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The Ambassador's Wife
by James Anderton (jma202@techemail.com)

***

Life as an overseas representative for your country can 
bring hidden dangers. (MMF, mc, beast)

***
 
An entertainment for Adults only. By James Anderton. 
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.


THE AMBASSADOR'S WIFE - A POWER BROKER STORY

Chapter 1
At The Palace

The Girl screamed. Her hands bound behind her back, she 
lay, face down, bent at the waist across the wide Iroko 
table. A rope, tied around her neck, and passed through 
a hole in the table top was tied to the rail underneath 
to provide her only restraint. Not that it was doing 
her any good. She had almost lost all of her skimpy 
servant's uniform, and the way the brute behind her was 
wielding the whip, it wouldn't be long before she lost 
the rest. No amount of waving her butt would bring 
relief, and she knew it now!

Sitting in his raised chair, Major Ibo Ngoro smiled 
softly to himself as he watched the girl pay for her 
refusal to fuck him on-demand. He would not put up with 
refusal, particularly since he now ran Gujanga's secret 
police. No-one other than President Mwanda himself had 
as much unconditional power.

"I see you have not lost your touch Ibo!" a deep brown 
voice intoned behind him, bringing him swiftly to 
attention.

"I assume you can afford this little diversion because 
all the necessary arrangements have been made for the 
Annual Ball. I don't want any screw-ups." This is the 
social highlight of the year.

"Indeed sir! All is prepared."

Then maybe I should sample your entertainment myself, 
Mwanda chuckled as he advanced on the hapless girl.


Chapter 2
At the Embassy 

Mireille Sisterre eased her stocking up he long, 
elegant leg, admiring her figure in the long bedroom 
mirror as she did so.

"Do we have to, darling? I never enjoy these things, 
you know that! I know I have to play the diplomat's 
wife, but these arrogant black bastards are difficult 
to take to. Why could we not have been sent to 
Mauritius or Guadeloupe.  Somewhere warm but 
civilised?"

"Stop worrying! You are young, beautiful, and bound to 
be a big hit with the General. They say he loves to 
play host to guests of stature and class. It's part of 
his thing."

"OK, OK, how do I look? Good enough for a General?"

Luc Sisterre looked longingly at his young wife, 26 
twenty years his junior, and wondered fleetingly 
whether he had time to spread those pretty legs of hers 
before they left. A quick glance at his watch persuaded 
him. He still had time, even though it wouldn't do for 
the French ambassador to be late for the Annual 
National Ball. He moved slowly behind Mireille, slid 
his hands around her waist and nibbled the lobe of her 
ear.

"Why don't we treat ourselves before we go?"

Mireille leaned back against him, and allowed the warm 
glow of arousal to flood over her. She was always 
ready, and she knew that Luc wouldn't take too long. 
Sometimes she was grateful that his inability to make 
it last was perfectly matched to her own ease of 
arousal.

His left hand eased its way up to caress her silk-
covered breasts, and she emitted a sharp gasp as his 
other slid up under her slip and gently stroked her 
already liquid slit. Leaning forward against the 
mirror, she watched as his grimace of pleasure 
reflected back at her.

He slowly eased his penis into her, and began to thrust 
long, and slow. Mireille felt the first streaks of 
pleasure as he teased her clitoris. Feeling her 
respond, Luc's breath quickened, the thrusts became 
shorter, and within a few minutes both he and his 
lovely wife came in a gentle climax.

They leaned together, supporting each other as the flow 
of passion ebbed, before Luc glanced at his watch.

"Merde," he muttered, "if we don't get a move on we 
will be late."

Mireille grabbed her robe and headed for the shower.

"We don't have time for that, my love" he muttered. 
"Give yourself a quick wipe and let's go!" The 
Ambassador and his wife left the front door of the 
embassy, and climbed into the Limousine. As she slid 
into the back of the car, Mireille's skirt rode up a 
little higher than was appropriate, giving a flash of 
pale grey stocking top to the giant African chauffeur. 
I wish I'd put on something a little longer she thought 
as she saw him stare at her crotch hoping to see more.

"Why can't we hire our own Driver," she asked. "I hate 
the way that animal looks at me. I don't trust him one 
bit. They are all the same here!"

"Please be careful, lower you voice," Luc cautioned. 
"All the embassies have drivers assigned to them by the 
Ministry of the Interior. We are all sure that they 
work for the Gujangan Secret Service."

The rest of the journey was completed in silence, the 
driver never taking his eyes off the rear-view mirror, 
concentrating on Mireille's hemline, whilst Mireille 
kept up a constant smoothing motion to ensure there was 
nothing for him to see. Nevertheless, when they 
alighted at the Palace, she could not avoid giving the 
African an eyeful of cleavage, and was rewarded by a 
grin of such pure unadulterated lust, that she felt an 
icy ripple down her spine. She was glad to enter the 
glittering confines of the Palace hallway.


