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From: "JÖRGEN KARLSSON" <joergen.karlsson@mbox302.swipnet.se>
Subject: "Sold" Ch. 5 ( femdom, slavery, humiliation)
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By the author: This story should NOT be read by minors or people who object
to perverted actions! And to all you others: Enjoy! Depending on the
response, there might be more to come. 
Jörgen



	"SOLD"

	CHAPTER 5

   At the age of 11, her father, an intelligent and educated spokesman for
the blacks, had been arrested by the apartheid henchmen, never to return
again. 
   She remembered him as a gentle, loving father and a devoted anti-racist
activist. He used to tell his family about the teachings of Martin Luther
King, who at the same period gathered enormous crowds in the USA, holding
his famous speeches about equality and freedom.
   When the word spread that her father had been murdered in custody, she
had cried for several days in a row, swearing to avenge his death. 
   This was later confirmed by other inmates, who had witnessed the beasts
"accidentally" drown her father in a tub, during torture. One of the
prisoners had dragged his own mistreated and broken body to their home as
soon as he was released, and told them the shocking and tragic news.

   When she was 13, six armed white soldiers had kicked in the door to
their small house, and ordered her and her four sisters and two brothers,
aged between 3 and 17, to watch as they stripped the mother naked and threw
her to the floor.
   They took turn raping her before the screaming and crying childrenīs
eyes. When they were finished, they beat up her brothers real bad, smashed
the furniture and left.

   A few months later, her 15 year old brother was shot dead when taking
part in a big demonstration for equal rights. 

   This was more than she could bear. The following day, she had joined an
armed guerrilla, no longer believing in her fatherīs words of foregiveness
and understanding.
   The day before her 14th birthday, she had made her first killing. Her
fraction had raided a small, countryside police station, and completely
taken the uniformed men by surprise. There was hardly any resistance at
all.

   When the group of guerrillas entered the building, after spraying it
with gunfire for over a minute, two of the white men were lying dead on the
floor, bathing in their own blood. A third one screamed in terrified agony,
with his right arm shot to pieces and a bullet in the chest. They all knew
he wouldnīt last long. And he didnīt. One of the mature women put her left
foot on his forehead and shot him straight through the heart.

   The fourth man had miraculously remained unhurt, and was standing on his
knees with the arms raised in the air, begging them to spare his life. 
   While the male attackers collected the stationīs guns and ammunition,
the women and the girls, who all had horrible recollections of horror and
abuse from the white men in the police and the army, surrounded the
trembling man. 
   At first, they just stood there, watching him crawl between them to kiss
their naked, dirty feet, while begging for his life. It was a thrilling
experience for the young virgin Cassandra, to see her own feet shine with
the saliva of a former oppressor. He was now at their mercy.

   Under gunpoint, they made him lick the dust and the dirt off their feet.
The soft, tickling of his tongue against their black skin made them sense
arousal and superiority.
   Soon, those clean and shining feet were all over him, kicking and
stomping. There was no escape from the furious amazons. They retaliated
everything he stood for, right there in the blood-stained police station,
kicking him into unconditional submission.

   When he could no longer lift a finger to protect himself, a stout and
mean-looking woman somewhere in her forties, with a gigantic pair of
breasts, unzipped her shorts and ordered their fallen foe to open his
mouth. 
   Naked from the waist down, she squatted over his head, with her large,
tasty buttocks brushing against his already swollen and bruised face. With
a sadistic laughter, she started pissing right into his wide open mouth. 
   Both scared and beaten half to death as he was, he drank her warm fluid
without hesitation, thankful for every minute they let him live. After
pouring at least a pint of piss into him, she raised her impressive body
and let one of the others take her "seat". 
   The short and slender girl, still in her teens, who covered his sore
face with her delicate and firm ass, felt a strong desire to fill him up
until he burst under her.
   And she made an excellent job in achieving that goal. Her squirt never
seemed to diminish. The other watched the amazing show in awe, the only
sound being the piss pouring down the white manīs throat, and his
convulsive gulps. 



   Today, more than thirty years later, she still couldnīt understand how
she had done it. Somebody had handed her, a young virgin one day short of
14 years old, a revolver.
   She remembered taking aim at his piss-reeking mouth, and pulling the
trigger - in the name of her father, her mother and her brother... and for
every black man or woman or child being oppressed by whites. She knew why,
but not how...

