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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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A Crude Business
by James Anderton (jma202@techemail.com)
***
An intellectual exercise at university leads to
unexpected wealth. (MMF, nc)
***
The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS
ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you
are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, do
not read any further. As always, purposeful criticism
will be welcomed.
***
THE POWER BROKERS. A CRUDE BUSINESS
An Entertainment in several parts by James Anderton
***
This story results from suggestions from correspondents
that I add more chapters to my earlier story "The
Ambassador's Wife." As the idea grew, I decided to
incorporate characters from "Vengeance" another of my
previous works.
I decided to use a long established literary device
used by thriller writers for centuries? pioneered (on
the internet, at least) by Parker and others in their
"Bangkok Slaver" Stories, by writing a series of linked
stories, rather than a lengthy novel. "A Crude
Business" can be considered the scene setter for the
series, to be known as the "POWER BROKER" stories.
***
PROLOGUE: AUTUMN 1987 - ENGLAND
Smoke drifted lazily into the air from the end of
Gerald Knebworthy's huge Cigar. Before him, a select
group of his brightest students, all mellowed by
several glasses of good brandy, eager to share with him
the conclusions of their private project. It had
started as a post-grad joke, three years ago- "Write a
business plan to create an organisation which will be
the most powerful organisation in the world within 30
years."
Paul Hegarty rose to his feet.
"As Managing Director Designate," he started with a big
grin, "I will introduce you to The GODS Corporation,
Global Organisation for the Destruction of Society,
bringer of pestilence to the world's major powers."
His audience chuckled, as he launched into his
presentation.
"First, what sort of enterprise? Political?,
Industrial?, Financial?"
Knebworthy sat forward in his seat. The guys had
delivered...
"...only criminal certain enough, need a real business
plan..."
Knebworthy's mouth fell open. The plan being proposed
was exactly the proposition he had come up with, but in
a level of detail he had only dreamed about.
"...need seed capital, Rashchid's father could...
operating cash from drugs? prostitution?"
Knebworthy smiled to himself. This was going to work if
they all bought into it.
"...all-pervasive power is essential... political...
financial... violence... coercion..."
"What about the competition? You don't think people
like the Mafia will just let you take over their path
do you?" Knebworthy smiled to himself. Typical of Dan
Hegarty to put his brother on the spot.
"No, of course not bro. We need new suppliers, new
customers, niches, like these..."
Two hours later, Knebworthy, the newly elected CEO of
GODS inc. dismissed his board and set them loose on the
world.
***
CAPE TOWN - SOUTH AFRICA 1988
The sun was going down. As it settled slowly against
the horizon, two of the three girls sitting on the
veranda got up to go. All three of them had been
invited to the party, but Mathilde Steenburg didn't
want to go. Sharp as a tack, Mathilde had excelled at
her studies, graduating in chemistry at the top of her
year, but she was still deeply unhappy. She looked
across at her friends, blonde, lithe, good looking,
laughing joyously about life and inwardly cringed.
Mathilde knew she was plain. Not ugly, but always last
to be asked to dance, avoided by the good looking young
men to whom she was attracted. No, she did not want to
sit by herself through another party. Her friend Judy
came back to her and pulled at her arm.
"You have to come, Mattie, you need to be seen if you
are want that grant for next year."
Mattie knew she was right. Jobs were impossible to come
by, even for someone as talented as her. Growing strain
within the government, and terror attacks from a few of
the black majority were rapidly eroding the White
economy. However disillusioned she might be, she needed
the research grant to keep her going until things
improved, and good networking was essential. She got up
and headed off to get dressed for the occasion.
Professor Wyatt always threw a good party, and as soon
as they arrived it became clear that this would be no
exception. Unusually, he was a defier of conventions.
Black faces mingled with the white. Not many, it was
true, but it was still illegal to mix in the wrong
areas, and only brave blacks were prepared to run the
risk in their search for a multicultural social life.
The lights were low, and a disco unit created swirling
patterns of colour against a background of throbbing
music.
Within minutes Judy and Alice had been whisked off to
join the throng of dancers, and as usual Mathilde found
herself leaning against a wall, glass in hand, people
watching. Time was hanging heavy as people got on with
their socialising. If Mathilde had been on her own, she
would just have left, but that wasn't an option.
Suddenly, things took on a different complexion.
Professor Wyatt sauntered across the room with the most
stunning man Mathilde had ever seen. He was gorgeous.
Tall, slim, but with a body rippling beneath his
smartly casual shirt, and with a skin deep coffee
coloured giving him the air of a well-to-do, confident
businessman.
"Mattie, may I introduce you to Patrick. He's an
English writer, doing a book on our scientific
education establishments."
"Pleased to meet you, Mattie." The voice was soft,
deep, and welcoming. Mattie responded warmly, as the
conversation flowed freely. His questions about her
life at university slowly changed focus, becoming more
personal as the evening wore on. Time seemed to stand
still as their relationship deepened unbelievably
quickly. Mattie knew she was falling for him. She
wrestled with her feelings.
Relationships with blacks was forbidden, but she was
having difficulty recognising his colour. All she could
perceive was the interest in his eyes and the soft
seductive tones of his voice. At the critical point in
her deliberations he made his move. He raised his hand,
and with the lightest touch, stroked her cheek with the
back of his knuckles. She nearly fainted at the
unexpected delicacy of his touch.
"Please," he murmured "follow me."
As if in a trance, she simply followed, up the stairs,
and into a small bedroom at the end of a short
corridor. He held her gently in his arms and explained
that the next day he had to return to London. The surge
of disappointment she felt was quelled by the simple
expedient of a kiss. She melted. She yielded her mouth
to his, as his tongue probed gently, but insistently
around her lips. As he lay her gently back on the bed,
he stealthily undid the middle of her button-front
dress. She felt the cool press of his hand on the flesh
of her waist as his lips moved slowly across her cheek,
and down into the crook of her neck.
His hand moved slowly upward, initially cupping her
breast through her underwear, then sliding her straps
off her shoulder to free her soft skin to his touch.
She was losing control now, this was a new experience
for her, and the feelings she experienced as his lips
gently sucked on her nipple were almost too pleasurable
to bear. She had always had her defences planned -
don't let him get his hand between your knees, keep his
groping to the outside of the thigh - but nothing had
prepared her for this.
