WHITE SLAVES IN BLACK AFRICA

Or

White Human Cattle

BY

COMMANDER ALLAN ALDISS

Readers of Allan Aldiss’s various series of erotic books will be familiar with his stories of a beautiful young married woman, Emma. She is in thrall to a ruthless rich lesbian, Ursula, who employs a brute of a black Haitian, Sabhu, to control her girls.

This new story, however, is quite different, for Emma is leased out by her Mistress to an Arab slave dealer who operates in a remote country where white women are deliberately denigrated by being treated as animals – human cattle.

Moreover, whereas in the past Emma often had no idea just what was going to be done to her, especially when it came to being sponsored by an eager client for forced breeding, this story is again very different. This time Emma describes vividly how she knows only too well just what is in store for her and how she knows that, kept helpless, she and her friend Samantha will have to go right through with it all – and in a strange and terrifying setting.  

This story was considered so shocking that it had to be omitted from the original series of books written by Allan Aldiss. However, the story can now be told and as usual Allan has a gripping and highly arousing story to tell.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE 

Ursula lays it on the line

PART I – PREPARATIONS FOR AN UNUSUAL EVENT

1  -  At Home

2  -  Humiliatingly checked and washed

3  -  Caged!

4  -  Samantha is caned

PART II – A TERRIFYING ARAB

5  -  A strange visitor

6  -  I am inspected

7 -   Checking the son’s virility

8  -  Sold!

PART III – IN THE HANDS OF A WHITE SLAVE DEALER

9   - A flight to an unknown destination

10 – Nose-ringed like a pig

11 - Transported to slavery

12 - A chance to talk

13 - Prepared for sale – and in some special ways.

14 - Branded!

15 - Training

PART IV – MY MASTER    

16 - The Cattle Market

17 – In the power of the Caid

18 – Marked with the crest of my Master

19 – Kennelled!

20 -  My Master’s pet  puppies

21 -  Sodomised!

22 – The mating of the blond mother and daughter

PART V – PREGNANT FOR MY MASTER

23 – Mated with a real dog

24-  Expectant!

25 – In the Stables

26 – Broken-in to harness

27 - The Caid’s bed of women

28 - Delivery!

29 – In the milking parlour

EPILOGUE

Home!        

          PROLOGUE

URSULA LAYS IT ON THE LINE

‘No,’ I cried in despair, ‘I won’t go through all that ever again. Never!’

‘Oh yes you will, Emma, if that’s what the client wants - and is willing to pay me handsomely to sponsor you for it.’

‘Pay you handsomely! But I never see a penny of it.’ 

‘No, Emma, and you never will. You’re just my slave and slaves don’t get paid.’

‘But it’s my body that’s being used and it’s me that has all has the pain and suffering.’

‘Yes, but having an unwanted maternity on imposed on you – being used forced breeding - is all part of the lot of a humble slave girl.’

‘No, I won’t do it! You can’t make me do it!’

‘Oh yes I can, Emma! I’ve made you do it before and I’ll damn well make you do it again.’

Ursula opened the drawer of her desk and took out the large already addressed and stamped envelopes containing those shameful photographs and video cassettes.

‘Won’t I, Emma?’

           I shuddered, for I knew that they showed me being made shamefully to pleasure Ursula and her lady clients. Their faces were hidden –but not mine!

She picked up some other photographs. I shuddered even more – for I knew that they actually showed me being denigratingly mated. Others were close-ups of my subsequent incarceration in Ursula’s breeding cages, my rapidly swelling belly and finally of me shamefully dropping my little progeny.

‘Yes,’ she laughed cruelly, ‘you look so pretty with a beautifully curved belly.’

Ursula knew only too well that if these were ever posted to my redoubtable mother-in-law, my unsuspecting husband or to my own friends and relations, then not only would that be the end of my marriage but that I would never be able to show my face in County society again.

‘Just remember, these are ready for posting - if you disobey me. You’re completely I my power, to do whatever I say. Aren’t you?’

‘Yes, Madam,’ I whispered helplessly.

‘And you’re going to earn your kind Mistress a lot of money by being offered for forced breeding again, aren’t you?’

Kind Mistress, indeed! But I just nodded, not daring to say a word of protest. And, of course just as she had said, the money that would all be going to Ursula and damn all to me.

‘And as your husband tells me that he’s off abroad again for several months, I shall soon be making use of you accordingly.’

‘Oh no!’ I protested.

‘Oh yes, Emma, oh yes,’ replied Ursula, her eyes glinting, ‘and somehow I think it won’t be long before you have a beautiful well-curved belly again - this time in a rather unusual setting with you knowing exactly what is happening to you – and being quite unable to do anything about it.’

