Chapter One: Welcome to Namberia

 

It was night when Ika's plane touched down at Prince Najim International Airport. She disembarked, then immediately went down to personally supervise the off-loading of her special cargo: three sleek, oblong, coffin-like metal containers. These were high tech transport units with self-contained life-support systems that had been home for Cheryl and Kathy Watkins and Brandi Wylde for the better part of two days.

The three women had been prepared for the journey to Africa from the Casa de Rotura with injections of with a mild tranquilizer to render them docile. Broad swathes of sticky cloth bandages were wrapped tightly around their naked bodies, pinning their arms to their sides and their legs together, so that the only parts of their bodies they could move were their heads, fingers and toes. They were gagged, had their eyes taped shut and finally, their ears stopped with wax plugs. Then they were lowered into the coffin-like boxes for the trip to Namberia. Hoses from an oxygen tanks were installed in their nostrils, and 4-inch long, mouth filling rubbery gags crammed down their throats, ensuring their silence. Vibrating dildos were thrust into their pussies to keep them in a constant state of sexual arousal. Then the lids were closed and sealed, leaving them in pitch blackness and total silence, for all intents and purposes, buried alive.

At the airport in Namberia the coffin-like containers were moved directly from the baggage compartment of Ika's private jet directly into a truck waiting on the tarmac. This was not done by the regular baggage handlers, but by six Preceptors (the Namberian secret police) who had been chosen by Ika for their loyalty and discretion. After all three containers were secured in the truck, the six Preceptors jumped in the cargo hold to ride with Ika to the palace.

Ika's ostensible reason for such elaborate and expensive transport arrangements for the new slaves (the containers cost almost $10,000 each) was to make certain that no-one learned that the boxes held kidnapped US citizens, which would be a disaster for both her and her brother. But she could have just as safely carried them in the cabin of the plane and had them taken away in one of the Prince's limousines. The plane had landed at night after all, and the unloading took place in a hangar reserved for the Prince's business. This building was located in a remote part of the airport, and was heavily guarded. Any unauthorized person who came near would have been instantly arrested, or more likely, shot. So the high-tech coffins were not really needed for purposes of security.

Rather, they were part of the process of breaking the wills of the three women, so that they would more quickly submit to their master (and mistress,) and accept their new lives as draft animals. Confinement in a dark place is an ancient and effective means of gaining compliance, and when the space is only a little larger than the prisoner, she is utterly immobilized, with no idea of what is happening or how much time is passing, as in this case, the method can be very effective indeed.

By the time they were decanted from the boxes in a little-used wing of the palace, Cheryl, Kathy and Brandi were as limp as overcooked asparagus. Ika ordered her men to stand them on their feet (where the guards were obliged to support them, as all three would have fallen down without help,) wax remove the plugs from their ears and the tape over their eyes.

"Welcome to the Principate of Namberia, cunts. I trust you had a comfortable journey," she said addressing the three bound women in a conversational tone. The women stared blankly at her. "You are about to begin your new lives as slaves of Prince Najim. I will train you in your duties, and I will accept nothing less than total obedience." She spoke the final two words sharply enough to make even the disoriented prisoners start. She continued "If I receive anything less from one of you, the disobedient cunt will be locked up back in that container for another 24 hours. Is that understood?"

At this the women's eyes flew open in terror. The Watkins's made muffled, incomprehensible noises that Ika interpreted as abject promises of obedience. Brandi was so unnerved by this threat that she burst into tears. A stream of liquid trickled down from her thighs as she lost control of her bladder.

This show of submission was sufficient to satisfy Ika, for the time being. She nodded. "Good," she said. "Here are your first orders: My servants are going to take you to another room to be cleaned up and prepared to meet Prince Najim, your new master. I expect you to cooperate fully with them, and do exactly what you are told. If I hear otherwise, you can look forward to another 24 hours in those boxes." She glanced meaningfully at the three metal coffins.

This provoked another round of earnest gibberish from the three gagged prisoners, "Mrrr uhh rrr..." and so on, which Ika took to mean, "We promise...we'll be good...we'll obey..." and similar sentiments. Ika raised her hand and said, "Enough!" silencing the women. To the Preceptors, she said, "Turn the cunts over to the house servants. You are dismissed."

As the secret policemen filed out of the room, Ika motioned for the palace majordomo to approach. "Has everything been prepared as I instructed?" (She had telephoned her instructions to him before leaving South America.) "This is a most important occasion, and if even the slightest detail is amiss, I will be most displeased."

The man bobbed his head and said, "The display has been set up in the old throne room, exactly as you ordered, Mistress Ika. Perhaps you would like to inspect it?"

