This work is copyrighted to the author @2019. Diese Arbeit ist dem Autor urheberrechtlich geschützt © 2019. Please do not remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved by author.
codes: M+f+/ SM / humil / viol / caution / anal / nc
Note: This story is a bleak, dark tale, not for the squeamish. So if you’ve already decided to step into this puddle of muck, make sure you’ve got a pair of waders handy – Hip high if you can manage it – because you’re going to need them! Peace, brothers.
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WARNING: This story delves into aberrant sex practices that might well offend you. So if topics such as Sadism and Masochism, among other deviant practices offend you, do not read this story. Some of the sex depicted is consensual, some not. I don't condone it. I'm not advocating it. I may or may not even like it. It's simply a fantasy, a product of my imagination, and thus, completely fictitious.
Before you read it, please note the following:
*If you are under eighteen, it is illegal for you to read this story!
*If you have a hard time separating fantasy from reality, do not read this story!
*If it's illegal in your
jurisdiction to read non-consensual sex stories, don't read this story!
Support ASSTR: If you can afford to cough up a few bucks, the good folks who make this all happen would be much obliged.
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Lizzy Works ‘The Trade’
In
(An Erotic Horror
Story)
by
Hunsi
Book
cover Picture
Click to meet Lizzy & Oba
/files/Authors/HumblePie/Pics/lizzy.jpg
It’s mid-day, the sun is high in the sky, and
the poor and the vanquished that crowd the streets in the early morn have
thinned.
It’s also the time of day we can expect to see
Bako Kunda’s chauffeured
Mercedes pull up in front of the Aswan Hotel.
Stepping out, we watch as he enters the tired and much worn old hotel
found in the heart of the Oshodi ghetto in
To an outsider like you or I, spotting a man
of such wealth and caliber making an appearance at a place like this would seem
a tad bit out of the ordinary. But astonishingly, not so to the poor and desolate slum dwellers
outside on the street.
To them, seeing all those well-to-do men with
their luxurious automobiles parked outside the place was just a matter of
course, an everyday thing that raised not a brow.
Nor did it cause a stir in the clerk standing
at the Registration Desk. He simply
pointed the way to the stairwell and bid the distinguished Mr. Kunda a good day as he passed.
Upon reaching the top of the short flight of
stairs, the distinguished Mr. Kunda ran into a fellow
business associate who was still fiddling with his zipper while making his way
down.
"Hello, Biko,
what's on the lunch menu today, hm?"
"Tender white
chicken. Juice, sweet and Served
up nicely by Daddy."
"Um-um, Chicken Francese. I do love French cooking!"
---
Samuel Botha sat on
a bench outside the hospital room where his employer, Marguerite Bassett, lie
seriously ill.
"Mr. Botha?"
queried the doctor upon coming alongside him in the hall.
"Yes sir, that be
me," Samuel said, rising up to shake hands with the doctor.
"You're Mrs. Bassett's chauffeur I'm
told, is that correct?
"Yes sir.
You see, with the Mr. François Bassett, the mister of the house, out of
country away on business, it was for me to bring her here on me own."
"Yes, well, I'm afraid Mrs. Basset has
contacted Malaria and will require hospitalization for quite some time."
"Oh my, what am I to do?"
"Well, for one, I’d advice staying away
from the Lekky River Game Reserve. Besides that, I understand that she has a daughter
living with her here in
"Yes sir, that'd be Lizzy.
She attends the Imam Andrabi
School for girls, and among others things, it’s my job to see she gets to and
from school safely each and every day."
"Well, there you have it. I think you already have your hands plenty
full."
---
Later that day, Samuel Bothe,
the family chauffeur, was just finishing up waxing the black Mercedes when his
friend Zuma came shuffling up the drive to play dice
with him while Lizzy was inside doing her homework in
her room.
He greeted his friend warmly, then sat down alongside him on the porch to tell his friend
all about the events of the day.
About the madam of the house suddenly taken
ill, and with the master of the house away on business out of country, it was
left to him alone to both manage the estate, and keep Lizzy
safe and sound.
It was all said with a bit more than a hint of
apprehension, yet surprisingly, with an undertone of self-regard thrown into
the mix.
And why not? Before securing this job, Samuel was at his
roots no different than the countless many desolate and poor who wandered the
streets looking to earn enough to cover the cost of a meal. The poor, the uneducated, those that lived in
a space where self-respect, much less the respect of others, is something few
ever come to know.