   To this day, she had not once felt any guilt about the occured. She just
felt slightly dirty at times. And dirt could be washed away. 

   They had won the war. Rhodesia was now Zimbabwe, and she, Cassandra, a
successful business-woman in the jewelry-trade. She had reached all the way
to the top, and learnt to live with her violent past. 
   She had gone to the USA to study on a scholarship after the end of the
war. The following years changed her view on white people completely.
Slowly the hatred faded, little by little in the beginning, until there was
nothing left, except...

   Cassandra had started dating men during her second term an Atlanta,
Georgia. At first, she was confused about how casual people seemed to be
about sex and relationship, but she adapted, and she enjoyed herself. And
the men around Cassandra just loved her. 

   Being a straightforward, honest woman, she had told her lovers (that
counted eight altogether) about her past. To her amazement they all,
especially the white young men from the upper middleclass, seemed turned-on
hearing their sexy bed-partner telling of how she had killed white men in
the name of freedom for her own people. 

   Looking at herself in the mirror, Cassandra thought that the years had
been good to her. Her husband had said:
   "Should they ever raise a titanic statue, honouring the black woman,
they would use you as a model."
   Her husband, who believed that his loving wife was on a business trip in
Europe. He would never know her little secret.

   Her big, almost cone-shaped breasts rose proudly from her chest. Oh, did
them white women look at her with envy! She smiled, exposing her shining
white teeth and her sensual, thick lips, that didnīt need any lipstick on
them to look their best. 
   She turned around and watched her greatest pride; the ass. Still any
manīs wettest dream, or as she had noticed; any womansīs... the way they
glanced at her on the street. And still sensitive, responding to the most
gentle caress. She squeezed one of the delicious buttocks with that magic
touch she possessed... Then there was a knock on the door.

   Cassandra didnīt put on any clothes to shield herself with. Why should
she bother? She went to the door and opened it.


   
   "Didnīt I tell you to greet your master in a proper manner, you
worthless piece of white shit?" She slapped her slave so hard he almost
fell over.
   "Yes, my Queen!" He lay down flat on the icy cold marble floor, allowing
her to step on him. She put her right foot on his back, then the left.
Under the weight of her 170 pounds, the miserable man moaned in pain,
unable to do anything about it. 

   After a brutal, ten minute long trampling-session, he felt as if he had
been run over by a steam-roller. He could hardly move his body.
   "Whatīs wrong, whitey? You hurtinī", she asked in a sarcastic voice. 
   "Have I got some good news for you!", she continued. "This time, I will
give you an option. God, I just Luv to trample a wortless white pig! I can
go on and on all day long. But being such a loving and caring Queen, Iīm
gonna let you choose... between trampling and asslicking. Well, what will
it be, whitey?"

   Almost sighing with relief, the slave looked up at the powerful black
woman standing by his side.
   "I would be much honoured to lick Your ass, my beloved Queen."

   Of all the Mansionīs slaves she had tried, this one was definitely the
best, and most passionate, asslicker, Cassandra thought with a
self-sufficient smile on her face, as she lay on her stomach on the bed. He
mustīve been trained by someone who knew exactly what she wanted.
   The slave started out with light kisses on the big and beautiful
buttocks. He took his time, warming her up. Then he began to move in for
the real thing, letting the tip of his tongue tickle her crack, up and
down, careful not to touch here "there". He did this for what must have
been at least a quarter of an hour. Then he got down to serious business.
He licked her softly and somehow cautious for a while...

   Cassandra hit him on the side of the head with the back of her hand:
   "Now, get down to it, or Iīll rip your heart out!"

   So, he left his trained asslicking-etiquette aside, and started sucking
her shiny, black asshole like a human vacuum cleaner. Then, at the Queenīs
command, he stuck his tongue inside her, and fought an uneven struggle with
her muscular, inner walls, eager to avoid another trampling. 
   When she felt him cleaning her inside, further up than she thought
possible, she sensed that power again. The sweetest sensation on earth. The
power to lay down and enjoy herself, with a white manīs tongue up her ass.
Black power! Seconds later, she had a long and terrific orgasm, the
muscular strength of her anus almost ripping his tongue out.

   She counted to five more thrilling inner earthquakes before she was
satisfied. Allowing him to pull out his wonderful tool, she said:
   "Now, go and wash your tongue, you white piece of a shitlicker!"

   The slave bowed:
   "Yes, my Queen." Then he left the room.




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