Chapter 3
The Ball


The inside of the Palace was magnificent - total 
contrast to the poverty and squalor elsewhere in the 
country. Mireille, in keeping with convention, bobbed 
slightly as she was introduced, and offered the hand of 
her host. Ibo Ngoro looked down from his six foot two 
at the demure Frenchwoman before him. The scarlet 
cocktail dress contrasted starkly with the soft brown 
hair, and even more so with the creamy pink of her 
breasts. He peered down into her cleavage and began to 
reassess his priorities for the evening. This was one 
desirable woman.

Mireille was ready to leave. She was hot, sticky, and 
for more hours than she cared to remember, she had 
wandered around making polite conversation with people 
she found difficult to like. Africans are promiscuous, 
she decided after being groped for the umpteenth time 
by black hands. On the other hand, their womenfolk 
seemed subservient, without a thought in their heads, 
only interested in their Man's ability to provide gold 
jewellery. The whites at the Ball didn't seem much 
different. All were privileged, and all were very 
guarded with their conversation. It had not been an 
enjoyable evening!

"Please, dance with me!"

It sounded more like a command than a request, and 
Mireille was in no doubt that she could not refuse. 
They drifted out on to the dance floor as the band 
played a slow, romantic number. Mireille was not 
amused, but Major Ngoro was smiling to himself as the 
band followed orders. He was not naturally a patient 
man, but tonight he knew he was on to a good thing.

"Are you enjoying your stay in Gujanga? He asked, as he 
slid his hand down her back to rest loosely on her 
buttock. Mireille felt the hand move, and cast around 
looking for Luc. She did not like the way this was 
going.

"It's quiet and peaceful" she replied, sounding calmer 
than she felt as he gently forced his leg between her 
knees.

"What you need is a bit of excitement" he offered, "Get 
yourself an African lover to add some spice to your 
love life." His hand had now drifted lower and was 
cupping the cheek of her arse. This was getting out of 
control, she thought, desperately looking for a way 
out.

"Major" she retorted, " I can assure you that my love 
life is perfectly adequate, and I have no need of a way 
to spice it up Thank You!"

At that, Ngoro slid his hand up her skirt, wiped his 
finger along the length of her slit, and raised it in 
front of her face.

"Smell that, and then tell me you don't have the hots 
for me. What you need is a good fucking, and I'm just 
the man to give it to you!"

A look of horror crossed Mireille's face as his words 
struck home. Leaving the Embassy without showering had 
been a bigger mistake than she could have dreamed. The 
smell was unmistakable and Ngoro had drawn the wrong 
conclusion.  Before she had time to think, she stepped 
back, swung her arm, and slapped him across the face.

"How Dare You!! She screamed, spun on her heels and 
headed for the door.

Luc stared in horror as the sound reverberated around 
the room, and he saw the sheer malevolence on Ngoro's 
face, glaring across the room following Mireille's 
exit. That, he thought as he ran to meet her, was a bad 
move.

"Feisty little bitch isn't she?" whispered President 
Mwamba, enjoying the look of embarrassment on Ngoro's 
face. "I never thought I would see the day that you 
were put in your place by a woman."

"She will learn just how stupid that was. Never fear."

"I'm sure she will, I'm sure she will," chuckled the 
President. "Oh, and when she does, save some for me 
eh?"


Chapter 4
The Arrest


Mireille was frantic. Luc had vanished. One moment he 
was leaving for work as usual, the next he had 
disappeared, like magic.

"He can't have just left, He has an important job to 
do, and we have resolved the tension we felt after the 
Ball last month" Mireille explained to the French 
Envoy, newly arrived from Paris.

"We believe he has been arrested. Something to do with 
State secrets. We are doing what we can, but the only 
person who really knows anything is Major Ngoro, and 
he's not saying anything. Rumour has it that he is 
pretty pissed off with you and Luc. Maybe he is waiting 
for an apology."

"Well he's not going to get one from me, that's for 
sure. If I were you, I wouldn't be too hasty, these 
charges carry a Death sentence in this country, and 
Ngoro has a reputation for playing hard ball."

"So you think I should just be a good girl, put my tail 
between my legs and offer that black bastard an 
apology? That's about all we can do. Our diplomatic 
relations are not so strong that we can force any other 
solution. We don't even know for certain that Ngoro is 
holding him."

"Well I suppose if that's what it takes, that's what I 
will have to do! But I am no happy about doing it."


Chapter 5
The Deal


"The French Ambassador's wife is here to see you, sir. 
She says she has no appointment." The young lieutenant 
could hardly conceal a smirk as he made the 
announcement.

"Show her in, Jacob. If all goes to plan, you know what 
to do?"

"Yes sir."

"Madame Sisterre, I did not expect to see you so soon, 
please come in."

Mireille strode forward, attempting to demonstrate more 
confidence than she felt. She had prepared herself for 
this moment, wearing her most severe business suit, 
rehearsing what she would say, second-guessing any 
foreseeable outcome. She was still not sure whether she 
was doing the right thing. "I wish to offer an apology 
for the events at the Ball, and to ask you to release 
my Husband, who I am led to believe you have arrested."