"Unfortunately, I don't have the time just now," she answered. "But I shall certainly do so before the show. Before anything else, I must go speak to my brother. He knows I have returned, and he does not like being kept waiting."

"I believe His Majesty is at the stable working with a new girl who he acquired while you were away, Mistress," the majordomo volunteered.

"Thank you, Jamolu," Ika said, and walked rapidly away.

***

Cheryl, Kathy and Brandi were so feeble from their confinement that the servants had to half-carry them through the halls of the palace to the bath, an enormous circular basin decorated in Moorish tile inside a colonnade of pointed arches underneath a high dome. It had been built by Najim's great grandfather for his seraglio that occupied an entire wing of the palace. It had been unused since Najim's coronation, since he did not maintain a harem in the palace, instead lodging his bevy of beautiful pony-girls in a barn at the race track.

When they arrived at the bath house, the servants immediately set to work, starting by removing the dildo gags, then freeing their charges from the swathes of tape. This was a far from pleasant process for the captives, as the adhesive clung stubbornly to their naked flesh, and the servants made no effort to be gentle. The women yelped in distress when the tape was torn vigorously from the soft flesh of their bellies, more loudly when it came roughly away from their nipples, and loudest of all when it was ripped away from their pubic deltas away bearing clumps of short, curling hairs.

"Do not be a fool, chimbo [whore,]" the man working on Brandi told her. "All your makko tsunga [pubic hair] must go before the Prince sees you. He likes his cunts nice and smooth." He ran his hand lightly over her mound. "We will pull out what remains after your bath."

Brandi offered no resistance when two of her attendants led her to the bath and lowered her into the steaming water. She sighed with pleasure, trying to recall the last time she had bathed. The Watkins were submerged beside her, Cheryl to her left and Kathy on the right. "God, that feels so good," Kathy said. "I must smell like the monkey house at the zoo." Cheryl nodded in agreement.

They were not allowed to luxuriate for long. The men immediately began to scrub them with boar-bristle curry brushes that had been designed for the comparatively tough hides of horses, not the delicate skin of human females. The men worked in teams of two, one holding the screaming, writhing woman in an armlock, while his partner plied the stiff bristles over the pink flesh. Brandi noticed that the men gave extra attention to her underarms, breasts, especially the nipples, pussy and between her buttocks, and were not satisfied until the skin in these areas was red from irritation and hot to the touch.

After all three captives had been thoroughly scrubbed, they were put through another ordeal. They were bent painfully backward over round stands bolted to the floor, their wrists and ankles tied to the base of the legs to spread their limbs well apart, to afford their attendants full access to their private places. Then their body hairs were plucked out with tweezers, starting under their arms and finishing with their vulvas. The work was both painstaking and painful, and seemed to the women to go on forever. "Thank God that's finally over!" Cheryl exclaimed when the men working on her stood up and put their tweezers aside.

But, as they soon discovered, the painful depilation was not over just yet. On the contrary, the worst was still to come. As a final step to ensure that their hairless condition would be permanent, the attendants employed modified tattoo needles on the roots of their pubic hair. The tip of the needle was inserted into each follicle from which a hair had just been plucked, and an electric charge delivered to kill the root and prevent a new hair from sprouting. As these follicles were already raw and swollen from the mechanical plucking, the procedure was exquisitely agonizing. The women screamed, begged for mercy, and twisted so wildly in their restraints that, if they had not been firmly held they would have hurled themselves to the tiled floor.

After this ordeal, the attendants arranged their hair in pony tails, then helped them back up to their feet. This was accomplished by pulling the women from the floor by the hair.

"Come along, chimbos," the majordomo said. "It's time to make yourselves pretty. You have date with Prince Najim."

***

After she left the Americans in the old seraglio, Ika went to the stable area behind the palace to find her brother. She discovered him with two other men, inspecting the new pony he had purchased while she was in South America. The new pony, a young, black girl, was naked, bent over at the waist, and restrained in a particularly cruel and painful way, with her elbows sharply bent and her wrists tied together high up her back. She wore a training halter over her head that was tied to the base of a hitching post. Her name was Suzy Okafors.

Najim was squatting behind the girl, exploring her pussy with his fingers, while the girl looked back at him between her legs. When he saw Ika approach, he stood, wiped his hand on his pants, and said, "There you are at last, sister! I was informed that you landed almost two hours ago. Where have you been? More importantly, where are my new cunts?"

Then recalling his duties as a host, he said, "Ika, I'm sure you remember Dr. Francis." He indicated a tall, middle-aged white man with a white mustache, and a dark tan on face. He was dressed in a pale blue tropical suit. Dr. Francis had a suave sophisticated air, and was, to Ika's eyes, quite attractive.