She felt his lips move down over her stomach, sending
little tickling feelings scattering all over her
midriff. She didn't even notice his hand slide under
the waistband of her knickers, but as his hand
continued it's exploration there was no escape from the
intense pleasure triggered by the touch of his finger
on her clitoris.
Responding to his encouragement, she lifted her hips to
allow him to remove her knickers. As he did so, his
lips dropped to her groin and he began to slowly lap at
her pussy. Her head back, rocking gently side-to-side,
she struggled for breath. Her whole body seemed to be
twitching with desires she had never felt before. Her
cunt flushed with the juices of passion, as her legs
fell open, inviting him to move on. He moved off her.
She clutched desperately trying to pull his head back
to her fanny, but he had other things in mind. Sliding
his trousers down below his knees, he freed up his
dick. Long and thick, he was inordinately proud of it,
silently thankful that Mattie would feel it before she
saw it. As his lips returned to her neck, he thrust.
Gently, but in one smooth stroke, his dick swept into
her well lubricated cunt, taking her breath away.
It filled her, she gasped with the shock at it's size,
but immediately began to grind her hips against his
groin, making every effort to maintain contact between
his dick and the centre of her pleasure. Rapidly the
heat built, she began to chew on her bottom lip as her
head now thrashed from side to side. Her cry of wonder,
when it came, must have been heard in Bulawayo. She
screamed with pleasure, right into Patrick's ear, as
her legs tightened around his waist and her feet
drummed uncontrollably on his buttocks. Mathilde had
discovered sex.
***
NORFOLK - ENGLAND 1994
Samantha Roberts was pretty pleased with herself. As
owner and chief pilot of Roberts Air Cargo, she was
about to cast off the burden of VAT forms and Company
returns and get back to flying. Leasing a long distance
cargo plane had seemed like a good idea at the time,
but it had stood idle for weeks. Then, out of the blue,
a saviour had turned up. Mark Harrison, a tall, good
looking man would be welcome any time, but bearing a
contract for a weekly delivery of machinery spare parts
to Africa made him doubly so. Her only problem, a
suitable available co-pilot, was solved by the customer
himself.
The following day, Captain George Dickens turned up,
presented his credentials, and volunteered to "get
stuck in" straight away by supervising the loading of
the first batch of cargo. Dickens was a scruffy,
unkempt individual, but had impeccable references, so
despite her misgivings, Sam climbed aboard, went
through the full gamut of pre-flight checks and set off
into the sun.
Two hours out, however, Dickens went AWOL. Sam,
concerned about the safety of her flight, found her
worst fears confirmed when he returned an hour later,
clearly the worse for wear. The smell of alcohol made
her turn her head away, and his aggressive response
made her decision to leave him alone and get on with
flying, a good one. Another hour and almost a full
bottle of vodka later, he collapsed in a drunken
stupor, leaving Sam alone with her thoughts as she flew
onwards.
Earlier that morning, Mark Harrison pushed his way
through the double doors of the Stardust club, took the
stairs two at a time and bounced into his boss's
office. Steve Washington, Six foot four of mean, looked
up in anticipation.
"What's up man?
"Nothing, boss. Just thought you would like to know
that the bird is on her way."
"Fully loaded? Dickens on board? Excellent!"
In the outer office, Jane Harrison (nee Janey Jeavons)
sat staring at the wall. Her life was a mess. Hooked on
coke by her now husband Mark, she had been raped, made
to perform with animals, used as a whore, and finally
forced into a marriage of convenience to the man
responsible for her troubles just to protect her
stepfather's reputation. Still she needed a fix, and
there was only one way she could get it.
As Harrison left, Washington reached for the phone. It
had been more than six years in the making. With the
help of oil money from Raschids father, the Emir, the
big plan was just about to take off to another level.
For too long his operation had relied on small
shipments at sporadic intervals to establish his
business. Now the demand required volume. It was time
for the first bulk shipment. Dialling the international
number that would connect him to his "brother" Samuel,
he rattled off the details, re-assured himself that
Samuel's men knew what was necessary and sat back to
wait. It would only take a few days.
Mark closed the door behind him leaving the boss to
make his call. Janey got up out of her chair and
pleaded with him.
"Just one, Mark, I'm your wife for Gods sake."
"Listen, bitch, the only reason we're married is to
protect your Stepfathers reputation so don't push your
luck!"
"Please?"
"Fuck off!"
The door slammed behind him.
Jane sat, shaking, getting up the courage to ask Steve.
She walked across the floor, knocked quietly at the
door, and stuck her head nervously into the room. Steve
was sitting with his back to the door, concluding a
phone call. He waved his hand to indicate the chair,
leaving her to pad quietly across the room and take a
seat. He hung up, turned, and slowly smiled as he saw
her sitting there, waiting.
"Long time Jane"
"I know, Steve, and I know you told me never to come
back, but Mark won't talk to me, and I need someone to
help me. You know I will do anything to get my fix..."
She blushed with the shame of what she had done before,
but she knew that she would have to make a special
effort if Steve were to get her what she needed.
Putting on her sexiest look, she slowly unbuttoned the
top two buttons of her blouse. When Steve told her to
stop she almost panicked, but he reached into his desk
drawer, pulled out a small packet of white powder and a
business card.
"That's to hold you over. Be at that address at 9.00pm
tonight. Don't be late, and tell no-one."
"OK., and thanks."
***
PERIGORD - GUJANGA 1994
The heat and dust were getting to him. Bouncing around
in the back of his Landrover, President Samuel Mwamba
wondered to himself what the hell was he doing holding
the meeting out at the farm instead of his air-
conditioned office in Gujanga city. The farm was
unique. Named "Perigord," presumably to remind the
previous owners, the Rochas, of home, it bore no
similarity to its namesake. Apart from being the
largest in Gujanga, it had two distinct halves.
One was typical African plain. Dry for most of the
year, but lush and green through the two rainy seasons,
it was ideal for traditional cattle rearing which
formed the basis of the farms legitimate (and public)
business. It was the other half, however, which was the
reason for his interest. A sharp escarpment ran through
the middle of the property leading to steep slopes of
semi-tropical bush and forest, ideal not for
traditional horticulture, but for the growing of
Mwambas cash crop... the coca bush.
