Chapter One

THEY KEPT US IN a cupboard, off the kitchen. Well, they called it a room. It was about ten foot by six, and had one small window high in the wall, about two foot wide and six inches deep, with reinforced glass, and solid iron bars on the outside. The double mattress on the floor, which we shared, took up more than half the floor space, not that we needed more room. We had no furniture, and no possessions. We would have been better off in the proper servants’ quarters, which were at the bottom of the large garden, distant from the bungalow. But there was a cook/houseboy and a housegirl living there already, and as Clio told us, with that lazy laugh of hers, ‘You’re not watu(natives), for God’s sake!’

In those early days I had already suffered greatly from the humiliations heaped upon me at the unimpressive size of my sexual apparatus. Jan was very kind. ‘It’s just perfect!’ she assured me during the treasured time we spent alone in our cubbyhole. She loved to play with it as we lay on our mattress in the dark, or by the flickering light of the Tilley lamp we were allowed for our extra comfort. Her gentle fingers were deeply arousing, as she stroked and rolled it in her palms, or pulled the collar of the foreskin back to expose the acorn shape of the swelling glans, and I would squirm and shiver with delight as it grew from its normal two inches to three, or sometimes at the height of excitation, four. She would tease out such action for what felt like hours, extending the exquisite torture by desisting just before the critical point of climax, allowing me and my organ to sink back in limp, damp relaxation, before slowly building to crescendo once again.

She didn’t always confine her ministrations to this expert manual stimulation, though, if she persisted, it was unfailingly enough to bring me arching and whimpering to brief full erection and ejaculation. Sometimes, to my never-failing amazement and gratitude at her magnanimity, she would bend low over me, so that her warm breath played over my quivering flesh, and her tongue would begin its long, slow, exploring strokes over my lower belly, the crease of my inner thighs, and then the throbbing tube of my prick, which would stir and rear as though eager to return the embrace. I would feel her soft lips kissing my already slippery helm, and the underside of my shaft, then the lips would close over the swollen head and slide remorselessly down, drawing me into that wet and warm, sucking cave, into which I would explode, with final shocked delight and she would pull back, her smeared face resting over my still discharging prick, while she expelled the residue of my semen from her mouth onto the damp little softness of my pubis.

Equally often, I would take the active role, starting by lying beside her, our naked bodies twined together, our mouths glued, tongues sliding, writhing, then I would ease down, slowly, always slowly, concentrating on her breasts. They were of quite modest size, but beautifully high, like a young girl’s, much more beautiful to me than the full, overripe bosoms and pronounced nipples of the local women. Jan’s were small, a pale pink, as were the surprisingly generous areolae surrounding them. Her stomach was flat, and in the centre lay the divine shallow little eye of her navel, the next focus of attention for my curling tongue. Then I knelt between her thighs, bowing low, lifting them to rest on my devoted shoulders as I let my nose riffle through the wiry black curls of her pubic hair, or the soft fuzz after a recent trimming of the small tuft. My nostrils quivered as I inhaled rapturously the distinctive aroma of my final destination.

Just as her breasts reminded me of a young maiden rather than a woman in her mid-20s, so her sexual parts seemed equally fresh and unaccustomed to sensuality. Ecstatically, I buried my face in her bounty, lapped and nuzzled and nibbled, pulling back now and then, to extend that delicious time of pre-orgasmic sensation, guided by the convulsing grip of her fingers in my hair, which would suddenly increase, drawing me back a little from her presented loveliness. When she could not hold back from the brink any longer, again a hand would guide me; it would scrabble, reach for my own hand, clawing, urging me towards the fount of her excitement, and I would slide in my finger, then another, into the well-lubricated vagina, work rhythmically within its narrow walls, seek out the hidden upper peak with that tiny bud of clitoris, and work back and forth in a final frenzy, my lips and tongue still furiously assisting, until her belly and thighs rose, she jerked, buffeting me on the crest of her coming, on and on until we both collapsed in sated exhaustion.

Once only, in the very early days of our joint subjugation, Jan had attempted to initiate our sexual intercourse. After manipulating my prick, with success enough to see its extended length and even the hardness of erection, she rose and spread herself over me, her knees jutting. She sat astride, with her hand agonisingly gripping my captive cock like a rodeo rider clinging to the pommel of a bucking bronco. She strove to fit my engorged member into her tight but eagerly awaiting cunt. She succeeded, and for a few dizzy seconds, I felt my throbbing hardness drive deep into her narrow sheath, and she let out a sharp yelp of triumphant pain. Five seconds later came the inevitable wilt. I buckled inside her. For a few more seconds she tried to keep me inside, riding me furiously. I could feel the jabbing of the bones through her tight little buttocks on the front of my thighs, before my now totally detumescent prick oozed out and lay trapped between us.

I turned my face away, mortified by my failure, even though I should have expected no other outcome. I couldn’t keep back the tears I tried to hide. But I was astonished to feel Jan’s hands pulling me fiercely round to face her, the salt liquid of her own weeping mingling with mine, along with her wet, searching mouth. ‘No, no!’ she gasped. ‘Please – I did it for you, I swear, not me! I thought you wanted it. Surely you know – you mustknow that that’s not what I want. I’ve never wanted it. It’s what you do – the way you make love to me, with your mouth, your hands – that’s what I need – what I’ve always wanted. Look! Here!’

She turned again, away from me on the mattress, but still holding me, reaching behind her, thrusting her bum into my lap so that we fitted spoon fashion together. Her hand groped, her fingers fumbled until she found my still greasy little penis and fitted it into the slot of her buttocks. She thrust even harder against me, to ensure that my prick was securely held in the cleft, and moved in slow rhythm. ‘Do it!’ she murmured. ‘Bring yourself off against me.’

‘I can’t! You know I–

‘You can! Just keep moving, like this. Till you come. I don’t mean – I just want to feel you come.’

She gave a brave little laugh that was half sob, and I began to rut, limp as I was, and it was rapturous against the yielding little rump, the nestle of her cheeks about my once more swelling penis, and I let my mind go, drift in the power of my masturbatory fantasies, where my prick no longer mattered, no longer existed, and I came, surging, flooding her inner cheeks and my own belly in the copious discharge. She lay still as it cooled and crusted on our entwined bodies, and my lips nuzzled at her neck and her delicate shoulder, my fresh tears catching in her hair.

And yet I still treasure for myself those five or six seconds when my prick was inside her cunt, the crude and pure sensation of fucking, which gives a clue to the truly screwed up sexuality of my nature – and, maybe, of hers – which landed us in the mess we walked into. Strangely, from that five-second wonder, and monumental failure, we became true lovers, in a tenderness and intimacy that exceeded anything we had known, in any of the many other enforced relationships where our bodies and minds were used and abused to the limit. Nobody could get near it, however completely they owned us and compelled our obedience. And, after all, in the last analysis, this slavery we were delivered into had been of our own volition: the last act of our individual, and joint, free will, and I guess that makes us closer than anyone could ever imagine.

But how did it happen? Of course you have a right to know, if not to understand, so let’s sketch our histories before they became one – starting with mine.