The flushed tinge on her lovely young face crept downward over her neck and ripe, young breasts. She was no stranger to ill-will, but the malevolence in the stifling air that night was so strong that she thought she might faint from merely breathing it in. Except she mustn't faint, not yet, for the entertainment of which she formed the main part had barely got underway. It would probably be all right if she passed out later but not before she had been thoroughly mauled and ravished, and humiliated, of course. Yes, definitely humiliated, she thought, because that was one of her master's greatest joys and one he would not forgo merely because his slut-of-a-slavegirl passed out. In fact he would probably find a way of ensuring her humiliation was greater while she was unconscious, she decided as she tried to swallow her shame and get on with the job in hand...or rather in her mouth, she corrected herself.
She had suffered many indignities since her arrival at the plantation, so long ago that she scarcely remembered her previous life in which she had been a gifted student in England, but it was the first time she had ever found herself in that particular building. The un-swept floor on which the ginger-haired girl knelt was thick with the detritus produced over a lengthy period of time by the African guards and other plantation workers who habitually gathered in the single-room building. Strictly speaking, "building" was far too grand a word for the corrugated iron drinking-hut situated at the edge of the plantation. The rusting outside walls had been painted over using left-over cans; one wall was Cadmium Red, another Sky Blue and two were Bottle Green. The inside walls, all of which were painted animal-dung brown, were decorated with worn-out pictures of American cars and Western women, their scantily-clad bodies a-froth with lace. To an outsider it would probably seem odd that with so many naked, yielding slavegirls at their disposal, the men who guarded them fantasised about women who would always remain unobtainable.
Two hurricane lamps on opposite sides of the room, dangling precariously from wire wound around rusting brackets nailed into the flimsy walls, provided the only lighting. The place reeked of beer, stale sweat, semen, paraffin and cigarettes, the latter producing a dense fog through which the men peered as they swigged Tusker lager. Sitting on up-turned crates, piles of old tyres and a couple of tribal drums, their attention was centred on the trembling girl and the big man she serviced with such devotion.
Solomon Mwangi, the wealthy, black plantation owner stood before them with a tumbler of imported Jack Daniel's in his hand, a half empty bottle of which stood on the dirty, upturned plastic bucket set beside him. A huge man in a sky blue cotton shirt and imported designer jeans, Solomon was equally at home among the British aristocracy with whom he had been educated in England as he was among the local tribesmen of Sambiya. Despite his extensive travels throughout Europe, he could never consider living anywhere but here on the plantation he had inherited, situated at edge of the mountainous Kunguri Forest which all but surrounded his land. Here he had everything he needed, including enough slavegirls to keep even his rampant prick occupied, and anything he didn't already possess but wanted could easily be obtained for a price. 
And that was exactly how he had come by the submissive little white flower whose mouth presently caressed his shaft so sweetly. His smile was benignly engaging as he looked down at her, and was completely at odds with the cruelty which, according to the men who worked for him, flowed through his veins instead of blood. He cared little if the girl was devoted to him or not and was well aware that it was her terror of his very real desire to hurt her that encouraged her throat to open wide enough to take in so much of his considerable cock. He considered all his slaves to be fundamentally stupid and often amused himself by setting them up to get themselves in trouble, and then punishing them severely for having fallen into his trap. Life was good, he thought as he took a swig of the neat liquid and savoured its burning in his throat, especially with a white slut on the end of one's cock.
Naked except for a collar round her delicate throat, she knelt submissively at his Italian-shod feet on the floor to which she was fastened, by a length of rusting chain hitched to her collar at one end and an equally rusty ring set in the concrete at the other. With her freckle-peppered hands tied behind her slender back with biting, durable twine and her delicate fingers fluttering prettily, her head bobbed back and forth as the catcalls from the watching men scythed the atmosphere of overindulgence. Once again, Solomon lifted the glass to his fleshy lips.
