Entonyan Entrapment

Entonyan Entrapment Synopsis

 

Stealing the money so temptingly laid out would have brought punishment and given them the hold on me they wanted, but that would have been mild compared to what I received for the insults and racial slurs I levied on the owner and his people.

 

Obohobo / ENTONYAN ENTRAPMENT

 

by obohobo

 

Warnings

 

Please take note!

 

The text in this story contains erotic material and is expressly written for adults only.

 

MF NC. Spanking

 

If you are underage or offended by such material, or if viewing this file is illegal in your locality, then leave, close or delete this file-story now.

 

This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely coincidental. The ideas and thoughts that follow are pure fantasies. In real life, at the very least they would be unpleasant and probably illegal. Fantasies are like that; daydreams where we can contemplate and imagine the sensations without suffering or inflicting the pain, despair or humiliation.

 

© obohobo 2010

 

The reporter

 

All went to plan. We flew in the private jet to London and waited until Prince Aleno’s delegation had left the plane for fifteen minutes before we disembarked and entered England as normal tourists rather than VIP’s. During the flight, my daughter N’gongo, excitedly looked out of the window and marvelled at the sights from and in the aircraft but I cautioned her to calm down when we went through immigration and fortunately we got through without too much hassle and no one connected me with the girl abducted from London a few months earlier.

 

Rain drizzled down as the hired car drove us through the crowded streets of the city and on to the M1 to a hotel near Luton where we arranged to meet mum and dad. We’d reserved a grand suite such as I’d only worked in before and never expected to afford to stay in, and phoned my parents who lived about half an hour’s drive away. I almost broke down when I heard mother’s voice for the first time for months and heard her voice shake too.

 

The wait for them to arrive seemed interminable but N’gongo kept us amused as she explored everything and asked question after question on the sights she saw from the window. The buzzer went and I automatically opened the door because reception had advised us of their arrival. However, a third person pushed her way through the partially open door whilst I hugged mother and dad had his arms around both of us. The first I noticed was a scream from the woman as Smiley, my big, black, bodyguard, grabbed her in a tight bear hug that forced most of the air from her lungs and, on the second scream, placed his big hand over her mouth. She struggled and tried to kick but her efforts were puny against Smiley’s massive body. “Who are you?” I demanded, angry at the interruption to my longed for reunion with my parents.

 

“Sit her down Smiley, then we can find out,” Prince Rh’nee went to his assistance. Smiley’s interpretation of the order wasn’t quite as we expected. He sat in an armless easy chair, pulled her on to his lap and crossed his legs over hers, forcing her thighs well apart. He silenced her again with his hand when she started yelling but she continued to wriggle in an effort to free herself from his embrace. I grinned knowing that she’s soon have Smiley’s mighty erection to contend with and shortly after she realised it too. I guessed the dark haired, slightly dumpy woman to be in her late twenties or early thirties; an attractive woman but not a glamour girl.

 

“Before I ask reception to send for the local police, would you like to tell us who you are and why you’ve forced your way into our private rooms?” Rh’nee asked civilly and indicated to our bodyguard to let her speak.

 

“Joan Hammond, reporter for the Morning Tribune and you won’t send for the police because I know who you are and the girl is Tracy Bowen who you had abducted and whipped.” In spite of being held prisoner, she sounded confident and truculent.

 

I stood crying in mother’s arms and N’gongo stood ready to defend me against the intruder but Rh’nee, looked outwardly calm although I perceived from his expression that inside, he too was very angry. This wasn’t supposed to happen. “You want the story?” he asked.

 

“Of course.”

 

“Take her in the other room Smiley, (as usual of late, he used my nickname for him rather than his Entonyan name) check her for weapons and recording gear and hold her there until we’ve decided what to do.” We heard squeals and protests from the other room and then silence. For a few moments only I wondered how he’d quietened her but then turned to mum and dad and introduced my future husband and my daughter. I knew they worried over Rh’nee because his scarred face frightened them a little even though they’d seen photos of him. Of course they loved my daughter, especially when she regaled them with stories of our life and frequently mentioned how good a mother I was to her.

 

Rh’nee remained quiet for most of the time but when N’gongo decided she needed the loo and provided a break, he suggested we ought to decide what to do with the reporter.

 

‘We can’t keep her prisoner,” Dad pointed out, “Otherwise we’ll all be in trouble. Maybe we should give her a story except that once it gets out, we’ll be besieged with reporters from everywhere.”

 

“Can we keep her for two days so we have a little time to get to know you? You are only here for a short time anyway.” Mother asked.

 

We asked Smiley to bring her back in. He did with a huge grin on his face. “I didn’t find any weapons Sir, but there’s all sorts of gadgets in her handbag. I checked for concealed devices too Sir but didn’t find any.”

 

The sight didn’t unduly shock those of us who’d lived in Entonya; mum and dad were, and the poor woman blushed from head to toe. In his search for weapons, Smiley stripped her naked and had tied her hands and gagged her with pillowcases. We could hazard a guess as to where he searched for concealed devices. He sat himself in the chair and held her as he had earlier but now her shaven mound and breasts were openly displayed. Mum tried to look away but dad stared straight at her and began to get an erection. I could have suggested we covered her nudity with a blanket but the bitch had ruined my stay and if she got a story, it would be at some inconvenience to her.

 

“We’re willing to let Tracy give you her full uncensored and exclusive story, I know her parents want to hear it too, but it will take two days to tell it and in that time you will remain with us without contact with others.”

 

“I’ll tell you too. Will you take pictures of me?” N’gongo interrupted Rh’nee. He gave her a stern look and I held her told her to be quiet for a little while.

 

“You will remain here with us and go with us on any sightseeing trips and you can use your camera and recorder freely. Once we are at the airport for our return home, you are free to publish your story. If you agree to that, you get your story, if not, we hold you here and tomorrow go to the Entonyan Embassy and stay there until we leave without you hearing anything. I’ll ask Smiley to remove your gag so you can answer but if you start screaming it goes back in and we’ll take your answer as being negative.”

 

“What guarantee do I have that I will not be abducted to Entonya and whipped?”

 

“You have the word of Prince Rh’nee Okana, that is enough.”

 

“Will I get my clothes back? And will I get free of this goon on my back?”

 

Rh’nee’s face clouded in a deep frown. “Miss Hammond, from your researches you should have learned that we Entonyans get very upset at racial slurs. You need to watch your words much more carefully as Tracy knows only too well. In view of this, my answer to both questions is, ‘when necessary’. For the time being, the situation will remain as it is now and maybe add a bit of spice to your interview and give you an insight into how Tracy felt when she first came to my homeland. You may also wish to experience how she felt when bedded with an Entonyan man for the first time.”

 

“Smiley give you a good fuck with big prick,” N’gongo shocked my parents and Joan with her outburst but Smiley grinned widely and commented, “Anytime I’m not working.”

 

Joan looked shit scared and I could see she needed a little reassurance. “Let me talk to Joan privately for a few moments while you order dinner from room service.” I put an arm around her and took her into a bedroom. With her hands bound and Smiley in the next room, she’d have little chance to escape.

