Authors note; this is the second story about
my fictional BBC reporter Hilary Irvine. To understand it better I suggest you
read the first story – ‘Hilary Irvine’s African Odyssey’ – first.
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‘Bugger!’
As her car crawled along the moonlit London
street Hilary Irvine noticed with irritation that her usual car parking spot
was taken. This would mean a longer
walk to the entrance of her apartment block.
For any attractive blonde twenty something such a lonely walk on this
late hour would be a concern. For this
particular BBC news journalist such a walk was perilous.
Some weeks ago Hilary had stunned the world
with a series of reports on the white slave trade in Africa. Western governments suddenly woke up to the
realization that when their attractive female citizens had gone missing it
wasn’t always because they had all been eaten by tigers, crashed their car over
a ravine or joined a hippy cult. A
significant number had been abducted and sold into sexual slavery - forced to
serve the demands of some rich Arab or black man with a penchant for using and
abusing white flesh.
Desperate to maintain the flow of Western aid
into their Swiss bank accounts African leaders had ordered urgent action on the
issue. Across all of central Africa
slavers and slave masters had been arrested and swiftly executed. A swift execution preventing them from
naming any government official with a Western sex slave of his own.
For several weeks news reports from Africa
had featured dazed and naked white women been freed by grinning African police.
Their freedom may have been achieved by these cops but the world knew that the
impetus had come from Hilary Irvine - news reporter extraordinaire.
Hilary was immensely proud of her
accomplishment and often gave interviews demanding more action in her earnest
presenting style. The only thing
lacking from her TV appearances was the embarrassing truth – she’d experienced
the life of a white slave at first hand, spending almost three weeks getting
whipped and raped across the dark continent.
Her fame and success had one drawback. For all the public executions Hilary was
fully aware that the trade still existed.
The demand for white flesh was too insistent, the money sloshing about
the place too great. White slavers
still plied their trade. And more than
anything they all wanted one thing - to kill Hilary Irvine.
Eventually she found a parking place – fully
four streets from her apartment.
Feeling nervous Hilary remained in her car for a while anxiously
scanning the road.
In the darkened street nothing, not even a
cat, seemed to be moving.
Taking a deep breath Hilary stepped out of
her car, locked it and moved off towards home.
Soon she noticed someone on the other side of
the road, moving towards her.
An assassin?
The figure stopped. Hilary’s heart pounded in
her chest.
“Dumb mutt! C’mon!”
The man yanked on the leash of his pet and
walked on.
In the next street a car slowly drove past
the quickly walking newsgirl.
‘It’s moving slowly,’ Hilary thought, ‘Too
slowly!’
Suddenly incapable of breathing Hilary
imagined the passenger’s window winding down, gun barrel pointing out and a
hail of bullets cutting her down…
Instead the vehicle continued on its way.
“No dammit!” she spat irritably, “I didn’t
survive hell in Africa to be frightened of shadows!”
Taking a deep breath she strode on, slightly
more confident than before.
Soon she found herself outside the entrance
to her apartment block. After carefully
checking to see that she wasn’t been observed Hilary punched in the entrance
code and entered. The moment the door
closed behind Hilary let out a sigh of relief and her heartbeat slowed
considerably.
Safe and sound!
As she walked towards the lift Hilary’s
thoughts turned to what else the night might offer.
Something in the shapely form of Suzi Turner.
Suzi had recently joined BBC news from some
other channel. At first Hilary was a
little concerned that her position as hottest newsbabe might be under threat.
Suzi was a tall girl with big brown eyes.
Her short dark hair framed her pretty face. Though she often wore business suits around the newsroom Hilary
had seen from pictures of Suzi at awards nights that she had nice long legs and
a simply fabulous pair of tits.
Hilary’s concerns were allayed by Suzi’s
undoubted friendly nature. Particularly towards her. Suzi would often tell
Hilary how much she admired her, how much she wanted to be like her. One day Hilary thought; short hair, business
suit, no apparent boyfriend, the eagerness to be friends with me…
Hang on a minute!