At the back of the room, Niconari leaned nonchalantly against the wall, his booted feet crossed at the ankles. Tall and muscular, the ebony skinned tracker-cum-guard was instantly recognisable for miles around with his customary bandanna, a dusty, khaki uniform, heavy boots and a rifle slung across his back. From his belt hung a coiled, braided whip and a machete, the latter for cutting down the dense vegetation of the forest which was inhabited, according to the uneducated masses of his countrymen, by demons and ghosts. Only the bravest of warriors and witch doctors dared to venture far into its depths. But just the sight of Niconari was enough to vanquish any spirits of the forest and strike terror into the hearts of the local population and slavegirls alike. It was that terror of him that made the sluts all the more beautiful to the tracker, and as he kept his gaze focussed on the delectable slave who fellated her master, it was with pride that he acknowledged that she was one girl in particular who had good reason to be afraid of him. He removed his bandanna, dabbed at the sweat that glistened on his face and then retied the bandanna in place as his eyes zeroed in on her sensuous back, criss-crossed with two dozen, angry red lines which Niconari himself had delivered with such dexterity only hours beforehand.
Still holding his glass, Solomon raised his other massive, prune-coloured hand to silence the men. Then, as the girl's soft, pink lips glided wetly over his dark-skinned prick, he summarised his outlandish ideas in his best, English plumb-in-the-mouth tones that he had perfected years earlier, though his vocabulary wasn't entirely genteel.
"When I instruct you to leave some of the filthy bitches with their hands untied while they're contained within the compound, I'm not talking about the whole fucking herd of them! And I'm certainly not suggesting that you let the stupid little prick-polishers wander around with their hands free the whole time, either." He seemed not to even notice as the beautiful, young captive continued to suck his phallus reverentially, her spittle making his velvet-skinned tool positively shine. He took another swig from his glass before continuing. "Once or twice a week will do, for an hour, maybe two but no more than that. Remember, it's not supposed to be a reward for the filthy sluts..... what could they possibly do that would warrant one?"
He splayed the fingers of his free hand on the back of the girl's head and ground it hard against his crotch. He laughed as she gagged, his small, dark eyes shining brightly. His men also laughed, spluttering their Tusker in the dimness. Solomon waited until the guffaws had died down before continuing, his hand still holding her head in place.
"The whores exist solely for my pleasure, and that should be reward enough! No, I see it more as mockery, as one extra humiliation for the majority of them whose hands will remain firmly bound behind their backs, especially the white sluts. And I can't emphasise enough that I still want to see most of the whores tied down, tethered to the fence or one of the frames most of the time. I admit to having a slight preference where the white sluts are concerned and I expect you to bear that in mind. In other words, I want them to suffer! If that means that the whites think our own kind receive preferential treatment, more freedom and so forth, so much the better. It's all about entertainment; primarily mine."
With that, he began violent thrusting movements that rocked the girl back on her heels. His grip tightened and then, with a guttural roar he ejected his sperm in torrents down the girl's throat. Amid laughter and cheers from his watching men, he turned his glass upside down and emptied the remains of his drink over her long hair. Then tiring of her, he withdrew and pushed her backwards to hit her shoulder as she landed awkwardly. She gave a cry, then whimpered as she listened in horror to Solomon's final words.
"Keep this worthless little whore away from her two English friends at all times. If any man permits them to so much as stand in line together while waiting for a piss, I'll wear his balls as a necklace and sell him into slavery." He tapped the young slave with the tip of his shoe as he tidied himself. "See to it that she's tied to the whipping post for a few hours every day......and I do mean every day, for a daily dose of the lash. It will amuse me to keep this particular lump of slave meat marked." He paused as the room reverberated to many stamping feet as the men demonstrated their approval. Then, without so much as a glance in her direction, he headed for the exit. At the door, he stopped and told his men, "now use her as you will. When you've done with her, take her back to the compound."
The men didn't need telling twice. Whooping with joy, they swooped down upon her like vultures over a carcass.
Niconari followed Solomon into the clear, night air and as they walked he voiced his concerns.
"Are you going soft on the sluts or what? You don't think it's a bit risky to let them have their hands free? What purpose will it serve?"
They came to where a young, black girl was stretched out face down in the dirt. Her chubby little hands were bound together and tied to a stake in the ground, and in her grasp she held a candle that threw an eerie light across her fleshy form and illuminated her viciously striped back. A second candle wedged into her anus provided the light with which to view her deliciously rotund buttocks. As the wicks burned down, candle wax dripped down the sides and solidified hotly on her tender flesh. But her cries went unheard owing to the wodge of dirty sacking stuffed in her mouth and held in place by a strip of animal hide. Naked except for a collar around her plump neck, also made of animal hide, her legs were opened wide and kept in place by twine tied around her ankles and attached to further stakes.
