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   BORDER TROUBLE - A POWER BROKER STORY

   = An entertainment for Adults only.  By James Anderton.

   =

   The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and
contains descriptions of explicit sex, violence, and beastiality.  If you
are not an adult, or reading sex stories upsets you, do not read any
further.

   =

   Previous stories in the POWER BROKER Series are:

   A Crude Business The Ambassador's wife Vengeance Ambition It's all about
image

   = Other stories include

   For Love of France

   =========================

   BORDER TROUBLE - A POWER BROKER STORY

   An entertainment for Adults only.  By James Anderton.

   EMIRATE OF QUALIA - January 1993

   Sir Gerald Knebworthy stood at the podium on the stage at of the
intimate Cinema/Theatre.  The hum of the airconditioning barely audible as
it fought with temperatures in the forties outside.  His audience
represented the core members of the secret cabal of leaders who wielded the
real power behing GDS, a publicly quoted conglomerate which fronted an
organisation determined to become the most powerful influence on the
planet. The public face of GDS was represented by Paul Hegarty, MD of GDS,
and his brother Dan, Director of operations.  Raschid al-Benarbia, son of
the Emir of Qualia, was chief Finance officer.  Samantha Roberts, Director
of Logistics, and Sonja Jenkins, Business Development Director were the
only women present.  The other men present were less publically
accountable, Mark Harrison revelled in the title of Director of Security,
but it was an honorary title.  Much of Mark's work bordered on the illegal,
and all of it was usually unethical.  Samuel Mwamba - President of Gujanga,
Major Ibo Ngoro - Head of the Gujangan Military, and the Emir himself were
the other regulars present.  Gujanga was the source of the Cocaine which
had fuelled GDS's expansion, and the Emir had provided the seed capital for
the venture.

   "Gentlemen!  Gentlemen!  boomed Knebworthy, before adding as a humourous
afterthought "and honorary gentlemen", nodding knowingly at the two ladies.
"We have had a great year.  I won't bore you with the figures, but the
typed sheet before you lists the relevant non-public metrics which show
continuing success in all our ventures.  This year we have had a
particularly stunning success, deposing the hated ruler of Zanoga, and
taking a majority interest in the State Diamond Mining Company.  I have
therefore taken the liberty of inviting a new member of our inner circle,
Colonel Jo-Jo Jones, President of Zanoga to give our keynote speech.

   "Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you - President Jones." ...............

   ============================

   ZANOGA - Three years earlier.

   "This is it.  It's dynamite.  Are you sure about this?"

   The small, slight African sitting in the shadows nodded.

   "I've thought a lot about this Mr Gentry.  The Emperor is a bad man. 
His Leopard battalion killed most of my family when he destroyed their
village last year, and someone has to do this.  It amazes me that he can
run a country like this with only a couple of hundred troops."

   As editor of the only local newspaper still operating, Malcolm Gentry
knew he could never publish the dossier in front of him.  He would be dead
within hours.  The self-proclaimed Emperor of Zanoga made good use of those
few troops, reigning by fear and terror.  Gentry knew full well how
dangerous "Emperor" Imonga could be.  Two attempts had been made on his
life, and both times whole tribes, hundreds of innocent people, had died
gruesome and horrible deaths.  He and Jonah were literally risking death by
publishing.

   "Look, Jonah, the only way I can make this public is to send it
overseas. Neither of us will get anything out of it, but we may be able to
bring attention to what Imonga is doing."

   "I don't want anything for myself Mr Gentry.  You do what you think
best. Just make sure that Imonga doesn't find out that either of us is
involved.  Even though I have taken every precaution I can think of, we
will be in grave danger when this gets out."

   As soon as his guest had left, Malcolm Gentry opened the thick file in
front of him.  For hours he read.  Page after page of horror unfolded
before him.  The killing of political opponents, the rape and murder of
nurses and nuns at the convent, the bombing of foreign investments, torture
of village elders.  By the time his wife interrupted him he was sitting in
a daze, staring blankly at the folder.

   "Why don't you come to bed?  You can deal with that in the morning."
Rebecca whispered gently to him as she massaged his shoulders.  Gentry
wriggled as her thumbs pressed between his shoulder blades.

   "I have to get rid of it.  I'm going to send it to Knebworthy, he'll
know how to use it."

   "I'm sure you're right, my love." Rebecca wished she was as certain as
her husband.  Despite her confidence that Malcolm was right, Rebecca still
found it difficult to trust that old letch.  She had given in to him once,
and although he never tried again, she knew that he could have his way with
her whenever he wanted.  Ever since he had fixed her "little problem" at
University, she owed him, and he knew it.

   Malcolm lifted his face and kissed her full on the mouth as she bent
across him.  Her breast pressed gently against his arm as she responded to
his affection, slipping her tongue along his lower lip and worming it's way
tenderly into his mouth.  He felt the stirring in his lap as she lowered
her hand and lightly pressed against him.  He pushed her gently away, and
stood up, towering over her slight 5ft 3 frame, pulling her slowly to the
bedroom.  Her arms circled his waist and his, her shoulders as they stood
in the dark, holding each other.

   "Make love to me!" she whispered, letting him go and lowering herself
onto the bed.  He leaned over her, supporting himself on one hand, whilst
the other loosened the belt around her robe.  He bent towards her, his lips
nuzzling against her neck, sending little shivers up and down her spine. 
As his lips slid down her throat she leaned her head back and purred with
pleasure, like a cat stretching in front of a fireplace.

   "Oooh that's lovely," she crooned as his lips found her nipple, sucking
on it and pulling it into his mouth.