 

Alone with me she burst into tears, again expressing her fear that she too would be abducted and whipped. I repeatedly assured her that wouldn’t happen. “For a start, you’re not a long legged blonde which is what caught the eye of Prince Rh’nee’s brother and my future husband doesn’t not have the same personality, hence he is never part of the trade negotiations that are on in London at this time.” After giving her a little time to calm down and more reassurances, I went on, “When you burst in on the off-chance of getting a story, did you not expect to offer anything in return?”

 

“I’m authorised to offer a substantial sum of money...”

 

“To one of the world’s richest men?” I paused to let that sink in. “To get a good position as a reporter on a prestigious national newspaper, I’ve no doubt you had to offer your body in order to climb the ladder and I daresay, you’ve also used it to get the stories that brought you to your editor’s attention.” She didn’t reply but I could see I’d hit the mark and I could see from her expression that she wondered if she’d have to submit her body to my future husband. “We promised you my story and all we asked in return was your silence for a few days and the fact that you are naked is only another way to ensuring that. You won’t be raped but I’ve no doubt Smiley will do his utmost to persuade you and if you want to get another angle on this whole thing, you could do worse than allow him to fuck you. He’s been my bodyguard for a while now and knows what goes on ‘behind the scenes’. You may have heard about the Entonyan men. If you like a big hard prick inside you, then you’ll get your wish and even if you’re not on the pill, he’s unlikely to make you pregnant because of their low sperm count.”

 

“You’re pregnant.”

 

“Only because we took special measures but you’ll hear about that later. You would do well to talk nicely to my daughter as she needs little encouragement to blab details of our lives to anyone.”

 

“She’s not your real daughter though.”

 

“No, you could say she adopted me and it stuck but again, you’ll find out about that too... if I get to tell the story. Dry your eyes now, and ignore your nakedness, only my parents are a little disturbed by it, and then we can eat.”

 

With Smiley holding his ‘prisoner’ on his lap again, I chatted with my parents and caught up on events that happened in my hometown and with my friends but refrained from telling my tale until after we ate.

 

I’ve omitted N’gongo’s frequent interruptions to my narrative but Joan may include them when she publishes the story, and I’ve also left out the times when we went sight seeing and joined the story together as if it were told at one session.

 

Entrapped

 

I suppose I should have sensed a set-up, but at the time the thought of easy money wiped caution from my mind. Stealing the money so temptingly laid out would have brought punishment and given them the hold on me they wanted, but that would have been mild compared to what I received for the insults and racial slurs I levied on the owner and his people. They didn’t expect that outburst.

 

At the time I worked in a prestigious London hotel as a waitress and chambermaid and, like other attractive maids, sometimes added to my income by sleeping with a guest. Management turned a blind eye to it as long as we were discrete and didn’t openly flout ourselves for trade. My long legs, full breasts and natural curly blonde hair worked to my advantage but led to my downfall.

 

We had a trade delegation in from Entonya headed by Crown Prince Aleno Okana, Prince Rh’nee’s older brother. At that time, I’d never heard of Entonya but quickly learned the small, but incredibly rich West African country, had vast reserves of oil and gold and the delegation spent their money lavishly. The Prince, his advisers and bodyguards stayed in the luxurious suites at the top of the hotel and I must have caught his Highness’s eye whilst serving in the restaurant although I didn’t actually serve their tables and I didn’t fancy bedding a black man, however rich. Not so a couple of the other girls who did very well financially out of a liaison with them but next morning complained of the soreness between their legs.

 

On that fateful morning, the manager switched me from waitressing to tidying the Prince’s bedroom whilst the delegation ate breakfast. Normally two of us would do a job like that so as to finish in the shortest time and have the room ready by the time guests finished breakfast but today, they told me no one else was available to help. As soon as I entered the room I noticed the bank notes scattered haphazardly on the table but left them until I straightened the bed and did other chores. All the time I kept looking at the money and debating whether or not any would be missed. The hotel had security cameras in the corridors and other places but I didn’t believe any were installed in bedrooms for privacy reasons. I couldn’t see one anyway. Eventually I tidied the table and put the money into one neat heap but not in value order. Finally the temptation overcame me and I slipped some notes from the bottom of the pile into my apron pocket. Nothing happened so I grinned and muttered to myself, “Fuck you, you dirty, black, Entonyan bastards, you have to pay a girl for sex because that’s the only reason a white girl will go with you, well I’ve got the money without being fucked by Mr. Crown Prince’s grotty black cock.”

 

Knowing breakfast would soon be over, I hurriedly finished and left the room only to face two of the bodyguards who took me to their room and handcuffed me. A view of the Prince’s room showed on the computer screen in the room and in the forefront, the banknotes I’d neatly piled. It didn’t take many seconds for me to realise they’d fixed a spy camera near the table and when they picked the notes from my apron, I knew they watched everything and I was in serious trouble. They’d left the notes to deliberately tempt me.

 

In front of the manager they played the disc and to my consternation, it had clearly picked up my words. “This is blatant racism, she could be looking at a prison sentence for stealing but an even longer one for her racist remarks. Certainly I can no longer employ her and will convey my deepest regrets to His Highness,” the manager obsequiously wrung his hands but I later realised he played a major part in my entrapment too.

 

One of the Prince’s lawyers visited me after they’d informed the Prince. “Miss Tracy Bowen, this is a great inconvenience to us as we’ll have to interrupt some delicate negotiations to get our local lawyers to handle the police and I’m sure it will be the end of your career and you could find yourself behind bars for a lengthy period.” I wept. “£450 is a considerable sum and then there’s your bigoted, insulting remarks to consider.”

 

“Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it and the money was too tempting…”

 

“Yes, that is easy to say. I did have a quick word with Crown Prince Aleno before coming to you and it seems your beauty attracted his attention when he viewed the disc and he suggested I offer you an alternative.” I lifted my head and looked at him rightly guessing sex would be involved. “In the palace in Entonya City we keep a number of young ladies for entertainment purposes.”

 

“A harem?” I questioned.

 

“If you wish to call it that, yes. Would not a holiday in Entonya, staying at the palace, be preferable to a longer period incarcerated in a British prison? You’re not a virgin so sleeping with a man shouldn’t be a problem.”

 

After more argument and persuasion, I agreed and later in the day, they drove me to my flat and watched me pack and get my passport and then we returned to the hotel, where they kept me in a locked room until the following morning. I had plenty of time to contemplate what happened and I may be a blonde, but I’m not stupid and could work out, my capture and agreement to leave with them, had been planned and I wondered how they would have achieved their objective if I had left the money alone. I tried to imagine what my life would be like as a harem slave but I had nothing to go on apart from a fiction book I’d read as a teenager, where the girls were whipped by eunuchs if they did not submit to their master. I doubted that would happen these days, even in Africa. Little did I realise the feudal system prevailing in Entonya. How would I cope with my natural aversion to black men? I’d already lost some of the aversion by being close to them all morning but what about the size and roughness of their pricks that Claire and Jenny complained of? I presumed I’d eventually get used to that too and maybe enjoy the sensation.

 

Imprisoned and sentenced

 

My journey couldn’t have started better. A private jet from London City airport and, while I didn’t get to sit in the front cabin with the royalty, the attendants treated me with the utmost courtesy so my arrest as we crossed into Entonyan airspace, came as a complete shock. Two guards who’d been relaxing in seats some distance away, put my wrists in handcuffs and when I yelled, they gagged me with a cloth around my mouth. “Tracy Bowen, under the laws of Entonya we are arresting you for insulting the people of Entonya and for theft of the property of His Royal Highness, Prince Aleno Okana. After we land, you will be taken to the prison in Entonya City and will be arrayed before the court, probably tomorrow. The British Consulate has been informed,” the guard informed me. Gagged, I could not reply or question him.

