tearful good-byes,
then climbed onto trucks, unsure when they would see each other again. Perhaps in a few
hours, they hoped. Perhaps…
Andrea could also see other women, walking from houses sullenly, hair and clothing
disordered and dull looks in their eyes. Apparently she was not the only woman who had
been raped.
After the truck Andrea and Cecelia were on was full with about forty white women,
two soldiers got into the cab and drove the vehicle out. Three more armed men in a jeep
followed them. On the main highway they joined a convoy of many more trucks, just like the
one she was on. All of them were packed with prisoners and all were headed in the same
direction, out of town.
They stopped at several checkpoints and the women looked around for any clue as to
where they were being taken. Once, one of the more assertive women climbed down from the
truck and started to walk to one of the guards, intending to inquire about their
destination and complain about the rough treatment. She had scarcely set foot on the
ground when the guard fired his rifle three times into the air. She hurriedly scrambled
back onto the truck.
They continued to travel further behind black African lines, through areas recently
captured by the blacks. Andrea could see evidence of the violence everywhere; ruined
buildings, smoldering military vehicles, even unburied corpses. The whites had not given
up without a fight, but their defeat was total. On and on the truck rolled, finally
arriving two hours later at what looked like a detention camp.
The black government had appropriated a recently captured industrial area with
cavernous warehouse buildings, adjacent to a convenient railhead. There was a large open
area in front of each building, intended as a parking lot. Now however, the lots were
filled with white people who had arrived on the trucks, thousands it looked like. The
buildings and lots were surrounded by barbed wire fences, search light stands, and watch
towers.
Andrea could see several other trucks delivering their human cargo into the holding
area. Many were already empty and were apparently headed back for more, while several
fully loaded vehicles were still waiting outside. It looked as if every white inhabitant
of the enclave were being brought here to be registered.
Andrea and Cecelia’s truck pulled up to one of the kiosks and the guard and driver
exchanged some paperwork. After waiting several minutes, the truck backed up into one of
the open areas. The soldiers got out and lowered the tailgate.
“Get out!” yelled a man over a loudspeaker. The white women came climbing and
tumbling from the truck. When Andrea and Cecelia were out, they could see several men, all
black soldiers, yelling instructions to the white people as they exited the vehicles. A
few of the soldiers had automatic weapons. Dozens of other blacks were brandishing
meter-long metallic cylinders and pointing them at the white women.
“Follow me. Leave all your bags!” yelled one of the black guards.
Several of the women were reluctant to leave their purses and bags, but the men
were insistent. “Leave all bags. You pick them up later. Into building. Now move!”
The bags were left in a pile. The women were pushed, actually herded, into the
building, through a large steel door. Once they were all inside, Andrea could see that the
interior of the huge warehouse had been partitioned. She could hear shouts and cries from
other small groups of women beyond the partitions, but not see them.
They themselves were in a compartment about sixty feet square. Two large metal bins
lay on the concrete floor near the center of the room. A smaller plastic box sat beside
them. About two dozen strong looking, uniformed black woman formed a semicircle around the
whites. Some were carrying the metallic cylinders, others brandished leather whips. Andrea
heard the steel door clang shut behind them, and instantly, a black woman sergeant yelled,
“STRIP!”
All the white women jumped, startled. A second later the woman repeated the
command, and punctuated it with a crack of her whip.
“STRIP!” screamed the woman. “Put your shoes in the first bin, the rest of your
clothing in the second bin. Place all of your rings and jewelry in the small box.”
Many of the bewildered white women were slow to respond, outraged that they were
being told to denude themselves in such a semi-public area. The black female guards,
however, showed little inclination to tolerate this reluctance. They immediately began to
touch the ends of their strange rods to the white girls’ backs and buttocks, actions which
brought sudden wild eyed screams and wails of pain as the women jumped away.
“DO NOT WASTE TIME! STRIP! EVERYTHING! MOVE OR YOU FEEL WHIP!” yelled the woman in
charge.
None of the whites argued or delayed further. All of them quickly removed their
shoes, clothes and jewelry, dumped them into the appropriate bin. Very reluctantly, Andrea
dropped her wedding ring into the plastic box. The women moved with haste now, but several
of the slower ones were given a taste of the metal rods. The crackling spark when the tip
met flesh was followed by shrieks of pain and terrified outrage.
In short order, all the white females were naked, most of them sobbing and clinging
to each other in fear.
The black woman in charge held up one of the cylinders. “This correction rod. Some
of you already feel. You all obey, or feel sting. You come now, move quickly.”
The naked women were quickly herded forward, holding their hands and arms over
their breasts and genitals. As they ran barefoot over the cold concrete floor, Andrea and
Cecelia could hear the shrieks of pain from the women in the back of the group as the
guards stung them with the rods. The women behind were pushing the ones in front of them,
desperately trying to avoid the bite of the cylinders.
Another door opened in front of them and the panicked group of women was pushed
into another large room.