   His mouth travelled south, pausing over her navel to run little circles
around her belly button before his hands gently parted her thighs to make
space for his next move.  She felt his tongue tickle her pubic hair as he
readjusted his position, making her sex available to his face.  When his
tongue finally found it's mark, she shuddered with instant pleasure, her
clitoris on fire.  The rough skin of his tongue rasped against her bud,
teasing against the evermore sensitive organ.  Her head back, her throat
tight, she began to roll her head from side to side as she tried to cope
with the pleasure surging up from her groin.

   "Mmm please, " she murmured.  He responded immediately.  She felt his
kisses on her skin returning up her body, followed by the gentle, insistent
prodding of his dick against the folds of her sex.  Her legs spread wider,
involuntarily easing his passage as his dick slipped into her sopping
pussy. She felt him tense, then he began to move.  As the rhythm began to
build, her legs slipped higher round his waist.  Her breath shortened and
they both began gasping in unison.  As the heat built, Rebecca's grip
around his back tightened, and her nails raked into his skin.

   "Yes!  Yes!" The climax, when it hit them rolled on and on as they clung
to each other like drowning men on a liferaft.  He sucked on the lobe of
her ear as she mewled encouragement into his, before both flopped, utterly
spent, into each other.  He eased his dead weight off her, rolling to the
side, and looked lovingly at her.  She, in turn lay shattered,
sweat-dampened curls laying softly around her face as she gulped great
lungfulls of air.

   "I love you." he whispered.

   "I know.  I love you too" she responded.

   Two minutes later, they were asleep in each others arms, their problem
temporarily forgotten.

   =========================

   ARIBUNDI - GUJANGA 1991

   Janine Lacroix sat nervously.  Across the room, the secretary sat
working at her desk surrepticiously glancing at the young white woman
waiting to see her boss.  Whites rarely came voluntarily to the office
these days.  Since the French left, and the President came into office, the
white community kept it's distance.  Everyone knew that white farmers
generated most of the wealth of the country, and President Mwamba knew
better than most.  Unusually, he had encouraged the whites to stay,
limiting his influence to ensuring better conditions for the black workers,
but the whites could see what was going on in the rest of Africa and were
unnerved by it.  As a result, few made a point of getting involved,
certainly not young white women.

   The telephone rang and was answered instantly in a hushed voice by the
secretary.  When she put it down, she had bad news for Janine.

   "I'm sorry, but the President can't see you today, something urgent
requires his attention."

   "But I must see him!  It's a matter of life and death.  National
security even!"

   The secretary shrugged her shoulders.

   "He's returned to the Palace.  Maybe Major Ngoro is in.  Do you want me
to see?"

   Janine nodded furiously, anxious to get a hearing.  She had driven all
morning, and waited until early evening so there was no point in missing
any opportunity now.  Besides, Ngoro was responsible for security so maybe
he could help directly.  Janine could still hear the screams of her maid
Rosy in her head.  She couldn't let her workers down now.  As the secretary
set off on another bout of phone calls, Janine's head was filled with the
images of last nights incursion.

   Her maid Daisy had woken her at two in the morning.

   "Missy!  Miss Janine!  They're back!"

   Janine had rolled out of bed clutched her rifle to her side and peered
through the small gap in the shutters at the surreal site outside.  About
twenty black figures, many of them dressed in the ragged half-uniforms of
the Zanogan War Veterans Association were milling about outside.  As her
eyes got used to the half-light she discerned the naked body of her maid,
Rose.  She was being carried on the back of one of the men, not as though
on horseback, but back to back, her shoulders against his, his arms looped
around her elbows, his hands clasped in front of him.

   The effect was to lift her feet off the ground, throwing her hips
forward each time he bent at the waist.  Two other veterans had an ankle
each, lifting her legs apart in the air.  Janine looked on in horror as
first one, then another of the rabble dropped their pants, stepped between
the legs of the most unfortunate girl, and fucked her with short rapid
strokes.  For a moment she raised her rifle to her shoulder and considered
firing, but the urgent whisperings of Daisy brought her to her senses.

   "No Missy No.  Go get help, we need help."

   Daisy had been right.  There were too many of them, and she and Daisy
would be no use suffering the same fate.  sneaking across the yard, she had
driven off as fast as her landrover could carry her.  Now, sitting here in
the capital, waiting to see the chief of the Army, she knew staying would
have been disasterous.  A shadow broke her thoughts, and she looked up to
see the secretary standing in front of her.

   "Major Ngoro can see you, but he is in his appartment.  Take the lift to
the Penthouse.  He'll see you there."

   Janine followed the girl around the corner to the elevator.  When the
door opened she was beckoned inside, whilst the girl leaned in and inserted
a key into the top unmarked button.  The door slid shut leaving her to make
the short journey to the Penthouse alone.  Janine could feel her knees
shake as the doors hissed open.

   She stepped through into a huge plushly carpeted room.  Beige and Brown
everywhere, the whole room oozed class.  She stepped up from the lift-well
onto the main floor and gingerly moved forward into the room.

   "Take a seat, I'll be with you in a minute."

   Looking around, she decided to sit on one of the higher chairs, lowered
herself on to it, and sat, knees primly together, her hands folded in her
lap waiting to be interviewed.

   An unseen door opened, and a tall Black man dressed in a white robe,
tied at the waist, strode into the room.  His hair was wet, straight from
the shower, and he was rubbing furiously at it with a towel.

   "Sorry about this, I have an important function in an hour.  What can I
do for you?"

   "Its very good of you to see me, sir,..." Janine realised she was
rushing, gabbling even, over her thoughts and words.  She took a deep
breath and continued.  "I, er we, need your help.  I run a farm on the
Zanoga border, and last year Zanogan war veterans came over and raided the
farm.  It was a short hit and run raid, but they killed my husband and two
of our workers.  When they left, we thought we had seen the last of them.
Last night they came back.  About two dozen of them.  They broke into the
servants house and kidnapped some of the young women.  One of them was
gangraped in front of the house.  It was dreadful, hearing her scream,
knowing there was nothing I could do."