Until recently Hilary would have regarded
this as merely a flattering irritant.
But that was before her African nightmare. There she had had enough cock to last a lifetime. Rammed, shoved and driven into her with
bestial savagery. Hilary hadn’t had sex
since her return to London and to be honest didn’t want any. Even the thought
of a male member – erect, throbbing, stinking of sweat, a glint of pre-cum –
filled her with revulsion.
But Hilary craved some intimacy and if that
could be provided by Suzi why not?
In the newsroom Hilary responded to Suzi’s
attempts at friendship. Suzi was
delighted and clearly made her eye contact last a little too long to be just
friends. Hilary invited her round for
coffee, they went shopping. When Suzi
mentioned what a good cook she was Hilary invited her round for a meal…an
evening meal.
“I’ll bring some wine and we can make a night
of it!”
Now when the lift reached her floor Hilary
stepped out smiling. She was in for a night of good conversation, a nice meal
and some fine wine. And if ended with
some lesbian sex? Fine!
Hilary hadn’t felt desire towards a member of
her own sex since she was 17. But now
the thought of gently sucking Suzi’s huge tits was really making her feel
horny.
Her hand was trembling as she opened her
front door. Her heart was pounding
again. Hilary had once seen Suzi in a
tight white satin top with her boobs practically bursting out. If she was
wearing it now Hilary might forego the meal and get straight on to love tussle
time.
“What the FUCK are YOU doing here?”
Standing in the middle of her lounge - in her
Home, for fuck’s sake – was a well-dressed, grinning black man from South
Africa, Samuel Mbonga.
“Hilary!” admonished Suzi as she came out of
the kitchen, “how could you be so rude to your old friend?”
She was wearing the white top. Plus a tight
gray skirt down to her knees. Below that dark brown leather boots. Hilary wanted her so much it hurt.
“Yessir, Missy!” grinned Samuel as he brought
Hilary back to miserable present, “Missy Hilary and me is going way back. Back to Africa.”
He moved towards her and as Hilary froze gave
her a hug. Hidden from Suzi’s view his right hand swiftly moved to Hilary’s
butt cheek and squeezed. Not a playful
touch but a grope so forceful it brought forth a gasp.
“Looking good, Missy Hilary!” he smirked,
then dropped his voice to add, “Feeling good, too!”
“I assumed you and Samuel were friends,” said
Suzi bringing in a tray of drinks, “I hope it was OK to let him in?”
“Absolutely,” answered Hilary forcing a
smile.
Samuel was in no way Hilary’s friend. True he had purchased her from a depraved
old sheikh and subsequently set her free.
But in the time between purchase and freedom Hilary had been his
unwilling houseguest and distinctly unenthusiastic sex-toy. Worse was when his retarded friend Moses had
turned up with his video camera. Together the trio had made a fake hostage
video that gave the impression that the reasons for Hilary’s abduction had been
political rather than sexual. Once
again Hilary had to use her body for payment in marathon three-in-a-bed sex
sessions – some of which were videoed. The sound of the hateful Moses giggling
away as her mouth worked on his cock, the camera 6 inches from her eye, was a
memory that often featured in Hilary’s nightmares. According to Samuel these videos were purely to give him a
souvenir of Hilary’s stay, but the threat of internet publication lingered in
her mind.
“Drink, Samuel?” said Suzi, proffering a
glass to the African who was grinning like a cat that had just got some cream.
Some white cream with a blonde top.
Dully Hilary took her glass. She was starting to feel sick in the pit of
her stomach.
‘Samuel?’ she thought, ‘Dear God, does she
like him?’
The possibility of Hilary gently caressing
Suzi’s naked body was receding fast.
The horrible prospect of those fabulous knockers been chewed by a
lustful Samuel was appearing over the metaphorical hills.
