day, sir!” The slim golden-haired woman
strode forward, one hand steadying the sling of her rifle, the other extended
in greeting. The man who had been
surprised supervising the adjustment of the load on one of a string of donkeys,
broke off with a startled expression and then slowly came forward. The woman wore a mannish shirt in the newly
adopted khaki colour of the British Indian military and a long thick skirt in a
similar colour that just reached the tops of her brown leather boots; under the
wide brim of her straw bonnet she appeared to be no more than in her mid-twenties. She was followed by a tall young black in
European clothes with the look of mission cast-offs, he too carried a rifle.
Behind them appeared a file of native followers armed with hunting spears,
though one older man carried a muzzle-loader, bound with brass wire but no
leader of the donkey-train was a tall white man, in dusty black European
clothing and broad brimmed hat, with a revolver tucked into his waist. The other two were darker skinned but
similarly clad. Stretching back along
the trail other donkeys were halted, guarded by a half dozen very black men,
more raggedly attired. The leader
hesitantly shook the extended hand; he was a tall sunburnt man, with angry pale
blue eyes, gaunt-featured above a greying patriarchal beard. “Langemann,” he said reluctantly.
“I am Lady Alice
Butterworth. We are hunting for meat for
my followers. I have just trekked up by
ox-cart from the Anabaptist Mission at Kabali looking for elephant herds. I heard they gather here in great numbers
after the wet season in the mountains.”
She looked at the nearest donkey.
From an oblong box on one side of its pack saddle she saw glistening
metal through smashed packing.
“Martini-Henry rifles?” They saw
her cast her glance upon the loads of the other beasts as if for confirmation. She smiled at their expressions. “I was brought up in a military family. My
father commanded a regiment in the Indian service. Presumably you are not traders since
international agreements forbid trading arms or spirits to Africans. Are you Portuguese, perhaps? Surely King Leopold’s Belgians have not got
“We are civilian
contractors, madam,” Langemann said quickly. “Engaged by the authorities of the
German colony to deliver urgently needed supplies to an inland post.”
“You are far out of your
way then!” she declared confidently.
“Not at all!” he
bristled. “I assure you that we are in territory to which His Majesty the
Kaiser has every claim.”
“I think not,” she
insisted. “You have pressed too far
inland. The country hereabouts is claimed
by tribal chiefs who are under the protection of Queen Victoria. I have an excellent map provided by my uncle
Colonel Sir Edward Butterworth and moreover, my faithful guide, Ezekiel, has
travelled in these parts before with the Reverend Mr Dobbinson.” She produced the map and spread it out on the
pack-saddle. “I understand that the
nearest German post is at Mbembe.”
“Not at all!”
Langemann dismissed the map with an irritated gesture. “It is you who have strayed. This area is under the suzerainty of His
Majesty the Kaiser. We have come from
Mbembe bound to a newly established post.
A lady should not be foolishly roaming about in such primitive country,
I will give you one of my men to escort you safely back to the mission, in case
you are attacked by unruly natives.”
Lady Alice looked
scornful. “I’m sure such primitive people will not hurt us. Since we are in British-protected territory,
I shall report your presence.” She moved briskly away. “Come, Ezekiel, tell the
men to go forward.” By way of a parting
shot she added. “I’m sure you will soon
make the benefits of civilisation known with the aid of all those rifles!”
Left in doubt
whether the promise to report them had been merely a passing jibe or a real
threat, the three men stood, heads together, in an uncertain murmuring group as
they watched her little caravan resume its movement.
“Baas, do you think
there’s anything in this white woman’s claim?” one of them asked the leader
“The English will
claim anything,” Langemann said sourly.
“They claim a protectorate over the Tswana but their tribal lands are
well to the east. The Portuguese claim
to protect the Ovambo, but they’ve never done anything about it. King Leopold will have his hands full in
Katanga. That madman Stummf thinks he
can keep the English at bay and claim the centre of the continent for the
Kaiser, then produce his fabled diamond mine so that he will be like the
Englishman Rhodes and the Kaiser will make him a Von.” he snorted. “The woman recognised what we are carrying,
though,” he ruminated, tugging his beard.
“Is she in this place just by accident?
She was careful to make it clear that she has important connections.”
“She is just one of
those eccentric English travellers who wander where they will, acting as if
they have a charmed life,” suggested the third man, swarthy in complexion with
drooping black moustaches. “Even if she reports what she has seen, it will not
trouble us this trip.”