   She stopped as the rambling sentence dried up on her lips.  He had
stopped rubbing his hair, and was looking at her with frank, undisguised
interest.  Her hands twisted together in her lap, her nerves ever more on
show.

   Ngoro sat down in the armchair opposite her and looked his visitor up
and down.  He was impressed by what he saw.  She was good looking, darkish
skinned, slightly weatherbeaten, with dark brown hair falling in a tousled
mess across her face.  Her (mans?) safari suit did her no favours, but even
so it was clear that she had a desireable figure hidden beneath it.  Ngoro
glanced down at his watch, concious of his need to leave.  Did he have time
to try to fuck her?, probably not.  Across from him Janine saw the glance
and assumed the worst.

   "Please, sir!  I know you are in a hurry, but please hear me out." She
found herself pouring out her story, pleading for protection from the
invading Zanogans, struggling, she thought, to keep his attention.  As she
talked, she stood up and walked agitatedly about.  "Please sir, we would do
anything to help, the whole border region is being invaded by these
animals, PLEASE!" As she stressed her last plea, she sank to her knees in
front of him, desperation etched on her pretty features.  As she clutched
at his leg, his robe gaped.  Ngoro looked down at her, a smile of amusement
playing on his lips.  He glanced meaningfully from her face to his crotch,
where his tumescent dick was beginning to respond to his interest, and back
again.  For Janine, the meaning went unnoticed, but the dick did not.  As
it slowly uncurled from the gap in his robe, she was mesmerised by it.  A
snake charmer could not have been more successful.  It grew in front of her
eyes until it stood like an ebony flagpole jutting vertically skywards.

   Without thinking, she leaned forward and kissed the end.

   "Please!" she whimpered, licked it's end again and repeated her plea. 
Ngoro decided.  This was something he did have time for.  Gently, he placed
his hand on the back of her head, with just enough pressure to prevent her
lifting it, but not enough to imply force.  Relief flooded through Janine
at the unspoken agreement they had just reached.  She hadn't blown a man
for more than three years, but she knew this had to be the best ever. 
Lightly, she ran her tongue in small cicles around the bulb, then, gently
licked her way down the length of his shaft.  Ngoro leaned back in his
chair and settled himself.  Her tongue retraced it's steps before repeating
the motion several times, each with a little more pressure, each taking a
little less time.  For Ngoro, the effect was unbearable, making him want to
press her head down and cease the tickling.Just as he was about to do it,
she gauged the time to be right, opened her lips, and took him deep into
her mouth.  He was huge, much bigger than her husband, and she found she
had to stretch her gape to get him in.  It was also too long.  It was only
half way when she felt it at the back of her throat.  Fighting the impulse
to retch, she slowly let it out before repeating the long slow suck.  This
time, his dick filled her throat making her gag and try to expel it.  Still
fighting her natural reaction, she slowed down and held the dick in her
mouth, only then letting it slowly withdraw.

   Ngoro was enjoing this.  Women were regularly available to him on
demand, but young white ones were still a novelty.  He had fucked many in
his time, but few had shown Mrs Lacroix's oral talent.  As she slowly
increased the pace, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, all
thought of his imminent appointment forgotten for the moment.  She sucked,
and as she did so, she rolled her tongue around the shaft in a most erotic
motion, sending shivers through him at every turn.  More rapidly now, she
abandoned the tongue movement and, grasping the base of his cock with one
hand, she began to pump his weapon in and out of her mouth with increasing
gusto.  With each thrust his excitement got that little bit higher.  He
fought to control his increasing lust, to delay the inevitable, to prolong
the exquisite feelings coursing through his stiffening torso.

   Janine sensed the change of mood at once.  From being a relaxed
recipient of her attentions, Ngoro was getting worked up.  His hips were
now jerking, raising his arse to meet each bob of her head as she stepped
up the pace.  She felt his breathing change, holding his breath for what
felt like minutes before exhaling with a gasp and sucking in another huge
lungful.  She speeded up.  Quicker and quicker.  The muscles in his legs
tightened.  Faster and faster, they tightened so much that his thrusting
became one long push against her face.  With a long, drawn out cry of
satisfaction, he came!.  Despite the signs, she was still taken by suprise
by the strength of his orgasm, and she nearly choked as a flood of watery
semen filled her mouth and throat.  Resisting the temptation to spit it
out, she swallowed, once, twice, three times.  The amount of spunk was
enormous.

   Ngoro's muscles relaxed.  His body sank back into the chair, and his
hand left the back of her head.  He was shattered.  "Fucking hell!" he
thought to himself.  "That should set me up for the rest of the evening."
He looked down at the kneeling figure before him, reached across to the
table beside his chair, and picked up his mobile phone.

   "Jambo Lieutenant Mkele.  Ngoro here.  I need you to do something.  Yes
....  Yes ....  That's right,....  Send twenty of your best to escort my
guest home.  I want you to look after her.  When you get to her farm, you
may find Zanogan vets there.  If so, kill all but one and send him back to
deliver the bodies and a personal letter from me to Imonga.....  Yes, ...
pick the letter up here......Oh and..."

   He paused and asked a gasping Janine if she had a servants house they
could use.  When she nodded he continued.

   "...  leave a couple of guards behind in case."

   He put down the phone, lifted a notepad, and scribbled a one liner to
the Emperor.

   "Imonga, these men have embarrasseed you by invading my farms.  Saved
you the trouble.  Ngoro"

   He read the note out loud as he wrote, then looked down at his grateful
guest, still breathless from her excersions.

   "That should fix your problem.  I will call on you later at the farm for
a second instalment."

   =========================

   Meanwhile, in OXFORD - ENGLAND

   "Things are starting to fall into place Sir Gerald."