"Of course not!" Solomon said as he walked over her, using her lower back as a stepping stone across the mud, caused by a leaky pipe from the plantation's antiquated drainage system, in which she had been lain. "It's an experiment only and I'm well aware of the risks I'm taking. The stupid sluts are bound to mistake it for a relaxation of the system, and just think of the added entertainment value that will provide, the added spice. If it doesn't work out we can always drop it."
"And what if they use their new-found freedom," Niconari stepped heavily as he followed in Solomon's footsteps and caused the anal candle to flicker, "to climb the fence and escape?"
"That's why I've ordered the barbed wire."


CHAPTER ONE

Two months later

There had been several changes and additions to the plantation since the arrival of the three white girls from England months earlier, one of which was the wooden structure which had been constructed among the treetops, some twenty feet above the ground.
"It looks like an overgrown tree-house," one of the white slavegirls had remarked with derision.
As yet, its purpose was still unclear to the imprisoned girls, though it was whispered that it was their intended enclosure for the duration of the next rainy season, of which there were two in Sambiya, some five months apart. Solomon had planned its construction some time ago but his men had not started work on the project until the last rainy season had almost come to an end. Therefore, the girls within the compound had once again been left to endure the worst conditions the elements could hurl at them, and had spent the past few weeks up to their knees in rainwater for much of the time. But due to the close proximity of the forest and the crops grown on the plantation itself, to say nothing of the blazing sun and Solomon's own needs, the water had been quickly utilised and now there was little evidence of the dreadful conditions remaining.
"It should be high enough to keep out any marauding Simba from across the border," one of the guards had told him.
"They can climb trees," Solomon had pointed out.
"But they seldom venture this far," argued the guard, not altogether clear whether his employer was amused or not by the idea of lions.
"Unlike local chimpanzees," a third man had laughed as a juvenile chimp, followed by an irate adult, bolted across their path.
Another change was the addition of four strands of barbed wire which had been added to the top of the chain link fencing that enclosed the compound, bringing the height of the rusting barrier to over ten feet. Though the decision to have it erected had been taken weeks earlier, the wheels of commerce did not always turn smoothly in Sambiya, and it had taken weeks, along with "much greasing of palms," as Solomon put it, for the wire to finally travel the thirty or so miles from the supplier to the plantation in the South Western portion of the country. And it was only now, on the very afternoon that Solomon, weary from travelling, had returned from a trip across the border, that the work had been completed.
The big man with the cherubic features was keen to inspect the result. It was a precautionary measure only, for he doubted that any of the stupid sluts would even dare to think about escaping, even though they were sometimes allowed to have their hands free. In the main, the outcome of Solomon's experiment was exactly as he had anticipated; the slaves had been delighted with the new arrangement, and the privileged few always took full advantage of their freedom, thereby providing Solomon and his men with greater, sometimes lesbian, entertainment. Of course, the threat of the terrible retribution they would suffer at his command should they ever consider the idea of escape was a deterrent in itself. Nevertheless, he felt that the barbed wire was a necessary, visual reminder that they were destined to spend their lives penned in like worthless beasts.
In reality the lovely slavegirls were far from worthless; some were worth a great deal of money indeed. It was while he had been away at a neighbouring republic, where he had felt honoured to attend international talks concerning wildlife conservation, that he had been presented with the gift of a new slavegirl from one of the visiting dignitaries. He had also been presented with a second gift, a leopard skin, with which he had been delighted and now wore as he inspected his men's workmanship. He had swelled with pride when one of his men had pointed out that he looked like a great tribal chief with it draped over his blue, cotton shirt. In fact, of the two gifts the skin was more to his liking since the slavegirl had an annoying tendency to faint whenever she as much as saw the lash. That being the case, Solomon had not found it in the least bit desirable to flog the girl as he preferred slaves to be conscious to start with. If they passed out afterward or during, that was another matter entirely, and quite satisfying. Therefore, the girl would be disposed of, probably at auction, as soon as was practicable. In the meantime, he had quite enough to keep his mind occupied and regarded the barbed wire with satisfaction.
"Let the bitches get out now!" he said as he strode around the outer perimeter of the compound, situated at the foot of the forested mountains. His small, dark eyes glistened with lust as he glanced into the compound at the fifty or so naked girls it contained, and watched a young black girl, her hands behind her back, squat over a hole while the rest of the sluts, those who weren't tied down at least, formed a line. Being allowed to relieve themselves only twice a day meant that they fidgeted delightfully while they waited.