So, yes, we can forgive Samuel for taking his
moment, just as his friend did in rattling around the coins in his pocket he
could afford to lose in a dice throwing game of chance.
"So, what you say, my man,” Zuma said with a smile in effort to cheer up his
friend. “I got me a full belly, the
thanks of me boss for my good work, and a pocket full of coins that's going to double
when I win yours."
"Sorry, Zuma,
I'll have to pass today. I'm a bit short
of spare coins right now, you see."
"What?
Short? You're not a begger, my man. What
gives"
"The lady of the house is in the hospital
and the boss man won't be back for however long, and you're asking me what
gives?"
On that, Zuma threw
his arm around Samuel's shoulder, making effort to console his friend. Then after a long moment, he stood up and
walked across the yard to where he knew Lizzy's
bedroom window to be.
After having his look inside while exhorting a
long, deep guttural sigh, he returned and once again sat down upon the porch
beside his friend.
"Short of money, hm?"
He said, while patting Samuel upon the shoulder. "It shouldn't be. You're good man, Samuel, you deserve
better. We need get you some
money."
"Oh?
And how might that be? Borrow it
from you?"
"No, no.
What fun would that be playing against me own money?"
"Yes, well, as you can see, many things
grow here on Mr. Basset's estate, but not money."
"That's true," replied Zuma, while rubbing his chin in thought. Then after a moment, "Look, I got me an
idea. You just wait until I come back tomorrow. Then I will tell you what I think you must
do, Okay?"
"Your are going
now?"
"Yes, well, you know me, Samuel, I'm
plenty smart at thinking up these things, and I think I got me a good one. But first I think it best I talk to a friend
who knows these things better than me."
---
The next day Zuma
returns, only this time with another man who wished to play dice with him as
well.
His name was Obasi Daka, a gardener by trade who worked on an estate located
just beyond the river crossing. He too
was an avid gambler who loved the dice, and the cock fights held in a butcher
shop in the old quarter. In fact, the
cock fights were so singular in his life that it was the subject of his
constant chatter, and all offered in hopes of encouraging his friends to come
along with him one day to 'win like him'.
Of course, his responsibilities being as they were, do so was simply not in the cards for Samuel. Still he enjoyed the listening and the cane
liquor he passed around. A strong, heady
mesh that when drunk, kind of made Samuel forget to ask him why he too had his
long, pining look inside Lizzy's bedroom window.
But all that changed a degree to the south of
the unreal when the following day, Zuma again returned
with yet another fellow who wished to throw the dice. A man who drove Zuma and Obasi Daka there in his own car who went by the name, Oba Chola. A man who wore French silk suits, smoked
American cigars, and drove a German auto around like he was as untouchable as
king Farouk.
In fact, he was so ostentatious in his style
and unbreachable in his manner, he could have just as
easily been marked as 'bad news' in the Oshodi
ghetto in
Yet, there he was, standing as big as tree,
dressed to kill in a purple, French made silk suit, and flashing a grin that
glittered gold.
"Samuel, my man," this is Oba Chola," Zume chortled upon stepping out the car.
"He works for Musa
Okafor, a player in town, a man with bucks. Ain’t that right, Oba,” he asked, as he came up alongside him.
"Yes, that's my work, and it pays me
plenty."
"Yes, will, that's good," replied Zuma, "It just gives me more to win from you. Now, come my friends, it's time we get to
throwing the dice," he said, laughing heartily, as he again sat down upon
the porch with Obasi Daka sitting
opposite him to roll the ivories.
"No, I'll pass," replied Oba, "I'll just have me a stroll about the yard, but I
know Samuel is itching to play," he said, as he set out to where he’d been
told he’d find Lizzy’s bedroom window where he could
take in the sights.
"No, no, sorry, but I have no money to
play,” Samuel was quick to let him know.
"Oh, sure you do, my friend,"
replied Oba as he strolled back to where Samuel stood
and pulled out a palm-size felt bag from his pocket and placed it in Samuel's
hand.
"For you, my friend, you go and have your
fun.”
"What?" No, no, no.
I might lose your money, and I have none to pay back."
"Not a problem. You lose it I give you more."
"Wait, one minute. There must be more than a months earning in
this bag. You're giving me this for
nothing?"