   "Very good, Robert, but I still have a couple of questions."

   Robert Stewart looked from Sir Gerald to his guest and back.  He had
been blackmailed into this job, but actually he was beginning to really
enjoy the intellectual challenge of it.

   "This unknown mole in Imonga's office has sent you details of all his
personal bank accounts right?"

   "Yes Sir.  They were actuslly scribbled on the back of a piece of paper
in the file you received from Malcolm Gentry."

   "And do they check out?"

   "Yes Sir.  354 Million US Dollars in all."

   "Jesus!" exclaimed Sir Geralds guest.

   "Indeed, nodded Sir Gerald.  And much of it will be coming to you. 
Eventually.  Is that right?"

   "Yes Sir.  but first I have to put it to use.  20 million we give away
to Imonga's butcher, Kanapombe.  It should be fun watching him explain that
to his boss.  Then we transfer all the rest into an anonymous holding
account which we use to buy shares in the Zanogan Diamond mines.  Any
residue goes to Major Jones, here for rebuilding the economy after the
coup."

   Josiah Jonasabimbwe Jones, known to everyone as Jo-Jo voiced the big
unspoken question.

   "What do you think he will do when he finds out?"

   "Well he won't be happy.  That's for sure.  He uses the money to pay the
Leopards, so the first he's likely to know about it is when his troops get
pissed off.  We have to make sure he never finds out about the shares, or
Jo-Jo's involvement until too late."

   "Does the mole know about you?" asked Sir Gerald, glancing across at
Jo-Jo.

   "Almost certainly not.  I don't know who he is, and I'm sure he knows
that I run the Zanogan Regular Army.  Only Kanapombe and his Leopards are
closer to Imonga than me, so the mole will probably see me as a threat."

   "OK, last question then.  When?"

   "I can make the transfers on Tuesday, the day after his Leopards get
their money.  That gives us a month before he is likely to notice.  I'll
leave a few thousands in the account to stop it bouncing.  If he makes any
big purcheses, though, we may not have long at all."

   "Thats a risk we'll take.  You'd better get off home Jo-Jo before he
notices you missing.  I'll call Sam and get his troops on the border just
in case."

   "To Success!  Gentlemen."

   Jo-Jo and Robert raised their glasses.  "Success!"

   =========================

   CENTRAL INTERROGATION CENTRE - ZANOGA - FEBRUARY 1992

   If Jonah had been scared when the Leopards picked him up, it was nothing
to the terror he felt now.  He heard the door creak open and close.  A new
tormentor enter.

   "So this is him?" Jonah literally shit himself as he recognised the
sibilant whisper of Emperor Imonga himself.  "I see the little man has lost
control." His podgy nose wrinkled in distaste as the light brown mark
spread out from under the naked beaten and bloodied little man tied
blindfolded to the chair.  "Has he confessed?"

   "No sir."

   "Really?  He is obviously more foolish than we assumed.  Now little man.
I suppose you think that your silence will be enough to protect you?  It
will not.For the past two weeks, every newspaper, in every country has
carried stories and reports condemming me as some sort of animal.  You are
about to find out what sort of animal I can be.  I know you provided the
information, so a confession is really unnecessary.  What I need is to know
who you gave it to."

   Jonah cried silently to himself.  He had been prepared for this.  He had
first read, and now experienced the fact that there comes a point in
torture that the body becomes impervious to pain.  They could do whatever
they liked.  he would not give them satisfaction.  When Imonga struck him
across the face, he hardly felt it.  He felt as though his broken hands,
bruised testicles and battered torso belonged to someone else.  He would
die with his secret.

   "Remove his blindfold."

   Jonah squeezed his eyes shut as the pain from the light raked through
his head.  As he managed to crack open his eyelids, he gradually made out
the shape, fuzzy at first, of the Emperor standing before him.

   "You're right, you know.  You will never tell me if we keep beating
you."

   Jonah was confused.  What did he mean?  Would they let him go if he told
them?  Even if they would he could never do that.  As the thoughts rattled
around his aching brain, Imonga moved aside.  Jonah was stunned.  A young
woman dressed in a simple shift dress stood between two soldiers in front
of him.  A gag prevented speech, but there was no mistaking the terror in
the big brown eyes peering over the top of it.

   "Mmirymm," Jonah mumbled through swolen lips three times their normal
size.

   "Thought you'd got your wife out of the country did you?  No one is out
of my reach, you see.  Maybe now you would like to tell me who you
informed?"

   Jonah shook his head rapidly from side to side, partly to refuse to
tell, but also partly in disbelief that they had found Miriam.  Imonga
nodded at the two soldiers who dragged the unfortunate woman across to a
large vertical wooden post holding up the roof.  Jonah looked on in shock
as they raised her hands high above her head and nailed them to the post.
Miriams eyes rolled in her head as she screamed into her gag, whist Jonah
used every ounce of energy he had to try to get out of his chair to reach
her.

   Slowly, casually, Imonga walked over to the girl.  He bent to one knee
in front of her, and very slowly, very deliberately started to cut a slit
up the front of her dress with a pair of scissors.  Jonahs eyes closed
tightly, then he heard himself scream as best he could.

   "OK!  OK!  Leave her alone."

   Imonga kept cutting, up past her crotch, to her waist.

   "A name.  I need a name!"

   The scissors were between her breasts when Jonah screamed out.

   "Gentry"

   With a flourish, Imonga slashed upwards, curting through the neckline of
the dress, allowing it to fall apart exposing Miriam to his full view.

   "Gentry, Gentry," mumbled Jonah, ashamed of himself at his betrayal.