 

They’d tricked me again. Now I imagined my time being spent in a dirty, damp, rat infested prison at the mercy of brutal African guards instead of the semi-luxury of the palace harem. I wept but then argued with myself, “If they went to the trouble of tricking you into stealing money because they want your body, why would they stick you in prison? They didn’t expect you to insult them though, that may have altered things.” My mind whirled in total turmoil when eventually they took me in a closed van from the aircraft to the prison.

 

Obviously the wealth of the country extended to its prison service. The scrupulously clean, light, airy and air conditioned place, looked in better condition than some hotels I’d stayed in, however, the ‘rooms’ left me in no doubt of their real nature. After an officer at the desk completed the paperwork and removed my jewellery, two guards carrying short whips escorted me to the cells, a double row of six rooms about six feet square, barred on three sides, each containing a narrow bunk bed, with a toilet and a wash basin against the back wall. Each pair a mirror image of its neighbour. Absolutely no privacy. One of the three men in the cells on one side of the corridor yelled for me to get my trousers off but the guard held up his whip and the man quietly sat on his bunk and watched. The other two stood calmly at the bars and I could see I’d excited them by the way their shorts protruded at the front. I didn’t have time to look because the guard thrust me in a cell next to a young, local girl. In a light cotton blouse and shorts, I thought she looked about fourteen or fifteen years old but I’d no real idea how to age black girls.

 

She looked at me, “I N’gongo,” she said and smiled and showed her white teeth.

 

I looked at her and finally said, “Hello, I’m Tracy.”

 

“Why you here?”

 

Rather than go into the whole saga, I replied, “Stealing money from the Prince.”

 

“I steal jewellery from market stall.”

 

“What will happen to us?”

 

“You’ll get whipped and fucked white woman!” the man across way yelled. Immediately two guards appeared, whips at the ready and ordered him to lie face down on his bunk and when he complied, they entered his cell and viciously lashed his arse twice before ordering him to remain quiet. The man yelled with the pain but the guards again warned him against making a noise before they left.

 

I trembled with fear when one came back and looked in my cell. “Pity we mustn’t touch you,” he remarked as he rubbed his crotch, “I’ll have to make do with the other one.” He went into N’gongo’s cell, “Undress,” he ordered. Quaking she fumbled with the buttons on her blouse, removed her garments and stood naked in front of him, her budding breasts still caused me to think she was far too young for sex with such a well developed man. There was no doubt in my mind, or hers, what he intended to do. “Get it wet,” he ordered after he’d dropped his shorts and revealed the biggest prick I’d ever seen and with its larger head and veins that stood out from the skin, I knew why Claire and Jenny complained at being sore. N’gongo put her lips around it and I turned away, embarrassed. “You watch white girl, you get plenty of Entonyan prick soon.” For fear of the whip I looked as first she licked and sucked the end of the prick and then lay on the bed with her legs wide apart. The guard didn’t hesitate before entering her young cunt and fucking her hard. To my surprise she took it easily and calmly as though she’d been fucked by similar pricks many times before. I wondered at the age of consent in that country, or even if there was one.

 

My feminine intuition knew she faked enjoying it and, after sucking his cock when he’d finished, something that disgusted me especially when I thought I’d probably be expected to do that for my ‘clients’, she thanked him. Her slight deception paid off. When a short while later, food arrived my plate had only a round of flatbread and pieces of goat cheese whereas she had a large slice of melon also. Not that I worried too much because I’d eaten well on the plane and I worried over my fate.

 

I’d hardly had time to finish the plastic mug of flavoured water supplied with the food, when the guard returned and ordered me to follow him because I had a visitor. I hoped the Prince or one of his colleagues had come to bail me out but the visitor turned out to be a junior member of the British consulate. “Good evening Miss Bowen, I’m Clive Madison from the embassy. May I call you Tracy? You seem to have got yourself into a bit of trouble.” Typical British understatement.

 

“They tricked me.”

 

“Yes, I know that. Crown Prince Aleno is a friend of mine and I’ve talked it over with him. Had you not made that stupid racist remark they recorded on disc and was heard by a number of people, you would be in the palace now. As it is, they do not take such insults lightly and you will have to go before the judges tomorrow and even the Prince dare not try to influence their decision.”

 

“Can’t the embassy do anything? I am a British citizen.”

 

“We’ll send a formal complaint to the court and to the King but, from past experience, it will be ignored.”

 

“What will the court do? Imprison me? Deport me?”

 

“You certainly won’t be sent home in the near future and I hate to say this, but your beauty will act against that. Once the hierarchy gets their hands on a beautiful blonde woman, they’ll be reluctant to let you go. That was the original reason for setting you up in the first place. Maybe when you are well into pregnancy they’ll send you home but I doubt it will be before then.”

 

“They won’t allow contraception?” I looked shocked at the thought of having a black or half-caste child.

 

“Have you seen the size of the penis most men here have?” I nodded. “Well despite the size of the equipment and the amount of seminal fluid produced, they have a low sperm count so it’s an achievement for them to get a woman pregnant. Hence they do it often and without taking any precautions so you could be impregnated many times without conceiving. When visitors like myself use one of the harem girls, or indeed any Entonyan girl, we have to wear a condom. It will be the same when you are in the harem and one of the European workers or myself uses you.”

 

“You mean that you will use your position as an embassy official to fuck me? Will I end up in the palace harem? That sounds like a breach of etiquette.”

 

“Here it would be a breach of etiquette not to accept what is offered. And yes, you will almost certainly end up in there as one of the pleasure ladies in the palace. They wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble to bring you here otherwise. What happens prior to that is difficult to forecast.”

 

“Will I be whipped like N’gongo expects to be for stealing jewellery?”

 

“Sorry, I have to say, that is quite likely. How much and with what instrument, is pure guesswork. I suspect they won’t want to mark you too badly so you are ready to perform your duties afterwards. I’m pretty certain they won’t send you to a manual labour camp.”

 

We discussed my situation further but nothing concrete came out of it except he reminded me several times to be on my best behaviour and make no disparaging remarks to the guards and particularly to the judges when I went before them in the morning.

 

I couldn’t sleep and neither could N’gongo. We lay side-by-side on the narrow mattresses and held hands through the bars to comfort each other. Already my revulsion at black people had diminished enough to do that and she was only a child who needed comforting too. Earlier I’d suffered two more embarrassing situations. First I became desperate to pee and didn’t wish to do it with the men watching me like hawks but in the end, it was either doing it in front of them or wetting my trousers. I only lowered both my knickers and trousers the small amount needed for me to pee but I needn’t have worried, a short time later they and the guards got to see me completely naked. A little before lights-out the guards brought toothbrushes, soap and a comb and ordered all of us, men as well to remove all our clothes and gave us bags to put them in. I hesitated until the guard flicked his whip close enough for me to feel the draft and I decided I had no option. They took them away and brought light blue smocks for us to wear that barely covered our bums and showed most of my tits but N’gongo, being smaller, had less of a problem. The men made sure they presented their pricks so we could see them and one guard fingered my cunt while the other fucked my companion. As before he took her roughly, and in my mind, could be considered the nearest thing to rape. Dispirited I lay down with my head towards the door so the men couldn’t see up my smock.