The GODS business plan required a supply of drugs.
Traditional sources were sewn up by the cartels so a
new source had to be developed from scratch. It was the
misfortune of Eduardo Rochas, and his French-born wife
Alexandra to own the farm. When Mwamba set his
henchman, Major Ibo Ngoro on the job, he had no idea
just how effective the abuse of power could be.
It was Ngoro who had accused Eduardo of treason, beat
him, subjected his wife to sexual abuse of the worst
kind, confiscated the farm and finally threatened them
with death. Eduardo eventually was allowed to return to
the farm as "Manager," his organisational skills put to
new use growing cocaine. His wife also returned to the
farm, as housekeeper for the notional owner, Tembo, one
of Ngoro's secret service agents and trusted follower.
It was Tembo who welcomed him as his Landrover slid to
a halt.
"Welcome, Sir, the others are already in the study."
"Thank you, Tembo. I will call you when we need your
report."
He strode purposefully across the well-appointed
hallway and pushed open the study door. Three of the
men inside stood to meet him. The fourth, Ngoro,
remained seated, his shorts round his ankles whilst the
head of a young woman bobbed furiously up and down
servicing his giant cock.
Mwamba crossed the floor, a big smile on his face, and
signalled the girl to leave.
"For Gods sake, Ibo, don't you know there's a time and
place for everything?"
"I sure do, boss." grinned an unrepentant Ngoro. "I
just can't find time for meetings..."
***
CAPE TOWN - SOUTH AFRICA 1988
"Jesus Christ." Judy Bergsson jumped to her feet and
backed away from the splintered door. Four uniformed
figures leapt through the door, automatic rifles at the
ready.
"What the fuck do you think you are doing!" she
screamed at the top of her voice.
A fifth figure, in plain clothes walked slowly across
the room. Stopping in front of her he smiled a slow,
scary smile. Before she saw it coming, he backhanded
her across the room bouncing her against the wall. She
slid to the floor in shock, her legs splayed, her
nightie sliding up to reveal all to the intruders'
gaze.
Scary smile raised his hand, and without a word being
spoken, the uniformed policemen left, closing what was
left of the door behind them.
"Where is she" he hissed, looking down his broken,
stubby nose at the cowering girl below him.
"Who?" Judy asked innocently.
"Don't get fucking clever with me, bitch. Your
flatmate, Mathilde Steenburg, I'm told she fucks
Blacks."
"She's not here."
Scary Smile leaned down, gathered a handful of her
nightdress and hauled her up the wall, leaving her
dangling, feet off the floor, virtually naked.
"I didn't ask if she was here, did I. I know she's not
here, I asked where she is."
Judy hung there, terrified, unable to issue any more
than a squeak. Scary smile lowered his face to hers.
His free hand moved to cup her naked breast, and his
knee pushed between hers, forcing her thighs apart.
Judy's hands let go of the wrist at her throat, and she
began thrashing about, desperate to release his grip.
"Put your hands down."
Judy couldn't believe how evil he could sound.
Instinctively her hands lowered to her side. His free
hand tightened his grip on her breast until it was
almost unbearable, drawing tears from her eyes. His
grip released, but his hand set off on an inexorable
journey toward the junction of her thighs.
"No. Please. I would tell you if I knew."
His hand completed its journey, cupping her mound and
insinuating its middle finger into the folds of her
labia. Her inevitable struggle simply made things
worse, helping him enter, and then tear at the walls of
her cunt. Tears of frustration and anger rolled down
her cheeks as, for a moment, she thought he would stop.
She should be so lucky.
"No! NO! AAAAaaarrrggghh!"
Within seconds, his other leg joined the first,
spreading hers still further. He had taken the
opportunity to free his dick, and as she relaunched her
struggle, Judy felt him push himself deep inside her.
Fear ensured that her cuntwalls were as dry as sticks,
and within seconds his thrusts began to cause
irritation and pain.
"Where is the bitch? Where is the bitch? Where is she?"
"OOph! I don't know. OOph! I would tell you if I knew.
OOOph!"
The pain was unbearable. Her cunt was sore, the back of
her hips rubbed raw by the rough wall, and the back of
her head ached from the rhythmical banging induced by
his thrusts.
"Please...Stop!"
The gush of his climax took both of them by surprise.
He stepped back as he withdrew, dropping her
unceremoniously onto the floor. Fastening his pants, he
swivelled on his heels, and strode towards the door.
"Tell her! Cunts who shag blacks have nowhere to hide.
I'll be back!"
***
ROBANA AIRPORT _ GUJANGA 1994
Sam Roberts was beginning to get concerned. She had
been sitting on the chair in the small reception room
for nearly two hours and still had her cargo manifests
on the table in front of her. The heat was oppressive,
and her decision to wear Company uniform added nothing
to her comfort.
She had removed her jacket as soon as she stepped in
the room, but now, perspiration had created damp
patches on her starched white blouse. She removed her
tie, placed it in the pocket of her jacket, loosened
the top three buttons of her blouse, and sighed with
frustration.
The door opened quietly behind her, as two uniformed
officers and two soldiers in fatigues came into the
room. She stood up as the two soldiers stood either
side of the door, The younger officer took her chair,
twisted it around and sat on it backwards, his arms
folded in front of him across the chair back.
The older officer sat on the chair opposite her and
introduced himself as Captain Mpenza.
"Well, Samantha, you've been a naughty girl, I see."
Sam looked at him in disbelief.
"My name is Captain Roberts, to you, and I would be
obliged if you would refrain from patronising me."
"I will call you whatever I like, Samantha," he
intoned, pompously stressing her name for effect. "You
are in serious trouble, so you had better get used to
it."
Sam's mouth dropped open in amazement then horror as he
quietly informed her about the search of her cargo, the
discovery of AK47s, Dickens' confession that they were
destined for the rebels, and his assertion that Sam was
a major player.
"So you see, young lady, we have a cast iron case,
which has already been heard in our local court, and
you have been sentenced to death."
Sam stared at him, her mind working overtime as the
full implications of his words began to sink in.
"You can't do that, I'm a British Citizen, and demand
to see my Ambassador."
"I'm afraid that will not be possible," he answered
evenly. "This is only a small country, you have only a
small Trade delegation who have already decided not to
take an interest in your case - It is too politically
and economically sensitive."