   "Now now," hissed Imonga.  "that was just a bit too easy wasn't it." As
he said so, he stood to the side of Miriam, looked her straight between the
eyes and without moving his gaze inserted two fingers straight up her quim.
Miriam's wriggling simply served to ease his passage, leaving her impaled
on his hand, tears of pain and embarrassment running down her face.

   "Gentry!  it was Gentry" Jonah shouted, "Leave her alone."

   He withdrew his hand, but any comfort Jonah gained from that was soon
dispelled as Imonga moved to caress her breast.  He took a long brown
nipple between his thunb and forefinger rolled it a couple of times,
causing more squeaks of pain then pulled it from her body, stretching it
out in front of her.  Raising the scissors to her tit, he left Jonah in no
doubt what his next move might be.

   "Why should I believe you?  you said yourself you would never tell. 
Maybe you're making this up?"

   "Please, leave her, it was Gentry, honest I wouldn't lie That's my wife.
Please it was Gentry.  Gentry."

   The scissors clicked.  Miriam jerked uncontrollably against the post so
hard that she pulled her hands from the nails and fell in a heap on the
floor, blood gushing from her missing nipple."

   "Gentry, gentry, gentry, gentry"

   There was no more sense to be got from Jonah.  Quoting Gentry's name
like a mantra he lay slumped almost unconscious in the chair,

   "I think I believe you now.  Kill him." Imonga turned on his heel to
leave.  Glancing down at the whimpering Miriam he issued his last order of
the day.

   Stitch her tit and give her to my Leopards!"

   =========================

   OFFICE OF THE MERCURY DAILY - ZANOGA - APRIL 1992

   It had been a quiet morning.  Malcolm had gone out early to visit
someone with a story to tell.  Normally stories came to them.  A constant
streeam of people dribbling through the newspaper office with stories of
bad medicine, dry wells, food shortages.  The only common feature was that
the Emperor always came out of it well.  Saviour of the people.  The
Gentry's knew that their role was simply to stay in business.  Real
reporting was something that could be done when the next ruler came along.
Rebecca glanced out of the door into the waiting room.  The crowd of a few
moments ago had thinned.  The old lady with the fruit, the one with the
washing, the old man with the stick, all gone without seeing her. 
Something was amiss.  She was startled when a tall African with a
distinctive bobble hat stepped through the door.

   "Good afternoon Mrs Gentry."

   Rebecca was surprised.  Few Africans used her title, because few of them
knew it.  Her visitor sat down uninvited in the chair opposite her desk. 
Three more men appeared at the door.

   "My friends and I need to speak wid your husband.  Can you call him
please?"

   "He's not here just know, do you want to leave him a message?, I can get
him to call you."

   A second man wearing a scruffy T-shirt smeered with rust and oil walked
from the doorway, across the office, and opened the door to Malcolms inner
sanctum.

   "Excuse me!" Rebecca stood up and followed him into Malcolms office. 
"Do you mind, that's private."

   "I'm sure it is." The hat said behind her.  He pushed past and moved
behind Malcolms desk.  "Do you have a key for the drawer?"

   Rebecca stepped towards him, unaware that the other two visitors had
taken up position behing her now guarding the inner office doorway.

   "Who do you think you are?  You can't just come in here as though you
own the place?

   "Mr Gentry is a very lucky man."

   "What do you mean?"

   "He has a fine office, a fine career, and a particularly fine woman." He
glanced across at Rebecca with a look that sent shivers down her spine. 
This was getting dangerous.

   "I think we will wait for him." pronounced the Hat.  He clearly had no
intention of leaving.

   "Then I have work to do." Rebecca turned on her heels to find her way
blocked by an enormous thug with dreadlocks hanging down in scruffy
rat-tails to his shoulders..  Behind him, a small ferret of a man locked
the office door.

   "I think it best if you wait with us." There was no doubt who the leader
was.  He wore his hat like a badge of office an the others clearly did what
they were told.

   Rebecca stood still, not knowing what to do, but uncomfortably aware
that she wished she were dressed differently.  Her low scoopneck T-shirt
worn bra-less showed too much cleavage, and her skirt, though not too
short, was a couple of inches shorter that she would have liked.  Trying
desperately to look nonchalent, she jumped when Rasta reached over and ran
his fingers in her shoulder-length hair.

   "Don't do that."

   "Its very pretty hair.  you should be proud of it."

   "I am.  now please let go."

   Rasta ignored her and continued to twirl his fingers.  The ferret moved
in front of her.  Reaching down, he grasped the hem of her skirt, an
started to raise it.

   "Wonder if this hair is the same colour?"

   Rebecca knocked his hand away.

   "Look!  my husband will be back any moment, why don't you just go away
and I'll let him know you want to see him.

   Rasta's hand left her hair and ran onto her shoulder.  His other hand
came around her waist and pulled her gently to him.  His fingers rubbed
slowly against the underside of her breast.

   "Naughty girl has gone native, boys, no bra." He announced it as though
it was a major discovery, but no one needed to be told.  Rebecca squeezed
her hand between his hand and her breast, but all that did was push it up,
emphasising her charms even more.  The ferret resumed his attack.  Still
with no haste, he lifted the hem of her skirt giving them all a momentary
view of her crisp white knickers.  Rebecca used her spare hand to push her
skirt down, and tried to wriggle free.  Rasta tightened his grip.

   With one hand holding down her skirt, and the other trapped beneath
Rasta's, Rebecca was completely defenceless when Oilyshirt walked across to
join the fray.  He stood in front of her and gazed into her eyes.  Very
slowly he raised his index finger in front of her face, then bent it into a
crook.  Without saying anything he hooked it into the neckline of her shirt
and pulled out and down.

   "N0!" Her breast popped free and jiggled about as she squirmed to free
herself from Rasta's grasp.  Oily shirt closed his hand over her breast,
ignoring her cry.