 

N’gongo and I talked in hushed whispers and I told her that I expected to be whipped as well and then sent to the palace to be a pleasure lady. To my surprise, N’gongo expressed the wish that she could be sent there too. “It will be far better than forced to live and work for a poor old merchant,” she whispered.

 

Handcuffed, all five of us were marched to the court building and the men were taken individually into the courtroom and all came out looking glum but they were kept apart and away from us. N’gongo went next and a few minutes later came out crying. None of the court hearings lasted more than ten minutes so I reasoned there were no arguments. You were guilty and all the judges had to do was pass sentence.

 

My hearing lasted a little longer as they went through the disc and spent some time discussing my insults to the people of Entonya and made much more of them than I thought my remarks warranted. Abruptly the judge in the centre stopped the disc and pronounced, “One hundred lashes with the flat whip, the strokes to be delivered intensely followed by an period of work in the palace until the king grants you a pardon. The whipping to be carried out tomorrow morning in the market square.”

 

“No! No, I can’t take that many, it will kill me,” I cried out but a guard led me out and threatened me with his whip if I wasn’t quiet.

 

Back in the cells, N’gongo told me she’d get twenty-five with the junior flat whip and would have to spend a month with the stallholder unless someone bought her. I told her my sentence and asked what they meant by ‘intensely’ as it seemed a strange word in that context. She looked very worried but quietly explained, “The flat whip is like a long leather strap, six feet long and over an inch wide for most of its length but tapering to half that at the free end and a handle at the other. They use it on us women because it reddens the skin and hurts a lot but doesn’t leave scars and the redness soon disappears but the pain stays for a week or two. Normally they use it so at each stroke, the whip covers one side of the woman’s body, but when it is used ‘intensely’ they strike the woman so the end curls around her body and both sides get marked with the one hit. They hit harder to make the whip curl so pain lasts longer and hurts more. So sorry, Tracy. They not normally give that many for stealing. The junior whip is shorter and does not curl around the body.” Tears fell down both our faces and I had to admit to my insults to the black people. She frowned at this revelation but squeezed my hand through the bars.

 

As you can imagine, I was a complete wreck for the rest of that day and night. Clive came and promised to see if the Prince could help but he doubted that he would and the King had very little influence on the courts decision. That did nothing to cheer me up and as he said it with a slight grin, I suspected he wasn’t averse to watching girls being flogged. He stared at my tits when the smock front swung open and he could see down to the nipples. Mainly to delay my return to the cell, I kept him talking for as long as possible and remembered N’gongo’s request to be sent to the palace. Again he made no promises but at the end of the meeting he smiled and said, “I look forward to seeing you again in the morning.” He didn’t bother trying to hide his erection.

 

Punished

 

The guards woke us at 5:30, or rather, they got us up then but none of us were asleep. They took our smocks and made us use the toilet while they watched and then took us all, the men as well, to the shower room. Three shower heads and somehow N’gongo and I managed to get separated so we showered with a man. Of course, being so close to naked women, they were fully erect and for ten minutes the guards allowed them to wash us or rather it was a case of them mauling our tits and cunts while water played over our bodies. I protested loudly but a light flick of a guard’s whip on my arse, put an end to it. At least we dried ourselves and they gave me a comb to tidy my hair. The Africans with their short fuzzy hair didn’t need one. “Comb cunt hair,” one guard ordered although I have it trimmed to a single line whereas the others had dark bushes.

 

Our smocks were not returned, instead they gave us a belt with about four feet of chain attached, which we put around our waists, and, after being lined up, they connected the chain on the back of the first man’s belt to the belt of the second. Soon we were all connected like slaves and being last in line, I had to hold my back chain. Promptly at six o’clock they marched us from the building into the street. A drummer came and took the lead and to the tempo of the beat, the guards marched us twice around the market square to the cheers and jeers of the crowd, and finally on to a platform in the centre. Blushing and crying with the humiliation, especially when I saw the number of people with cameras and recorders and I rightly assumed my ordeal would soon find its way on to the Internet, where I hoped the Foreign Office would see it and the British Government would be able to secure my release but that would be far too late to stop my whipping.

 

N’gongo hadn’t told me of the next stage but obviously she and the men knew about it; we were to be displayed, fully exposed until the whippings commenced at seven. Fully exposed meant having a metal pole placed across our shoulders and our arms spread along it and bound close to the armpits and at the wrists, almost like being on a cross and it had the effect of thrusting my tits forward. Since they’d grown at puberty, I’d been proud of them but now I wished for a flat and sexless chest. My legs were widely and obscenely spread and my ankles fastened to rings in the platform and only the barriers erected around the platform kept the crowds from touching us but nevertheless, they could see my cunt fully displayed and I noticed the women taking special interest in the men on show.

 

A little before seven, the Prince turned up with his usual bodyguards and Clive and were admitted to the inside of the barrier. He gave a little grin when he looked at my mound and remarked, “I didn’t expect them to give you such a severe punishment but I look forward to opening your tight slit later. You’ll certainly get to know us black men very intimately before you leave, if you leave.” I pleaded with him to get them to spare me. “No,” he answered, “It’s time a haughty bitch like you got her just reward.” He left and I noticed he spent some time looking at N’gongo and spoke with her but I couldn’t hear what they said.

 

The clock in the square chimed seven, and the two whipmasters appeared. Guards moved four of us to the rear of the platform and immobilised us by fastening the ends of our poles to a frame; the first man from our line they placed in the centre and the ends of his pole were tied to an overhead bar with a pulley arrangement to hold him upright. An announcement stated unemotionally, “Stelwa Jorn, forty strokes of the number one whip for fighting. One month at the manual labour camp.” The two whippers took a position either side of Stelwa, one held his whip left handed and even in my tortured state of mind, I knew that deliberate to give the maximum coverage. The right handed one started and laid a hard stroke across the man’s shoulders, just below the bar. I saw the flesh change colour as the whip struck and later the welt appeared and looked raw even on his dark skin. Stelwa didn’t yell but grunted loudly. Slowly the whippers worked down his back until “Twenty strokes administered,” came over the loudspeaker and the whippers started on his chest. At one point attendants threw water on him before the whipping continued. His groan became loud yells before they finished and returned him to his place and the back of the platform.

 

The next two men were treated in the same manner and my heart cried for little N’gongo when they brought her to centre stage. “N’gongo Otoro, twenty-five strokes of the junior flat whip for stealing from a stall holder. He transferred her ownership to the palace for one month.” At least Clive had done something. The Junior strap looked shorter than the one she’d described the previous night but even so it hurt her badly when they cracked it smartly on her bare body. As with the men, the whippers started at the shoulders and worked down the poor girl’s back. They certainly didn’t use as much force as they did with the men but they didn’t spare her either and N’gongo cried out at every stroke and howled loudly by the end of her punishment. Fortunately for her it was soon over but for me it prefaced the start of a terrible ordeal, one I will never forget.