"I see!" scoffed Major Ngoro "you think a simple 
apology will suffice?" I don't think you quite realise 
the stakes. Your Husband has indeed been arrested, and 
will stand trial in four weeks for spying. If things go 
against him, he will be shot, so you had better put 
your mind to how you can open negotiations quickly. 
There is no time to lose. Look, I am really sorry if I 
offended you, but I will do anything to help free my 
husband."

"Accepted!"

"Pardon?" a puzzled look crept over Mireille's face. 
She didn't understand what he meant.

"I said I accept your offer! You will do anything I ask 
to ensure release of your husband." .An evil smile 
crossed his face as he said it.

"That's not what I meant," you are deliberately 
twisting my meaning, Mireille cried as the full weight 
of HIS meaning dawned on her.

"It seems to me that you never say what you mean. But 
in this case, the time for games is over." His hand 
drifted down the front of his trousers, and he absent- 
mindedly began to rub his groin. "Your hand and mouth 
got you into this problem, so you now have the 
opportunity to use them to get you out of it."

Mireille slowly began to understand her predicament. 
This was a development she had not foreseen. He 
intended to make her suck his dick, right here in his 
office. Humiliated and disgusted, her mind went into 
overdrive. How could he do this to her, and think he 
could get away with it. She felt the pink flush of 
embarrassment rising up her neck. Turning on her heels, 
she headed for the door.

"You are disgusting!" She offered as her parting shot.

"And you are a stupid bitch who will learn that there 
is a price to pay for embarrassing me in front of my 
people."

She stopped in her tracks, unable to see a way out. 
"Look! This is silly. I'm sure we can come to some 
accommodation over this little misunderstanding."

"You may call it a little misunderstanding, but if you 
close that door behind you, I will not be responsible 
for the consequences."

Mireille was trapped. There was no alternative she 
could see, other than allowing this Pig to humiliate 
her. Taking a deep breath, she gathered herself, walked 
over to him, knelt down and began to unzip his uniform.

"What do you think you are doing?" he barked. Mireille 
looked up with a start.

"You have not asked permission! You will ask me to 
allow you to blow me, you will then do it properly, 
swallowing everything. Any stain on my uniform, and you 
will be punished. Now! Ask!"

Shame and humiliation flooded through Mireille as the 
situation finally got out of her control. With tears in 
her eyes she stammered "Please? May I suck your cock."

"Sir."

"Please may I suck your cock sir?"

He nodded his assent, and Mireille got to work. The zip 
opened easily enough, but she got the shock of her 
young life when his cock sprang free. She did not know 
such weapons existed. Ten inches long, and as thick as 
her wrist, it was already erect with anticipation. She 
had no idea how she was going to get that monster in 
her mouth.

"Come on Bitch, get a move on," Ngoro croaked. "Open 
Wide."

A single tear splashed from her cheek as she opened her 
mouth, extended her tongue, and licked the end of his 
dick. Almost instantly, Ngoro grasped a handful of her 
hair, and thrust his weapon between her lips and half 
way down her throat. "Nnggg!" she grunted at the shock 
of the movement. She gagged as his dick hit the back of 
her throat, and only just managed to avoid throwing up 
as the smell of him filled her nose. 

He began to thrust, slowly at first, but soon he 
developed a rhythm pushing into her face, then pulling 
her head off by the hair. She was lost in concentration 
now, knowing that at any moment he would ejaculate into 
her mouth, and that she would have to swallow it all. 
She failed to hear the office door open.

The flash of the camera bulb took her by surprise. 
Being unable to turn her head, she had to wait for 
several more photographs to be taken before she could 
determine that it was Jacob wielding the camera. As she 
did so, Ibo Ngoro exploded in her mouth, filling it 
with warm viscous fluid.  She nearly choked but managed 
to swallow enough to prevent leakage. Feeling curiously 
pleased, she completed her task, licking him clean, 
zipping him up, and raising herself to a standing 
position before him.

"Not bad," Ngoro chuckled. "You have a natural talent. 
All you need is practice. Do the same for Jacob on your 
way out, and your Husband will be released on bail."


Chapter 6
Summoned to Dinner


Two weeks had elapsed. Luc had been released under 
House arrest the day following his wife's encounter 
with Ngoro. Somehow, she had managed to reconcile her 
feelings with her behaviour, helped in part, by the 
knowledge that she had taken the only action possible. 
If Luc suspected her involvement, he never said so.

"RRRingg." 

Luc glanced at his watch, wondering who could be at the 
door. It was 9.30, and there were no appointments in 
the calendar. 

"RRRRRingggg."

"Hold on! I'm coming," he shouted as he responded to 
the impatient ringing of the doorbell. He pulled the 
door open to face the Chauffeur in full uniform.

"What are you doing dressed up like that at this time 
of night," he demanded.

"I have been instructed by Major Ngoro to bring you and 
your good lady to the Palace for dinner."

"We have already eaten, thank you," he lied. "So please 
tell the Major that we graciously decline his kind 
invitation."