Sam was panicking now. As she stepped forward to
protest her innocence she found her arms pinned to her
side by the two soldiers. She needed to think, get some
time.
"I must have the right to appeal," she muttered, almost
under her breath.
"Only the President himself can overturn this decision,
and I certainly am not going to ask him in this case."
To her left, the tall figure of the younger officer
stepped in front of her. Despite his age, he was
clearly the senior of the two, and, towering over her,
he raised his hand and cupped her chin, drawing her
eyes to his.
"I might," he said.
***
BIRMINGHAM - ENGLAND 1994
Jane sat slumped in a corner. The address Steve had
given her proved to be an almost abandoned block of
flats in the seedier part of town. The damned elevator
was out of commission, its broken door jammed half
open, stinking of urine and worse. She took the stairs.
In her condition, the climb was a trial. Her last fix
had worn off, she felt dreadful, her temperature high,
her joints aching, she was desperate for a fix. Now
that she had reached the flat, she rang the doorbell.
No Reply.
Panic struck. Wildly she pushed at the door, which
opened under her assault. A frantic search of the place
revealed nothing but an empty slum. The place stank. A
mouldy carpet and cold gasfire were the only
furnishings in the larger room, and apart from a cooker
and a couple of cupboards the kitchen was in just as
bad a state. The effort was all too much. Tears of
despair ran down her face as she slumped against the
wall.
She didn't hear the man enter the flat, closing the
door behind him.
"Hello, Jane," he said softly.
"Clyde? What do you want, get lost, I never want to see
you again."
Clyde smiled.
"I'm not surprised after what you did to the Great Dane
last time we met, but Steve sent me with this."
Jane looked across at the package he was holding in his
hand. There was more H than she had ever seen.
"Great, give it here. I knew Steve wouldn't let me
down."
Clyde smiled again.
"Not so fast, bitch," his tone harder now that he had
her attention. "It needs to be paid for."
Janey knew it couldn't be that simple. These bastards
never let you alone. She smiled as sexy a smile as she
could muster.
"I don't have any money, can we do a deal?"
"Same old Janey, eh? What have you got to offer, as if
I couldn't guess?"
"Please, Clyde, don't make me do it, I need the stuff."
"Shut the fuck up, bitch, and get on you knees. If I
remember well, you love it that way."
Jane moved away from the wall, and lowered herself to
her knees.
"Turn around. Pull your skirt up. Knickers to your
knees. Face on the floor."
Jane waited, face down on the stinking carpet.
Clyde pulled a hypodermic from the package he was
carrying, took off the cap and inserted it into Jane's
buttock. Taken completely by surprise, Jane squealed as
he depressed the plunger. Her hands reached
instinctively behind her to protect herself, but it was
to no avail. A simple push with the sole of his boot,
and she slumped in a heap face down on the carpet.
Casually Clyde pulled up her knickers, lowered her
dress, and rolled her over onto her back. Leaving her
to sleep, he walked across into the kitchen, switched
on the gas and returned. Taking a telephone from his
bag, he plugged it into the wall socket and left,
closing the door behind him.
The blast, when it came, took out more than half the
twelve storey block. Clyde was not around to watch it.
***
CAPE TOWN - SOUTH AFRICA 1988
The insistent ringing of the doorbell echoed through
the house. John Wyatt left his guest and padded across
the wooden floor.
"Good God, Mathilde, you're shaking. What brings you
here at this time of night?"
It was a good quarter of an hour before they could get
any sense out of the distraught girl.
"My flatmate... the police raped her... they were
looking for me... They know about Patrick... they said
they would come for me... I don't know what to do."
She was sitting in his study. As she poured out her
story, Professor Wyatt listened intently. His guest, a
tall, handsome black man dressed in a dark suit also
hung on every word as Mathilde described her finding
Judy slumped on the floor of their flat covered in
blood and semen.
"Why are you worried girl?"
The soft dark tones of his voice startled her, surely
he knew that she had broken the law by sleeping with a
black man.
"They will arrest me, treat me like Judy, but they will
also ruin my career. I will never be able to get a job,
and they won't let me leave the country."
"Tell me what you do, child."
"I'm not a child. I have a PhD in Chemistry, and I need
a research grant to continue working. Jobs are not
easily come by."
"What's your specialty?"
"Chemical Synthesis."
"Then why not come and work for me?"
Mathilde looked at him as though he was crackers.
"What would you want with a chemist, and how could you
protect me from the police?"
"General Mwamba is not South African, Mathilde. He is
President of the Independent republic of Gujanga."
"That's right young lady, and I'm here to ask Professor
Wyatt for help in finding a production manager for a
small pharmaceuticals venture we intent to start-up. He
had just suggested your name when you turned up.
Perhaps the gods are smiling on me. I can offer a good
salary, excellent prospects, your own workforce, and,
most importantly, sanctuary."
Mathilde stared at him, unable to comprehend her good
luck, as he continued.
"I'm leaving for my home at first light in the morning.
Smuggling you across the border as diplomatic baggage
will be no problem, but I suggest you stay here the
night if you intend to join me."
"I will," spluttered Mathilde, taking the opportunity
before she thought too much about it. Memories of poor
Judy flashed through her head, taking away any need for
further thought. "I will."
Wyatt's maid appeared as if by magic as the discussion
ended.
"Ah, there you are Joceline, please see Doctor
Steenburg to the spare room. Oh," he added as an
afterthought, "see if you can find her some appropriate
clothes for a week or so in the bush. That should do
don't you think."
As Mathilde vanished up the stairs, Wyatt raised his
glass to Mwamba.
"Perhaps we should drink a toast to the gods?"
"Don't forget that the Gods had a little help,
professor. Here's to our friend Inspector Walwijk."
"I second that," whispered a voice, as their friend,
Scary Smile, joined them in a toast.
***
ROBANA AIRPORT _ GUJANGA 1994
Samantha Roberts was not a stupid woman. She stared up
into the deep brown eyes of the officer. Her mind was
whirring, control had returned, options were being
considered. It was pretty clear what he wanted, and it
was equally certain that he would ignore her wishes in
the matter. She knew the real threat was violence. That
frightened her enough to make her mind up to co-
operate. Putting on her most innocent expression she
explained that she had nothing but the deepest respect
for the Gujangan authorities, and pleaded with him to
intercede with the President on her behalf.