   "Nice tits." he said, and moved back to look at his handiwork.  Rebecca
blushed furiously.  Being fondled was bad enough, but being left exposed
like that was so embarrassing.

   "Stop it, let me go!" She struggled furiously against Rasta's firm grip.

   The Hat got up from his seat, moved round the desk, and parked himself
against it's edge.

   "I think we need to see some respect." Rebecca stood horrified as he
lowered his zip and a huge dick sprang out.  "Who used to run this
country?"

   "The British" Rebecca blurted out.  "But you do now," she continued
anticipating his next question.

   "Then show you're new masters how respectful you are!"

   Rebecca struggled once again to get free.  As she did, the ferret
succeeded in lifting her skirt all the way to her waist, and Rasta's other
hand pulled her shirt down, baring both breasts.  She had to take her eyes
off the huge black snake.  Trying to look the Hat in the eyes, she made one
last depairing plea, but he simply pointed at his dick.

   Rebecca resigned herself to what she knew was coming.  She tried to
kneel, but Rasta kept a firm grip on her waist so she had to bend over. 
Shaking her head from side to side she did everything she could to keep her
face away from the Hat's massive prick.  Becoming impatient, he grasped a
handful of her hair and pulled himself into her mouth, almost choking her
in the process.  The rustling of clothes around her went almost unnoticed
as she concentrated on trying to draw breath.  At first the pressure on her
hair eased as The Hat began to pump his dick in and out of her mouth, but
another hand grabbed it, pulling her head sideways and offering up another
prick in it's place.  She took it in and ran her lips up and down it's
length a few times before returning to the Hat.  Behind her, she felt Rasta
let go of her waist and she used the opportunity to sink to her knees. 
Four dicks now waved in front of her face, as she moved furiously from one
to another trying to keep each one satisfied.  It suddenly dawned on her
that her only hope was to fully satisfy the bastards, but she knew these
were dangerous men.  One false move and she was dead.  The hat stepped back
half a pace, and at the same time someone gave her a nudge in the small of
her back, forcing her to let go of the two pricks she was holding, and put
both hands on the floor in front of her to support her weight.  In doing
so, her teeth scraped along the Hat's penis with more than intended force.
The crack of his hand across her face knocked her sideways.

   "Bitch!  Bite me again and I'll pull you teeth out."

   Rebecca tried to mouth her apology, but before she could get more than a
couple of words out, his dick was pushing at the back of her throat. 
Behind her, fingers began to pull at the gusset of her panties.  She felt
someone seperate the cheeks of her arse, exposing both holes to her
assailants.  A finger stroked her slit, up and down a couple of times
before worming it's way into her cunt.  She was still dry, and the ragged
fingernail tore into the sensitive folds of her labia as he thrust his
digit in and out.

   Behind her Rasta stood gazing admiringly at the perfect cheeks presented
to him.  Lubrication was needed, so he dribbled spittle onto her arse,
allowing it to work it's way all the way down her crack before rubbing his
finger in it, and pushing back up her tube.  More spittle dousched his cock
before he took up position, placed the bell-end of his prick against her,
and pushed himself as far up her tunnel as he could.  The pain took
Rebecca's breath away, forcing her mouth open and allowing the Hat to get
his dick right into the top of her windpipe.  She gagged, coughing and
spluttering as she tried to fill her lungs with air.  In the back of her
mind, warning voices told her to keep her mouth open, avoid contact with
her teeth.  She failed.  She didn't bite, but she did nip his dick.

   She stopped absolutely still.  There was a short moment where everything
stopped whilst the Hat looked down his nose and glowered at her.  He stood
up, grabbed a handful of her hair, and dragged her screaming across to the
table.  Slamming her face down, he kicked her legs apart, and without any
her pretence at subtlety rammed his dick straight up her arse.  Rebecca
screamed and slumped on the wooden surface, tears of pain running down her
face.  She screamed again as he rammed into a second time, and then a
third. He pulled out, twisted her over and held her, stretched out on her
back, legs splayed hanging over the edge of the table.  He nodded to the
ferret who advanced on her, dick standing to attention.  She was focussing
on the ceiling, so she was taken by suprise when he took his turn to ram
himself deep into her vagina.  Pain was all she could feel as they took
turns fucking her with increasing venom, taking revenge on thirty years of
colonial rule out of her frail, worn body.  For more than an hour she lay
there, constant pounding at her genitals forcing the breath out of her
body. She thought when they backed off they were finished, but she was
wrong.

   Rasta hauled her off the table, sat on the floor, and dragged her down
to sit on his prick.  He slapped her breasts, first one, then the other
until she was sobbing with the ache in her tits.  She fell forward,
exhausted.  When she had got her breath back she tried to sit up.  Rasta
held her down, his arms circling her, keeping her pinned to his body. 
Oily-shirt knelt behind her and teased her arsehole with his finger.

   "No!, Please.  No!" Despite her words, all the fight had left her.  As
he slid his dick up her back passage, she slumped on Rasta's body and lay
there, taking everything they gave her until they pushed her off in a
sperm-covered heap on the floor.  Without giving her time to cover herself,
Rasta and the Ferret dragged her out of the office, down the stairs, and
threw her, without ceremony into the back of an old Nissan Van parked
outside and drove away.  For an hour or so, she bounced around as the
vehicle struggled along the bumpy track before she was dumped out of the
back door, naked and bruised in the middle of the bush.  She had no idea
where she was.  The sound of Lions and Hyaenas echoed across the landscape
as she lay there, too tired to move, waiting her fate.  She was unconscious
when the tall Masai found her.

   =========================

   THE EMPEROR'S PALACE - ZANOGA - MAY 1992

   Jo-Jo stood to attention.  Today was going to be the biggest day of his
life, and keeping cool was essential.  The Emperor sat at his desk, a
worried look on his face.  He had been visited yesterday by his paymaster
who had told him that no money was available to pay the wages of his
Leopards.  Of course that couldn't be true, but the fact that the Paymaster
had plucked up the courage to tell him meant that something was amiss.

