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African Ordeal (Mark Andrews)


African Ordeal by Mark Andrews

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    • Average 3.7 from 3 ratings

Tanya has strayed across the border into a small African state where she is immediately arrested as a spy. In truth the dictator has a penchant for young men and women – he takes great pleasure in abusing them to get to the truth of their ‘spying’ activities. After they have ‘proved’ their innocence, they are either committed to his harem or sent to the mines.

To ensure total compliance and enthusiasm to do his bidding, members of the harem are regularly sent to the mines to experience it first hand, an excellent incentive for them to be on their very best behaviour at all times! Tanya meets and falls in love with a Japanese boy who has also fallen into the hands of the dictator and added to the harem. Their love is used as part of their abuse as one witnesses the suffering of the other at the hands of the dictator and his men!

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 8 / 2011

Also Available in Paperback - Click Here

No. words: 38000

Style: Male Dom - M/F

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Excerpt

Chapter 1

Tanya had never heard of Dingara. Few people had. The small republic near Nigeria did not encourage tourists but its frontiers, apart from where they crossed the main roads were not defined and since Tanya was on a walking holiday through north western Africa, she had no idea she had strayed over its borders and that she was now subject to the whims of the worst dictator since Idi Amin—at least to foreigners.
Its people were largely agricultural and lived in hamlets and villages and the ruler, one Jean Busumotu, left them alone as long as they paid their taxes, behaved themselves and didn’t stray into his capital. The tribal chiefs ran things at the local level and for the most part, did it adequately. The one thing President Busumotu insisted upon was that any foreigners found without permission outside the capital be immediately apprehended and handed over to his area police chief, who, in turn, would send them up to the capital for interrogation. The President-for-life had a real paranoia about spies and foreign takeovers and he wished to interrogate any ‘spies’ personally.
He also delighted in women, particularly exotic women: foreigners, white women of various shades; Eastern girls: particularly Japanese and Thais. His wife was of his own race and tribe but his harem, ruled over rigidly by her, was exclusively foreign. He had a voracious widely ranging sexual appetite and while he normally restricted himself to his wife, his harem and any beautiful female ‘spies’, he wasn’t averse to violating the backsides of any good-looking and youthful males who came his way either.
His delight in women was matched only by his pleasure in torturing the ‘spies’ who strayed into his clutches. These were of both sexes and it was all the same to President Busumotu. If the ‘spy’ was old or ugly, he didn’t waste much time on them, but if they happened to be young and handsome or pretty as the case may be, then the poor fool could expect many days of agony.
This was the scenario into which Tanya Roberts strayed without even realising it. Had she researched that part of Africa better, she might have come across the references to Dingara and the warnings to stay well clear of it. As it was, she had glossed over much of the reading matter she had acquired when securing her visas and had therefore missed all such references ...
She was a beautiful girl. Just 19, blonde, with shining, silky fine hair; smiling deep blue eyes and skin that was pure honey. Her body was svelte and lithe since she spent a lot of time at her chosen sport: athletics. It could, in fact, almost be described as muscular and when she appeared in the tiny bikinis that hid almost nothing, eyes turned to stare at the slender waist, the flat but well-defined belly; the curvaceous but muscular legs and fine calves. Her breasts were not full but they were well-shaped and creamy-smooth—as was all of her body. Her shoulders were a trifle too muscular for her to be a model but many men were most attracted to her shape.
She was a professional trainer at her local gym and she delighted in her work.
She had been on this holiday with Mandy. But then, after only a week into the planned six week walking tour, Mandy had received a telegram that her mother was seriously ill. She had insisted on Tanya staying on, saying she would get back if possible and meet up with Tanya later. Tanya hadn’t wanted to go on with the tour, feeling her duty was to be with her friend but Mandy had been most emphatic and so she had reluctantly remained in Africa—which was how she had come to stray, quite alone, over the unmarked border into Dingara.