"He anticipated such a response, and asked me to tell 
you that the other dinner guests include members of the 
Military tribunal trying your case. Tonight would be an 
opportunity for you to aid your defence." As he spoke, 
Mireille came to see what the fuss was about, and the 
Chauffeur's eyes followed her closely." additionally , 
he continued, it will give your lovely wife chance to 
charm your Judges before your trial.

Faced with no alternative, Luc and Mireille accepted 
and went to get changed. Dark thoughts clouded her mind 
as she pondered on his words, and the way in which they 
were delivered. She was sure that Ngoro was up to 
something, but nevertheless by 10.30 they were 
dismounting from the limousine in front of the Palace.

"So far, so good," Mireille thought to herself as she 
surveyed the small group. 

The Eight dinner guests were seated at a large round 
table. To her left, General Chakka.  Six foot plus of 
hardened soldier, rough manners, and a brutish attitude 
to foreigners, women, and life in general. To her 
right, Colonel Schmidt, reputably a mercenary military 
adviser, thrown out of East Germany when the wall came 
down. A little slug of a man, she knew him by 
reputation as a cold-blooded killer, and a well-known 
Francophobe. The Envoy had been right. Things did not 
look good for Luc. Still, the conversation had at least 
been polite, if a little stilted.

This had not been helped by the fact that the ladies 
accompanying the three Gujangan soldiers were no more 
than teenagers. "Specially selected for their 
acquiescence I shouldn't wonder," she mused to herself, 
as the last course was served.

Suddenly, the conversation took a more disturbing turn.

"You may wish to know that we have set a date for your 
trial Mr. Ambassador," General Chakka announced. You 
have four weeks to prepare a defence."

Luc stiffened in his chair, and the two young girls 
flanking him became noticeably nervous, unsure of what 
was about to happen.

"I assume I will be given full diplomatic protection, 
and therefore have no need to answer these trumped up 
charges."

"Not so," interrupted Schmidt. "Diplomatic relations 
were broken off this morning. Everything will depend on 
your willingness to cooperate. If I were you, I would 
be trying to find ways of helping us get what we want."

As he spoke, Mireille felt a hand brush gently against 
her thigh. She stole a swift sideways glance at 
Schmidt, who was staring fixedly across the table at 
Luc. A second hand, Chakka's, fell lightly on her knee. 
No pretence at accidental contact this time. Mireille 
realised immediately what was going on. It was HER co-
operation they required. SHE was what they wanted. Poor 
Luc, he was simply a victim of his wife's stupidity. 
Why on earth had she slapped Ngoro.

"My spies tell me you are familiar with Jenga the 
tailor and his wife. Is that so?" As Chakka spoke, his 
hand slipped between Mireille's knees, forcing her 
thighs apart. Hidden by the tablecloth, Schmidt also 
moved his hand into the space created, sliding it up 
until it cleared her stocking top. Mireille felt her 
own sharp intake of breath and hoped poor Luc wouldn't 
notice.

"Of course," Luc replied, clearly puzzled by the 
question." 

He makes my suits, he is the best tailor in town."

"He is also a French spy. He has confessed, and has 
implicated you!" Mireille heard Chakkas words, but none 
of it registered. His hand had now reached their goal, 
and his finger was rubbing slowly up and down the 
outside of her panties. To her horror, she felt a 
familiar tingle as the silk became moistened by her own 
juices. "Please don't let this happen to me," she cried 
inwardly, to no avail. She was becoming aroused, 
despite her best efforts to prevent it.

"I don't believe it," she heard Luc say in the 
background. "It's a conspiracy." He could have been a 
million miles away as the Generals finger began sliding 
in and out of her channel.

"I've had enough of this!" shouted Ngoro. "Guards! Take 
him away, Lock him up, and Get him out of my sight!"

A protesting Luc was dragged away, and as he was, 
Mireille started to stand to follow him. Schmidt's hand 
on her shoulder stopped her before she had the chance 
.Ngoro muttered to the three girls, who slowly got up 
and departed, leaving Mireille to face her husband's 
jailers alone.


Chapter 7
And After...


"Stand up!" Ngoro demanded, all pretence at civility 
now stripped away. "Put your hands on the table."

She stood up, her dress high on her thighs, held there 
by her tormentors, and leaned forward as instructed. 
She knew she should be protesting, but there was 
clearly no point, and the fact that she was becoming 
sexually stimulated was not helping.

"She's a willing little slut," chuckled Chakka. "But 
she needs to learn a thing or two before she can free 
her husband. Beats me why she bothers. He has such a 
little dick he hasn't even broken her in properly."

"Aaarrgh!" Screamed Mireille. Schmidt had decided it 
was time for indulging some of his tastes and had 
forcefully pinched her clitoris. The spear of pain shot 
up and down her spine, causing her knees to buckle, and 
making her fall forward on to the table.

"Save that for later, if we need to," said Ngoro, 
raising himself out of his seat, and standing beside 
the quaking girl. "Come on Bitch, show my colleagues 
what you have learned already."

As the pain in her crotch subsided, Mireille Sisterre, 
wife of the French ambassador, leaned over and sucked 
the cock of the giant African like a common whore. Her 
mouth gaped as the fearsome weapon sprung to attention, 
and, just like a professional she began to inch more 
and more of it down her throat. 