Hilary had to get rid of Suzi, fast. Samuel wasn’t beyond suggesting a
threesome. And unbeknown to Suzi Hilary
was incapable of saying no when it came to sex with Samuel, not with that
damned video been used for blackmail.
“Listen Suzi,…” said Hilary slowly, “Samuel
and I have something to discuss…”
“About the white slave trade? Some new scoop?” the brunette asked keenly.
“Er…yes…but its…confidential…”
The feeling of sick in her belly was
growing. Now she was lying. And in line
for some fucking.
“OK” said Suzi with a pout of disappointment,
“I’ll be off.”
Hilary saw her out. At the door the urge to reach out for a kiss or a squeeze swelled
in Hilary’s chest but instead a quick ‘farewell’ had to suffice.
Female tenderness left, male savagery sipped
his drink.
“Nice girl" grinned Samuel, “Is she like
you?”
“How do you mean?” asked Hilary, anger
rising.
“Got a taste for black cock?”
Hilary took a deep breath and ignored the
comment.
“What are you doing here, Samuel?” she asked
steadily.
Now Samuel ignored her. It would be fun to bait this stuck-up slut
some more.
“If you’d been 10 minutes later I’d have made
a play for her,” he rolled his eyes and ran his tongue across his lower lip,
“If you’d come back and heard me and yo friend banging in yo bedroom would yo
have left us in peace?”
He put his drink down.
“Or stripped off and joined in?”
“Forgot Suzi!” barked Hilary, “Any business
you have here is with me!”
“OK, Ok,…” smiled Samuel, “Perhaps I’ll see
her if she ever come to Africa.”
“That won’t happen,” said Hilary turning
away, “Suzi is been sent to the Middle East.”
Samuel smiled his toothy grin again, but said
nothing.
Missy Hilary was lying! And he knew it!
Before Hilary’s arrival he and the fat-titted
white girl had been chatting. Missy
Suzi’s next assignment was in Nigeria.
He’d already found out when she left and what hotel she’d be staying in. Casually and in as friendly a way as
possible he’d let Suzi know that Samuel Mbonga had contacts across the whole of
Africa. His dick had swelled when he
saw how pleased she’d been to hear this.
“I’d be ever so grateful for any contacts you
can arrange!”
‘And I’d be ever so grateful to fuck the shit
outta yo juicy body!’ was the thought that had passed thru Samuel’s mind.
Screwing the brunette was a possibility of
the future. Screwing the blonde beauty
standing in front of him was a matter of the present. Oh, she was pissed off – that much was obvious. But if she was going to throw him out she’d
have done it by now. She was trapped
and now was the time to reel her in.
“Remember this?” he asked, bringing out a
videotape.
Hilary froze, eyes intent on what Samuel was
waving in his hand.
“Mmm, mmm,” he smirked, “You, me and ol’
Moses had such a nice time making it!”
Hilary looked down to the floor,
blushing. This was a moment she’d been
dreading.
“OK, you bastard. What do you want?”
“I’d like my dear ol’ friend Missy Hilary to
buy this off me.”
“You want money?” Hilary was relieved, “OK, I
can pay.”
“No, missy,” came the reply with a hateful
grin, “I gots money. Yo pay in yo bedroom! Yo pay with yo body! Yo with yo
pussy!”
Hilary was furious. But bit her lower lip to
control her temper. The urge to lash
out, to beat this grinning, leering swine was hard to resist. But even if she did overpower him, get the
video and throw him out things wouldn’t end there. He might go to police – imagine the headlines. And Samuel was
slyly clever. He would have made a
copy. The moment that video was
broadcast her career, her life would be over.
Hilary was furious, but her fury was
impotent. She was trapped. Fucked in every sense of the word.
“Fine!” she said bitterly, yanking open the
buttons of her blouse, “You wanna fuck?
Then lets fuck!”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Uh,…uhhhh!” Hilary groaned as she went down
on the naked black man in her bed.