When she was arrested by the villagers she hadn’t been able to make herself understood. Few tribesmen spoke any language other than their own. There was no lingua franca here or pidgin-English here. The tall, beautifully muscled tribesmen looked her up and down appreciatively, grinning to each other and pointing out her athletic body and even grabbing at her breasts, buttocks and thighs from time to time as they marched her to their chief. She was wearing what was considered a fairly normal walking outfit: boots and socks, rather too short shorts and only a very brief bikini top over her breasts as well as a cloth walking hat.
The chief wasted no time in handing her over to the area police officer who in turn took her up to the capital himself. It paid to keep in with President Busumotu. Rapid promotion sometimes followed for those who assisted the dictator in apprehending spies. On the other side, if you procrastinated, you were not only out of a job; you sometimes faced a most unpleasant death.
She was handed over to the police chief who locked her in the cells and reported the latest arrest to his boss forthwith. Busumotu was presiding over a cabinet meeting but as soon as his aide whispered the police chief’s news in his ear, his eyes brightened and he announced that the meeting was adjourned.
The presidential complex in the capital was a Kremlin-like compound surrounded by high walls and inaccessible to all except those with business inside—and it had better be important business. Most citizens kept well away from the huge steel gates at the ornate front entrance. The police building was quite near the presidential palace and had perfectly adequate interrogation cells in the cellars but the president was not content with that. He had had the cellars of his own palace converted to holding and interrogation cells for ‘spies’ and political prisoners and it had been a labour of love. With his delight in giving pain, he had acquired many books on the subject and he was also quite ingenious when it came to gadgetry.
The chief had therefore had Tanya taken straight to the palace. She had been unceremoniously locked into a cell in the basement and there left to contemplate her fate. She looked around her, very worried, but still not clear as to where she was or why the so handsome and beautifully muscled warriors had arrested her and brought here.
President John Busumotu lost no time in descending into the favourite part of his palace, looking with delight around the clean corridors and itemising in his mind what was behind each of the steel doors on either side. He settled himself in the interview room and gestured for the prisoner to be brought to him. She was brought in between two of his personal guards. This body was comprised of the best the army had to offer and each man was tall, handsome and among the best built physiques in the land.
They let her go as soon as they had her standing against the front of the desk while the president looked her up and down with interest. He liked what he saw. The outstanding physique—he certainly was among those who preferred a girl to be athletic if not downright muscular, the pretty face and the honey-gold, flawless skin. If he was appalled at her rather too brief clothing for this part of Africa, he didn’t show it. In fact he very much approved it in this case since it showed off her well built thighs and shoulders, and her lean flat belly to a tee.
“So, you are a spy?” he said.
She shook her head, looking utterly horrified at such a bizarre suggestion. “Oh no! I’m a tourist. I’m on a walking holiday through Africa,” she replied, as if this explained everything.
“I don’t believe you. You are a spy working for the British government …?”
“I’m not!” she said spiritedly. “Look at my passport.”
“I have,” he said, flicking the document aside as if it could cover anything—which of course it could. “It proves nothing.”
“But I am a personal trainer. I work at a gym in London. Look at my address book. It shows my friends are all physical fitness fanatics. They all attend my gym …”
“It proves nothing. I wish to know which department of the secret service you work for and what you have been sent here to find out.”
“I’m not a spy,” she cried, beginning to get desperate now.
“As I said, I don’t believe you. One more chance …”
“I’m not a spy,” she repeated, forlornly and uselessly. “I’m not a spy!”
He smiled. “Very well, we must use more persuasive tactics … Strip her!”
Now it was the turn of his men to smile. They did, turning in on her and while one ripped the brief bikini top off her breasts, the other dragged her shorts and panties down off her hips. His partner held her tight while he removed her boots and socks and then the shorts and panties. She was now naked, her clothes on the desk in front of the president. The two guards held her tight by her upper arms.
The president looked up and down her stark naked form with obvious approval. A perfect body, in his view and most men would have agreed with him. Lean and lithe, her skin smooth and tanned (except for a small triangle at her loins and even smaller areas over the middle of her two smallish breasts) she was a picture of loveliness.
