Chapter Twenty-five

‘GOD! THIS STINKING BOG!’ Clio groaned, when she finally rose from the hard cold rim of the seatless porcelain pedestal and savagely pressed the large metal button that operated the flushing mechanism. She felt the pain in her knees and the stabbing ache of her leg and back muscles, the soreness of her inner thighs, her belly and the hidden tenderness of her vulva. But then there was no part of her, from crown to toe, that did nothurt, after this eternity of being kept in this filthy prison cell. Except that the cell, bare and cold as it was, with its cement floor and tiled walls, was not really dirty. After all, they came and hosed it down every morning, and them too, as the two naked girls crouched and held each other and yelped at the stinging power of that icy stream. She was sure the guards must fight for the sadistic pleasure of wielding the canvas pipe with its gleaming pointed nozzle. At least Onama had stopped coming in with a select little audience to observe the daily ritual degradation. Not that either Clio or Jan suffered agonies of shame at the compulsory ablutions any more; not when they had far more extreme humiliations to endure, under the hands of the insatiable police chief, and several of his select cronies.

According to Jan, this torment had lasted no more than 12 days. And Clio had no cause to doubt her. As she shook down the skirt of the ugly coarse dress, the only garment they were allowed to wear, until commanded to remove it for the nightly revels in which they featured, Clio acknowledged that without her beloved Jan she would never have survived two let alone 12 days – and nights. She climbed stiffly up onto the high concrete shelf affixed to the wall. It served as their bed, with only a rough, stained mattress an inch thick and a dark grey smelly blanket to cover them, and she sank gratefully into the open embrace of her lover, the enfolding arms and legs and sweet kiss which made the cruel hardness of the “bed’s” assault on her aching bones so much less brutal. Their mouths open, their tongues penetrating, entwining, they gnawed at each other, felt their pulses racing, their bodies under the rough linen material of the dresses longing for further ecstatic contact. ‘I love you, my darling!’ Clio whispered, when they finally released their sealed lips. ‘Please, please forgive me for bringing all this on you – for everything!’

Jan strained closer, their bare legs clasping, every inch of their bodies striving to press closer still. ‘There’s nothing to forgive, don’t ever think it. I came to you, looking for you. I gave myself up to you. I’ll always belong to you.’

Jan clung to those words when, much earlier than usual, soon after they had received their evening meal of dark meat stew and rice, which they ate from a single shared dish with crude wooden spoons, the cell door opened, and a police constable beckoned Jan to accompany him. Clio sprang up, her voice taut with fear. ‘What about me? We always go together.’

He shook his head, his teeth flashing in a dazzling grin. ‘Hapana, memsa’ab. No, madam. Only this one. Little one, no hair. Do not worry. I come back. Keep you company, yeah?’

Jan reached out quickly, clasped the hand that stretched towards her. ‘I’ll be all right.’ Even though the normal routine had been changed by this summons for her alone, she was not afraid as she followed her guard along the already familiar bleak corridor. Far worse was the treacherous knowledge that she was not truly filled with repugnance after their sexual sessions with the police chief. Occasionally, one of his VIP associates, such as the short, bespectacled chief magistrate, would be there to share in the “fun”, in a four-way romp in which the girls were expected to do all the hard work, and did not disappoint, though Jan constantly worried that Clio would fail to hide her feeling of revulsion and anger.