"Yes of course," she said, extending her hand. "It's been far too long since your last visit, Doctor Francis. How go things on Grand Reynard?" This was the name of the tiny Caribbean island of which Dr. Francis was the President for Life and dictator. He was one of Najim's few close friends, and like the Prince an enthusiastic aficionado, collector and trainer of girl-ponies.

Dr. Francis swept up Ika's hand and pressed it to his lips. "It is a great pleasure to see you again, mademoiselle," he said, speaking with a slight French accent. "All is calm at home: indeed, it so quiet that I was able to get away to visit with my dear friends here in Namberia for a few days."

"And of course, you know Mr. Hassan," Najim said, indicating the other man, a thin, swarthy individual with a sharp beak of a nose, dressed in typical Bedouin fashion: long cotton cloak, loose turban and sandals. He was a slave dealer, who bought girls from Najim after the latter had lost interest in them, and also sold an occasional slave to the Prince.

Ika did not like Hassan. Actually, 'dislike' was inadequate to describe her feelings: she positively loathed the man. Ika found the slave trader disgustingly greasy and unappetizing in his person, his personality obsequious, dishonest, avaricious, and so creepy that he made her skin crawl whenever he was near her. However, since her brother actually liked the vile little man for some unaccountable reason, she was forced to tolerate him, instead of having him hauled away to the House of Lamentation for a quiet execution, which would have been her preference.

"Mistress Ika!" Hassan said, smiling as he approached and opening his arms for an embrace hug. "It seems impossible, but unless my poor eyes deceive me, you are more beautiful than ever!" Ika hastily stepped back to avoid contact, and said, "A pleasure to see you again," in a tone suggesting that it was about as pleasant as an impacted wisdom tooth. She offered her hand to shake, then nearly snatched it away again, when Hassan copied Dr. Francis by raising it to his blubbery lips and slobbering on it in greeting.

Ika recovered her hand as quickly as minimal politeness allowed, suppressing the urge to "accidentally" strike the visitor's fleshy, pitted nose in passing, then wiped it off on her pants as unobtrusively as possible. Then she turned away from the slave trader as if he had suddenly ceased to exist to face her brother.

"Hassan sold me this fine, little filly here," Najim said. He slapped the girl on the buttocks, making a sound as loud as a gunshot and causing her to jump six inches in the air. "She just turned 18, according to her identification papers. Do you recall hearing about the busload of Nigerian Catholic girls who were highjacked by terrorists a few weeks ago?"

Ika nodded. "I read about it, and like everyone else, I wondered what had become of them," she said.

"The Nigerian government refused to negotiate with the kidnappers," Hassan said, "so they decided to get what they could by selling the cunts to a wholesale slave trader, a business acquaintance of mine. As soon as I saw her, I knew that your royal brother would want her for his superb stable."

"She looks quite promising. A bit on the thin side perhaps, but she's got good, strong calves," Ika commented. "Now, to answer your questions, Najim: I have spent the last two hours having the new cunts prepared for you. I want to make sure they look their very best when you see them. You deserve nothing less."

"So, where are they?" the Prince asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "Do you mean to say that they're still not ready?"

"No, not yet, brother. If I have them brought up here this minute, you will find them fresh, clean, and perfectly presentable," Ika answered. "But I would ask you to wait just a little longer, until after dinner. As the acquisition of these Western bitches is a special occasion, I thought it would be appropriate to arrange to present them in a special show for you...," she looked at Dr. Francis and Hassan, then added, "and your guests, course."

Najim hesitated, considering whether to rebuke his sister for taking such a decision about his new ponies without consulting him first. Before he had reached any conclusion, Dr. Francis remarked to Hassan, "It sounds to me like a most interesting and entertaining way to spend the evening, to me. Wouldn't you agree, Ibrahim?"

"Yes, indeed," Hassan answered. He licked his lips. "I always find the introduction of newly captured slave-girls to servitude most...hmmm...stimulating."

"Yes, it does sound rather interesting," Najim agreed, his mind made up by the endorsement of his guests. "I do hope it will be worth the wait, dear sister. I like to encourage my subordinates to exercise initiative...," he paused to look at her through narrowed eyes, then continued, "...as long as they don't forget their place and force me to take some action to remind them. Don't you agree, Ika?"

"Uh, yes, Your Highness," she hurriedly answered. "I promise you that the show will be well worth the wait."

"I will hold you to that," Najim said. He took his guests by the arms and said, "Then let us adjourn to dinner, gentlemen, shall we?"