Samuel Mbonga was a shit and in her opinion
no better than a rapist but he was a well hung shit. His throbbing manhood filled her pussy and as Hilary worked her
hips her body started to respond. She could feel sweat on her forehead and she
was panting. The rational, moral,
educated part of her was despising every second of this. But deep down her hated animal side wanted
it.
“Cum!” she grunted thru gritted teeth, “Cum,
you bastard!”
Flat on his back beneath her Samuel gazed
upon his kneeling beauty with triumphant delight.
Screwing a stunning beautiful white woman was
great, screwing her while she hated it was better!
He’d cum in his own time. Let this bitch endure it a bit more. She’d ripped her clothes off in
seconds. The sight of her stupendous naked
body suddenly appearing before him had made Samuel want to take her immediately,
but he controlled himself. Undressed
slowly as her impatience grew. Then
calmly moved onto the bed and invited her to impale herself on his stiffening
manhood.
She had paused briefly, like a tease, then
mounted him.
She had no choice.
She was his bitch.
Years ago his grandfather had ran a café in
Bulawayo, what was then Rhodesia. He
sold drinks, his wife and her sisters sold themselves to the local white
farmers. Samuel’s father had told him
with bitterness how as a small boy he’d listened to white men humping his
mother and aunts, heard them sneer at ‘kaffir bitchs’ as they left.
Now here he was in the heart of the imperial
mother city, flat on his back while a beautiful white woman with blonde hair
served his cock. Though they were long
dead Samuel was sure that somewhere his father and grandfather were looking
down with pride.
He worked his hips. The moment of final triumph had arrived.
Hilary
gasped as Samuel came, partly in relief.
The urge to dismount was great but she knew it wouldn’t be allowed. Swallowing deeply in her shame, she leaned
forward, put her hands on his chest and rode him as he pumped away.
When he was
done Hilary felt herself been pulled off and flung on her back. As she lay panting Samuel reached for his
jacket, pulled out a cigarette and lit up.
Not even looking at her!
Hilary
rolled over onto her side, so as she wouldn’t have to look at the pig. She was grateful that there was silence
between them.
All too soon
the moment of tranquility was breached as she felt his hand touch the back of
her thigh, move up and caress her butt cheek.
“Yo body is
looking even better than when I fucked it in Africa,” the black breathed,
nuzzling the white woman’s bare shoulder.
It was
true. Since returning from Africa
Hilary had gone on an exercise binge. Burning energy and exorcising her rage
using an exercise bike, rowing machine and swimming. That it had all been to make a monster like Samuel enjoy fucking
her even more made it all seem so worthless.
“Moses would
be so jealous. Dat boy is always
talking ‘bout when he nailed Missy Hilary.”
Hilary
bristled at the mention of that name.
Samuel sensed it. Next time he
came to London he might bring a companion…
“Mmm,...mmm,”
he mused grabbing Hilary’s right boob, “I reckon ol’Moses would love to get
reacquainted with these babies!”
As far as
she allowed herself to remember Hilary thought ol’Moses was keenest on her
mouth. Specifically sticking his dick in it.
When he wasn’t doing that he was shoving her face into the floor to lick
up any spunk that she’d been unable to swallow.
Samuel put
all thoughts of Moses to one side. His little fella was twitching for some more
pussy. The fabulously randy wee beastie!
Hilary felt
Samuel pull her over onto her back and slide over her leg. Focusing intently on
a spot on the ceiling she reached up, grabbed the top of the bed and spread her
legs to accommodate him.
And hated
herself for doing so...
The first
shafts of dawn sunlight woke Hilary up.
Still sleepy she looked around.
She was alone in the bed!
Confused and
resisting the temptation to be pleased she got up and searched the flat.
She was
alone! The pig had gone!
Blessed
relief flooded thru Hilary’s naked body.
At the very least she had expected to be obliged to suck on some Samuel
sausage before breakfast. But no! He’d
gone! He-
Then she
noticed the videotape on the bedside cabinet.
With a note on top. Quickly she
grabbed it and read;
“Dear Missy
Hilary.
