Daniel Mkomo was eventually awakened by the incessant phut-phut-phut of the cooling fan
in the ceiling as it whirled ceaselessly above him, and he was about to rise when he felt
an obstruction.
Wha??
He was annoyed to find the head of his ten-inch penis still firmly enveloped in the
pouting lips of a Chinese teenager.
Did she imagine this was a nursery?
He eased himself free with an audible plop and gently rolled her succulent body to
one side. There was a brief mewling sound of protest, then she snuggled her nose into the
nearest pair of lush buttocks and resumed her slumber.
His troubled mind had prevented him from sleeping anyway, so he disentangled
himself from the soft limbs of the seven naked slave girls that lay in a sweating cluster
about him. He rose from the vast communal bed and made his way outside until his bare feet
found the cool marble surface of the terrace.
He stretched his naked six-foot frame and paused to appreciate the dawn breeze as
it wafted about the formidable bulk of his genitals. He shivered with pleasure in the cold
air, for in just another couple of hours he knew the relentless African sun would turn the
place into a veritable blast furnace. He sighed with contentment and waggled his hips from
side-to-side, enjoying the sound of his heavy penis as it made a soft slapping noise
bouncing back and forth between the hard walls of his muscular thighs.
Ah! It was good to be back once more in the motherland!
He leaned over the stone wall atop the escarpment and rested his elbows as he surveyed
the great jungle vista running for hundreds of miles in every direction below him. He
smiled to himself ... an impassable barrier for any would-be escapee; he decided,
especially a barefoot, naked female of the Caucasian persuasion. And where would she run
to, anyway? There was nothing but an impenetrable forest full of carnivores and snakes and
spiders, and God knew what else lurking out there and how those numberless horrors would
relish the chance to sink their vicious claws and fangs into the soft lush flesh of a
helpless young white girl!
No, there was no need for iron doors or bars on windows, not in a place like this.
No need for barriers of any kind in the fifty odd rooms that made up the internal
structure of the harem. It was his own creation, this hollowed-out bastion of living rock
set in the mountain fastness of his dictator-father’s kingdom, his very own designed and
homemade pussy-palace, with its ever-growing population of enslaved teen and
twenty-something females.
The jungle echoed to the guttural cough of a leopard somewhere far off in the distance.
Mkomo turned in the direction of the feline warning snarl and shook his head in
admiration.
I greet thee N’thulu, ghostly prince of the forest.
Now there, he knew, was cunning and mercilessness, Incarnate!
N’thulu ... Mkomo’s secret birth name, for hadn’t his own father named him for that
mighty jungle carnivore?
Had the great cat hunted successfully this night? Was he even now dragging his prey
to some lair to be stored later for his unhurried, leisurely enjoyment?
He decided they had much in common; he too had an inestimable courage and
self-belief, coupled with the crucial financial wherewithal to seek out and capture his
own delectable quarry, only in his case, the target of choice happened to be that sweetest
and most desirable of all human flesh ...Woman.
Preferably white and exceptionally beautiful, but variety being the spice of life,
he’d been careful to add a small percentage of other hues to his private rainbow of
international pulchritude and the range was quite spectacular when viewed en masse.
There was the reserved, icy white of the Nordic blonde, always a shockingly
delightful contrast to the sensuous coal-black skin of a Congo beauty and in between those
two delectable extremes stood the pale pink of the western European and American female
and Mkomo hadn’t neglected to acquire his share of the golden, fiery flesh of Italian and
Spanish womanhood either, and all of this juxtaposed against the dusky brown of the
sub-Asiatic and the far-flung, mysterious yellow glow of Chinese and Japanese femininity.
But, above all, oh, yes, above all that most coveted of all female flesh ...The
forbidden purity that was the white man’s woman!
In the beginning, his limited ambition had been nothing more than the forced
acquisition of just two or three, or perhaps five sweet young fuck-slaves for his own
personal indulgence, and the remarkable young monster had actually done it, he’d actually
gone ahead and asserted his will, with two defiant black fingers raised to morality and
the global forces of law and order ?
But that was many, many moons ago and when in truth, is enough, enough? For as his
power and his wealth had grown, so too had his appetites and to date his very own private
seraglio boasted more than fifty women and even now he wasn’t satiated. Perhaps, he
thought idly, he’d be satisfied with a hundred, for his customer base had also grown
alongside his ever-mounting stock of living cock-toys. However, some of those customers
were beginning to demand the satisfaction of their own unique tastes and requirements of a
more, shall we say sophisticated nature.
Indeed, nothing else was acceptable to the demanding standards of Mkomo’s
ultra-rich clientele!
But enough, it was really a question of supply and demand anyway, for who in his
right mind would turn his black nose up at the astronomical money involved?
After all, these were men and women who were prepared to pay fabulous sums for the
ultra-discreet sanctuary and freedom that would allow them to let loose their explosive
and perverted tastes and wallow in lewd, misogynistic sex of the strictly non-consensual
kind, to be able to unleash their barely concealed sadistic sexual lusts on the tender
bottoms and legs and breasts and bellies and cunts and rectums of defenceless, innocent,
helpless young pussy-flesh, and who was Daniel Mkomo to refuse them? And as time passed,
it finally dawned on him that there was another, even more delightful refinement he could
offer his customers. For why should they be limited to the mere pleasures of unlimited
access to dozens of helpless female strangers?