"I might, but that depends on you."
"What do you want from me?" she murmured, "I've told
you the truth."
"I will need much more than that."
"Please, send the others away, and I will fully
cooperate."
He smiled at her, bent his head and whispered in her
ear. "They are staying! and you are going to show your
respect, starting with Mpenza here." He grabbed a
handful of her hair, and, none too gently pulled her
around the side of the table and stood her in front of
the older officer. "Why don't you show him how much you
want to leave."
Insistent pressure on her shoulders was enough to push
her to her knees in front of him. Nothing more needed
to be said. Sam was angry more than shocked. She tried
desperately to hide the thoughts whirling round her
head.
Two things were certain, she decided. The first was
that this had nothing to do with sex. Sex was only
being used as a weapon to make her more amenable to
something else. The second was that she had better
resign herself to the task in hand. If she resisted,
she would be seriously hurt. She had no doubt that
violence was a normal part of life with these people.
She had to buy time, see what they were after.
Leaning forward, she loosened Mpenzas trousers. He
raised himself slightly off the seat and allowed her to
pull them down his legs. They dropped to the floor,
revealing a short, stubby penis already glistening with
precum. Sam had done this before, but never in this
sort of situation. Tentatively she opened her mouth,
dipped her head, and licked the end of his diminutive
dick. A quick upward glance at the young officer told
her she was doing the right thing, but then, she
thought to herself, that was bloody obvious.
Slowly, she sucked him in, effortlessly, and ran her
tongue around the inside of her mouth. The effect on
Mpenza was immediate. His breathing quickened, he began
to shake and within seconds, shot his load of watery
sperm into her mouth. She began to move her head
backwards, off the thrusting organ, but a hand pushed
it forward, forcing her to either swallow, or choke.
She swallowed.
Still on her knees, she was pulled by the hair until
she faced the two soldiers at the door. The briefest of
nods was enough for the first of them to position
himself in front of her, his erection pushing at the
front of his uniform, demanding relief. She almost
forgot her predicament and had to suppress a wry smile
as his tool sprang from his loosened trousers.
This was a much bigger task altogether. Eight inches of
black manhood hovered in front of her face. If it had
been clean, she shuddered, this could be a pleasure,
but the rank smell of him made her retch. The officer
holding her noticed her reaction and acted swiftly. One
hand twisted a handful of hair, causing her to yelp
with pain, the other grabbed her nose, forcing her to
open her mouth to breathe. As she did so, he pulled her
onto the soldier's dick.
This time, the soldier's reaction was more measured.
Disinclined to indulge in foreplay, Sam grabbed his
arse and set her head rocking, backwards and forwards,
rhythmically, in time to the thrusts of his hips. It
seemed like a lifetime before she sensed the familiar
tightening of his buttocks, the low animal groan, and
the ejaculation splashing into the back of her throat.
She swallowed again.
***
ARIBUNDI - GUJANGA 1994
Ngoro sat back in his chair. It was good to get back to
his air-conditioned office after the baking heat of the
Airport. The relatively large grey and glass building
stood incongruously amongst the harbourside chic of
downtown Aribundi, capital of the republic of Gujanga.
Most of the buildings in the city were the same as any
other African Capital, huge steel and glass monuments
to the Capitalist bastards who held the countries to
ransom by lending money they know is never going to be
repaid.
Around the harbour, however, beside the original
fisherman's cottages which still stood along the
water's edge, the buildings were of an altogether
different quality. The Presidential palace,
Chancellory, and several other Government buildings,
splendid examples of French colonial majesty, had been
left behind by their erstwhile conquerors as permanent
reminders of past glories.
Ngoro occupied the top floor of a long low building
which contained the most feared members of Gujanga's
ruling class, the secret service, and police force.
Even the Army, of which Ngoro was also a member, left
them alone to get on with anything they felt they
needed to do. He loved this view, watching the eclectic
mix of fishing boats, expensive yachts, powerboats, and
a single massive cruise liner keeping the economy of
Gujanga ticking over. Mwamba could keep his palace,
this was enough for him...
A purposeful knock at the door startled him out of his
reverie.
"It's time sir, you're guests have arrived."
"Thank you, Jacob. Meeting room? or Suite?"
"I've put them in the suite, sir."
"Excellent."
There were four of them, three men and, surprisingly a
girl. Paul Hegarty, MD of GODS, Raschid Al-Benarbia,
CFO and two others who he hadn't met.
"Hi Paul!" he gushed. "It's really great to see you
again. And Raschid! a real pleasure, it's been a long
time."
"Too long, my friend," beamed Rashid.
"Where's Steve? As head of Marketing I expected to see
him here as well.
It was Paul who responded.
"Steve couldn't come, he had some urgent business to
attend to, but I would like you to meet a couple of
people from his organisation. Mark Harrison, Safety
officer (he chuckled to himself at the stupidity of the
Enforcer's title) and Sonja Jenkins, Business
Development Manager."
"Welcome, to both of you." Although he said both, his
eyes never left those of the stunning young woman in a
white short dress, who returned his stare with such
frankness that for a moment it was he who felt nervous.
Unbelievable, but true.
"So!" he said, braking the tension. "Let's get down to
business.
Over the next hour or so, the four of them reviewed
progress. It was clear that things were going better
than Paul had hoped. Ngoro gave a lucid account of
developments at Perigord. The first harvest of coca
leaves had been brought in successfully. Growing
conditions did indeed prove to be perfect. Tembo had,
through a mixture of fear and finance created a small
dedicated (for Africa) workforce to run the farm and
both the Rochas' had adapted to their new roles with
much less resistance than expected.
"I'm a bit concerned on the money front," confessed
Raschid. I don't seem to be seeing all the bills. We've
only spent half our budget and I don't want the Emir to
get stung by huge year-end bills. On the other hand,
there seem to be a number of invoices which I don't
connect with our business. Bottles, labels, contract
packaging and stuff like that."
Ngoro laughed out loud.
"That's Mathilde, our Chief scientist. We got her from
South Africa, as you know. She has been amazing."
"Why?"
"She's motivated. She loves young black men."
Sonja chuckled. "Don't we all?"