Chakka gripped the back of her dress, and tore it from 
her body, leaving her naked except for bra, panties 
shoes and stockings. Within seconds her bra joined her 
ripped up dress on the floor, giving Schmidt the 
opportunity to inflict more pain by tweaking her 
prominent nipples. Tears welled up in her eyes and she 
would have felt sorry for herself but for the awful 
realisation that she was beginning to enjoy it.

She was working hard now, sucking and blowing on 
Ngoro's cock as though her life as well as Luc's 
depended on it. Even so she was completely taken by 
surprise when, with a single thrust, Chakka impaled her 
on a weapon at least as large as Ngoro's. What 
surprised her even more was the ease with which he 
penetrated her. She was so wet she could have taken a 
railway train. Almost immediately she climaxed, 
shuddering as her orgasm ripped through her body.

"Thank god!" she thought, but Chakka showed no sign of 
stopping. Ngoro's climax burst in her mouth, but still 
Chakka ploughed on. A second Orgasm sliced through her 
consciousness, shattering any composure she might have 
left.

"YES! YES! FUCK ME!"

Suddenly Chakka stopped, leaving her hanging on the 
edge of her third climax. She looked down to find him 
sitting on the floor. "Sit on me!" He ordered. "She 
complied, without hesitation, helped by the fact that 
Ngoro had grabbed a handful of her hair, and lifted her 
bodily on to Chakkas dick. Chakka grabbed her hair as 
Ngoro let go, dragging her face down to kiss him. His 
foul breath simply added to her sense of debauchery, 
but even in this state, she was unprepared for 
Schmidt's next move.

She felt his finger slide up the crack of her arse, 
teasing the little rosebud. As she guessed his 
intention, any drift towards her orgasm stopped as her 
blood ran cold. Her protests ignored as he wormed first 
one, then two digits into her virgin rectum. 

Her protests were getting more frantic now, and she was 
relieved to find Schmidt withdraw his fingers. Too late 
she realised that the relief was only temporary. The 
bulbous head of his cock pushed hard against her 
entrance, the pain was appalling, and suddenly slid its 
full length deep into her bowels.

Her scream of agony rent the air, only to be replaced 
by a choking gasping sound as the excitement created by 
the two members rubbing against each other mounted. The 
relief, when it came, took her by surprise and knocked 
any breath she still had out of her body. She 
collapsed, face down on Chakka's body as the two 
Africans fucked themselves to a finish.

She lay on the floor, gasping with the sheer physical 
effort, unsure what to do. Her clothes lay in tatters 
beside her, and she had no idea what Ngoro had in store 
for her.  She was, however soon to be put out of her 
misery.

"I have decided to be lenient" Ngoro announced to her 
astonishment. "You may have your wretched Husband 
back...  for now! Give her a robe!"


Chapter 8
Back at the Embassy


"What the hell is going on here?" Envoy Phillipe 
Trenchant asked quietly to himself. "Ngoro must be 
playing some sort of game. First he arrests an 
ambassador for spying. An ambassador for Gods sake! 
Next he almost apologises to the French government and 
releases him on bail. 

Before the dust has settled he invites him for dinner, 
and promptly has him re-arrested and thrown in to the 
shittiest dungeon on the planet. Now here he is! The 
self-same ambassador sitting in front of me as bemused 
as I am, wondering what will happen next.

"My dear Luc," he started. "We have been contacted by 
the Gujangan government to say that they are prepared 
to reach a compromise over your 'situation'. It appears 
that they still believe you are a spy, but also have no 
wish to further antagonise the diplomatic community. 
They are prepared to allow you to fly home in two 
weeks, providing that you and your wife keep a low 
profile, and provide complete cooperation between now 
and then."

"There is nothing we can tell them anyway, so hopefully 
they will leave us alone," replied Luc, somewhat 
perplexed. He still had no idea what this was all 
about.

Mireille also had Ngoro on her mind. In the few days 
since Luc's release, she had found herself looking back 
at the dinner party with decidedly mixed feelings. One 
part of her remained appalled at the way she had been 
treated, but another part of her longed for a 
continuation of the licentious brutality she had 
endured, and which had finally allowed her to enjoy her 
latent sexuality. At heart she now knew she was a slut! 
It was therefore with renewed curiosity that she opened 
the elegant envelope presented to her by Ngoro's 
runner.

"Luc, my darling!" she exclaimed. "We have been invited 
to another of Ngoro's parties. He says he is laying it 
on to say farewell to us."

"Tell him No Thank you."

"But Luc," remember what Trenchant the Envoy said. If 
we upset Ngoro now, he might prevent us leaving, and 
who knows what might then happen to you? Why don't we 
just go, stay for a short while, make our excuses and 
leave."


Chapter 9
The Farewell Party


Mireille leaned casually against the door frame, a 
glass of wine in her hand, watching events unfold 
around her. She had been expecting to be Ngoro's centre 
of attraction for the evening, but that was proving not 
to be the case. She had been circulating around the 
room for more than an hour before she felt his warm 
breath on her shoulder.