Langemann shook his
head. “The English use such people as secret agents. She clearly realised that we were smuggling
the guns and her masters will guess they are intended to help the Matabele
resist Mr Rhodes’ plans, so favouring my own people’s expansion. If she is here for that purpose, she will
send off a messenger as soon as she gets clear of us. If we take no action to prevent it, the
diplomatic fuss will end with our sponsors disowning us!”
That night as the
lady’s entourage lay camped under the stars, her guide Ezekiel lay awake,
wondering reluctantly if the journey would indeed have to come to an end. His belly was comfortably full and he felt
ready for something more than a meek retreat.
The day before his madam had shot an antelope and they had all eaten
well, feasted rather, Lady Alice tearing at the tender meat with sharp little
white teeth, careful of the grease and licking the juices off her long pale
fingers. The madam had been contemptuous
about the white men they had met, but her followers had been worried. Being far
away from their own territory, they were afraid of the reputation of the white
men. King Leopold’s men had caused hideous rumours and now the aggressive
Germans were slaughtering whole tribes.
The men wanted to retreat to safer territory. He had persuaded Lady Alice to deal out a
generous tot of whisky each to hearten them and they were sleeping soundly
enough, but he turned restlessly in his own blankets. He reluctantly concluded that he should try
to convince her that they should humour the porters, at least to avoid the
proximity of the men they had met. The
madam’s tent was still lit. No doubt she
was writing still in her journal. He
threw the blanket aside and crept towards the tent, quietly not to arouse the
“Madam,” he whispered. The wet season river ran noisily near at hand
and he couldn’t tell if she heard or replied.
He parted the tent flap. The
madam was apparently sound asleep on her back on the camp bed, that strange
lustrous hair cascading over the pillow.
The lighted candle stood upon the portable desk by her shoulder tilting
perilously. He tiptoed forward to
extinguish it and she moved restlessly, spilling the blanket from her
figure. Her high-necked long-sleeved
nightgown was undone at the neck far enough to show the rounded swell of her
breasts and the thin material had somehow become rucked up high about her white
Lady Alice had taken a glass of whisky
herself after dinner and was in a restless drowse, dreaming of brown skins and
muscular flat chests. She had been
thinking all that day of Ravi and the delightful nights by the shore of Lake
Shalimar when she had been such a disgrace to her family. From there her mind went to the stalwart
Ezekiel. His limbs were darker, his hair
tighter curled, but his manly length and muscular torso had made her wonder
what it would feel like to snuggle up against that broad chest. She had watched him washing in the river,
noting with a blush that his penis was thick in his wet shorts, like Ravi’s had
been after swimming in the lake.
Stooping over her, Ezekiel heard her
sigh his name, eyes still closed. Her slender white arms came up and enclosed
him, drawing him down. He extinguished
the light with a closure of his fingers as he sank into her soft embrace. He
would be gentle, he resolved, and make sure he gave her every pleasure this
night. His fingers delved to find the
lady’s fleshy bud stiffened with desire, her lips slick and moist. Her soft sighs grew steadily more welcoming,
her thighs opening to his gentle nudge.
He slipped his suddenly urgent shaft inch by inch easily into receptive
depths and her reaction was only to arch gently to take its length more
deeply. He could delay no longer, having
watched her so long, finding her so succulent and even as he began to thrust
gently, she murmured sleepily, her hips and belly squirming in languorous
circular motion. Her body began to arch
more and more, Ezekiel hastening on in panic as he felt her body wakening,
though still churning in desire and crying out in full sudden passion just as
he fired inside her at last.
On the ridge above, with his half
dozen men lying by their weapons, the leader of the gun-runners, having tracked
Lady Alice’s caravan thus far, had cursed quietly as the light vanished. They had seen the Englishwoman retire, her
shadow moving within the glowing square with fascinating suggestiveness and
waited for her to settle to sleep. Then
they had spotted the black who acted as her guide, advancing softly half-naked
upon her tent, stoop and enter and held their breath, anticipating the outbreak
of feminine shrieks that would rouse their prospective victims and make their
task of assassination that much more difficult.