"Anyway," continued Ngoro, "She was much better than we
thought. She put together designs not only for the
cocaine plant, but also for a specialist pharmaceutical
operation using the same processing intermediates. If
anyone gets suspicious, we have a dummy company, and a
warehouse full of legal drugs to explain our purchases.
That's where the extra invoices came from. By the way,
we learned that trick from the Iraqis. She also built
the Coke plant at less than half our budget. Now she
spends all her time either processing coke or fucking
native houseboys. She's in paradise."
"Excellent. Does that answer all your questions
Raschid?"
"Sure!"
"Then I suspect we've finished."
"Not quite!"
It was Mark who spoke.
"I'm still not happy with the thought of using Mules to
get the coke into Europe. It only needs one of these
people to land at the same time as flights from
Columbia, Asia minor, or even Amsterdam, and they risk
being caught. I'm not bothered about losing the odd
load, but I don't want the link with Gujanga to become
obvious. I would prefer an alternative."
"I agree," nodded Ngoro, "but I have a solution for
you. You know the pilot you used for my Arms delivery?
well she turned out to be more than the bimbo we
expected. The plan was to enjoy her, fuck her silly,
and export her to the Emir until he got tired of her."
"Anyway, I used her to reward old Mpenza and she gave
him such a great blowjob that she nearly blew his
brains out. Then she gave me a lecture about wasting
her talent. She said any woman can be trained to be a
great fuck, but not many of them can fly planes. Why
not put her to better use. I have to say I agreed, so I
locked her up, until we can decide what to do with
her."
"So what's your plan?"
"I think we should use her to fly our Coke to Europe."
We can put the coke on the inside of pallets of
coffee."
"What the fuck to want to become a coffee trader for?"
"Gujangan coffee is amongst the best on the planet.
It's a legitimate export, The pilot needn't be told...
oh, and it masks the smell of coke from sniffer dogs."
Ngoro paused for thought whilst his audience recognised
the opportunity.
"Sounds like a much better plan to me." Mark confirmed.
"Right then, let's do it. If that's all, I guess that's
the end of our meeting."
"I know you have a couple of hours before your flight
home, so I have arranged a little entertainment for
you." said Ngoro. "It's a little sexist, so perhaps
Sonja would like to go shopping for a while?"
"Not likely! I'm a fully paid up member of this
organisation. What's good for the goose is good for the
Gander,"
"OK, please yourself. But please don't get upset with
me if you don't like what you see."
***
ROBANA AIRPORT - GUJANGA 1994
Samantha Roberts was free but very suspicious. She had
been released in the strangest way. Dickens had re-
appeared, surprisingly sober, waving a sheaf of papers
in his hand.
"I don't know how you did it, but we are going home. We
have a shipment of coffee to deliver."
Sam looked at him askance. She had been right, it was
not just about sex, but why the hell would anyone pay
that amount to ship coffee? Especially since she had
already been paid to deliver the guns. One last look in
the mirror confirmed that she was almost back to her
old self. Blouse fastened to the neck, small black tie
back on, jacket fastened, hair combed, almost
presentable.
She set off across the tarmac to where Dickens was
supervising the loading of the final pallet. As she
approached she slipped on a couple of beans on the
floor. Still suspicious, she stepped on one hard,
crushed it beneath her heel, bent down and sniffed it.
Coffee! and bloody good coffee at that. Was she being
too suspicious? She didn't know.
What she did know was that she wished Dickens were
somewhere else, and she knew she wanted to get off the
ground as quickly as she could. Ten minutes later, as
the plane lifted into the sky, she sat back in her seat
and sighed with relief. All she had to do now was set a
course and wait for Dickens to fall over drunk.
As if on cue, Dickens got up out of his seat, mumbled
something about the boy's room and headed for the back
of the plane. An hour later, he had still not returned,
so Sam, needing the toilet herself set the autopilot
and headed back down the aisle. There was no sign of
Dickens as she closed the loo door behind her. Having
completed her ablutions, she left, closing the door
behind her.
A hand reached across her shoulder and pinned her
against the door, squashing her face sideways against
the cold laminate.
"Give us a kiss sweetie," hissed Dickens in her ear.
"Or you could give me what you offered the locals to
get us the contract."
"Piss off you cheap piece of shit" squeaked Sam,
struggling to form the words.
His elbow increased the pressure on the back of her
neck, squashing her face further, while his other hand
slid round her waist and grabbed her breast. Suddenly,
just as Sam was beginning to be thankful for the fact
she was wearing trousers, he let go. His hand shot up
and grabbed her by the hair, and she was hauled
unceremoniously backwards and dumped on her back in the
middle of the aisle. Dickens lurched drunkenly and sat
himself down astride her, his crotch just under her
chin.
"Cheap am I, Cheap am I," he repeated, "With my share
of this cargo I could buy and sell you any time I
liked."
"You wish! you won't get much from this lot, the coffee
price is falling."
"Stupid Bitch. What do you know. There's enough coke on
this plane for it to fly back without an engine."
Sam Looked at him. Stunned! So that was what the deal
had all been about. Dickens carried on as though
nothing had happened. He was too drunk to understand
the importance of what he had said.
"Come on, Chicken!" he slurred, struggling to free his
dick. "Get your laughing gear round this."
As he spoke, he started to struggle to lower his zip,
but in his drunken state, and with his ungainly
position perched on top of a struggling Samantha, all
he succeeded in doing was to fall forward, his stomach
covering her face. As he struggled to recover, Sam took
her chance. She grabbed the only thing she could reach,
a small metal tool case, and brought it to bear on
Dickens head. He went down poleaxed. Gasping for breath
beneath his stomach, his belt buckle pressing painfully
against her chin, Sam slowly struggled free, and stood
up. Dickens was lying face down unmoving. She stooped
and felt his wrist.
"Shit," she thought to herself. "No pulse."
Slowly she made her way back to her seat to think.
***
ARIBUNDI - GUJANGA 1994
Jacob led in the girl. She was late teens, mixed race
or Indian descent, Sonja guessed. Her lovely coffee
coloured face was streaked with tears, her hands
secured firmly behind her back by what looked like a
Velcro cable tie. She wore a simple, button through
shift dress which cane to just below the knee, and
apparently nothing else. Mark looked sideways at Sonja,
unsure of how to proceed in the presence of a young
woman participant so Sonja decided to take the
initiative. She loved the fearful look in the girl's
eyes as she walked around her, inspecting her. Ngoro
was fascinated.