Solomon scratched his head as he tried to work out the exact number of his females. Fifty, sixty....only Kaburi the overseer knew for sure, and Solomon had no particular interest as long as they were all securely imprisoned and available for use. He was more concerned with the condition of his stock; he needed them to be as healthy as the harshness of their existence permitted so that he could get a good day's working the land out of them. In addition, he expected them to be capable of taking a half-decent beating afterward and still provide him with spirited entertainment at the end of it. He could do with a few more white girls, he thought now as he took in the swelling numbers of black girls.
He was accompanied as he examined the men's work by his most trusted man, Niconari. While most of the slaves cowered whenever Niconari appeared, conversely, some of the captives found his formidable presence strangely exciting.
And one of those girls was at present sandwiched between the two Africans who she had come to revere.

* * *

Walking silently, Kelly screwed up he nose as they passed the make-shift toilet, where the continual buzzing of flies was as off-putting while trying to relieve oneself as the guards whose job it was to supervise the procedure and make sure that the twice-a-day rule wasn't broken. For any girl caught flouting that particular rule, the retribution was harsh; she would be spreadeagled and tied with her back against the fence directly behind the hole for as long as it took for one of the guards to decide to free her.
Kelly was one of Solomon's few white slaves, an English girl with long, champagne-blonde hair. Like all the slaves, she wore a collar round her neck that was fashioned from the finest animal hide, the by-product of the beasts of the forest that Niconari regularly hunted to keep Solomon and his loyal workers well fed. With her sensuous, naked body streaked with dirt and dried semen, she was forced to take two steps for every one of the men's strides, for her ankles were joined together by a length of twine which bit wickedly into her flesh. Its purpose was not so much to prevent her from escaping as to add to her discomfort and humiliation, for she had learned long ago that there were two things that Solomon positively loved, and they were the humiliation and erotic torture of a woman.....but not just any woman, she realised, but one who recognized her own worthlessness and his supremacy. And she was proud to fall into that category.
With her head bowed and her hands tied behind her back with more of the cutting twine, Kelly had no choice but to endure any depravity that the two men engaged in. And as she walked, in full view of her fellow captives on the other side of the fence, two of Niconari's strong fingers were buried deep in her rectum. At the same time, Solomon's prune coloured digits gripped one of her luscious, generously proportioned, rawly striped breasts, their hard, delightfully peachy tips surrounded by wide, puckered areolae. She sucked in her breath as, without compunction, Solomon dug his scrupulously clean fingernails into the tender welts. She yelped as the pain was reactivated. That just seemed to spur him on and he dug his nails in harder, engraving half-moons into her already ravaged breasts.
Solomon brought her to a halt and Niconari drew to a standstill behind her, jabbing his fingers so hard into her that she was forced onto tip-toe.
Yet even in her curious, pleasure-tinged torment, there was a brief moment when she recalled how often she had seen Jo, another English girl, writhing under Niconari's whip. He always lashed the slaves with the zeal of a man who loved his work. Now as she looked back with a strange sense of pride that she had found her true home amongst such cruelty, she could almost hear Jo's perpetual yells of defiance, "I will escape from this fucking hell-hole, you see if I don't!" between her screams of pain. Naturally, that always made Niconari give her an extra twenty lashes, every one of which Kelly liked to count while she watched, her hands clinging on to the fence, her fingers curling and uncurling. And Kelly was as confused now as she had ever been regarding Jo, for she couldn't understand why the younger girl couldn't accept that she was as much of a submissive masochist as Kelly was herself. Nor could she understand how Jo, who had once striven so hard to become a slave couldn't accept that that was indeed what she was, a slave to be beaten and abused as often and as hard as Solomon and his men saw fit. And as Niconari's fingers continued to ravish Kelly's rectum, sending pain ricocheting throughout her being, she was content to be nothing more than just one more, imprisoned slut.
Moving round to stand in front of Kelly, Solomon released his hold on her breast in favour of her vagina, already moist and yielding. He pulled his fleshy lips back into a smile, then with cold brutality his fingers prised open the delicate folds of her pussy lips. Then, with a savagery that was at odds with his benign, round face, he thrust first one, then two hard, thick fingers deep into her moist channel, cruelly twisting them, then ramming them in up to the hilt inside her. Still smiling, his eyes shining with sadistic delight, he watched Kelly's pale grey eyes fill with water.