They strained for long to hear any
untoward sound until, his patience breaking, their leader whispered
orders. They moved cautiously downhill,
stalking their sleeping quarry like hunters. At a gesture, four men broke from
him to creep silently towards the motionless forms of the native followers
while he and the other man turned their attention to the tent. As they closed with the faintly discerned
oblong shape, they heard the rhythmic sounds that emanated from within. Over where the followers lay, knives
flickered in the moonlight rousing no more than a grunt or a gurgle. The leader of the assassins rose, stooping by
the tent flap and at that moment the noises inside rose to a crescendo and
became explicit; a female voice crying out in passion. “Yes… yes… darling…”
Lady Alice awoke completely,
floundering under her overturned camp bed, the crash of repeated gunshots ringing
in her ears. A heavy body was dragged
from on top of her and she gaped up into the suddenly flaring light of a struck
“The bitch is still wet from him! She has his cum all over her belly!” A
swinging hand hit Lady Alice in renewed darkness as she tried to protest the
outrage, confused as to what she protested but terrified by events.
Another brief flare of light. “Look at her!
The lady explorer whose influential connections you were so nervous
of! See what sort of connections she has
been enjoying? She has been well
explored by a black man!”
Lady Alice flung out her hands against
repeated dazing blows then the light was gone again. She was towed out by her ankles, screaming
for help from her followers and trying to prevent her nightdress from sliding
up around her hips. Out in the noisy
darkness, she was picked up, kicking convulsively, and tucked beneath a man’s
long arm. Her captor swung this way and
that shouting orders, twice slapping Alice’s thinly clad bottom hard when she
tried to interrupt him. Otherwise she
was ignored. Oxen bellowed in
alarm. Fire flared up where the tent and
wagon had been set ablaze. Her cries for
help had gone unanswered. Even as they
left her lips she realised they were wasted and that, as much as the
humiliating smacks of his hand succeeded in silencing her. She was alone with this brute and his
“Degenerate kaffir-loving bitch! You are a disgrace even to the nation whose
treacherous ends you serve!” Lady Alice
was carried in a few strides apart from the activity but still within the light
of the blazing wagon, tucked under the strong left arm of her captor in the
posture of a delinquent child, with only her long hair unbound and tumbling
about her head down to the dusty earth to hide her panicking expression. Her nightdress of plain white lawn had pulled
tight about her hips, its smooth enhancement of the twin curves of her bottom
cheeks, distinctly illuminated by the reddening light of the flames. Alternately she tugged at her captor’s legs
or with reaching fingers to the ground sought to push herself upwards and
though she was keeping her thighs clamped tightly together, one or other of her
bare heels kicked spasmodically upwards as if only wanting the resolution to
break free. As the man bellowed angrily
above her, Lady Alice threw up her head in panic, the muscles of her bottom
tightening instantly as she glanced back over her shoulder to see her captor
had his belt undone and swinging in his fist.
Her indignant protests had been succeeded by wild appeals and were now
reduced to apprehensive sobs.
She was conscious that she had been no
match for the man’s strength and fury. The demonstration of her vulnerability
had strangely affected her, both daunting and disturbing. She had thought that a journey of exploration
would be a test of her resolution. That
surrounded by black men who were servants and subordinates, she could learn to
resist their strange attraction.
Suddenly, at the hands of this white stranger so overwhelmingly
masculine himself, she looked to be made to pay a penalty for her humiliating
“I couldn’t help it…!” she wailed in
“I shall cure you of it, as your
father should have done!” Langemann’s
words struck upon his victim’s mind with more force than he realised. When Lady Alice’s disgrace had been
discovered that first time, the wrath of her father had been expressed only in
words of shame that brooked no reparation.
Her belly churned and she experienced blind panic at the thought of punishment,
but the effect of the words in her mind made it seem only requital of her folly
Langemann’s belt struck her even more
effectively. As it came down. the light glinted briefly on the metal that gave
it impressive weight. The thick, hard,
buffalo-leather carried a heavy brass buckle with a regimental crest. He had taken it from the body of an enemy
soldier years before when he was a youthful rebel fighting the English Colonial
government and it landed across Lady Alice’s thinly clad bottom with a crack
like a pistol shot. She managed to
stifle the agonised scream that rose against her teeth and then only just
swallowed another as it quickly rose and fell again, adding a second stripe to
the one already showing darkly through the thin fabric.
“This to cure your filthy lust…!” The third
application of the leather, smacking broad and hard across quivering female
flesh, broke the young gentlewoman’s initial resolution and elicited an
unfettered howl of anguish and confusion.
Lady Alice lost her head completely and her wild kicks tossed the loose
folds of her nightdress up to the backs of her knees.