"You look relaxed," he whispered. "Obviously our party 
proved to be to your liking."

"Please, leave me alone. I just want to go home 
tomorrow and forget all about the way I have been 
mistreated by you and your friends."

"Maybe you're right. I had planned additional 
entertainment for tonight, but it doesn't have to 
include you." As he spoke, his hand moved in lazy 
circles over her buttock, sliding into the crevice 
occasionally before resuming its stately progress. She 
couldn't help herself, and before she knew it was 
pushing herself gently against his exploring fingers. 
"I will decide later!"

She was about to offer a rejoinder when she noticed 
that a young woman had grabbed his attention from 
across the room. She was young, mid-20s, small, dark 
haired, and extremely attractive. She was also scared 
to death. Her hands clung firmly to the sleeve of a 
middle-aged man who could only have been her husband, 
and who also looked as though he was being hunted. 

As they watched, Colonel Schmidt sidled up to the 
couple and muttered something to them. The girl shook 
her head, silently mouthing, "No! No!" But her 
protestations died as her husband leaned towards her 
and whispered in her ear. Looking even more terrified, 
the couple slowly made their way out of the room 
through the main door with Schmidt in close attention. 
Ngoro gave Mireille a sly smile. "Until later perhaps," 
he whispered.

Ngoro chuckled silently to himself as the evening's 
events slowly unfolded. He gestured to the barman, who 
quickly replenished Luc and Mireille's drinks. They 
were not to know the drinks had been doctored, but he 
did!

"Oooh, I feel terrible," gasped Luc, his face slowly 
draining of all colour. "Come on, love, I have to 
leave. I think I am going to be ill." Ngoro appeared as 
if by magic.

"I will get a driver to take you home," he announced. 
"Don't worry about your wife, we will look after her, 
and make sure that she gets home safely." Mireille 
tried gently to disengage her arm, but his grip was 
firm, and his intention clear. Not for the first time, 
Mireille grew concerned about what they had in store 
for her if she stayed. At the same time, she could feel 
herself warming to the idea as the aphrodisiac in the 
drink began to take effect.

"I'll be OK darling," she reassured him as he was led 
off to the car. Almost immediately she found herself 
being propelled towards a door at the rear of the room, 
as the other guests slowly began to leave.


Chapter 10
The Trial


The room was unlike any she had ever seen. At one end, 
an area to the side had been curtained off with what 
looked like very expensive damask drapes. The remainder 
had a slightly raised floor, almost like a stage, 
covered by cushions and rugs, giving the impression of 
a large bed. Knowing Ngoro's predilections, she had no 
doubt about the use to which it was to be put. The 
occupants of the room were all men. At her entrance, 
they all turned to look at her. Schmidt and Chakka she 
recognised. Two others she did not. 

One was a white man, pale and skinny, as though he 
hadn't eaten or seen the sun for weeks. There was 
something about him that she did not like. His mouth 
curled in a slight smile that was not reflected in his 
eyes. The other reminded her of Arafat the Palestinian. 
He was short, stout, with classic Arabic features 
shaded by his burnoose. Beside him, their leads in his 
right hand sat two of the most beautiful Salukis she 
had seen.

As if on cue the lights dimmed, and Ngoro shepherded 
her to one of the sofas arranged in a semicircle facing 
the stage. She started to say something, but Ngoro 
placed a finger across her lips in a clear gesture of 
silence.  "Begin!"

Immediately the curtains parted to reveal a man, 
sitting upon a chair. His ankles were tied to the legs, 
and his arm were presumably (for she could not see 
them) tied behind his back. It was the man she had seen 
in the ballroom earlier.


Chapter 11
A Lesson in Humility


Schmidt took centre stage.

"Gentlemen! And lady," he announced. A ripple of humour 
ran across the room as he referred to Mireille. She 
felt ashamed, they clearly all knew of her experiences. 

"The man you see before you is Eduardo Rochas, Gujangan 
citizen, and erstwhile owner of the Rochas estate. He 
is here because of his French wife. She has been found 
guilty of spreading dissension and organising 
opposition to our government. After due consideration 
we have decided not to jail her, but to teach her, and 
him a lesson. We anticipate that this could be 
entertaining, and we are therefore pleased to welcome 
our special guests, Frans Walwijk and Sheikh Raschid. I 
trust you will enjoy yourselves."

The door at the back of the stage area opened, and a 
young woman was pushed through it into the glare of the 
lights.

"Lady and Gentlemen, may I present Madame Alexandra 
Rochas."

The girl stood in the spotlight. Her cuffed hands 
shading her eyes, trying to see the audience, as behind 
her the huge figure of Tembo, Mireille's Chauffeur, 
loomed menacingly. She was dressed in a plain black 
cocktail dress and high- heeled shoes and her eyes 
darted around the room, desperately searching for re- 
assurance.

"Tell us why you are here," demanded Schmidt.


"I have been accused of being disrespectful of the 
country and its government."

"Accused?"

"Yes," I flatly deny it. "And in any case you have no 
right to subject me to this indignity without alerting 
the French Consul."