   General Kanapombe was not in good humour either.  It was he who would
have to face the wrath of the Leopard battallion if money could not be
found, but he knew that Imonga had access to hundreds of millions of
dollars.  A months wages would be no problem.  He was more concerned with
his "guest", standing forlornly between two soldiers in front of the
Emperors desk.

   "We have incontrovertible evidence that Gentry is the spy, your
Highness. We found this copy of the report in his house, and we have
statements you witnessed from Jonah Majane and his wife."

   Gentry gathered himself, unsure whether or not to protest his innocence.
He never got the chance.

   "May I have a word, your Highness?  Jo-Jo interrupted.

   "What now?" Imonga was getting more agitated by the minute.  Money
troubles and that stupid report were testing his patience.

   "May we have a moment in private.  sir?  I have some important
information to give you."

   "Anything you have to say, can be said here." Imonga was in no mood to
take shit.  He wanted answers.  He pulled his pistol from the wistband of
his uniform and admired it's gold plating.  "Kanapombe will tell no-one,
and Gentry will be going nowhere."

   Jo-Jo suspected this might happen, but the presence of Kanapombe
represented the biggest of all threats.

   "I'm sorry to say this Sir, but the evidence is not as clear as General
Kanapombe makes out." He now had their full attention.  " I have a copy of
the report that was sent to the London Times, and the acknowledgements from
the Newspaper." He passed a thick bundle of papers onto the Emperors desk.

   "I'm not stupid, Major Jones.  These have Fax headers on them.  Stop
pulling my chain and tell me.  Who's machine were they sent from."

   "I'm afraid to say it's the General's Sir."

   If a Black African can go pale, Kanapombe went pale.  He shouted his
denial.

   "That's rubbish.  My machine is in a locked private office, no-one has
access."

   "Really?  Then it's pretty clear who sent it."

   "NO!  SIR!" Kanapombe screamed at the top of his voice.  "You're a liar
Jones, you faked that fax.  It couldn't possibly have come from my
machine."

   Imonga looked enquiringly at Jo-Jo.  If that was all, it was hard to
believe that Kanapombe would be so disloyal.  At the same time, Imonga's
demons were playing in his head.  Paranoia was part of his make up.  He
suspected everyone, and Kanapombe was no exception.  Jones passed another
piece of paper across the Emperor's desk.  Shock was etched in every line
of Imongas face as he read the columns of figures.

   "Who do you bank with?  General?"

   Kanapombe was sweating now.  He knew he had done nothing wrong, but he
had set up people often enough to recognise how dangerous this situation
was.

   "Wittberg and Weil - Zurich"

   "Really?"

   "What is that?"

   "Its a record of a twenty million dollar transfer from my private bank
account to a numbered account at Wittberg and Weil." Imonga's eyes narrowed
with suspicion and hatred.  Waving his gun about, he continued.  "It
appears that the account is held by a certain A.S.  Kanapombe."

   The General made a lunge at Jo-Jo.  Before he had taken one full pace,
Imonga pulled the trigger.  A look of sublime peace came over his face as
Kanapombe fell on his face.  He looked across first at Jo-Jo, the at
Gentry. A second shot rang out, knocking Gentry onto his back, a small neat
hole in the middle of his forehead.  With the gun still smoking in his
hand, and a vacant smile on his lips he giggled and turned back to Jo-Jo.

   "Fuck with me, and you're next.........  General"

   =========================

   "HIGHCREST" FARM - GUJANGA-ZANOGA BORDER - JULY 1992

   Things just kept getting better for Ngoro.  He lay on his back, naked,
being woken from his long nights sleep by the gentle slurping of a
beautiful young woman on his rampant cock.  He could hear a telephone
ringing somewhere in the far distance.  It seemed to get closer as a young
18yr old blonde reached across him, squashing her naked breast into his
face as she retrieved the phone.

   "Yes, Yes, He's here, I'll just get him." She handed the phone to a
rapidly wakening Ngoro and rolled over out of his way.  Her twin sister
kept suckling.

   "Are you sure?  Yes, I heard about Gentry and the General.  They found
his wife, yes, she's gone back to England.  Knebworthy says he'll look
after her.  Lucky bugger.  Him...  not her."

   The blonde re-appeared carrying a breakfast tray.  Seeing her sister
hard at it made her put it down and join in.  She came in behind him and
licked him around the rim of his arse, pushing her tongue into the little
brown orifice with tentative, short stabbing movements.

   "Look, I've got to go, but that's brilliant, Jo-Jo., or should I say
"Emperor".

   He laughed as Jo-Jo told him the title had died with Imonga.  Losing all
that money was too much for the fool to handle.  The same gun he had use on
Gentry was turned on himself a week later when he found there was no way to
retrieve his lost millions.  With Jo-Jo's flair for organisation, the rest
had been a formality.

   He sank back into the sumptuous bed and surrendered to his hostesses. 
As they brought him slowly to yet another climax, he pondered his new
dilemma.  Since he rescued Janine Lacroix' farm from the Zanogan Veterans,
he had been the lucky recipient of a stream of lady admirers, married or
otherwise, all keen to ensure that the Major understood how grateful they
were for his protection.  His dilemma ......  now Zanoga was back in the
international fold?....." what could he do to keep his women, including the
twins and their mother, keen to have him visit." He smiled to himself. 
Maybe he would just have to rely on his charisma........

   =========================

   EMIRATE OF QUALIA - JANUARY 1993

   President Jo-Jo Jones sat down having given a full account of
developments in Zanoga.  He had received a sympathetic but uncritical
hearing and a generous round of applause, but it was clear that people's
minds were on other things.  What those other things were became clear once
he had sat down and Sir Gerald resumed the podium.