 

“Here we have Tracy Bowen, a British citizen who stole a considerable sum of money from His Highness, Crown Prince Aleno Okana during his stay in England and after she’d done so, proceeded to vilify and insult the people of this country.” The announcer overstated my crime. “In view of this, the court awarded her one hundred lashes with the flat whip, to be administered intensely, and afterwards she is to be detained in the palace at the Kings pleasure.” The crowd jeered and hooted when the attendants brought me to centre stage and arranged me with my back to the prince and his party. I now faced N’gongo and the previously whipped men and whilst they finished fastening me, I could see the livid, raw welts that decorated their chests and hoped mine wouldn’t be similarly marked. I had little hope of this when the whippers passed in front of me and I saw the whips they intended to use were twice as long as the one used on N’gongo. My screams and pleas and apologies only brought further laughter from the crowd and I suspect they’d have preferred the men used the bullwhips on me. The flat whip was more than enough.

 

The first lash from my left side, curled under my arm and the tip bit into my right tit. Never in my life had I felt such pain, and yet it had only started. They waited for quite a while before the next stroke overlaid the one on my shoulders and cut into my left tit. My screams didn’t elicit any sympathy from the crowd and my voice became hoarse as each stroke cut its deadly path down my back and the end bit into my stomach and further down, when they reached my arse and legs, the end nipped into my mound causing me the most terrible torment. By the time they reached my knees the announcer said, “Twenty-five strokes administered.” A cold water spray played on my back for a short while and the whippers took up a position in front of me before starting at my knees and working their way up my body and they managed to reach my breasts before I started to fade and the spray played over me again. The last strokes given on the upward journey, flattened my tits and cut into my already tender back. “Fifty strokes administered.”

 

Only halfway. Surely they could see I couldn’t take any more? As the attendants turned me to face away from the Prince I again hoped that a signal from him would end it all, but no, he stood stony-faced and waited from my punishment to resume. How could these people be so barbaric just because of a few ill-considered words?

 

“Crack!” the lashing started again and several times before they reached my knees they had to drench me with water but at least the crowd was quieter.

 

“Seventy-five strokes administered.” The respite seemed longer and either they didn’t apply the lashes with as much force or I had become inured to the pain. Nothing focused, not the crowd, nor the Prince and I sagged so the pole and ropes supported my whole body weight. “One hundred strokes administered. This part of her punishment is complete.”

 

The next hour or so I remember as a series of vignettes. Falling to the ground when released from the pole, seeing the men shackled and led away, guards attempting to handcuff me to N’gongo and she insisting she would hold my hand instead, travelling in a car and being escorted into the palace and into a room with other women, some who looked at me with disgust but took to my little friend but others came and helped me to a bed and gently washed my welted body with something soothing. An elderly woman gave me a drink and I slept and woke hours later with N’gongo lying awake alongside me. “You want go toilet?” she asked.

 

I did but felt too stiff to move and I noticed my body coated with an oily substance, N’gongo was too so I guessed someone had applied a cream while we slept under the influence of the sedative. The elderly black woman, Kasra, appeared and ordered me up. “I can’t move,” I protested, “I’m too sore and stiff.”

 

“You get up, best for you.”

 

I turned a little but the slightest movement sent shafts of pain through my body. N’gongo stiffly got to her feet and offered her hand but Kasra clapped her hands and two women appeared and they lifted me to my feet and helped my make my painful way to the toilets and then removed their overall and came into the showers with me. Another, younger girl, appeared and took care of N’gongo. For the second time that day, I showered with black people, this time well-built women with large breasts who, with much laughing and giggling, systematically washed all the oily cream from my body, rinsed my hair and when satisfied all traces of oil and grime had been cleaned away, led me to another room with a huge pool and indicated I should enter the warm water. N’gongo followed me in and with youthful exuberance, delighted in splashing. Had I been in less pain I would have splashed back. The ladies at the other end of the pool looked amused but kept away until N’gongo dragged me to them and introduced herself and then me. Most responded, more to her than me, but two turned their backs. Two ladies, probably a little younger than me, greeted me with a gentle hug and introduced themselves as B’hia and Konwe. “You try painful way to change colour,” Konwe joked but I didn’t see the funny side of it and forced myself to bite back a caustic comment. I needed friends here and my skin had now turned to a motley of bruise colours, mainly purple/black. “Stay in the water as long as Kasra lets you, it will ease the soreness. We have to go and serve food to the king and his guests tonight.”

 

They hurried out and we saw them shortly afterwards in a revealing sarong type dress and I had to admit, they looked beautiful and chatted freely as they made their exit. I wondered if my life would be as bad as I feared, once the pain lessened.

 

My new life

 

My acceptance by the other girls and ladies would have taken far longer had in not been for N’gongo. Her amazement and youthful excitement at being in the palace, dulled her pain, but I knew she felt it when she sat down or twisted her body. Her fearless, bubbly personality and ready smile, broke the guard of all those she saw. As a new lady came into the room, she went to them and dragged me along, and said, “Hello, I’m N’gongo and this is Tracy an English Lady, who are you?” Thus I quickly got introduced to others although I largely didn’t remember their names and they knew me anyway. At least it broke the ice that would have kept me apart and shunned for what I’d said.

 

My relationship with N’gongo became more pronounced when we ate our evening meal. We sat on cushions at a low table with more than enough good, healthy food in front of us, no doubt to ensure we kept our figures. I chided N’gongo for being greedy and grabbing more than she would eat and remarked that she would be sick if she ate too much after only eating a little for a long while. “You sound like my mother was.”

 

“Was?”

 

“She just went.” She looked a little sad but didn’t reveal any more than that.

 

I wanted to lie down after dinner but couldn’t lie comfortably on the floor level mattress. “We put mine on yours and we sleep together,” the little girl suggested and suiting her words with actions, started to drag her mattress. Between us we piled them together and I saw Kasra scowl but she didn’t forbid it.

 

“Come quick, you on TV,” N’gongo’s urging got me out of bed into the lounge area where a number of the girls watched the news. “We saw what you did and heard what you said,” one of the girls said nastily. They must have shown the spy disc on TV.

 

By then the news had moved on to my punishment and reliving it almost made me sick. Once more N’gongo came to my aid. “She did naughty things and they whipped her real bad so now she’s good again and I love her. She still hurt much.” Putting her arms around my waist she hugged me and shed a few tears and I gave her a cuddle. How my attitude to blacks had changed, a few days ago, I wouldn’t have shook their hand and now they were human the same as me.

 

I returned to my bed and N’gongo snuggled close to me. Nothing sexual although we were both naked, but a bond formed between us.

 

We dozed a bit, tired after our ordeals and the lack of sleep the previous nights but were awoken some time later by B’hia shaking us and saying Crown Prince Aleno wished to see me. “I’m coming too,” N’gongo stated and I thought B’hia might refuse but after the pain of struggling to my feet, N’gongo tightly held my hand and almost skipped along the corridor. I worried over his reaction to seeing me and wondered if he remained angry or whether he accepted I’d paid the price for my indiscretion. Would he order me to his bed? I doubted I could withstand the pain of him fucking me.

 

B’hia showed us into an opulent room with Crown Prince Aleno seated in a grand chair and other visitors nearby. Still naked but following B’hia’s example, I knelt and bowed my head, N’gongo knelt for a few moments and then stood and with her usual aplomb said, “Sir, this is my new mother, Tracy Bowen, who I think you know. She was very naughty to you but they whipped her bad so please don’t hurt her more. She very good to me.”