But the secret that really troubled Jan, which she could never confess to Clio, was that far from being revolted by the rampant Onama, her own body was shamefully excited and eager to receive his pounding assault. It had been so ever since that first coupling, in the prosaic locale of his office on the building’s first floor. The great barrel of his frame, that rotund belly, so unexpectedly hard as a drum, the feel of it thrusting against her, her own slender softness meeting its eager thrust, the parting of her thighs to encompass such a girth, thrilled her so much and accelerated her own excitement to such a swift climax, that she was tormented by her own perversity. How could such a gross figure, such an uncouth individual, who treated her simply as an attractive means of ensuring a satisfying orgasm, white trash worth nothing except as a good fuck, arouse her so spectacularly? It appalled her – but there was nothing she could do about it. Already, as she padded silently behind the constable, she could feel the muscles of her vagina tightening, twitching in anticipation, the delicate skin of her upper inner thighs tingling in anticipation of that smothering belly frotting against her. But there was another surprise awaiting her, for she was not taken through the heavily protected iron door with its tiny barred window, that led up to the first floor and Onama’s den, but instead through a door on the right, which opened onto a room similar in size and layout to their own bleak cell.

‘Wait!’ the constable growled. Jan’s heart began to beat quicker, a new fear gripped her as she stood there alone in the middle of the floor. There was a sheet and blanket folded back neatly on the thin mattress of the shelf-bed. Oh God! Were she and Clio to be separated? Was this to be her new home? A solitary incarceration? Please, no! Then even this fear was displaced by her jaw-hanging amazement, as she gaped at the tall figure of Patrick Odhiambo, who clanged the door to behind him and advanced on her with eagerly reaching arms.

Later, she had time to reflect that she should not have been so astonished at his reappearance, when it had been chiefly through his interference in her life that the insulated tiny world at Van Reis’s had been disastrously shattered. But in those first dizzy moments of their reunion, logical thought failed her in the violence with which Odhiambo seized her, crushed her in his arms then bore her to that hard but waiting bed. His lips sealed her mouth, preventing all but a breathless gasp, then a squeak at his great hands already climbing up her legs, ripping apart the buttons of her ugly striped dress then greedily fastening on the naked delights he found waiting beneath the rough material.

‘Please!’ she managed, but whether it was a word of protest or an urgent bid for him to get on with the business of fucking her, she scarcely knew herself. In another instant, whatever clothing had covered his lower body had gone, her prison uniform was a twisted strip of cloth under her arching back, and he was there, on her, pressing between her spread thighs, his face rooting, his lips gnawing at her crushed breasts and, most potent of all, the proud head and that long shaft were ploughing, pushing aside the lips of her cleft, driving into the narrow tunnel which welcomed the invader with moist, fierce joy. Odhiambo’s cock! The phrase rang like a triumphant battle cry once again in her brain. She wondered if she had screamed it aloud in her madness, then she gripped his pumping hips in her thin milk-white thighs, envisioned their paleness parted yieldingly about the slim, brown clenching cheeks of his bottom, exquisitely paler than the darker, shining skin of his back and shoulders, and the long limbs as he hammered down and deep into her core.

She had learnt over the past months, since coming to Van Reis and Clio, to live for and in the moment, which stood her in good stead now, as she lay crushed and exhausted under his dead weight. She could feel the combined wetness of their loins, could feel the impressive length of his penis, soft but still fully occupying her cunt’s clinging walls. A thrilling post-orgasmic spasm passed through her as she wondered if he would stay there, inside her, and his mighty cock rejuvenate itself, harden and begin that deadly thrusting again, and if she would survive such a cataclysmic onslaught. She acknowledged to herself that her excitement matched her fear.

Though their loins did part during the long and sleepless night, they came together again, twice, in equally tumultuous consummation. Between these bouts of splendidly savage passion, they lay in sweating, gentler conjunction, and talked, though it was mainly Odhiambo who spoke, while Jan thought furiously of how to deal with this latest tempestuous lover. ‘Onama finally agreed to let me come and spend the night with you. We have to be careful, my love. But I swear I will get you out of here, out of the fat pig’s bed. I know he forces you to fuck with him – and the other white woman – Van Reis’s whore.’