Why not offer them the opportunity to select the victim or victims of their own
choice?
And so it came about. Mkomo’s own unique principle of cash-for-ownership. In fact, one
of his underlings had even come up with an unofficial business name for the enterprise.
Mkomo thought of that title now and smiled.
Abduct-A-Fuck.
Exquisite.
And it worked in just this fashion.
Was a client suffering from a particular, unattainable lust?
Perhaps it was a neighbour’s daughter, or a work colleague or a business rival, or
perhaps that arrogant young bitch handing out parking tickets, or even that gorgeous air
stewardess with the incredible bottom in first class...
...But why stop there?
For a cool million, why not all four of the delectable young beauties that made up
the Pas de Quatre in a performance of Swan Lake?
Can’t take your mind off that delicious little bit that reads the news on TV?
What about that horny-looking pop starlet, the one who just loved to flash her bum
and her titties all over the screen, or the porn star, or your daughter’s university girly
pals, or an ex-girlfriend or wife just crying out to be abducted and stripped and beaten
and force-trained into permanent and unquestioning servitude??
To be held nude and incarcerated, her mind screaming as she tried to cope with the
unspeakable suggestion that she was now the exclusive property of her “owner?” To languish
in naked terror to await the sudden, unannounced arrival of the faceless beast she’d been
assured time and again to be most intimately well-known to her? An anonymous sponsor who
would assuredly revel in the prolonged and unfettered revenge and cruel enjoyment he (or
perhaps even she) would take out on her chained and defenceless, naked little hide?
Daniel Mkomo was more than prepared to provide such a unique service, because after
all, it was only thanks to their patronage that the African had gone from a former playboy
with a few millions, to a now former-playboy with the ability to spend millions and Daniel
Mkomo would never make the fundamental mistake of forgetting who his true friends and
allies really were.
So it would appear that the self-styled young African prince could well now afford
to revel in his many nefarious accomplishments?
And yet, there was a thorn in his shoe and it did sorely vex him. It tore at him,
clawing remorselessly at his enormous pride and ego, for Daniel Mkomo had been robbed ...
Bilked ... Taken to the cleaners ... to the tune of 500,000 ... Sterling, that is, by a
white woman, no less!
Philippa De Winter, that middle-class, upwardly mobile, Negro-hating little prick
tease ... An untouchable English rose of the cultured variety, and of course,
breathtakingly beautiful, a uber-feminist hypocrite of the most shallow, self-serving
kind, scrabbling around for a few thousand here, a few thousand there and she’d thought
she’d hit the big time swindling him out of a breath-taking five-figure sum with her
convoluted, high finance bullshit.
And he fell for it, another dumb African looking to make a quick killing in the
stock market and trusting her to invest on his behalf but he’d been well and truly
bamboozled by her clever games, the erudite blonde had effortlessly outmanoeuvred what she
assumed to be just another stupid jungle bunny with her sophisticated games of smoke and
mirrors, and before he knew it, she’d simply disappeared, gone to ground with his money,
not a trace of her to be found anywhere?
So far, that is!
He was so absorbed with self-pity and rage that he almost failed to hear the whisper
of soft footfalls behind him. He turned in alarm to confront the diminutive figure of a
young auburn-haired girl and when she saw the expression on his face, the
eighteen-year-old suddenly froze with a look of abject terror.
Irish, wasn’t she?
He tried to think of her name, Mary, or Maudy, or something equally inconsequential,
one of the very recent arrivals. He’d hardly noticed her on the peripheral of all the hot
and horny beating and fucking he been engaged in since his return.
How had he overlooked this pale Lolita?
He paused now to look her over with more care. A tiny pocket-fuck, barely
four-foot-six-inches tall with a rather sweet pair of cone-shaped little titties jutting
shyly above the soft sheen of her belly, and the camel-toe slit of her mons veneris now
clearly visible after her entire body had undergone the obligatory and permanent
depilation process imposed upon all new slaves.
A pair of luminescent green eyes and a cheeky, retrousse nose covered in a light
dusting of freckles, a delightful little fairy. She collapsed before him in the classic
primary position of obeisance with her knees spread wide and her hands clasped behind her
neck and, thus presented, Mkomo could revel in the sight of her exposed sex-lips.
He wondered if she was still a virgin.
Had Kabulla beaten him to the punch?
Damn! Why didn’t he pay more heed to the goings on in his own harem? And what was she
doing here, anyway?
The answer of course, was rather obvious. In her own innocent way, the girl was
trying to curry favour with this new, all-powerful masculine authority figure; precisely
as she had often done not so very long ago with her former schoolteachers.
He strode towards her and halted with his rapidly swelling penis just inches from
her chin. Her face, neck and breasts suddenly flushed with a combination of fear and
heart-stopping excitement as she felt the heat and the pungent masculine scent of his
mighty loins so close to her.