Schmidt ignored her, turned to the audience, and waved 
his hand in a grandiose gesture. "As you can see, the 
bitch needs to be taught a little humility. A simple 
apology is no longer enough. She has already been found 
guilty, and must be punished."

As he spoke, unseen by the now fearful girl, a hook on 
a simple pulley slowly dropped from the ceiling and 
stopped about a foot above her head. Tembo stepped 
forward, grasped her hands, and before she could 
protest, slipped the short chain between the handcuffs 
over the hook. She stood, stock still, gazing up at the 
hook in disbelief. She began to jump, short little 
hops, trying to dislodge the chain, but as she did so, 
the pulley retracted slowly into the air, until she 
found herself standing, not quite on tiptoe, but just 
on the balls of her feet. 

As the truth of her situation became clear her efforts 
subsided, and her demeanour changed to one of silent 
insolence. Tembo sidled up behind her, pressing the 
bulge in the front of his trousers against the small of 
her back. As she struggled to avoid him, she realised 
that she was being forced into thrusting her pelvis in 
the direction of the audience. Not something she 
intended to continue.

Despite her determination to give them no satisfaction, 
she heard herself mutter "Leave me alone you black 
bastard," to the smiling chauffeur behind her. She 
could probably have predicted his reaction, but the 
movement of his hands around her waist, then slowly 
sliding up to cup her breasts through her dress, still 
came as a serious shock.

"Get on with it!" Shouted Walwijk. "We're not here just 
for you to get your rocks off! Show us more of the 
bitch."

As Alexandra began to mutter her protest, Tembo slowly 
slid his hands down to her hips, and with slow, 
circulating motion, slowly raised the hem of her dress. 
Slowly, the tops of her stockings were revealed, to the 
obvious delight of the watchers., and as her bright red 
panties came into view they generated gasps of 
appreciation from the guests.

Schmidt broke the growing tension. "As you can see 
bitch, we are not prepared to take your insolence any 
longer. By the time we have finished with you, you will 
be grateful to be alive." He paused for effect. "Tembo, 
lets see her squirm."

Tembo continued slowly easing up her dress, as though 
he had not heard the comments, until it was bunched up 
around her waist. Then, grabbing the hem, he lifted it 
in a smooth motion up over her breasts until it hung 
loosely round her neck. A quick flip, and the cloth 
covered her head, fashioning an extremely effective, if 
temporary blindfold. Alexandra began to struggle as the 
light went, and suddenly she realised how helpless she 
really was.

"Spread your legs girl." Tembo issued the instruction, 
knowing full well that it would have the opposite 
effect. Without the girl realising, he stepped back 
from her, picked up a slim, whippy cane, and struck her 
a smart blow across one buttock. The unexpected pain 
sent an arc of fire up Alexandra's left side, causing 
her to yell out loud. Her buttocks clenched with the 
pain, causing her to squeeze her thighs even tighter.

Two more strikes still failed to achieve the desired 
effect, but added significantly to the audience's 
enjoyment as Alexandra wriggled furiously to escape the 
pain. Tembo decided that the time for foreplay was 
over. He stood silently behind her, ran his hands 
slowly round her front to cup her breasts, and 
whispered in her ear.

"I said spread your legs. I'm sure you don't want me to 
continue beating you when you can make me stop so 
easily. Now! Do as I say."

Alexandra, realising that her options were limited 
slowly parted her thighs until they were a few inches 
apart. Even so, in order to keep them on the floor, she 
was now straining on tip-toe.

"Do you want to be lowered?" Tembo whispered.

"Please!" sobbed Alexandra.

"Any sign of disobedience, and I will re-hang you. Do 
you understand? Any sign!"

The young woman silently nodded her assent as the 
tension left her arms. Still hooked over her head, she 
could now bend them slightly as she stood, feet 
slightly apart, in front of the big Gujangan, who, 
unnoticed by the girl nodded at the front row.

Walwijk got up out of his seat went up to the girl, 
still shrouded in her dress, reached out and grasped 
her left tit. Taken by surprise, Alexandra squealed as 
the pain hit her. Immediately, the South African 
grasped her nipple and twisted for all he was worth. 
Alexandra burst into tears not only from the pain, but 
because she now knew there was no hope of any reprieve.

Behind her, Tembo reached up, unhooked her arms, and 
pulled her dress over her head. With a single rip he 
tore it from her arms, leaving her still handcuffed, 
but naked in front of Walwijk. His grip on her nipple 
never faltered as he pulled her downwards until she 
knelt before him. Without bidding she did what she knew 
he had been waiting for. She pulled down his zipper, 
freed his dick, and she swiftly took it into her mouth. 
The taste reminded her of old socks, and she had to 
concentrate to avoid throwing up, but she knew this was 
her only hope. 

As her ministrations became more frantic she felt his 
excitement grow until with a guttural groan he sprayed 
his semen down the back of her throat. After a short 
pause, only long enough for her to lick Walaijk clean, 
Tembo's enormous dick replaced it before her lips. 
Walaijk released his grip on her sore nipple, and moved 
aside out of her vision, as her mouth opened as wide as 
she could make it, encompassing the huge girth of 
Tembo's now rigid tool.