Jan almost cried out in angry protest, but swiftly realised that even with Odhiambo she must be careful, must not antagonise him. Her hand rested gently on his damp, hairless chest, her leg rubbed softly against his. ‘I told you, when you came to the bungalow, they have been kind to me. And to Marty. They–’

‘They keep you naked – and him too! To play sex with. Do not worry, my darling. Onama cannot keep you locked up here. I will find a way to get you out. I’ll get you back home, to my village. I’ll look after you. But we must wait – as long as he will let me see you, let us jig-a-jigtogether. I will talk to someone, in Kendu, in the ministry. I–’

She stirred, ignored the tender soreness of her sex, lifted her leg seductively over his, and reached down between their bellies, to search out his long, limp prick to distract him from his worrisome scheming, and the frightening prospect of her exchanging this unhappy captivity for another in some remote bush village. As a stratagem, it was spectacularly successful.

The end when it came only three days later was sudden, swift, and totally unexpected. A suitcase was brought to their cell, which contained an assortment of Clio’s clothing and cosmetics, all crammed in higgledy-piggledy, clearly packed in haste and with little forethought. But when they were ordered to get dressed, they did so, hurriedly pulling on garments, one of which was the white mini-dress which Jan had worn for that first assignment with the police chief. They were shaking with both fear and hope as they waited to discover their fate. They learnt it, not from Onama, but from the chief magistrate and another distinguished officer in army uniform.

‘You are very lucky, ladies. It has been decided that you will not receive the punishment you deserve. Instead, you will be deported back to your own country. We do not need foreign harlots to corrupt our young men – and women. You will sign this declaration of guilt, then you will be taken to the airport. You will be on tonight’s plane. I advise you to accept, and never return to our country.’

‘What about Marty – my husband?’ Clio’s voice trembled, her fear evident, but Jan was deeply moved by her bravery in mentioning him.

‘That is not your concern!’ the army officer snapped. ‘His case has already been decided. Now sign! The car is waiting to take you to the airport.’

Their courage could only sustain them so far. With trembling fingers, they scrawled their signatures at the bottom of the sheets of paper and stumbled out into the blessed beat of the still fierce tropical sun. They did not mention Marty again, until their clenched muscles had relaxed, and they lay back in their fully reclined seats in the last row of the economy section of the 747 speeding them at 35,000 feet back to London. Clio raised the cushioned arm of the slim barrier between them, and they nestled in even closer contact, covered by a shared cellular blanket. ‘He’ll be all right, I’m sure,’ Jan whispered. Her lips brushed Clio’s ear, were tickled by wisps of her hair. ‘I’m sure we’ll find him already back in London. He’ll be waiting for us. They said his case had already been decided. I bet he went out on last night’s plane. Or maybe even before.’

‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Clio’s hand gripped Jan’s bare arm tightly. She managed a brave smile. ‘If they let usgo, degenerate pervs that we are, what on earth would they keep poor Marty for?’

Jan nodded, turned her face towards Clio, and gave a swift, surreptitious kiss. Then she gave a gasp, as she felt Clio’s hand moving over her thigh, under the thin blanket. The fingers dextrously unfastened the two lowest buttons on Jan’s dress, and the material parted as far as her belly. The hand settled on the warm, silk little triangle of the briefs, and began to stroke the swelling softness of the pudenda, until the pout of the vaginal lips, and the rapidly dampening groove between them, stood out. Jan stirred. Her thigh muscles hardened as she tried not to wriggle, and her face grew red.

Clio’s breath was warm against her ear. ‘I’ve always wanted to have sex in mid-air,’ she breathed. Now the nails were plucking at the elastic which stretched over Jan’s fuzzy little new growth of pubic hair, then the fingers slipped inside the fragile cover, and their tips slid into the moistness of the upper groove of the cunt. Jan’s muscles relaxed once more, and her thighs fell accommodatingly apart. The warm, husky timbre of Clio’s voice seemed to accentuate the effect of her hidden caresses. ‘I guess this could be the dykes’ equivalent of the mile-high club,’ she snickered. Although her hand did not stop its stirring attentions, the whispered tones switched back to their former seriousness. Jan recognised the new hesitancy in the hushed voice. ‘Listen, Jan. We’ll be all right. That is ... if you want us to stick together. I really don’t want to lose you, my darling. Marty will be there – I know he’s crazy about you – I don’t mind, honestly. In fact, so am I. I don’t want to lose you–’