"Like her? Sonja?"
"She's lovely. What's she done?"
"She was caught thieving."
"Did she take much?"
"Not really."
"Not worth the death penalty then?"
The girl's mouth opened in shock, wanting to say
something but unable to form the words. Sonja slapped
her across the face.
"I didn't say you could speak!"
The girl hung her head and sobbed silently to herself.
Sonja slowly, ever so slowly, unbuttoned the front of
her dress down to her waist. The girl stood still, like
a frightened rabbit in a car's headlights. Sonja's
hands moved back to the girl's throat. The men stood
together in a small group, each of them sporting
painful erections as the erotic display continued. She
parted the dress and slipped it off each shoulder,
baring the flesh of her breasts, but leaving the
nipples covered.
"Do you want to go home to your husband?" asked Sonja
gently, noticing the brand new wedding ring on her
finger.
"Please don't hurt me."
"I said do you want to go home to your husband?" Less
gently this time, and said as Sonja walked around the
girl making her turn her head to follow her. The
movement of her head pulled her dress, uncovering one
nipple, and raising the men's temperature by another
couple of degrees. All three of them were beginning to
enjoy Sonja's act. They knew what the finale might be.
Sonja was now standing facing the men over the girls
shoulder.
"My friends won't let you." she whispered. "Do you
think we could persuade them?" As she spoke, she
lowered the dress the rest of the way down the girl's
arms, slowly revealing her beautiful breasts in all
their glory. The girl looked back at her as best she
could, unsure what she was getting at.
"I don't know."
Sonja's hands slid round her waist, and moved slowly
upward to first stroke, then cup her breasts, slowly
massaging them with small circular motions. The effect
on the men, unsurprisingly, was obvious. Less obvious
was the effect on the girl herself. Sonja smiled in
quiet victory as she felt her nipples stiffen under her
ministrations. She removed her hands, and gripped each
nipple between finger and thumb. Squeezing gentle, she
rolled them this way and that. The girls breathing
became shallower.
"What should we do for them? Should we kiss? Should we
fuck? Or should you fuck them?"
"I-I don't know," muttered the girl, growing more
agitated by the minute.
Sonja pulled the tie off her wrist and turned the girl
around to face her. She returned to the task of
unbuttoning the dress until it was free to drop, but
Sonja held it in place. She moved her face forward and
placed a gentle kiss on the lips of the now acquiescent
girl. Very slowly she extended her tongue and gently
forced open her lips. At the same time she slowly
lowered the dress, revealing a most wonderful arse to
the attentive audience.
By now, Ngoro was getting seriously frustrated and had
extracted his dick from its covering. It stood out
fully erect as his hand masturbated it slowly. Sonja
stepped backwards until her own backside was resting
against the edge of the table. Letting go of the girl,
she raised her own dress, and leaned backwards exposing
her naked cunt to the girl. She pushed the girl on the
top of her head, onto her knees. Unbidden, the young
woman slipped her face between Sonja's thighs and began
to lick long strokes up the length of her quim.
This was all too much for Ngoro. As far as he was
concerned his time had come. Despite the charms of the
girl, Sonja was much more to his liking, so he ignored
the naked arse bobbing up and down in front of him, and
presented his dick to Sonja's mouth. She gazed up at
him with a look of frank admiration at the size of his
dick, and parted her lips.
He wiped the end of his tool along her bottom lip, and
slowly pushed it into her mouth, forcing it wider as he
did so. Sonja arched her back slightly as the tongue on
her labia found her centre, sending a series of tingles
up and down her spine. Her head went back as Ngoro
pushed again, and this time Sonja accommodated the
whole width and most of his ten inch length. Mark
approached the young girl. Pulling her head out of
Sonja's crotch he asked her name.
"People call me Gem," she whispered, her head bowed in
supplication.
Mark didn't bother replying. He simply shrugged off his
pants and slid into her from behind.
"No, No, please, don't..."
Mark had absolutely no intention of doing anything but
fuck her, and her constant sobbing was beginning to get
to him. Another loud sob spurred him into action. He
leaned over her back so she felt his presence beside
her face.
" If you sob again, I'll give you something to sob
about. Understand?"
She stifled the next one immediately and bit her lip
furiously as Mark began to pound into her cunt for all
he was worth. Over Gem's head, he saw Ngoro rearrange
Sonja on the table. She now lay face down, Ngoro's
todger sliding in and out for all it was worth. Sonja
had her eyes closed, and her gasps slowly grew from
almost mute to long, drawn-out wails as her climax
built.
The rhythm was contagious. Mark found himself fucking
Gee at the same pace as Ngoro. As Ngoros climax built,
so did Marks. Gem found herself coming to the boil
despite herself. Her cry of surprise when the dam burst
caused Mark, in turn, to climax. He gave one final
push, and remained buried to the hilt as Gem lay
gasping beneath him.
Whatever Gem thought about her ordeal being over, she
was wrong. Paul's instruction to "Get over here, Girl"
was soft and quiet, but brooked no argument. Still on
her knees, she crawled across the short expanse of
floor, her head bowed, waiting for the inevitable.
"I think," mused Paul," I shall use your arse. Turn
round."
"NO!>"The girl went pale. No-one, not even her husband
had used her there, and she was not simply going to let
these bastards do it to her here. She stood up and made
a bolt for the door. Unfortunately she got no further.
Twisting the handle this way and that, panic set in.
She looked around like the cornered animal she was,
searching for any way of avoiding her anal rape.
Raschid was the first to reach her. Grabbing her hair,
he pulled her down to her knees, and slapped her,
right, left back-hand, right. Her head rocked backwards
and forwards, the whiplash effect on her neck making
her cry out in pain.
Raschid dragged her, now with Mark's help, across in
front of Paul.
"I've got a better idea." he muttered, "it's tea time,
I'm ready for a sandwich."
With that, he sat down on the sofa and pulled the
hapless girl up onto his lap. Mark realised what
Raschid had in mind and helped him lift the struggling
girl onto Raschids rampant dick. She screamed and
struggled, but eventually his organ achieved full
penetration, and she was left wriggling like a stuck
pig. Raschid wasted no time, rocking her backwards and
forwards on his pole, until he began to create a
response from the girl. Just as he was getting into the
swing of things, Paul got into the act.