Oh it hurts!” She squirmed and
wriggled, grinding her loins against the restraining solidity of the male knee
as if to dissolve it by her frenzy. “Oh
please…! she wailed. “Oh… no … it won’t … it won’t…!”
“Then try this!” Langemann broke in savagely
and applied the brass-weighted soldier’s belt to the seat of her white
nightdress with unremitting vigour, the hard leather making worn striations
across the once pristine cloth as it slithered this way and that over the
lady’s bobbing and twisting bottom rounds, doing nothing to disguise the curves
this…! And this!” Twice the man paused to readjust his grip and
each time, Lady Alice’s expressions of submission and panic were
“I can’t help it … Owww! Please … Ohhh … Spare me…! Owwwohhh! I didn’t mean…!” Her abundant hair flying loose in a cloud,
getting across her face and into her mouth, finally clogged Alice’s cries. Her nightdress split under the strain of her
threshing, ripped gaping open between her thighs and the next descent of the
belt sent the end curling deep into that dark split beneath the rounds of her
bottom. The lady’s shriek rang among the
“I couldn’t help it…! I couldn’t help it!” Her belt-striped bottom jerked upwards, the
violence of her kicks parting the loose edges of the garment to either side of
her thighs and right back to her hips, leaving her nakedly exposed, but as if
reluctant to close upon the throbbing swelling between them, her thighs still
remained wide, blatantly displaying what lay between. “I am a wicked creature…” Lady Alice
sobbed. “I must be possessed…!”. Desired atonement for sinful lust seemed only
to remind her of its allure.
Langemann thrust her from him as if she had
turned into a writhing snake, his face working.
Lady Alice remained at his feet where he had tumbled her, wholly at his
mercy, but somehow that idea only added to the throbbing heat the fiery stripes
had aroused within her. With the
confused feeling that there was something unfulfilled, she struggled to her
hands and knees, back hollowed, and sought coolness by thrusting her burning
bottom rounds upwards with thighs still unheedingly parted.
“Vile Jezebel!” Langemann hissed. Alice felt him drop to his knees behind her
but a nervous paralysis seemed to possess her.
Hard male hands slapped to her naked hips and she jerked involuntarily,
her breasts swinging loosely in the slack breast of her nightdress. He was going to put his thick, hard, male
instrument into her!
“No…! No!” she moaned. As a lady of breeding and
propriety, she knew she ought properly to have swooned. But shockingly, the throbbing heat that
spread from her thrashed bottom, deep into her secret core, seemed to have
focused her mind instead upon more earthy reactions. Shamefully reacting to his grip, her fear and
trepidation burst forth in a quaver.
“Are… Are… you? Are you going
not go where a kaffir has been!” he snarled in thick disgust, but she felt his
hairy thighs slide past hers, nevertheless, and a hot truncheon of flesh
pressed close into the soft crevice between her bottom cheeks.
Alice gasped and squealed as his big hard hands pressed the plump hemispheres
close about what she knew must be the male stem. Wide-splayed gripping fingers sank deep,
torturing her belt-seared flesh. Lapped
in the medial trough of two softly distorted globes, the thick hot column of
his masculinity seemed gigantic to her inflamed imagination, occupying her mind
and engrossing her expectations. Every
time he surged upwards, thrusting and grunting more like an animal than a man,
Alice felt heavy globes bounce against the open gape of her wanting orifice, wiry
hairs simultaneously rasping its tender lips and tantalising the swollen bud
exposed within. Her feelings blundered
in confusion between shame, revolt, and horrifying desire for penetration.
agonised curses flew from behind her and a succession of wet blobs landed first
at the base of her spine and then slithering down the cleft as the source of
the discharge suddenly retreated through its warm clasp.
Jezebel! You lure men on!” Langemann
staggered to his feet. Denial beyond
her, feeling the marks of his fingers like burning brands and possessed by the
feeling she had somehow failed the test, his victim squirmed and sobbed in
what you need, lady! You will be cured
of that!” Alice’s captor stormed. He
shouted angrily into the darkness, summoning one of his black followers to him,
giving him orders then thrusting the distraught lady towards his man. “Go on your knees to the kaffir!” The donkey driver was evidently not quite
certain of what was expected of him and, having undone his pants, handled his
down-curved penis diffidently before Lady Alice’s burning face as if slow to
believe his luck.
it! Put your lily-white hands round it! Make him stiff!” Langemann harassed her relentlessly and the
black man himself quickly caught on, capturing her timorous white hands in his
dark ones to demonstrate what she should do.