Even as the tears blurred her vision, she ached to run her fingers up and down his cock, to take it into her mouth and stroke his velvety balls. If only her hands were free! But, of course, they never would be for she knew that Solomon had given the order that her hands were never to be untied. Kelly was of the opinion that Niconari was far from happy with the new arrangements, and even suspected that he considered the whole idea of slaves wandering about with their hands free quite ludicrous. Secretly, she agreed with him and bizarrely felt more at ease with the use of her hands unavailable to her.
"At least this useless piece of slave meat won't try anything stupid." Solomon's brutality increased as he talked, his fingers almost touching those of his tracker as they too, twisted and jabbed mercilessly on the other side of the flimsy membrane. The look of pain on Kelly's alabaster skin, its paleness maintained by one of the overseer's special concoctions that he regularly doused the white girls with, brought such delight to his face that his smile gave way to a salacious laugh. "She knows her place...under the boot of every self-respecting male within a thousand mile radius!"
Even as Solomon spoke of her with such derision, Kelly felt tremors of arousal set her insides aquiver.
And she realised that he still regarded her as something special. He had bought her, along with Jo and a redhead from Hawks, the Jamaican slave trader, who had abducted all three back in England. And Kelly had known right from the start that her lavish, white breasts acted as a red rag to a bull, and it was quite usual for him to give her thirty searing lashes across her breasts, before handing her over to Niconari to deliver a further thirty. While it was true that Solomon loved to flog all his slaves, she was well aware that above all others he loved to beat her.
"No, she'll not escape," Niconari laughed as he made a grab for the back of Kelly's head. Scrunching his fingers into her long hair he yanked her head backward and looked down into her eyes, "she enjoys pain too much."
Kelly returned the look through misted eyes and her heart sang. Yes, it was true, God help her, it was true. Mentally she begged them to test the depths of their depravity on her body. Her throbbing nipples hardened even more as she thought of what they might do next. And even though she had never known anything that even remotely resembled kindness from the ebony skinned tracker, she couldn't help the excitement that trilled through her being at the mere thought of what he might do to her if she could only maintain his interest in her. And her master's, too. She smiled. They could fuck her, flog her and then fuck her some more and she wouldn't complain, she could endure anything as long as they didn't ignore her.
At last it seemed as if her prayers were about to be answered.
"Then see that she gets pain, and plenty of it," Solomon said softly. "When we're done here, take the slut away and hand her over to the guards to play with."
The slave owner's English accent seemed out-of-place on the African plantation. Coupled with his soft tones, it had the effect of making his words seem all the more cold-blooded, and merely added coals to the fire that already raged in the blonde's belly.
"Tell them not to concern themselves with how her soft skin marks up under the lash, she looks better with a few welts anyway. She's not as delicate a flower as she looks!" He cast a long, leisurely gaze upward along the barbed wire. "And as a reward for their good work, she's theirs to abuse for....." he paused to consider, "for the next twelve hours."
And then, all thoughts regarding Jo and the possibility of herself being ignored were put back where they belonged, in the box at the back of her mind that contained all her other unwelcome memories. While Niconari's fingers still plundered her anus, it was with an air of acceptance, and a sizzling heat in her loins, that Kelly accepted her master's fingers into her warm, sweetly juicing vagina. For Kelly, life seemed sweet on Solomon's plantation.

* * *

The following day, as the afternoon headed towards nightfall, inside the compound two naked girls, one white and the other black, squabbled over a scrap of meat. No bigger than a chicken breast, the morsel had been lobbed over the rusting, chain link by one of the guards, not out of concern for the hunger pains that the captives experienced on a fairly regular basis, but simply because it made good entertainment. Gouging at each other's flesh with their dirty fingernails, they kicked and squawked, one in English, the other in Swahili, neither understanding the other.
A small group of guards gathered around the compound's outer perimeter to watch. Laughing as they swigged their Tusker Lager, they made bets of French cigarettes and British beer that they had "liberated" from a small unit of British soldiers who were carrying out training exercises across the border after providing security, in a joint operation with the French and Italians, for the convention that Solomon had recently attended. Also watching was Niconari, who bit into a succulent piece of spit-roasted hog as he watched the action.
"Not betting, Niconari?"
Finishing his impromptu meal, Niconari wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his dusty, khaki uniform. "No, but I claim the right to fuck the winner." In an instinctive gesture he touched his fingers to the blade of the machete that hung from his belt.