Jan’s hand held the thin, moving wrist between her thighs. ‘Me neither. I wouldn’t ever want to leave you ... or Marty. I love you both.’ In the dimmed cabin, she let her lips touch lightly on Clio’s proffered mouth and smiled. ‘Besides, we belongto you. We’re your slaves, remember. You’re responsible for us.’ The hand clasping Clio’s wrist moved, encouraging her to continue her erotic stimulation.

Marty came to swimming full consciousness once more, and to the realisation that he was stretched out, arms and legs spread out wide. He was pinioned by wrists and ankles, staked out on the wide bed. He stared up at the hanging billow of the white mosquito net, shivered as he felt the cool air of the air conditioner blowing over him. He was naked. Who had stripped and bound him? Then he remembered. The events of the past ... day? Two days? drifted in a series of disconnected scenes through a mind clouded by tranquillizing drugs: tears rolling down his cheeks at his recognition at last of a familiar face: the honest, brown, plain features of Ramzan, his Indian lover, staring down at him as he lay in his own stink in that fetid cell; the strength with which his saviour lifted him, bore him away, in his battered truck, back to the simple bush house that had been for a brief time such an idyllic haven for the two of them, before Ant had so brutally reclaimed him; the tenderness with which Ramzan bathed him, cleansing off the stench of the brutal treatment of the prison; the soothing balm he had applied to his wounds; the laying of his soothed body in the blessedly cool clean sheets of the bed Marty remembered so fondly, and the loving safety of the lithe brown body wrapped about him, lulling him to sleep.

So why now was he tied down like this? His heart was thudding fiercely. He could recognise the bedroom, remembered the happiness he had shared there. And suddenly there was that newly familiar face, the dazzling whiteness of the teeth against the light brownness of the features, that slightly crooked nose, the result of a long-ago break, those brilliant dark eyes, with long dark lashes. Beautiful!

‘This time you won’t get away from me!’ He was smiling down at him, but Marty sensed a new quality that had not been there before. ‘I guess I wasn’t tough enough, eh? I should have come after you. Fought for you. I didn’t realise ... you like to know who’s boss – the bwana mkubwa. This time I’ll show you. You’re not leaving me again.’

Marty stared up at the dark shape of Ramzan standing over him. He felt the gooseflesh crawling on his nakedness, and something else: that tingle of sensual arousal, the excitement like electricity. He saw Ramzan’s piercing stare, the smile broaden, and Marty blushed. His stubby prick stirred, rising against his thigh, thickening.

Ramzan saw it too, and smiled. ‘You belong to me. And I’ll leave my mark on you. Right?’

Marty’s eyes were held by that brilliant stare, which looked into the very centre of his being. He nodded. His cock stirred again, more strongly, swelling, stiffening, against the tiny dark hairs of his pubis. Ramzan reached down, and seized the throbbing little penis, his fist closed about it, jerking and stretching the foreskin, and Marty gasped, then moaned, lifting his belly beseechingly. The hand pressed the hardening column up, against the belly, pressed downward. It was sharply painful, but Marty welcomed it, thrust up into it, adding to it, and with characteristic suddenness he erupted, his semen spurting out, over the brown gripping fingers, onto the heaving belly. Ramzan bent close, the red lips descended, closed over Marty’s open, uplifted mouth, and took possession of it.

An age later, Marty felt his ankles being untied, while his arms were left pinioned beside his head. The backs of his legs were lifted, held firmly by Ramzan, as he knelt between them. He was naked too, his prick jutting potently, urgent in his need. And Marty lifted his hips obediently, his neck arched, he stared up at the ceiling and shuddered in rapture at the steady, stabbing penetration he had so longed for.