   "Ladies," he said looking pointedly at Sonja and Sam, "and Gentlemen. 
As you know, it has become something of a tradition that After-Dinner
entertainment be provided to take your minds off the arduous business of
running a multinational Business.  Tonight is no exception.  With kind
permission of another of our companies, Talent agency Ames-Rassmussen,
please welcome the most famous ballerina on the planet, star of the most
prestigious Ballet company in the world, Tatiana Voronova."

   A ripple of applause echoed around the room, as Sir Gerald resumed his
seat, and the curtain behind him slowly parted.  A beautiful young woman
wearing a silk kimono sat on the floor, resting against the cushion of a
leather armchair and flicking lazily at the pages of a women's magazine. 
The room was decorated to look like a mid-nineteenth century European
Drawing room.  Expensive drapes covered fake windows at the back of the
stage, an elegant Saluki lay supine on sumptuous carpet in front of a
(simulated?) roaring fire , whilst the furniture reflected a lifestyle only
dreamed of by most.  A solo Spanish guitar played from the hidden speakers
reinforcing the image of a Lady spending a restful evening at home, alone.

   She turned the page, revealing to the audience a photograph of a tanned
naked Adonis of a man.  Her hand drifted down the neckline of her kimono,
gently caressing her breast and allowing the garment to fall open,
revealing all to the expectant audience.  As her hand cupped her mound,
they saw her slip a single finger in the entrance to her womanhood as she
began to masturbate.  As if obeying an unspoken command, the Saluki raised
himself from the carpet and stretched languidly before padding across the
floor to nuzzle his mistress.

   Those members of the audience unfamiliar with Ames-Rassmussen wondered
how such an elegant and famous person could be persuaded to behave like
that before an audience, but those in the know were only too aware of what
was to come.

   Tatiana placed a hand on each side of the dogs head as he looked up at
her with his limpid, appealing gaze.  Bending forward, she kissed him
lightly on the nose, patted his head and returned to her magazine.  The dog
got down on his haunches, and with a quick look at his mistress, rolled
over onto his back, head on one side, front feet in begging posture, rear
legs splayed so far that they were almost horizontal on the carpet. 
Tatiana's hand returned to her mound, stroking herself, sending little
murmers of pleasure through her body.  Her other hand absentmindedly began
to stroke the belly of the dog.  The effect of even the most limited
stroking was immediately apparent to the audience.  The dogs sheath began
to grow, reaching upward from its groin.  As it did so, the bright pink
penis, long and pencil thin stretched out into view.

   Tatiana glanced across at the effect her stroking was having.  Whilst
the audience sat mesmerised by the events unfolding in front of them,
Tatiana lowered her face to the dog's belly, and without any preliminaries
took the long thin member into her mouth.  The dog didn't move at first. 
As the girl's head began to bob up and down, the dog stretched further
before one leg started to jerk uncontrolably in a mock scratching movement.
Tatiana withdrew her head, leaving the dogs dick sticking out at full
stretch.  She sat up, straddled the dog, and , being especially careful not
to put her whole weight on it's abdomen, lowered herself onto it's dick
with a long, drawn-out sigh.  Almost unnoticed by the audience, the music
changed.  The quiet strains of Albeniz and Rodrigo died away to be replaced
semlessly by the low pounding beat of Ravel's bolero.  She began to bob up
and down on the animals belly.  As she did so, the only sign of increasing
heat in the dog was in it's breathing.  It's head hung to one side, the
tongue so extended it reached the carpet as the dog's increased panting
gained in volume and intensity.

   The audience, by this time were leaning forward in their seats. 
Straining to see every detail as the next act in the entertainment began. A
second dog loped onto the stage.  obviously someone had been stimulating
the animal in the wings, because his long prick hung, unsheathed ready for
action beneath his furry belly.  This animal took station behind the
bobbing woman who clearly had been expecting him.  On cue, she slowed her
see-saw motion, leaned forward and exposed her arse to the new arrival.  As
the pace of Bolero quickened, the dogs long tongue snaked out and covered
her sex.  This time it was the girl whose breathing quickened as the
sandpaper-like appendage rasped against her clit, pushing her towards the
orgasm the observers wanted to see.  The dog also had his own agenda.  He
stopped lapping at her quim, climbed awkwardly along her back and began to
hump himself against her arse.  It took several attempts before the tip if
his weapon found her rosette and forced its way past her resisting
sphinctre.  The cry of apparent pain from the girl seemed to spur both
animals to further efforts.  The dog underneath suddenly seemed to find
space to hump her cunt from below, whilst above, the second dog kept
perfect time with his kennelmate as he slammed into her arse.

   A long drawn-out moan of pleasure from the girl signalled her climax as
both dogs shot their loads into her willing body, almost perfectly
synchronised with the thumping climax of the music.  Both dicks expanded
into a knot, tying each weapon deep inside her.  As both she and the dogs
lay twitching, tied together in a bundle on the stage floor, the curtains
closed, and the music died.

   Sir Gerald's voice boomed out, cutting across the animated conversation
which greeted the end of the show.

   "Ahem.  That concludes both our meeting and the formal entertainment. 
For those of you gentlemen, and ladies, who wish to take advantage of her,
Tatiana will be made available throughout tomorrow.  For the rest, thanks
again for a most successful year.  May next year be even better. 
Goodnight, and a safe journey home.

   THE END

   =========================================

   The stories of James Anderton can be found at www.storiesonline.net and
on the ASSTR website.  /files/Authors/James_Anderton/

   Copyright James Anderton 2002

   Please don't post on paid websites, and please make appropriate
attribution on free ones.  Thanks James