No one seemed disposed to argue.
A short distance away from the grappling slaves, two young black girls, stark naked like all the rest, lay on the hard baked earth together, their sweat-beaded bodies entwined and their lust sated. Smiling contentedly they slept, their mouths glistening with the residue of each other's sweet sap. In her hand, one of the girls clutched a shiny, wooden dildo that she had stolen days before. Its correct use wasn't as a dildo at all though it did indeed resemble a penis, skilfully carved to show every vein. On closer inspection one could see that, just like all the others that were found around the place, one end had been worked into a sharp point and could therefore be driven into the ground. The objects were utilised all over the plantation as stakes to which the slavegirls could be secured. They were also, according to the guards who made them, exact replicas of their own pricks. Judging by the size of the prized possession the young girl clutched so tightly, it had been carved to reflect the size of their owner's magnificent tool.
A few feet farther away were yet two more naked girls who lay on the ground. Scandinavian in origin they were sisters, both staked out in taut, muscle-straining X shapes and fastened to the penis-stakes. The silvery trails of dried semen across their bellies was evidence enough that it wasn't their lust that had been sated but that of the guards who had violated them where they lay, and whose animalistic behaviour was merely routine. The gorgeous pair were striped with lurid scarlet welts from their thighs to their knees, and now lay perfectly quiet, despite their ordeal, not even a whimper escaping their lips. There was no point in crying out for someone to release them from the bondage which had held them secure for hours, just as there was no point in complaining that their limbs ached and their muscles were on fire, for none of the other slavegirls would dare to free them. And even if they did summon up the courage, no one would take pity on them for they, in their turn, showed no pity to their fellow slaves. Pity was a commodity for which there was no use in the hell to which they had all been abandoned.
There was no twilight for here in Sambiya, on the edge of the mountainous forest, night fell rapidly. Almost at once the floodlights burst into life, drenching the compound in harsh white light. The response was instantaneous. Galvanised into action, the sapphic lovers separated and scrambled to their feet, while the black girl capitalised on the white girl's momentary lapse of concentration and wolfed down the gristly morsel of meat. Within seconds, Niconari had scaled the fence and eased himself casually over the barbed wire. He dropped soundlessly to his feet on the other side and unfurled the whip that he always had to hand. The girl knew what was coming and, as she licked her fingers so as not to waste even one scrap of her hard-won prize, instinctively she edged backward. Dropping her hands to her sides, she crossed them behind her back.
Speaking to her in Swahili, he called her a black, fatherless whore. He raised his hand and the whip danced backward over his shoulder, and with a follow-up movement almost too quick for the eye to follow, he snapped the braided leather around her waist and imprisoned her arms, then reeled her in like a fish on a hook. Without looking at her, he turned and headed for the gate. Coiled in the whip's length with her hands still crossed and her arms trapped, he towed her along behind him.
Most of the girls contained within the compound, mainly young black girls bought locally or taken from their families across the border, now turned as one entity to watch as an African guard unlocked the padlock and the gate in the chain link fence swung open to admit Kaburi, the ageing overseer, who stepped aside to let Niconari and his prey out.
Grey haired and wiry, it seemed to those who knew him that old Kaburi had been rejuvenated by the arrival, months earlier, of the three, white English girls. It had been noted, not only by the guards but also Solomon, that Kaburi's former, soft approach to the keeping of slaves had been replaced by a more barbaric, and Solomon would argue enlightened, attitude. He scratched his genitals through his coarse trousers as the gate closed with an ominous Clang! behind him.
He moved among the naked slavegirls, thrusting his bony fingers up this or that vagina without as much as a by your leave, and groping at breasts as he passed. Paying no heed to the beautiful, Scandinavian sisters, he made for the whipping post where the redhead, Ginge, hung limply from her wrists, facing the post. Her eyes were closed and her head lolled to the side. It was two hours since he had tied her there for her daily beating and delivered ten searing lashes. Now his eyes raked over her slender back, where a grid-work of semi-permanent, livid lines and broken skin patterned her soft, white, freckled flesh and bore testament to his ability. Once again he scratched his genitals then, very slowly, drew his whip from his narrow, cracked belt. He stepped back a couple of paces, took aim, then dealt a further dozen, hefty lashes in quick succession, making her body jerk into life and yowls of pain leap from her parched throat.