"No, it is not my money. It is Musa Okafor's money. And
there is more, much more, after that. Enough
for you to stop work, disappear and live out many a happy year."
"Wait, are saying that this Mr. Okafor is giving me this money to ah, to ah, as you say, disappear?"
"Yes!
And if you lose it all right now, I'll give you more when the playing is
done."
“Still, I do not understand. What do you mean when you say just disappear?”
“What’s not to understand? After work is done, the sun sets and you follow
it with pockets full of money for the dice.”
"So you mean leave here, leave my job, my
home, for the money?”
“Yes!”
“I’d ask why, but I won’t. But I do wish to ask what you would have to
say should I say no. Will you leave with
happy feelings?"
"But why would you want to say ‘no’ ? No good
dice man would. Not when all you need do
is just fade away into the dark, and not have to worry about money no
more."
Samuel stared at Oba
with a slanted glance of disbelief.
Either he was lying or up to no good.
But either way, all that worry vanished once he knelt down on the porch
beside Zuma and Obasi Daka to have his roll of the dice. And as luck would have it, every throw of the
dice he tossed rolled right, and he won it all.
Both Zuma and Obasi Daka left for home penniless
that day, while he went to bed that night believing himself the luckiest man in
the world. That he could do it all, that
winning, not losing was now forever his.
Then too, there was that bundle of money Oba had offered him.
The money he thought was the bait of the devil that afternoon, now
looked to him just another sign of his suddenly changed luck.
But then too, there was that voice in his head
that kept telling him it was all wrong.
That this mysterious Mr. Okafor was up to no
good. That in his taking the money someone would end up hurt. If not him, then someone whose love he
cherish more than anything else in the world.
He suffered a restless night of sleep that
night to be sure. But when the sun again
rose up and he put his hands in his pants pockets that were bulging with coins,
all that was forgotten. And then, after
taking Lizzy to school, instead of returning home, he
drove over to Zuma's place of work.
"Zuma, my friend. Go
tell Oba I wish to see him again!"
---
As he approached
The gentleman sitting behind the wheel looked to
him a tad bit impatient, like he had a spur up his ass, and in short order, the
driver stepped out of the automobile he was driving and walked over to get in Lucky's face.
"Hey, you, Nigga,"
the driver said though grit teeth, his heated words carrying far and wide for
all to hear.
"What the fuck you doing, you natty headed
fucker. Are you like taking a nap or maybe
you’re just too damn busy sniffing the shit to get a move on? You know, taking your fucking time testing the
quality of the stuff like you would a fine whiskey before you stick that nozzle
in your mouth to gulp some down?"
Obvious the man was pissed off about
something, and was acting kind of rude, which normally Lucky wouldn’t have
taken so kindly to. But being as though he
was a stranger here, he chose to say nothing, choosing instead to just nod and smile like some mute traveler from so distant shore who
didn't understand a damn word of what he was saying.
"Yeah, yeah, that's it, ain’t it,” the angry black driver carried on. “You're looking to get you a bellyful of that
high grade petrol to mix with the shit you dug out of the trashcan for your lunch.”
“So go ahead, do it, gulp you down some high
grade petrol while I light my lighter, touch the fuse, and rocket your nigga ass right on out of here so I can get me gas.”
Ooops! Obviously that one crossed the line, and Lucky's frown showed it.
"Hey, buddy, what happened?” Lucky asked
while pointing to the Mercedes he’d driven up in. “It looks like someone scratched a key across
the hood.”
The man, with a confused looked, glanced back over
his shoulder to see for himself what Lucky talking about, and that's all it
took.
Quick as a flash, Lucky pulled the nozzle out
of the tank and soaked the fucker with gasoline, and then flicked open his own lighter
and held it up high.
Utterly terrified, the lout dashed off back to
his car, and 3/5th of a second later, he had the peddle pressed to the metal, laying
down a quarter mile length of rubber down the highway.
----
Tayo 'Lucky' Mfula's M1 Scout rumbled down the road toward the Bassett
family Estate at a quickened pace to make the appointed time.
"Before the sunset," he was
told, because no one does business in
But, good hunter or not, when he arrived and found
his client, Mr. Jean-André Bessett, still not
returned home from his business abroad, he felt rather jolted. Especially given that he himself had made
such an effort to get there on time.