“Form lines!” screamed the sergeant. Quickly the whites lined up in front of an odd
assortment of six tables, each of which was accompanied with three or four people in white
medical coats. There was a computer terminal on a small stand, and other equipment near
each table. All the tables had a bar suspended about three feet above the table top.
Padded manacles hung from chains at either end of the bar. It was a curious arrangement,
but any mystery to the tables was to be quickly dispelled.
The first six women were told to mount the tables and lie on their backs. The
command was enforced by liberal use of the whips and correction rods. The two Taney girls
watched in horror as the women’s legs were spread and placed into what they could now tell
were stirrups, then the manacles were locked around their ankles and their feet suspended.
It was very similar to some kind of gynecological examination.
There was absolutely no privacy. The tables were in the main part of the room with
no partitions or panels. There was a doctor and a couple of nurses at each bench.
The waiting women watched in mixed disgust and fascination, as the first six of
their number were put through several tests. The process took several minutes and, judging
from the faces and reactions of the women on the tables, was not all together pleasant.
One by one, the examinations were completed, and the women were directed to another room,
out of sight.
Then it was Andrea’s turn. The shy, conservative girl could not however, despite
her trepidation, bring herself to mount the table and lie in such an exposed fashion. She
hesitated and an instant later screamed as one of the guards shocked her with a rod. The
pain was indescribable, like being stung by a scorpion. It only lasted a second but it was
sufficient to induce her to scramble quickly onto the table and assume the position, her
modesty forgotten. Her legs were brought up and out, her ankles were placed in stirrups
and her feet were raised. She was told to open her mouth, whereupon her teeth were
examined and the inside of her cheek scraped with a plastic probe.
One of the nurses asked her a series of questions; her name, her age, was she a
virgin, was she married, was she pregnant, did she have any diseases, had she borne any
children, if so, how many. Even more questions ensued. When she became reluctant to share
such personal information, the doctor brought out what looked like a small version of the
correction rod, and nestled it into her navel. It emitted another sting, which caused
Andrea to gasp and jerk her hips convulsively.
The doctor held up the little rod to her face, saying calmly, “cooperate and you
won’t be hurt. Resist and you’ll get this. Understand?” Andrea hurriedly nodded.
“And don’t lie,” he added. “Or you’ll be very sorry later.”
The nurse resumed her questioning as if nothing had happened, and Andrea answered
truthfully. The black woman busily entered the information into the computer as she spoke.
It took only a few moments, but to Andrea, lying naked with her legs apart in a room full
of people, it seemed like hours.
The two other nurses took three syringes from a pile near the table and gave Andrea
three shots. The doctor told her these were inoculations, but she immediately began to
feel more relaxed and care-free. She thought it must be a mild sedative, but the drug made
it difficult to concentrate and her fogged mind decided that it wasn’t important anyway.
It was a rather nice feeling, actually. The fear and apprehension seemed to fade, leaving
her still conscious, but listless and drowsy as if drifting into a nap on a warm summer’s
day.
The doctor placed a long, tube-like instrument at the lips of her vagina and
carefully slid it into her. Andrea gasped at a sudden feeling of being filled, but she
smiled and giggled a little. The drug had driven out all fear and will to resist.
The doctor checked the computer monitor, which held a picture of the interior of
Andrea’s vagina, transmitted from the cameras inside the tube. After several seconds, he
satisfied himself that she was healthy and withdrew the tube.
“Classify A5,” he announced and entered the same into the database. Andrea was then
released from the table. The drug made her feel happy and docile, and she padded over to
the next station as told. Her sister took the table immediately after her and was
subjected to the same examination.
At the next station Andrea allowed them to bend her face down over another padded
table without protest. Then a small incision was made in the check of her left buttock.
She started at the momentary sting, but the pain was minor and in her drugged state she
immediately returned to being happy and unconcerned.
A tiny silicone chip no bigger than a grain of rice was inserted into the muscle
tissue. The cut was so small that it barely bled and did not even need stitches. A topical
antiseptic was wiped over the wound.
Then one man moved in and held her head still, pinning her neck to the table. The
other brought a tattoo gun to her neck and proceeded to apply a number behind and below
her ear. She did not try to fight them. They were not gentle but nor did they hurt her and
even the pain of the tattoo gun was not severe. Finally, the tattooed area was also
swabbed with antiseptic and she was released.
Drugged and happy, she was led down a corridor and over to a gate in a large cage,
holding about 100 other women, most of them asleep. Andrea was pushed in and the gate
clanged shut behind her. She found an open spot on the floor, then curled up, naked on the
foam mat, sighing contentedly. Several minutes later, Cecelia was also put in the cage.
The girls hugged each other and giggled brightly, then lay down side by side and slept.
***
When Andrea came to, she was in a different holding cell. She did not know how long
she had been out, but Cecelia was nowhere to be found. She looked around and tried to
rise, but her head was still slightly fogged with the tranquilizer. She lay back for a few
minutes, but was finally able to rise and walk about the cell. All of the women in this
cage appeared to be about the same age as herself, early twenties. No longer drugged, she
felt her fear return with a vengeance.