 

At first the Prince seemed startled at her outburst but fortunately he smiled and answered, “I have no intention of hurting her unless she is naughty again and only if she is really, really naughty will she be sent to the market square for whipping. The same for you little one. How has she been good to you?”

 

She told him how I’d looked after her although that was a bit of an exaggeration but he accepted it and asked me, “Do you realise that as her mother, you will be held responsible for her misbehaviour?”

 

“I’ll do my best to see that she doesn’t cause any trouble, your Highness,” knowing that by those words I accepted N’gongo as my daughter and I wondered how much trouble that would get me into.

 

Again he smiled and B’hia laughed too and in the relaxed atmosphere she laughed and said, “She already causes lots of trouble,” she paused and I wondered what she intended to say, “All the girls in the pool get thoroughly splashed whenever she’s close by.”

 

“I’m sure they have their own ways of dealing with her,” the Prince couldn’t help grinning broadly. He had me stand in front of him. “You do not look as though you are in a fit state to grace my bed for a day or two but shortly you will and I will take great delight in fucking you good and hard. You will then be available as are other ladies of pleasure here.”

 

“I’m not too sore and you can fuck me,” N’gongo piped up and added, “I can fuck good.”

 

“I’m sure you can but comfort your new mother tonight.” He turned to me, “Did you see the news on TV?”

 

“Just the whipping but the girls said my stealing and remarks were broadcast. Will they be sent to England?”

 

“Clive?”

 

I hadn’t noticed him sitting there. “We hoped they’d arrive in time for the six o’clock news but I haven’t been in the office to get any reports.”

 

“My family will be distraught Sir, cannot I let them know I’m alright?”

 

“Arrange it Clive. No doubt you’ll have to deal with the British government’s protests too. Make sure they know that it is a court matter and that she cannot leave the country until the King pardons her. Until then she will be well looked after provided she works to our satisfaction and doesn’t get herself into further trouble.” I looked downcast and near to crying but he tried to reassure me that the work wasn’t arduous and the other girls were happy enough. I’d already noticed that and also knew they didn’t ‘work’ every night so it wasn’t like a brothel.

 

During the day, those girls who hadn’t worked the previous night did certain chores around our living area, nothing strenuous, just keeping the place clean and tidy and in the afternoons we could relax in the pool or elsewhere. I sat with Konwe while my newly adopted daughter played in the pool, and asked her about what I would be expected to do and who with. “There’s about half a dozen men who live here who call on us regularly, or when their wives don’t feel up to it. There’s the King but he’s too old to do anything but sometimes likes to chat, the Crown Prince has someone every night and his brother on rare occasions, and then there’s three or four ministers who call on us. Often there are guests staying and usually we are offered to them and there’s that embassy man who you know. He’s only got a small prick but we have to pretend he’s a great fuck,” Konwe giggled, “As to what they want to do, well anything. Mostly a straight fuck from the front or back and you may have to suck them before and after, and a few like to fuck our arses. That hurts for the first few times but you have to remember the hurt is less than the strap or the cane. Whatever they want to do, you have to allow it unless it will harm you, or rather, damage the King’s property, which is what we are.” Having seen the size of Entonyan pricks, I worried at even having one in my cunt, let alone in my bum hole. Konwe must have seen the concern on my face, “Don’t worry, after the first few times you’ll enjoy it. We all do but then we volunteered to work here,” she reassured me, “Actually, it is the foreign visitors who are often the worst. They think they can get away with doing things that aren’t allowed in their own country.”Three evenings later, Kasra sent me to the Prince, “And take your daughter with you,” she grinned. What started as a sort of joke, had now in effect, become reality. N’gongo called me mother or mummy, all the girls referred to her as my daughter and even I did now. So far I hadn’t found out much about her life or her learned her age, if she even knew it, but from the odd word or two, I sensed she’d had a pretty rough time of things once her mother left and various men had kept her. I guessed the Crown Prince would fuck me, after all that was the reason for kidnapping me, but somehow it seemed wrong to do it in front of my daughter, even though she wasn’t even adopted and probably had more experience than I did. My body still showed a kaleidoscope of colours but the pain had eased except when I sat hard or twisted my body, largely thanks to Kasra and the odd smelling oil she rubbed into my skin. Fortunately we’d been given colourful silk gowns to wear and with these hiding my welts and bruises, and with my long blonde hair brushed and shining, I again looked attractive and desirable. N’gongo did too in a different way. Her big brown eyes, her ready smile that showed her white teeth and her frizzy black hair, more than compensated for her small stature and small tits. She laughed and giggled as we got ready and wanted the Prince to fuck her whilst my thoughts were on the pain he might cause and what he might do if I disappointed him.

 

A middle-aged but attractive black woman showed us into the royal apartment and the prince unexpectedly, greeted us in the most informal manner, almost like visiting a friend in England. “Come in, come in, make yourselves at home.” N’gongo didn’t need a second telling, she rushed to him and hugged him around the waist until he picked her up and sat her on his lap. “I hear she’s been naughty again and pushed one of the ladies into the pool while she had her clothes on. Do I have to spank you for that?” he asked me.

 

“I was an accident Sir, Mallala stood close to the edge and stepped back when N’gongo ran by. I know she shouldn’t have been running but she didn’t push her and apologised and took her clothes to be washed and dried afterwards.” I had a feeling he teased me but N’gongo jumped off his lap and stood in front of me as though to defend me but the prince laughed and said he wasn’t going to smack me.

 

After further small talk and more joking with N’gongo, I relaxed until be asked to see how my body was healing. “It looks as if it will be some weeks before your normal white colour returns but keep out of the sun as well, it’s your very light skin colour that will attract the attention of people here and we’ll want you to experience many of them.”

 

“I have to keep out of the sun at home Sir, I burn quickly and never get a tan. Most blondes don’t.”

 

“Are you still in much pain?”

 

“Some Sir, but it’s not too bad if I don’t move or sit quickly.”

 

“I gather you’ve changed your thoughts on black people and not because of the whipping either. You’ve taken in a black child and you work alongside the other girls without any problem. I presume now that your outburst in London was pure prejudice?”

 

“Possibly.”

 

“What about having a black man fuck you?”

 

“I don’t know Sir, the ones I’ve seen are so much bigger than I’ve experienced before and my mound is still sore from the whip.”

 

“Fuck me, fuck me, you can fuck me first. Please, please, please,” N’gongo interrupted, “I do you good. I get ready real quick.”

 

“Maybe I will, Little One, then your mother can see what she’ll be getting later. I’m sure you’re more experienced than she is and I always take longer the second time so I’ll be able to give her white cunt a good hard fucking. One she’ll remember for a long while.” That worried me and me and my depression at being away from home and an unpaid whore, returned.

 

He shed his robe and revealed a goodly sized prick, one not as big as the guard’s at the prison but bigger than any I’d had before and with a mushroom head and knobbly veins that reminded me of an obscene dildo I saw at a friend’s house. N’gongo didn’t hesitate to take it in her small mouth and get it fully hard and wet before lying on the bed with her legs widely spread. I felt I shouldn’t be watching but I did, and wondered how I would feel if it was really my daughter being fucked in front of me. Even so, I felt that I should not have allowed it but I had no control over the situation and N’gongo really enjoyed thrusting back to counter the prince’s strokes. Unlike when the guards fucked her, she didn’t fake her enjoyment or her orgasm and she readily cleaned his prick when he withdrew.