Was the great Lord about to allow her the honour of ... of ... sucking his ... his
... thing?
The poor creature couldn’t bring herself to use that bad word to describe it, not
even in the privacy of her own mind. After all; Mairead reasoned, she wasn’t that kind of
a girl.
Hadn’t been, she corrected herself.
It was impossible for her to bring herself to look directly at the great circumcised
organ, it was all too lewd and obscene for her tender teenage mind to cope with, so she
kept her eyes down and fought to control her shallow breathing as her thighs trembled at
the unexpected thrill of sexual excitement that was beginning to boil between her legs.
She took a deep breath and risked a sideways glance through the corners of her eyes
at the bulbous head of his black prick. It was now a mere tongue’s-length away and she
felt a sudden, overwhelming desire to worship it with her mouth, to drain those heavy
black balls of every last drop of his semen and satisfy the strange, alien tingling
sensation she felt welling at the back of her throat.
What would it taste like? she wondered.
She was of course, forbidden to speak without being spoken to but they couldn’t stop
her own thought processes, and her poor mind was suddenly flooded with yet more of those
unstoppable, unspeakable fantasies. She could hear her own wheedling voice in her mind’s
eye, beseeching ... imploring ... begging?
Please Master, oh please; I beg you ... Let me suck your beautiful prick! I want to
feel that hot sperm of yours shooting into my mouth ...won’t you allow me the honour of
making you come? ... I want to please you with my tits, my cunt, my mouth and my
defenceless little bum hole ... oh, please fuck me! ... Take me now ... I’m yours to do
with as you will...
At last she raised her pretty, blushing features to risk gazing up into the noble
face of her all-powerful black prince. She quailed beneath that cruel unblinking stare,
her little heart pounded with lust and terror at the thought of him taking her precious
virginity.
Was this finally to be the moment she’d been dreading for the past three months?
Then why wasn’t she afraid?
She fought an overwhelming urge to spin herself around unbidden and present her lovely
hindquarters to him ... to spread her buttocks with her fingers… She felt deliciously lewd
and filthy at the thought of exposing her two little virgin fuck-holes for his leisurely
perusal. She was no longer the decent young woman that she’d once been just three short
months and a thousand long years ago ... Oh, no ... she was a bad little daddy’s girl, a
worthless cocksucker-in-training, aching to put the endless tutelage of her slave sisters
into practice and finally get her sweet lips around a living, throbbing penis.
Oh, she’d gotten enough oral theory all right throughout the endless hours she’d
endured watching the other girls pleasuring Kabulla. Their insatiable stable master just
loved to lay back and enjoy the self-inflicted torture of a long afternoon’s suck fest,
didn’t he?
Prime the pump, as it were, in order to enhance his enjoyment of the initial
violation of some new girl awaiting his tender mercies in a cell buried deep in the bowels
of the mountain redoubt.
And of course, what man wouldn’t, for there was nothing he liked more than the
thrill and the feel of several female tongues flicking and teasing his massive balls and
penis and anus, to lay back with his thighs spread wide as those expert, servile little
mouths determinedly set about prolonging that mighty erection of his for literally hours
on end, sucking him relentlessly to the point of searing orgasm, only to coyly retreat
before the moment of no return until the fire of his ardour abated, and then back they’d
go again happily to their allotted task and the erotic cries would echo about the bed
chamber. All those wet kisses and the slurping and the sight of juddering, sweating
breasts and thighs and the yawning of shapely buttocks as each girl sought to make herself
more comfortable about the Negro giant and those obscene sucking sounds amid the
thunderous male groans of ever-so-sweet suffering and, inevitably, the languid sighs and
giggles and mmmms of female delight would finally combine to assail the outraged innocence
of Mairead’s ears until she could bear it no longer.
And then ... oh how she’d longed to be allowed to join in with the oral
group-worship of the big black overseer, to feel the, as yet unknown, sensation of her own
lips sliding slowly down that glistening, saliva-lubricated shaft of pulsing black meat,
to feel that oh, so illusory reversal of power as she temporarily helped to take complete
control over him.
And an illusion it most surely was, for very soon, just like her new
sisters-in-slavery, the helpless Irish teenager would finally come to truly understand the
hollow ring of triumph in that pathetic, laughable and now utterly meaningless old echo
from her former life.
Girl Power!
The unexpected intrusion of the Irish colleen had helped to abate only a little of
Mkomo’s rage and hatred, but the diversionary little cunt had at least managed to win his
cock’s full and undivided attention. It began to swell now, regardless of his mindset,
pulsing and twitching its way upwards until the quaking Mairead was finally confronted
with the mouth-watering prospect of ten inches of wickedly suckable black cock.
Mkomo grabbed the shaft of his weapon and guided it about her face and neck,
enjoying the feel of the faint downy hair below her ears. He rubbed the teardrops of
pre-cum absent-mindedly along the trembling surfaces of her lips but pulled back when the
girl opened her mouth in silent yearning. He continued to tease her with his cock, tracing
long lines of clear liquid about her eyebrows and cheeks and nostrils and as her chest
began to heave with little animal pants of longing, he thought again of the organisational
power at his fingertips.
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