Alice had only the memory of her Indian boy’s youthful prick with which
to compare by way of masculine furnishing.
On her knees in the dust, her hind quarters throbbing from the punitive
leather, her belly with something else, she was presented with more than a
boy’s equipment, a formidable dusky column suddenly rising at a stiff angle
with the purplish dome almost entirely exposed, the foreskin having drawn back
to make a taut encirclement at its lower edge.
Her head swam and her fingers trembled as she clutched the slithery
irregularity of burgeoning male flesh, imagining in panic where it was to be
fours, Milady! Invite him to mount you
like a bitch in heat!”
her head in shame Lady Alice was almost glad to turn her back and on hands and
knees in the dust, dumbly present her behind to the man whom she had left so
enlarged, hearing his heavy breath and sensing his closeness as he knelt behind
her. Large masculine hands slid her
nightdress forwards off her hips and clasped her trembling flesh, lifting her
naked hinder end until her knees came off the ground and the folds of her
nightdress slid on further to bulk about her back and shoulders. She knew what she would have to take; after
all she had measured its length and girth with her own trembling hands. Its owner distracted her attention
momentarily with words thick and incomprehensible, but then thrust at almost
the same instant. Lady Alice began a
scream as she felt honour bound but as the stiff column rammed brutally in, she
quickly abandoned it from sheer breathlessness.
thickened surging flesh was sunk inexorably deep within her, withdrew and then returned,
over and over, a throbbing coring within her belly. Shamefully her flesh began to react to the
penetration as if it had filled some needful vacancy and carried a promise of
fulfilment. Her insides seemed to fill
with a surge that demanded a response and she gave up the futile struggle to
remain inert. It was too late to regret
having chosen submission, too late to attempt to deny the lust she had aroused
in the man and now brought to bear upon her.
In an effort to excuse her surrender she reminded herself of the penalty
she would pay, crying out at the thought of the descending strap, her jerking
backside and squirming hips exciting even greater reactions and eliciting
appreciative grunts from her enforced partner.
Sense of punishment to come, only fed her lust by releasing her from the
demands of duty by the certainty of expiation.
uncomprehending black man at least relished the complex effects, pumping his
massive rod vigorously in and out while Lady Alice mewed and squirmed beneath
him, trying all the time to conceal her belly-churning approach to orgasm from
the ears of her other captors. She
groaned through clenched teeth, thrust to and fro by the black donkey-man as he
reached his limit and spurted into her with grunting triumph. At the last she was thrusting backwards in
return, wailing in recognition of her frailty, but suddenly reluctant to lose
him. He withdrew his quickly softened
shaft, despite her sobs and stood up, breathing heavily, hastily restoring his
pants to order as he turned away. Only
then did either party remember the lone spectator.
Alice, crouching close to the earth, looked on huge-eyed as Langemann, now
purple in the face, unshipped the dreadful belt and handed it to her erstwhile
partner, intercepting his retreat towards the fire and hectoring him on a job
half finished. Alice tried to be brave,
gritting her teeth and clenching her fists, presenting her naked bottom to the
belt, hoping to cure her unwelcome longings, but the black man, temporarily
sated and evidently impatient to abandon her, dealt her only the lightest of
blows, placing no great strength of arm behind the belt.
to her harder!” Langemann yelled
angrily. Though at a distance, he was
evidently alert to the level of sound made by the impact of the leather upon
naked flesh. “I want to hear her
shriek!” The black fellow grunted,
shrugging he rolled his eyes with apologetic effect at the white woman’s anxious
tear-filled upward glance, but he followed his orders. Grasping at clues, Alice guessed that a
display of fortitude only made things worse and, seeking to collaborate in his
simulated rigour, had no difficulty in responding with unfeigned howls.
“That will teach you how kaffirs treat their
women!” Langemann gloated. “Are you on
fire to take black men now, my lady?
Confusion filled Lady Alice’s mind regardless of his jibes. From a dominant position as a well-bred
English lady of influential family, commanding instant respect in the world,
and in assured control of her little band of followers, she had crossed the
path of this murderous brute and been instantly reduced to helplessness. She told herself that she had submitted to
save her life, but she knew that she had also been excited by such
treatment. The thrashing never quite
obscured her thoughts of how effectively that same black man might have served
to appease her wicked lust. She had
failed in the behaviour expected of one in her position and must bear the