 

“Thank you, thank you,” she enthused, “You fuck good, you do Mummy good too.”

 

“Later little one, later, I need to recover a little first.”

 

We chatted about my life for an hour or more, had a little wine and some fruit but inevitably the time came when he deemed he’d recovered sufficiently and indeed, his prick once again stood proudly hard. Although I knew it to be a wise move, I had to overcome my reluctance to suck his black prick and make it wet in order that his entry would be eased, if only a by a little. “She’s not ready for you yet Sir,” N’gongo piped up, “But I’ll get her wet for you soon.” I felt her fingers working my mound and very soon my juices flowed and she pronounced me ready and, feeling almost like I did when I lost my virginity, I lay back on the bed and tensed and waited for the pain to arrive.

 

N’gongo continued to rub my mound and eased my tension enough for the prick to enter. “You white women really are tight but that will add to my pleasure if not yours,” the Prince commented as he forced his way in and my passageway began to open. My still somewhat swollen labia caused a little pain but not enough for me to cry out and complain and, once he had fully entered, I relaxed and my natural lubrication took over but I couldn’t say that I enjoyed the fuck. Maybe I ought to have been fucked first because, as he predicted, this time he took considerably longer before he shot his seed in me but the pain prevented my having an orgasm. I knew I’d be sore afterwards and I was and wondered how long it would be before I could take an Entonyan prick like N’gongo and if I would then enjoy it. I hesitated to clean his prick afterwards but he grabbed my hair and forced my face to his groin and I knew I had no choice. He wanted me subservient to him and his prick and didn’t care about my feelings, after all, I was only a slave even if he didn’t use that term.

 

Prince Aleno sent for us two nights in a row and by the end of the second night, my vagina felt raw but Kasra treated it with a soothing oil and to N’gongo’ disappointment and my relief, the next night we weren’t sent for. I knew he wasn’t too pleased with my performance but he didn’t put me on general release for anyone to use.

 

During this time of idleness after doing routine chores, I discovered my daughter couldn’t read very well. The harem had a small library but no children’s books and I made little headway with her with the books there. I also suspected her eyesight wasn’t as good as it should be and resolved to ask the prince to help when next we were called to his presence.

 

However, that became unnecessary when, a little while before lunch two days after our last visit to the prince, Kasra ordered us to shower and perfume our bodies and put on a silk robe because the king had invited us to dine him. “Make sure you behave yourself,” I admonished N’gongo, “If the king is in a good mood he might send me home.”

 

“Then I shall be very naughty because I want you here Mummy,” she answered cheekily. I too would be reluctant to part from her but if it meant going home, I knew which choice I would make.

 

Meeting the King

 

An elderly woman showed us into King Otongo’s presence but we had to wait in the doorway while they seated the old and infirm king. He and his first wife sat on seats at a table because his arthritic condition didn’t allow him to sit cross-legged like the rest of us. Around the floor level table sat eight others with spaces for us directly opposite the king. After we did the required head to floor bow, I had a quick glance around but almost as soon as we lifted our heads, N’gongo did her usual trick of introducing herself and me as her new mother, but went on, “Please Sir, don’t send her back to England yet, I want her.”

 

Despite his infirmity, the King’s voice was firm and clear and showed his brain was clear and active. “I have no intention of sending her home just yet young N’gongo, she has much to learn of our culture. She will remain with us for some time yet. Now seeing how you kindly introduced yourself, perhaps I should introduce the others here.”

 

My hopes of an early return home, were dashed and I only half heard him introduce Queen Seranja, a woman very much younger than him which I deduced was the reason why Crown Prince Aleno was hardly in his thirties, and his brother sitting next to the Queen and introduced as Prince Rh’nee, was perhaps two years younger still. He looked keenly at me and I correctly surmised he had thoughts of taking me to his bed. I wasn’t so sure about that because of a series of nasty scars across his left cheek, distorted his face and gave him a thug-like appearance. However, he spoke well and greeted me politely.

 

Next to him sat Princess Kalmin, who I estimated to be late thirties and I later found her mother had been a harem slave promoted to the royal chamber. She viewed me with suspicion and only made a formal acknowledgement. The others were either guests or relations and I didn’t catch their names.

 

Crown Prince Aleno arrived late and greeted me curtly. “Sorry I’m late,” he apologised to his father, “Miss Bowen’s parents have been making a real fuss in England and the media have hyped it all up and calling for sanctions against our nation. According to some of their reports, she is being held in a dungeon and tortured daily. Clive has assured the Foreign Office in England that this is not the case but the media and some members of parliament refuse to believe it.”

 

“Mummy and me, looked after good,” N’gongo interrupted.

 

We began to eat but Crown Prince Aleno continued, “Yes, we know that, but in England they don’t want to know.”

 

“Why don’t we ask her to write a letter to her parents to let them know the conditions she is living under?” Prince Rh’nee asked.

 

“Email them,” Princess Kalmin, suggested.

 

“No they wouldn’t believe that either. They’d say we wrote it and made it all up. If she writes it by hand, they’ll know her writing and if we allow her to tell the whole story, the good and the bad, they’ll be more inclined to treat it as true. I’m sure she has the wisdom not to write derogatory racial things about us now and from what I see in front of me, she doesn’t have the same views as she had in London.” The younger prince put forward his views.

 

“Someone would have to read and censor it,” Princess Kalmin stated.

 

The king held up his hand for silence when the topic degenerated into a general discussion. “I believe it is an idea that is worth pursuing. Tracy, seeing your parents are obviously worried about your welfare, would you agree to write to them even if the content is censored to a limited extent?” When I promptly agreed, he turned to Prince Rh’nee and asked if he would oversee my writing. He too agreed and went on to ask his brother if he needed me that evening.

 

“I’ve had enough of dealing with her for the foreseeable future,” he replied with a shrug. I guessed I’d be bedded too.

 

For the rest of the lunch, they asked about my life at home and I learned a little more of their customs and a little of N’gongo’s hard life and the way she’d had to prostitute herself in order to eat. She kept everyone amused with her bubbly talk but we only learned a little of her life. With the meal over, we sat for a while sipping black coffee and during a lull in the conversation I spoke to the king. “Sir, may I ask a question?”

 

“No, I don’t know when you will return home,” he grinned.

 

“No Sir, it is not about me but about my newly adopted daughter. Two things, Sir. Firstly she cannot read well. At home she’d have a reading age of about five years but there are no books in our area suitable for me to help her learn to read better. Are there any schoolchildren’s books available in the palace please?” I didn’t wait for an answer but went on, “A secondary problem is that I believe she doesn’t see the words very clearly and feel she needs to have her eyes tested and wear spectacles. Again, can that be done here?”

 

“No, I no want glasses!” N’gongo shrieked.

 

“Am I or am I not your mother?”

 

“Yes,” she answered sheepishly.

 

“Then there are times when I know what is best for you even if you don’t know it yourself. There are things I’ll make you do that you may not want to do because I know that in the end, you’ll benefit from them. This is one of those things.” I turned to the king who seemed amused at our little argument. “Will you help her Sir, please?”