I shuddered as heard these words, but I knew that indeed there was nothing I could do to avoid whatever fate it was that Ursula had planned for me.

‘And now,’ she went on, ‘I’m going to send you back home whilst I go off abroad for a month, arranging some very special deals for a very special foreign client.’

‘Very special deals?’ I repeated nervously.

‘Yes, Emma, ones that will include you. When I come back I shall be sending for you again.’

‘Oh!’ I gasped.

‘And remember that whilst I’m away, Sabhu will be coming every week to check that your purity laces are still nice and tight.’

‘But, please, do I have to be laced up? Can’t the laces and padlock be removed? Please! It’s so embarrassing … hiding them from my husband … John’s so demanding!’

‘Certainly not Emma! I’m not going to have you playing with yourself behind my back, nor having fun and games with a man – not even your husband. But don’t you worry, I’ve arranged for our doctor to write to John, saying that it would be dangerous for you to have sex.’

           ‘Oh!’ I said, thinking that even so, John will still probably want to sleep in my bed.

‘And,’ Ursula went on, ‘you’re going to keep yourself in milk, for my special client is likely to want a girl with milk-laden breasts - and good prominent nipples that can be easily sucked.’

‘Oh no, please,’ I begged.

‘Oh yes, Emma, and although you did not realise it, you’ve already been given an injection to stop your milk from drying up. Sabhu will be giving you pills to keep the milk flowing.’

‘But my husband,’ I gasped.

‘Oh, I expect he’ll be delighted – you can tell him that you took some pills to come into milk for his greater pleasure. Sabhu will give you a nursing bra to prevent any leaking milk from marking your clothes. He’ll also give you a little vacuum pump and bottle so that you can milk yourself several times a day to keep the milk flowing and keep your nipples properly elongated.’

Oh God, I thought, she really has got it all worked out. Then, changing the subject, I asked nervously: ‘But where will you be taking me? Not to that awful castle again?’

‘Oh no,’ laughed Ursula, ‘a long way from there! But never you mind where. You just go off home and rest - and get yourself fit and ready for your next … little adventure.’

PART I

PREPARATIONS FOR AN UNUSUAL EVENT

1 – AT HOME

          I was lying in bed, wide-awake, thinking about Ursula’s “very special foreign client” - presumably another horrible rich lesbian.

Even more, I was anxiously thinking with dread about her frightening remark about me soon having a beautiful and nicely curved belly again. It might be a beautiful and enjoyable sight for her and her friends and clients – but it wasn’t for me!

Suddenly, I felt my still half asleep husband’s erect manhood pressing against my bottom. Hastily I moved away.

Luckily I was wearing thick padded pants, specially made by me to prevent him from feeling my cruelly sewn up beauty lips. Before sending me home, Sabhu had threaded the rubber-covered metal laces through the line of little plastic eyelets down each of my outer beauty lips, tightly criss-crossing them, like the laces of a shoe. Then he had pulled them taut. The clever thing about them was that my natural juices could still slip out between the laces. 

Nor did I want John to discover the little padlock that prevented me from unfastening the laces and which hung down between my legs  – for, of course, he had no idea that his wife was in thrall to Ursula and was kept locked up for her pleasure.

Oh, the shame! Here I was a married woman, being forced, behind my unsuspecting husband’s back, into a secret, and utterly degrading, subjection by a ruthless and rich older woman – though I had to admit that at times it had been rather exciting.

Perhaps it was just as well, I thought sadly, that John was soon going off abroad again for several months. But then, of course, that would provide Ursula with a free run to do whatever she liked with me.

However, all that was in the future. Now, to keep my awakening husband’s hands off me, I hastily unfastened my pyjama top, pulled down my nursing bra and alternatively thrust first one and then the other of my milk-laden nipples into his mouth. Although he was still half asleep I could feel him sucking.

With my free hand I reached down and gently began to masturbate him. Ursula did not mind me doing that. She did not like it, of course, for she did not want me, or any of her girls, to have anything to do with any man, even if he was her husband. But, realistically, she realised that allowing me to masturbate my husband was a cheap price to pay for the sheer excitement of having me in her power.

However, what she did strictly forbid was any penetration – something that John, warned off by the doctor’s bogus warning note, had learned to accept. Nor did Ursula allow me to have any oral sex with my husband. That was reserved for her! My tongue, Ursula had laid down, was only for arousing and giving pleasure to her, my Mistress – or to any of her lady-clients. I knew that Sabhu would beat the truth out of me if I deceived my Mistress in this way. Fortunately, John did not even suggest, never mind demand, this forbidden service and I was able to satisfy him with my hands.