Thank you so
much for the sex. Fun for you as well,
eh? Here is the video that you have
earned so well. Only 11 copies remain. I visit you again soon and we’ll see if
you can buy another off me.
Samuel XXX”
With a snarl
of rage Hilary screwed up the note and then hurled the tape against the wall,
smashing it as it hit.
She’d
suspected that Samuel had made copies, but the confirmation of her suspicions
gave her no satisfaction. She was now
little better than Samuel’s sex slave, compelled to sleep with him whenever he
was in the neighborhood. The day she
refused, the day she didn’t satisfy him, she’d be ruined.
In a rage of
despair Hilary hit the shower. She made
the water as hot as possible, as powerful as possible. As if it were possible to blast away the
memory of the previous night. Then
Hilary removed the showerhead from its holder, spread her legs, braced herself
and fired it into her most intimate region.
“Ahhhhh!”
It hurt and
she could only bear it for a few seconds.
But she did it again. And
again. If it washed Samuel’s muck out
from inside her it was worth it.
Obviously it might not be enough. Since she’d gone off cock Hilary
hadn’t bothered with protection. A visit to the chemist was called for.
That day
Hilary had to interview a minister about flooding in the Severn valley. The man had tried to explain that it didn’t
matter if temporary flood defenses had been stuck in traffic as it was a very
big flood. The poor nincompoop was
stunned and then reduced to a bewildered wreck by the BBC newsgirl’s blistering
interviewing style.
Afterwards
Hilary felt better, but only a bit.
Her mood
darkened several days later. Suzi had
gone to Lagos alright. Then gone missing.
“She had a
call in her hotel and sped off in her hire car,” explained Leonard Cotton, the
head of BBC News, “some hours later the Nigerian police found her abandoned car
north of Lagos”.
He looked
round gloomily at the assembled group, Hilary amongst them. If he expected some positive comment he was
disappointed.
“There’s
been no ransom demand,” he continued, “At the moment no-one knows what’s
happened to her.”
No one knew
what had happened to Suzi but anyone who’d seen Hilary’s slave trade reports
had a fair inkling that her fate was grim.
Even Leonard’s mind had wandered in that direction. As a boy he’d loved
Tarzan films and when he wasn’t worrying about Suzi or wondering about the
wisdom of sending attractive twentysomethings as a lone correspondent in Africa
he imagined her in a cannibal cooking pot, writhing in the stew as a dozen
naked warriors danced around her.
Fabulous tits that girl had.
“Yes!” he
suddenly said, waking from his daydream, “We have a lead. Someone who can help us,” he turned to
Hilary, “Your friend, Samuel Mbonga!”
The sound of
that name jolted Hilary.
“Wha-what?”
she stumbled.
“Yes,”
jabbered Leonard, “He helped you when you were in a similar situation and he’s
keen to work with you on this one!”
Hilary could
have cheerfully punched Leonard’s face in.
She could well imagine the grin on Samuel’s face when he had suggested
working with her again.
“Mbonga is
based in South Africa,” she started slowly, “His area of expertise is southern
Africa not Nigeria.”
She looked
around the table as she spoke. Everyone
seemed furious that she was downplaying the only hope they had.
“Mr. Mbonga
is certain he can help!” gushed Leonard, “Do you want to help us find Suzi or
not?”
This unfair
question was asked with an intent glare at Hilary.
She was of
course desperate to save poor Suzi. But
not with Samuel’s help. And certainly
not by traveling to Africa herself.
The room was
silent, an oppressive silence. Once
again Hilary felt trapped. It was
simply impossible to argue her way out of this.
“Of course,”
she eventually said, “I’ll do all I can to help.”
“Excellent! We’ve already arranged your flight…”
The rest of
the talk was a blur to Hilary. She
could feel her heart pounding. Pounding
like an African tribal drum.
Africa was
calling her back.
Clawing her
back…
Part Two
coming not soon, but at some point.
Thanks to
ASSTR for publishing.
Any feedback
to [email protected]