"Hold her still for god's sake! I never was any good at
hitting a moving target."
Raschid chuckled and wrapped his arm around the
wriggling girl, locking her tight against his chest.
Meanwhile, Paul advanced his erect prick and eased the
end of it up against the girl's little puckered
arsehole.
Her cries became pleas. Tears ran uncontrollably down
her cheeks as she tried to prevent his attack.
Unfortunately for her, the same wriggling that was
designed to fend him off, simply helped the end of his
tool worm it's way into her nether orifice. Paul,
sensing just the right moment, gave a sharp push. Her
sphinctre gave way, and with a cry of triumph "Yes!" he
was in.
The effect on the girl was just as momentous, but from
an entirely different perspective.
"NNOOooooohh! OOophh!" The pain flooded through her
arse, and exploded up her spine. She clung to Raschid
in a desperate attempt to cope, and cried loudly
against his chest. As the pain began to subside, she
felt Paul begin to move. With each thrust, she
experienced the same stabbing pain, but with each
thrust it seemed to diminish. She had never experienced
anything like this. Her whole lower body seemed to be
crammed full of dick. The nearest she had felt to this
was trying to expel a particularly recalcitrant turd,
but even that failed to describe what was going on in
her cunt.
As Paul began his thrusting motion, Raschid began to do
likewise. The friction across her perinaeum began to
replace the pain she felt with small pleasurable
twitches that slowly built until she wanted to do
nothing more than feel the two of them pistonong in and
out. Raschid adjusted his position so that he increased
the amount of contact between his dick and her
clitoris, and at the same time Paul increased his
stroke, making huge sweeping thrusts up what seemed to
be the entire length of her body cavity. Meanwhile
Ngoro, having finished with Sonja, watched the slow
change overtaking the sandwiched girl.
Gee, her eyes closed in what had now become pure
pleasure, began to pant in time to the thrusting
invaders. Suddenly she became aware of another taking
interest in her body. Ngoro knelt to one side, offering
up his immense dick to her mouth. Without thinking, Gee
opened her mouth and slipped it around the end of his
tool. Gently at first, he began also to thrust in and
out, fucking deep into her throat until he matched the
rhythm of the other two.
Gee was powerless, fully absorbed in the wonderful
sensations her rapists were creating. As her excitement
built, she could no longer keep control and abandoned
herself to the first of what proved to be several
orgasms. Wave after wave of exstacy sparkled around her
body. Ngoro withdrew, and began to spray semen around
her face and neck.
In truth it was a good job he did because the next
orgasm ripped through her, causing her to clamp her
teeth shut so hard she bit her own lip, drawing blood.
Wave after wave, she found herself jerking spastically
as she lost all control. Raschid and Paul, both came
together, pouring their jism into her willing body,
and, as things subsided, grinned at each other in their
pleasure.
***
BIRMINGHAM - ENGLAND 1994
Steve Washington was a worried man. The whole plan
appeared to be going south. He knew that the plane had
left with all the cargo on board, but from there,
nothing. Mark's intention to meet the plane at the
airport had been thwarted by an emergency landing his
BA flight had to make en-route to Heathrow. When his
men visited Roberts Air Cargo they found the place
locked up, a cargo of coffee in the hanger, and fuck
all else. Samantha Roberts and the cocaine had
disappeared, and Dickens hadn't been heard of since
boarding the flight.
He was on the point of phoning Sir Gerald when there
was a brisk knock at the office door. He glanced across
to the bank of CCTV monitors and found himself looking
at a very determined Samantha Roberts.
"Come in!"
She strode through the door and plonked herself in the
chair in front of his desk. She was wearing her
Captains uniform, but with a pencil skirt which rode to
the top of her thighs as she sat down. She followed his
gaze to the hem of her skirt.
"Don't even think about it, you bastard. You know why I
am here, and it doesn't include that!"
"I'm sure you're right miss Roberts, but I believe you
have something of mine."
"I certainly do, but first we have some things to
discuss."
"OK. Why don't you tell me what you want."
"First, I want to join your organisation."
Steve was gobsmacked. This was not what he was
expecting. "So why should we be interested?"
"First, I have your cocaine, second I have left papers
with my solicitor which implicates all of you if
something untoward should happen to me, and thirdly..."
"Yes?"
"You need a regular way of shipping cocaine, and I have
a business to run."
"OK, tell me where my cargo is, and I will let you
know."
"Come on Mr. Washington, we both know that's not good
enough. Call your principals now. Let's establish a
working relationship and then all things become
possible. I will be on the call."
Steve picked up the phone, dialled Mwamba, waking him
in the process, and conferenced in Paul and Sir Gerald.
After their initial shock, Samantha outlined the deal.
She wanted no more than a regular contract with bonuses
at their discretion. She was very reasonable, and it
was a matter of minutes before the partners agreed. The
call ended and Samantha turned to leave.
"Just a minute! Where is the coke?"
"Where's my money?"
Steve crossed to a cabinet by the wall. "It's right
here," he said, extracting a large envelope and giving
it to her.
Samantha took it without stopping to check it. She
could always come back if it was wrong. She handed
Steve a card.
"Your coke is at this warehouse. It's labelled as
Bicarbonate of Soda, but I wouldn't recommend baking
with it."
Steve laughed as she turned to go.
"Oh, by the way, where is Dickens?"
"He went for a swim - 200 miles off the Liberian coast.
Why? will you need him?"
"Not any more... partner."
***
It was late when the doorbell went.
Sam glanced at her watch, and considered ignoring it.
She decided not to, and opened the door.
Steve Washington stood there, a big grin on his face, a
bottle of champagne in one hand, and a small leather
briefcase in the other. She waved him in.
"We have one last round of business to conclude. For
you - Dicken's share as a bonus - £20,000. For me? I
fancy sampling some of the skills you showed Ngoro in
Gujanga. What do you say?"
"I say you shouldn't listen to big boy's bravado." She
loosened the belt of her robe, "I may not be half as
good as they say... Partner."
THE END
The stories of James Anderton can also be found on the
ASSTR website.
Copyright James Anderton 2002
Please don't post on pay for view websites, and please
make appropriate attribution on free ones.
Thanks
James
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 40