To say he was pissed would been
putting it lightly. In fact, he felt so
put off by he news that he didn’t much care to listen to the house man, Samuel Bothe, who was there to greet him.
"Look, Mr. Bothe,
you seem a very conscientious fellow, but if your Boss don't so much care to be
here to talk to me about finding his daughter, why should I bother?”
"No, no," Samuel pleaded, "you
misunderstand. He is not here because he
does not know. It was me who wrote to
you with the help of a friend who is smart and knows how to write.”
“He does know?
Didn’t you tell him?”
“No, I told you, he has not yet returned from
his business abroad.”
“And the lady of the house, she’s has gone ill?”
“Yes.”
“Were you here when the girl was taken?"
"Yes!"
"You saw the man?"
"Men, not man, there were two men driving
a black Mercedes, very much like my bosses."
"You say it was two men in a black
Mercedes who took her?”
“Yes!”
“Then tell me what you know.”
"I told you. They drove up, walked in and
took her away."
"Then they must have known the lay-out of
the house, which means they'd been here before.
Tell me, Samuel, did you know them?"
Samuel was a bit hesitant to answer that one,
but he did go on to say that it was the man dressed in a purple silk French suit
who did the deed, and that there was no struggle. He just led her out the door with their hands
locked together like they were going out on a picnic.”
"A Purple suit, you say? And driving a Mercedes?"
"Yes!"
"Fuck! I know that guy."
"You know him?"
"Well, it's more like I had a run-in with
him. Trouble he is, but worse yet, he
now knows me. Meaning, he's going see we
coming from a kilometer off when I go looking for her. No good, not good at all,” he said shaking
his head.
“Look Buddy, I'm a Hunter, not a gazelle
roaming the field looking to become prey.
Sorry, but without cover I’m toast.
You’ll need to find yourself another Hunter. Hopefully one that likes
the taste of gasoline!"
"Oh, and make sure to tell him that he isn’t
looking for a victim. After all, she did
walk out with him hand and hand did she not?”
“Yes!”
“Well then, there you have it. It isn’t a kitty-napper
you are looking for, but a pimp with a bad taste in clothes.”
---
The next day upon Mr. François Bassett's
return, Samuel, with the help of the local police, told the dismayed father all
about his daughter’s disappearance.
The police explained that they were still
looking, but they also warmed that there were places she could have been taken
where she might never be found.
As for Samuel, well, he was fired on the
spot. Even threatened with arrest should
he ever set foot on the property again.
In an instant, Samuel was cast out from the
best of all worlds, to once again joining the desolate and poor who aimlessly
roamed the streets looking to earn enough to cover the cost of a meal. Forever lost to him the self-respect he'd
finally come to know.
And so back to the Oshodi
ghetto he went, and as things happen, he ended sharing a shack with an old friend
who lived but a block away from the Aswan Hotel. Seeing the daily coming and going of all
those well-to-do men with their luxurious automobiles parked outside was almost
enough to do himself in.
But then too, there was always the hope that
he may yet find a way to redeem himself for the mistake he'd made. For having looked the other way when Oba Chola came to take Lizzy away with him that night.
That in sum was his life now. Hope!
That is until the day he saw Oba in his black
Mercedes pull up and park in front of the Aswan Hotel.
‘This is his place of work,’ he told himself, and if
so, perhaps Lizzy could be found there too."
So yes, there was reason for hope!
---
The following day, Samuel awaited the return
of Oba Chola. And as expected, he did indeed return. He watch as he parked and entered the hotel,
then he himself took a few deep breaths to steel himself
before following him in.
Upon his entry he got his share of looks from
those on the lookout for the malcontents; the religious objectors, the civic reformers,
the angry wife’s. But all that changed
when he walked up to the clerk at the desk and asked to see Oba
Chola.
“Oba Chola it is you wish to see, is that right?”
“You know him, do
you, a poor beggar like you?”
“Yes sir, but I neither beggar nor poor. I
have good money.” He said, showing him the pouch of coins Oba
had given him.
"Why, yes sir, of course, sir," the clerk
replied. "Who may I say is
calling?"
"I'm not calling, I'm right here, I've come to see him."
"Ahhh, well,
yes, how right you are. Well then, as I
can your money is good, you’ll find Mr. Chola and his
exclusive line of merchandise up the stairs,” he said, pointing the way to the
stairwell off to the right.
