Bush Slave 2, Lisa's Torment

Lia Anderssen

Chapter 1

 

The interior of the long, low limousine was cool, the efficient air-conditioning keeping at bay the sultry heat of the African night. The expensive-looking car purred smoothly through the streets, the driver doing his best to dodge the numerous potholes. Every now and again the black livery would be illuminated by one of the few street lights that still functioned in the neglected streets, and occasionally a pedestrian would appear, his or her dark skin illuminated by the powerful headlights of the vehicle. Each one of these walkers would shrink back immediately into the darkness at the sight of the vehicle, bowing deferentially as it passed.

The windows of the car were tinted a dark grey, so that, even with the soft lighting inside, it was almost impossible to distinguish its occupants. Anyone seeing them, though, would have almost certainly raised an eyebrow. They were, indeed, an unusual trio.

There were three of them, two men and a young girl. The men sat opposite one another in the spacious cabin, leaning back in their leather seats. One was white, a thin-faced individual with cruel lips and deep-set eyes. The African opposite him was grossly fat, the buttons of his shirt straining to hold it together as he lolled back in his seat, sweat trickling down his face.

It was the third occupant of the vehicle, though, that was most likely to hold the attention of anyone seeing her. Small and slim, the lovely young white girl knelt on the floor between the men. In contrast to their lounge suits, the petite beauty wore only a thin, ragged T-shirt that came just as far as her waist, leaving the lower half of her body completely nude. The T-shirt itself was barely adequate to contain her beautifully shaped breasts These were perfectly rounded, and they pressed against the threadbare material, the erect nipples clearly outlined.

As the vehicle bumped along, the two men spoke in low tones to one another. The girl, however, was otherwise occupied, and she seemed to pay scant attention to what was being said. This was hardly surprising, since her attention was concentrated on the massive black rod that jutted from the fat man's open fly. As the car bumped along she sucked hard at it, her long, dark hair spilling into his lap as she worked her head back and forth, allowing his penis to slip in and out of her mouth, her pretty, kissable lips pursed about its girth. Seemingly oblivious to her surroundings she fellated him energetically, one hand caressing his balls whilst the other gripped his shaft, masturbating him with firm strokes.

The man grunted his pleasure as the pretty twenty-year-old sucked him. His companion sat back in his seat, casting his eyes over the girl's behind, the otherwise perfect white flesh of which bore an unusual mark, the shape of a leaping lion about an inch across. This was no tattoo or birthmark, though. Close inspection would reveal that it was a brand, burned permanently into the tight, firm skin of her behind, a permanent indicator of her previous experiences.

But the unusual nature of the young girl's private parts did not end there. Crouching as she was, with her legs spread apart, an object could be clearly seen gleaming between her thighs. It was a ring, a thick, shiny brass ring, and it was attached to her through her pierced sex lips, the ring itself closed so that no join could be seen, making it as permanent a feature as the brand on her behind.

The beautiful young white girl was aware of nothing, however, but the thick black cock in her mouth. She moved her face back and forth with apparent enthusiasm, coating the shaft with a sheen of gleaming saliva, her tongue darting over the man's bulbous glans as she concentrated on bringing him pleasure. She looked neither right nor left, her fingers manipulating his heavy testicles as she sensed the tension in him increase.

All at once the man came, filling her mouth with hot, sticky semen, her pretty mouth struggling to contain the onslaught of fluid that gushed into her as she gulped his seed down, fearful of staining his suit by allowing even a drop to escape. For a few seconds it seemed that her efforts would be in vain as spurt after spurt of his sperm spat from him. Then the tide of spunk began to decrease and she seemed to regain control, swallowing hard as she continued to suck at him.

At last the flow ceased altogether, and she was able to let his rod slip from her lips. She licked it carefully, running her tongue up the length of the shaft, removing all vestiges of his orgasm. Only when he was completely clean did she begin tucking his now deflating organ back into his trousers and zipping them shut. Then she settled back in a kneeling position, sitting down on her ankles, her lovely green eyes cast to the floor.

"You see she is well-trained Mr. Mbogu," said the white man.

The fat man smiled. "You were right about that, Bulcher. She certainly knows her place."

"But that's the whole point. She doesn't have a place."

"So what do you want me to do about it?"

"Very simple. You are the Minister for the Interior in Negorvia. That makes you an important man in the government here. You could help me get her registered."

"I've already explained that such action is most unusual," said Mbogu, stretching back in his seat and placing his large, booted foot on the girl's lap.

"I don't see why," replied Bulcher. "After all, the law in this country permits slavery as long as the slave is properly registered."

"And marked."

Bulcher inclined his head. "As you say, properly registered and marked."

The large man shook his head. "Those laws were passed because we are at war with Kombu, in the north. It permits us to enslave any captured Kombians and put them to work for our own war effort, or to sell them to other countries as labourers. It was never meant for the likes of this girl."