"Another couple of hours and a dozen more lashes, then I'll have you taken down," he told her as he tucked the whip back into his belt, "until tomorrow." Then he continued on his way, once again fingering delectable quims and groping ripe, juicy breasts as he went.
"You, you," he summoned the girls whose hands had been left free for the past two hours, among them the sapphic lovers and the white girl who had fought in vain. Having previously selected the narrowest of the twine that was at his disposal, Kaburi removed the pre-cut lengths which were casually looped over his narrow belt and now set about binding their hands together behind them, tighter than was strictly necessary. That's when he noticed that there was one slut missing and, craning his neck to see he swivelled his gaze around the compound while calling her name.
"Sugar Cunt!" Where was the bitch? he wondered. "Sugar Cunt?" She had been nothing but trouble since the day she arrived, he thought, along with the ginger girl and the big-titted blonde. Then he spotted her, crouched down on the ground by the fence. What was she doing? Puzzled, he watched her for a moment as, believing herself to be unobserved, she used her bare hands to dig, scooping away the earth and flinging it aside. And then he realised.... the stupid bitch was trying to dig her way out! His face broke into a smile and his shoulders rose and fell as his mirth got the better of him and he stood chuckling. Then, finally getting a grip on himself, he gave a croaky yell. "Sugar Cunt! Get over here, now!"
Reluctantly, Jo got to her feet. Seeing that the old overseer had spotted her hole, she kicked the spoil heap aside and filled it in again. Then, swinging her arms by her sides, she stomped across the compound to stand in front of Kaburi. He had her turn round with her back towards him and tied her hands. Then he gave her a hefty slap across her taut bottom before sending her away again. All the girls now had their hands tied behind their backs. Nevertheless, he picked a few girls at random.
"You. You. You and..." he looked around for Kelly, "Big Tits."
Kelly limped across the compound towards him, scraping the upper-sides of her toes against the concrete-hard ground as she partially dragged one foot. She had not been released from the debauched clutches of Solomon's men after her twelve hour stint as their plaything until early that morning, and the evidence of her ordeal was painfully apparent. She had been repeatedly used by a succession of guards and had several times endured having every orifice stuffed with black cock at the same time. That being the case, her skin was covered with flaking, silvery trails of dried semen. Her sensuous body was a mass of welts and bruises with a wide colour range which all but obliterated the evidence of her earlier maltreatment by Niconari. From the waist down, she was tainted with mud that had dried, leaving caked spatter marks, an affirmation that she had been dragged into the forest and violated humiliatingly amid the foul-smelling, swampy regions. Her once shiny hair was a tangle of broken vegetation and split ends.
"Look at you," Kaburi smirked, "you look like something the hyenas left behind."
"Yes, Master," she croaked softly, her voice hoarse from screaming with pain, and that strange euphoria that came with it.
When she had taken her place beside the other girls, Kaburi moved along the line and, one by one and for no particular reason other than he could, he drew their hands upward and used the twine to fasten them to the back of their animal skin collars, before moving on to the next girl. When he was totally satisfied with his work, he set off back across the compound towards the gate, pausing only to take the whip from his belt once more and deliver sixteen hard lashes to the staked-out sisters. When they failed to respond as the whip cut cruelly across their flesh, Kaburi shrugged and moved on; the bitches were probably unconscious anyway, he decided.
When he reached the gate he turned round to face back into the compound, aware that the eagerly waiting slavegirls were keeping their attention riveted to him. They were hungry, and those who were not tied down or bound to a post, frame or other device were eagerly anticipating his commands. After keeping them in suspense for the sheer hell of it, he gave the order for three African men to enter the compound. They carried red plastic buckets, about the size of small dustbins and equally as dirty, and under the direction of the old man they emptied the oozing contents into a long trough then turned and left the compound.
Like athletes awaiting the starting pistol, the slavegirls prepared to move forward. But the overseer cracked his whip warningly and stopped them in their tracks.
"No, my little forest monkeys," he pointed to the ground and watched with satisfaction as obediently, the throng of slavegirls fell to their knees. "Only when you smell human will I treat you as such." He cracked the whip again then gave a cackle. "Dinner is served."
Like a tidal wave the hungry slaves surged forward, scraping their knees as they struggled across the hard, stony compound . Kelly and the other girls who had their hands tied to their collars were clearly at a disadvantage, though Jo and the rest of the girls who merely had their hands tied behind their backs didn't fare much better. It was only when they had had their fill that the others could take their places.

End of Chapter One