“Just a flight up,
sir. Now, you have yourself some fun up there,
okay!"
Then as Samuel started off to the stairs, “Oh
yes, least I forget. Take care sir, and
don’t let the bedbugs bite,” he said, laughing heartily.
---
Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Samuel
entered a central corridor with rooms on both sides down the full length of the
hall. Each door was numbered, and
outside one particular door, men were lined up in wait. Blue suited men, the captains of industry,
those who could who afford the luxury of taking the afternoon off to hobnob
with associates in a whore house to put the new girl through her paces.
The line up was composed of who's who of those
to know, and just to be among them sent Samuel's heart racing. Suddenly he didn't feel the low-life that
comes with being in such a morally bankrupt environs. Rather, he felt like somebody. Someone to be seen and
heard and responded to, as was the case when Oba Chola called out his name from down the hall.
Samuel, come, my friend, let me give you a slap
on the back for bringing to us this d-d-d-delicious French sweet treat that all
of these fine gentleman waiting their turn in line have come to enjoy this
day." He said like a parliamentary statesmen with a sweep of his hand, and
dollar signs rolling in his eyes.
"Gentleman,” he then said to all. “Behind that red lamp lit door before you lies
in wait the insatiable Lizzy, a young lady with an
unquenchable hunger for cock, in any hole, and in any way she can get it."
"And for this gift we have but one to
thank. Samuel Botha,
the House Man, who in behalf of her parents in absentee, was the pastry chef
who brought this sweet treat to life.
And for that we all own him our gratitude," he said, wrapping his
arm around Samuel's shoulder as he came up alongside.
"Yes, indeed, you are due a reward, my
man," he said with a smirk, and the Jaundice yellowed eyes of a beady-eye
snake.
"Yes sir, it is a reward you’re due and
not punished, like your boss done to you.
Send you off as he did, penniless, and with no where to go but back to the
piles of garbage in the street from which you emerged. Tiss-tiss-tiss."
"Well, I'm going to fix that, give you
your due. Come with me, Samuel," he
said, opening the door to the room where Lizzy, the once
sparky young junior pom-pom girl, lie in wait,
sprawled out atop a cot with her legs spread wide like the wings of an eagle
floating upon the wind.
With her face beet red,
and her chest heaving to the rapid pace of her heart, she lie there in a heated
flush like school girl cocotte caught in the inescapable grip of desire. A precept strengthen further yet when you
take in the view of her hands, buried knuckles deep in her puss, stroking in
and out, up and down like a rocker arm on an oil derrick pumping up the
slush. A pearly white
slush that lie in puddles upon the bed, and matted the fledgling growth of
blond curls above.
"You see that, Samuel. You see what Zuma saw, what Obasi Daka saw, what I saw when I looked through her bedroom
window and found her lying spread on her bed while fingering her cunt, and looking prayerfully back at me?”
“Yes, well, now you know why I had to have
her, and now that I do, she’s going to made me money, and you are going to be
where you belong. Sitting at her side to hold her hand to help
keep the soaring wench grounded while she wallows in ecstasy.”
“Of course, you’ll be expected to provide a
great many other services for her as well.
Like act the maid in wait, whose job it is to restore her luster and
ready her for the next cock in line.”
“Then once she is ready, and the gentleman is securely
zipped up and neatly tucked away, all clean and tidy, you'll thank him kindly
and hand him a discount card for the next go-around."
That’s it, that’s your work, Samuel, and I’m
sure you agree, the wonderful life I offer you is far and way better than
scrubbing out an existence out on the streets.
But, again, all is dependent upon how well you do. How broad your smile,
and how quick you are to respond to your clients needs whatever they may be to
make me money.
“You got me, Samuel,” he asked, while giving
an affirmative nod toward Lizzy, who was still
fingering herself with one hand, while licking clean
the fingers of the other.
Samuel responded with a nod, and a smile,
looking ever so pleased.
“Good, Samuel.”
“Oh, and yes, before I forget. Mr. Okafor, my boss,
your boss, will occasionally come about to access your work, from top to bottom
and all in between. And trust me, if he entertains
a single gentleman’s complaint about the carefulness in while you handled your job,
he’s going to slash your daily ration of food down to nothing until he sees nothing
but saliva glistening off both the pot and the spoon used to stir it . . .”
Das Ende
Hunsi
------- § § § ------
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