Lucky him, I thought, as I slid my hand expertly up and down his manhood. If only I, too, could play with myself. I could feel that under the laces, that I, too, was becoming moist and increasingly aroused.

I put my free hand down to my smooth and hairless lips – but, of course, the tight laces made it impossible for me to get at my throbbing beauty bud. Soon I would make John climax, but there would be no such relief for me – I was only allowed that when pleasuring my Mistress and even then only occasionally, with her express permission.

Oh, it was all so frustrating. It was also so typically cruel of Ursula to keep me like this: pure and innocent as a little girl – just what she liked. But also, and against my will, I was being made out of sheer frustration to feel eager for her return – for I was kept utterly dependent on her for any pleasure that she might allow me.

My fingers touched the little padlock that kept the laces taut. It was a padlock for which I did not have the key - only Sabhu had that.

John had met Ursula and been taken in by her charm. He was delighted that I had met such an intelligent artist. He was equally delighted that she liked to ask me to come up, from our house in the country to her London studio in fashionable Chelsea for several days a week to, as she put it, “help with visiting clients interested in buying her pictures or in sponsoring a new one.”

How horrified John would have been if he had discovered what Ursula’s clients really paid for – or that her studio house also doubled as a secret high-class lesbian brothel. Normal brothels for men were, of course, illegal, but who was going to mind about a discreet lesbian one, with the girls nominally studying art and posing as models for Ursula? 

John had been even more delighted when Ursula offered “to look after” me and to let me stay permanently in her large house, whenever he was away on one of his frequent long drawn-out trips to some remote lagoon in the Pacific, as part of his research work as an Oceanographer. It would, Ursula used to tell him, keep me out of mischief - and would allow me to earn a little pin money to help supplement the slim housekeeping allowance that was all that John could afford to give me.   

Yes, John used to say, it was very kind of Ursula to look after me so well. Kind! Kind to make me service some ugly lesbian friend of hers? Kind to have that horrible, burly great black overseer of hers give me twenty strokes of the cane on my bottom like a child, at the slightest sign of he regarded as Recalcitrance, never mind Impertinence or Dumb Insolence. Twenty strokes! They alone were enough to ensure my constant and humble obedience, never mind the pictures and videos.

Indeed, another of the reasons for wearing the padded pants was to hide the marks on my bottom of Sabhu’s long whippy cane. 

If John and his easily shocked mother, or my own friends here in the country, knew what Ursula used to make me do, they would be appalled. But they would be even more appalled if they saw the marks of the cane. Far worse, of course, would be if Ursula carried out her repeated threat of sending them copies of the photographs she had had made when making me degradingly pleasure her clients – or putting me through an even more degrading maternity. That would mean the end of my marriage and my reputation in Society would be finished.

It was this Sword of Damocles constantly hanging over my head that kept me in thrall to my Mistress and my obedient to her every whim - even if this included the appalling idea of having to carry and deliver another litter of puppies, part, as Ursula used to say, of the miracles of modern medicine. 

At least, I thought, as I played with John’s my now increasingly aroused manhood, Sabhu will not be coming to check my laces today. He had humiliatingly come down only a few days previously.  

Sabhu was a big, brutish-looking and yet very cunning, Afro-Caribbean from Haiti. Ursula employed him to control and overseer her girls in very degrading and intimate ways. He stood no nonsense from any of us and especially not from me whom he regarded as an upper class twit. He used his cane unmercifully to rule over us. He himself was not interested in girls sexually, preferring his new black boy assistant: Mokid, who was also from Haiti.  

Whenever Ursula was away, I was excused spending several days each week in her London house. But, Sabhu would drive down once a week to my country house, dressed as Ursula’s chauffer, nominally to give me a parcel of papers that had arrived for Ursula and which she wanted me to sort out, ready for her return.

However, the real objects of his visit was, of course, very different.

Firstly, it was to check the laces over my carefully depilated beauty lips, so that he could then reassure Ursula that they were properly in place and taut. He could then reassure that I was therefore being kept pure and unable to masturbate, or to be penetrated by my husband, the two things that Ursula insisted on.

But this time it had also been to check that I was keeping myself properly in milk – although I had been reporting daily to him on the amounts of milk my breasts were giving. The small plastic bottle bowl attached to the bulb of the little vacuum pump had a graduated scale on the side and woe betide me, I knew, if my milk yield dropped off. 