"Oh, come on Mr. Mbogu," scoffed Bulcher. "Everyone knows the law's purpose is to side-step the Geneva Convention rules on prisoners of war."

Mbogu's brow darkened. "You must understand you are in Africa now, Bulcher. We do not always have time for the laws of Europe here. Both the Negorvians and the Kombians have been enslaving their captives since long before the white colonialists came on the scene. We are merely following a tradition."

"Of course, Sir. All I'm suggesting is that you follow the tradition in this case."

Mbogu eyed the beautiful youngster kneeling silently before him, his eyes taking in the pale creaminess of her breasts, visible through a large tear in the material of her T-shirt. His gaze dropped down to the thin patch of dark hair that covered her pubis.

"It is a nice idea," he concurred. "But she's not actually a prisoner of war."

"Does the law insist that she should be?"

"No. Not strictly. But all the others registered as slaves are."

"The law is the law," insisted Bulcher. "If it makes no discrimination, then surely neither should you."

"What about international opinion?" asked Mbogu. "You realise that we run the risk of losing our foreign aid?"

"Surely, sir, your government has circumvented such opinion before?" said Bulcher quietly. "After all, your country is rich with oil. Such things help. Look at the Middle East."

"Yes, but this case is different. Let's not forget that the girl is British."

A cold smile crossed Bulcher's face. "She doesn't need to remain British," he murmured. "She could become a nationalised citizen."

Mbogu raised his eyebrows. "What?" he exclaimed. "Make her Negorvian?"

"Possibly," replied Bulcher. "But why not a Kombian?

"Are you serious? Make her a Kombian?"

"Certainly. After all, there's no record of how she entered the country."

"Even so, there is no evidence that she came in from Kombu."

"Surely a man in your position could arrange such evidence?"

Mbogu eyed Bulcher. "Hmm," he said thoughtfully. "It's an idea. But why should I?"

"Because I can sell you the weapons secrets from the Bellco corporation. Secrets that will allow you to construct the weapons you need to defeat the Kombians. You know that."

"You're right. We need that information," concurred Mbogu. "But what's you're motive? Why are you so keen to have this slut enslaved?"

Bulcher lowered his eyes. "The reasons are personal. They are not important."

"All right. But do you really have the secrets?"

"You've seen the data I've already given you, Mr. Mbogu."

"Yes I have. And I must admit that it seems genuine."

"Then the price of the girl's official registration as a slave seems a small one." Bulcher leaned forward in his seat. "Allow that, and I shall enter negotiations about the secrets."

"So if I agree to send her for registration, you'll name a price?"

"I assure you Minister that I shall make my offer during dinner if you give me your word. After all, she'd be just another slave as far as the law defines it."

Mbogu inclined his head. "You are right, I suppose." Once again he allowed his eyes to stray over the submissive young girl's form. "It seems a shame to mark that body, though," he said.. "And the mark of a slave must be on view at all times, you know. That's what the law says."

"I know," replied Bulcher, a sudden gleam appearing in his eyes. "And I have an idea about that. I shall tell you about it at the same time as we discuss the secrets. I think my idea might amuse you."

Mbogu chuckled. "I'm sure it will. You are a very interesting man, Bulcher, and one whom I believe I can do business with."

"Then you agree?"

"I agree to discuss it with you. We are nearing the restaurant now, though. What should we do with this whore?"

"I thought we might lock her in the car, Mr. Mbogu."

"No. She has no place in here."

For the first time, the beautiful youngster raised her head and gazed at the Minister, her eyes wide at his dismissive words. But there was no comfort in his expression.

"We shall put her out and collect her later," said Mbogu.

Bulcher's eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute..."

Mbogu raised a hand. "You want to make a deal, don't you?"

"Yes but..."

"Then she gets out here. You trust me, don't you Bulcher?"

Bulcher looked at him. "Of course."

"Good." Mbogu tapped on the window that separated them from the driver's compartment. "Stop here!" he ordered.

The limousine glided to a halt and the driver ran round to the rear door and opened it.

"Our passenger is disembarking here," said Mbogu. "We will collect her later."

"Yes sir."

The driver turned to the girl, who was staring at Mbogu with wide eyes.

"Get out, you."

She opened her mouth as if to say something, then clearly thought better of it. Slowly, she rose from her kneeling position and climbed through the door. The driver eyed her up and down, taking in the creamy whiteness of her bare behind. Then he closed the door.

As the car pulled away from the kerb, Bulcher turned to Mbogu.

"Was it wise to abandon her there?" he asked. "After all, this is a pretty rough part of the city."

"Don't worry," replied the big African. "My people control this area. I have contacted them and told them where she would be dropped. She will not escape or be abducted. I have patrols of vigilantes who will ensure that she doesn't go far. Meanwhile, they will enjoy having a near-naked white girl to amuse them."

A grim smile spread across Bulcher's features.

"In that case, let's go to dinner," he said.