Like the last holding area, this one was also large, but instead of bars and chain
link walls, it was more like a concrete pit with a small door at one end, and a large
steel door at the other. Above them, armed guards on catwalks slowly paced back and forth.
There were two portable toilets, but they were open, so that anyone using them could be
seen by all.
Andrea continued to explore the room. There appeared to be about 100 women held
here also and she made a thorough check for Cecelia. Once she had satisfied herself that
her sister was not present, she tried to talk to a few of the women. Unfortunately, most
appeared to be in a state of shock and were in poor condition to converse with. Her
stomach was growling and she realized she had not eaten since she had arrived at the camp,
or detention facility, or whatever it was. She realized also that she didn’t know how long
she’d been here. Was it hours, or days?
Andrea was just settling back down on the mat when the small door opened and two
guards entered with a cart laden with bowls of food. They stayed long enough to make sure
each of the women received a bowl and a plastic bottle of water, then left.
Andrea sat in a corner with her bowl. It held a piece of bread and a quantity of a
porridge-like mush. It did not look particularly appetizing, but it was warm, and she was
very hungry. She cleaned every spec from the bowl.
After the meal, Andrea finally broke down. She had avoided until now, using the
open toilet which afforded no privacy. But her bodily needs at last required her to use
the facility and she did, blushing with shame.
In the ensuing hours, several more women were put into the cell. Andrea hoped she
would see Cecelia but she did not appear. It was the first time she had had a moment alone
to think since her rape, and fear that the black sergeant might have gotten her pregnant
haunted her. Andrea sat, hugging herself, wishing she had at least had a chance to douche.
There was nothing she could do about it now however, several hours at least had gone by
since the man had spurted his seed into her.
The small door opened again. This time, several guards appeared all holding whips
or the correction rods. The frightened young white women moved away from the guards,
toward the large steel door at the other end of the cell. Seconds later, the large door
was raised and the incredibly bright, full sunlight flooded into the room. They had all
been indoors for some time, and the outside sun was so blinding, they could not see beyond
the outline of the door.
“Out! Out onto the dock!” yelled one of the guards. “Into the car. Move, all of you
out!”
The guards began fanning out into the cell, sweeping the women before them. The
naked white women moved quickly. By now they were all familiar with the correction rods
and none of them wanted to feel the sting on their backsides. They hurried out the door
and onto a concrete loading dock.
The outside air hit them like a like a wall of heat. The concrete was scorching to
the touch and the African sun beat down, just as merciless as the whips of the guards on
their exposed feminine skin. They were confined to a small area of the dock by a chain
link fence that extended on either side of them from the building to the open doors of a
rail car. The women were quickly pushed on board, and as Andrea’s eyes adjusted to the
sunlight, she could tell it was a cattle car.
There were more young women already on the car and, by the time they were loaded,
the space was full but not so tightly packed that the girls could not sit down. At either
end of the car were more open portable toilets. Andrea hoped to see Cecelia, but after
calling out and looking for several minutes it was apparent she was not on board the
train, at least in the same car.
After Andrea had found spot at the side of the car to sit in, a fair skinned girl
with chestnut hair moved close to her and sat down. She looked a little younger than
Andrea, seventeen or eighteen perhaps.
“Do … do you know where they’re taking us?” she asked. Andrea could tell the girl
was very frightened. Her large, striking brown eyes were reddened, and the dried tears on
her face confirmed she had been crying, just as most of the other girls.
Andrea shook her head, and tried to sound reassuring. “No. Have you asked anyone
else?”
“No one knows where we’re going,” replied the girl, whimpering. “Why do they keep
us naked, and why did they put us in a cattle car?”
“I don’t know,” said Andrea gently. “I’m Andrea, what’s your name?”
“Dana … Dana Wilke. They told us they would let us go home.”
“They told us the same thing,” said Andrea. “But I think that was just to get us to
go along quietly.”
The younger girl began crying again. “I’m scared. Are they going to kill us?”
“No,” said Andrea, with a confidence she did not feel. “They would have shot us by
now if that’s what they intended.”
“But what is going to happen to us?”
Andrea felt intense compassion for Dana, but they were all in the same boat and at
the moment, there was nothing to do about it. She could see that the girl needed a
distraction.
“Dana, I’m looking for my sister. Her name is Cecelia. She’s slender and blond, a
little younger than you. Have you seen her?”
Dana shook her head. “I don’t know … I don’t know anyone here by name.”
Andrea smiled. “You know me by name.”
The younger girl sobbed and embraced Andrea. Even though she was a total stranger,
Dana held onto her tightly, desperate for the warm comfort of a friendly human body. She
nuzzled her face to Andrea’s breast, but the movement was totally asexual.
There was a jolt as the cattle car began to move. After some back and forth runs to
hook onto other cars the train headed out with its human cargo.
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