It was so embarrassing having to invite the burly black man up to my room and there to be ordered to undress before him so that he could check that I could not get at my beauty bud and not been able to play with myself. It was also painful as he rubbed a burning depilatory cream over my mound and down between my sewn-up beauty lips.

Two weeks ago, driven half crazy with frustration, I had stupidly and quite ineffectually tried to cut the rubber covered metal laces with my nail scissors. Sabhu saw the marks on the laces and, furious, he produced a vicious little dog whip.

Then turning on my bedside radio to drown out the noise, he had made me bend over and had thrashed me there and then - whilst my husband was reading his newspaper downstairs. Twenty strokes! The pain and humiliation of being thrashed by this black brute of a man had been terrible. Moreover, I had been scared that John might hear the drawn-out beating going on upstairs. I had also been terrified of crying out.

However, that had not been all, for that afternoon I had, once again, to be careful to hide the marks on my bottom from my unsuspecting husband and from some friends who were pressing me to join them for swim in their pool. It was something that I so often had to do when I returned from a few days “on duty” at Ursula’s house. 

It was also painful, on the day when Sabhu was due down, to keep my breasts unmilked to ensure that this awful man could draw off a satisfactory amount of milk from each breast – milk which he would then taste to make sure that I had not been eating anything that might detract from its deliciousness.

I gave a little shudder as I remembered one particularly dreadful time when Ursula was away and Sabhu had come to check that the laces and padlock were firmly in place. That time however, it was also to make sure that I could not get rid of the little progeny that Ursula had ensured was happily growing, to my increasing dismay, inside me. Then the padded pants also served to hide, when I was in bed with John, what Ursula, her clients and the sponsor who had paid for me to be mated, regarded as my beautiful curved belly.

On this occasion, ordering me to walk up and down and pirouette round, Sabhu had videoed my tummy with his portable camera – before sending copies of the tape to Ursula and to the cruel sponsor of my secret maternity.

I gave another little shiver as I remembered how by day I then had to hide my swelling tummy under one of Ursula’s cast-off corsets – until it was just too big to hide.  Then just as I was desperately wondering what to do, Ursula had returned and had telephoned John to say that she would like me to spend a few weeks with her abroad helping her with a forthcoming exhibition.

Little did he know that what in fact was going to be exhibiting to my sponsor and to Ursula’s other fascinated clients, was not Ursula’s paintings but his own wife’s strangely and rapidly swelling belly.

Sometimes, Ursula would suddenly invite herself down for the weekend. She would apparently innocently invite me to join her in the guest room “to see some papers she had brought”.  But once we were alone she would produce her cane and order me to bare my breasts and offer her my milk

But that was not all, for at night, as soon as John was asleep, I would have to crawl along the corridor to her room. On all such occasions she would be waiting for me, cane in her hand, dressed in a long loose negligee under which I would have to crawl and apply my mouth to her beauty lips.

But that was all in the past, for on his last visit Sabhu had told me that Miss de Vere, as he called Ursula, would be back in a few days’ time. As soon as John had again gone abroad, I was to present myself again in Miss de Vere’s house in Chelsea.

I had longed to tell him to tell him and Ursula to go and jump into the lake, but remembering those awful videos, I knew that I would have no alternative but to obey her call.  

‘You aren’t going to put me back into that awful chastity belt, are you?’  I had asked anxiously.

Oh, how I had hated that clever rubber-edged, chromium plated, steel belt with its plastic grille that prevented me from touching myself and through which, so humiliatingly, I had to spend a penny when I needed to do so, just as now, being sewn up, I had to do so through the laces. The belt had also served as a very effective breeding belt, preventing me, like the laces it had supplemented, from seeking a simple abortion.

‘Oh no,’ replied Sabhu cruelly in his broken English with a half Caribbean, half French, accent, ‘Miss de Vere, she now got something else in store for you.’

‘What do you mean?’ I gasped. ‘Tell me! Tell me!’

‘Oh, you soon see,’ Sabhu had laughed. ‘Maybe you soon visit strange country.’ Then he had paused cunningly. ‘Maybe Miss de Vere she think it time you become little mother-to-be again. Clients abroad pay a lot extra to see a Christian white girl being strangely mated and then to see her with nicely curved belly. You’d like to have curved belly again, wouldn’t you, little girl?’

‘No, no!’ I had cried horrified. ‘Not again, please. Anything but not that!’

Yes, it was horrible being in thrall to Ursula – and to be used by her as one of her girls.

Putting aside all these thoughts, I realised that John was near to climaxing. Lucky him, I again thought. I squeezed his nipples and felt his body tremble. Then, with a sudden cry, he irrupted –all over me.