He stared at her body for long minutes while she stood between the two tall and powerful black men and cried softly. The president smiled as he ogled her nakedness but then turned his attention to her clothes. “Let’s see what we can find here,” he said, and taking out his penknife, began slitting them open, as if looking for codes or some other evidence of her espionage. When the bra, shorts, panties and socks were in tatters, he took her backpack and, emptying it out onto the desk, went through the rest of her clothes in the same manner until there wasn’t a single item capable of being worn.
Tanya watched all this in fear and resignation, occasionally snuffling in her misery as she watched the last of her clothing being torn and cut to shreds. When he had finished, the whole kit and caboodle was consigned to the waste paper basket, together with the rucksack and her documents (including her passport) which had all been torn into small pieces. She now possessed nothing in the world and no identity.
He leaned back in his chair and again allowed his black eyes to wander up and down her lithe form. “Still nothing to say, my little spy?”
“I am not a spy. My name is Tanya Roberts. I am a physical training consultant at Leeds Gym in London. I have never worked for the government.”
“So you say. Unfortunately for you, I don’t believe you …” He turned to his men. “Bring her to be prepared for interrogation.”
The two men wheeled her about and out of the room and down the passage to a room in which the far wall boasted two large and ominous-looking hooks. These were made of gleaming steel rods an inch thick, projecting out of the wall for twelve inches then curving up vertically for another twelve. They were about three feet apart and were set up from the floor about four feet apart. Above them, also affixed to the wall but set considerably wider apart, dangled chains with steel manacles on the ends.
Tanya was led straight up to the wall, turned about and her thighs hoisted up and over the hooks. This left her spread wide apart and quite horizontal with her legs dangling below them. The strain on her groin was horrible; so was the huge hand of one of the guards, pressed against her breasts to keep her back to the wall while his mate went for a small step-ladder which he put in place, climbed up and took her hand and fastened first the one and then the other of their wrists into the manacles. To prevent her lifting her legs off the hooks, they now took more chains, each with a manacle on one end and a huge weight on the other, and locked them around her ankles.
President Busumotu moved up now and let his hands stray all over her beautiful flesh, savouring the velvet-smooth skin and the warm muscles beneath it. He squeezed her firm breasts and stroked the flat, muscular belly. “Good, firm flesh,” he murmured, staring into her blue eyes. “It would be a pity to spoil it, wouldn’t it?”
She didn’t comment. Her face was a misery, her eyes wet with tears. She felt totally ashamed now that her vagina was so flagrantly exposed to these three men, all of whom quite openly and unashamedly ogled her lovely body and two of whom sported massive erections which were clearly apparent through the thin material of the army uniform trousers. The president smiled at her misery and now let his hand wander down to her loins, cupping the pubic mound in his huge hand. Her pubic hair was as soft and silky as that on her head but the president appeared to dislike it.
He pulled his hand away as if stung and then pointed down to the silky bush. “Pluck it,” he said slowly, grinning into her eyes as he enunciated the fateful words.
The two guards first stripped off their uniform blouses and Tanya gasped as their youthful upper bodies were revealed to her. If she had thought the tribesmen (who still for the most part wore only loin-cloths) were well-built, then these two men far surpassed them. Each had boulder-like and very pronounced shoulder muscles; a column-like neck; broad, smooth chests whose two parts were cleanly separated by a sharp cleavage; very lean waists with belly muscles that seemed to leap out at her; and arm muscles that were beautifully defined. One of them went over to a cupboard for the tweezers while the president explained:
“You may be wondering why I am having you depilated?”


Author Information

a prolific BDSM writer who lives on the Gold Coast of Australia. His books have been delighting Olympia Press customers for many years.

 

Publisher Information

Publishers of non-adult and adult fiction. Authors, experienced and new are welcome. We have a number of different sites for various genres, including specialist sites for Romance (www.a1romancestories.com, our non-adult and erotica site at www.fiction4all.com and a number of adult sites based around our main site at www.a1adultebooks.com


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