"Faster bitch," Walwijk demanded, and as he said so, he 
dealt her a lashing blow across her buttocks with the 
buckled end of his belt. Alexandra screamed as the 
strap bit in to her flesh, and almost clenched her 
teeth to resist the pain. At the last moment she gained 
sufficient control to avoid damaging Tembo, who 
responded by pushing his cock even farther down her 
throat Walwijk was enjoying himself now, and several 
more blows landed on her arse, leaving glowing stripes 
which stung at the lightest touch. Only protests from 
Tembo, fearful of losing his manhood eventually stopped 
the sadistic Dutchman, who grunted his dissatisfaction 
at having his fun terminated.

Alexandra's pain was almost unbearable, and she 
wondered whether she would ever get relief. Suddenly, 
behind her, a cool tongue began to lap at her. The 
salving effect slowly dulled the pain, which slowly 
changed to pleasure as the tongue concentrated on her 
cuntlips. She began to squirm, firstly in an attempt to 
get away from it, and then from a growing sense of 
excitement as she realised how arousing it was.

Over in the audience, Mireille gasped as she saw the 
Arabs Saluki move silently behind the kneeling girl. As 
she did so, the huge figure of the President himself 
slid in to the seat beside her. Without preamble he 
pulled her legs apart, ran his finger up her cunt slit, 
raised his finger to his nose, and declared, "Ah, I see 
you are ready for me!"

On stage, Alexandra began to recognise something was 
wrong. Her excitement was growing as the long tongue 
rasped, sandpaper-like across her clitoris. At the same 
time, the panting behind her alerted her to the 
presence not of a human but a dog. Panic crossed her 
face, and she tried to pull away from Tembo's groin. 
He, however, was having none of it. Grasping a handful 
of hair, he pulled her to him, filling mouth and throat 
with his meat, and at the same time making movement 
away from the animal lapping at her behind impossible.

As the animal scrambled up her back, she realised with 
horror that this was going much further than she had 
expected, and that there was nothing she could do about 
it. Each attempt to pull away was met not only by a tug 
on the hair from Tembo, but also by the most 
excruciating twist if her nipples, once more in the 
hands of the vicious bastard Walwijk. She resigned 
herself to her plight and the thought of the dog 
fucking her in front of the audience.  Things could not 
be worse.

On her seat next to the president, Mireille was on the 
verge of her own climax. His fingers ferreted about in 
her moistened slit. "Come with me he demanded," 
grabbing her by the arm and leaving no room for 
discussion. "We have some negotiations to conclude." 
Mireille stood up and followed, pausing only to glance 
back at the stage where the now rampant Dog was 
preparing to make things worse than even Alexandra 
realised.

Unable to direct his cock, the dog slid it up and down 
Alexandra's slit, lubricating it until it was slick 
with her juices. With a sharp stabbed, he hit the 
target. Not, as she expected her cunt, but her 
arsehole. A stab of pain shot through her that she was 
unable to suppress even with Tembo's dick shoved down 
her throat. All pretence at pleasure was now gone. Her 
initial arousal was instantly replaced by pain and fear 
as the dog began to hump her faster than she could 
possibly imagine. Tears streamed down her face as Tembo 
looked down with contempt in his eyes.

"Think yourself lucky girl," he chuckled. "You were 
going to get my enormous dick up your arse, but I don't 
intend to follow HIM. Now stop wailing and finish me 
off. Her degradation complete, she had no alternative 
but to do as he instructed, swallowing every last drop 
of his semen as it splashed into her mouth. Excellent! 
He muttered. I will look forward to more of that when I 
come to visit you on the estate.

Alexandra looked up at him bemused. "You said Ngoro was 
going to confiscate the Estate and keep it himself."

"So he is," laughed Tembo, "but I will be running it, 
and I am appointing Monsieur Rochas as my Estate 
Manager. I wonder what role we will find for you?"


Epilogue:


Mireille Sisterre, wife of the French Ambassador looked 
admiringly around her new surroundings. Her time in the 
Gujangan Republic had ended most unexpectedly. After 
the show at the palace, the President had extracted 
full revenge for her treatment of his First Minister, 
but at least had kept his word. She had been driven 
home that night, after Mwanda, Ngoro, and two of their 
servants had taken their pleasure from every bodily 
orifice she had to offer.

Luc had been recalled, promoted and reassigned, and 
now, here she was, in one of the most beautiful Palaces 
in the Arabic world. She had so much to look forward 
to.

"His Excellency the Sheikh," pronounced the servant at 
the door, as a small, vaguely familiar figure marched 
in to the room.

"My dear Ambassador, and your lovely wife, of course, 
welcome to my home."

The colour drained from Mireille's face as two Salukis 
padded in to the room behind him.

"Lovely to see you again Mireille, it has been a long 
time. You know my boys of course!"

THE END

The stories of James Anderton can be found on the ASSTR 
website. Copyright James Anderton 2001 - Please don't 
post on paid 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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