 

“Tracy, it pleases my greatly that you have taken the child - daughter relationship seriously enough to make the request and I will gladly grant it but we must remember the court only awarded her a month of servitude here and that ends in about a week and then she is free to go. We can invite her to stay and in fact, will invite her to continue her life here but she is free to refuse. Do you wish to stay N’gongo?” Of course she did. Compared to her previous existence, life in the palace, even as a woman of pleasure would be far easier and she’d always be well fed and looked after. For her being a pleasure lady was just another way of life and being fucked by strangers, of little consequence. “Very well, Rh’nee, will you attend to it please? We do not want an illiterate lady in our palace.”

 

When I explained the meaning of ‘illiterate’, N’gongo sensed the light threat that if she didn’t learn to read, she wouldn’t be kept on and enthusiastically said, “I learn to read good; I wear glasses.”

 

When the meeting ended I’d thanked the king again and Prince Rh’nee took us to his office and Princess Kalmin came too. Her attitude to me had thawed a little but she’d fallen in love with N’gongo. “I’ll phone the opticians and get her eyes tested first before going to the school. You can see after the white girl,” Princess Kalmin suggested.

 

“Mummy, come with me, please.” N’gongo pleaded.

 

“We’ll all go,” Rh’nee decided, “Father said she had to learn about our culture.” Half an hour later, dressed and accompanied by a bodyguard, we drove to the town centre.

 

For the second time, I entered the market square but a least this time I wore colourful clothing. N’gongo and I avoided looking at the platform where we’d been whipped but we had a little time to look at the stalls while we waited for N’gongo’s glasses to be made. “Don’t you dare steal anything,” I warned her as neither of us had any money and I knew she might be tempted.

 

“I not steal again ever, I not want big whip they give you,” and after a frown, her face lit up again with a smile.

 

Prince Rh’nee took photos of us and said he would get them printed so I could include them in my letter home. N’gongo had to make a meal of the picture taking until the time came to collect her glasses and visit the school. Contrary to our expectations, she treated her spectacles as a status symbol, something that few others in her age group had. The prince and princess had not argued over the cost and made sure she had a pair that she liked and even by London standards, the optician did a thorough eye test with the latest equipment. So much for this being a backward black country.

 

The discipline in the school also impressed me. When we entered, or more precisely, when the prince and princess entered, the children and staff all knelt and bowed their heads to the floor until told to resume their work. The teacher showed us the books they used and after making N’gongo read from several, I chose two that would be suitable to start with. “If there is nothing suitable when she’s read these,” Princess Kalmin remarked, “Then we can go to a bookstore and choose from their stock.”

 

“Why not send her to the school here, your Highness?” the teacher asked, “She’d be taught properly and the white woman could assist her and us.”

 

“I will have to think about that,” the Prince answered, “There will be problems to sort out and it they cannot be out of the palace everyday especially if they’ve worked part of the night, but it may well be a good discipline and experience for both.”

 

All too soon we returned to the palace and the prince ordered us to return to his rooms after we’d eaten and for me to start my letter home. N’gongo wasn’t so keen to start reading but fortunately the princess took her off my hands. Even so it took me nearly three hours and several bouts of crying to relate all that happened since I left London. Of course my daughter wanted to see it and the photographs when the princess brought her back. The princess called her brother so they could read it together and censor it if necessary. In the end, I sat N’gongo on my lap and read it aloud while she tried to follow the words and the others listened. I endeavoured to end on a positive note and said they were looking after me very well and that my being a pleasure lady wasn’t too onerous.

 

We spent the night with the prince and this time I disappointed my daughter by not letting her have first try with him. Despite his formidable facial expression, I found Prince Rh’nee far more caring and gentle than his older brother and I began to enjoy the experience and thrust my loins to meet his. We all fell asleep in the same bed and it wasn’t until the morning that N’gongo got her fuck from the prince.

 

“Did you get that scar in big battle?” N’gongo asked in her forthright way. I half expected a reprimand but the prince answered factually.

 

“No, nothing a grand as that, my dear. When I reached the age of eleven I thought myself old enough to go out with the hunters and eventually father gave permission for me to go. We had three British Landrover Safari vehicles, at the time, they were considered the best for driving across open country and had travelled for three days to the west of here when rain that wasn’t due for weeks, arrived in a huge deluge. The track became awash and the vehicles bogged down and we frequently stopped to winch them out. Wanting to show the men I was one of them, I assisted in pushing our Landrover and at one point, when I pushed I slid in the mud and slithered down a slope at an increasingly fast rate until a boulder halted my progress. In doing so, I cut my mud covered face. The men did what they could to clean it but it took us another day to get to a village where a healer applied herbs to the infection that had already set in. I lay in a fever for three more days but by then the weather cleared and we set off home. Because of the delays in treatment, I have to live with the scars. So you see, young N’gongo, no great tale of bravery except perhaps having to live with a face that few will look at for the rest of my life.”

 

I felt extremely sorry for him and saddened and squeezed his hand. In turn he squeezed mine, a show of affection that pleased me but went unnoticed by my daughter. I know the story disappointed her.

 

Another spanking

 

For the next month I settled into life in the harem but spent at least two and often three nights a week in Prince Rh’nee’s company, latterly often without N’gongo as she’d found a younger boy official in the palace, Kirn, who frequently asked for her services, services she gave willingly. I took her to school twice a week accompanied by a huge ebony black bodyguard who had a sense of humour and smiled frequently. Not very original but I dubbed him ‘Smiley’ because I found his actual name unpronounceable. He normally stood or sat in a corner of the room and watched without commenting but I knew he reported back to the Prince. N’gongo’s reading steadily improved especially when she found Kirn wanted her to read to him, and in my teaching there, learned a little of the lives of the Entonyan children. Some of the pleasure girls became a little jealous of the time I spent with the royalty but in the past, the prince hardly ever called them to his bed, and I got on very well with him and did all I could to ensure his enjoyment, not only with the sex but in our conversations too.

 

Kasra still sent me to pleasure clients but, with the prince’s demands on my time, I never did it more than twice a week, so I had a pretty relaxed life. Quite often the client wanted the mother and daughter thing and N’gongo and I would go together and mostly enjoyed our time. Nearly all of my clients were Africans, no doubt because of my being white and blonde but Clive asked for me a couple of times and I ensured that he used a condom. So far, with all the unprotected fucking, I hadn’t become pregnant which I’m certain would have happened at home.

 

Things changed when a brute of a German man paid for me. First he only spoke to me in his native language when I knew he spoke English well and became enraged when I insisted on the condom. Thereafter he used me hard and complained at everything I did, when I could only guess at his demands. Halfway through the evening he sent me back to Kasra and on the phone in my presence and in perfect English, complained to her of my poor attitude and demanded I be disciplined and a replacement provided.

 

When I returned Kasra said she had no choice but to have me taken to Greni, the head of the security men, for a dose of the strap. “I’ve kept it to only ten,” she said, “That’s the least he gives.” I pleaded and begged and explained that he wouldn’t speak to me in my language but she said that unfortunately he’d formally complained and the punishment was mandatory. Luckily N’gongo spent the night with Kirn otherwise I’m sure there’d have been even more trouble. I struggled with the men taking me to the security area but to no avail and they quickly divested me of my silk pants and had me fastened over a low bench.

 

“I’ve been hoping you’d be sent to me,” Greni’s huge smile showed his white teeth, “I’ve wanted to get my prick into your white cunt and now I will... after I’ve warmed your arse a little.” I begged and pleaded for him not to hit too hard but I doubted they’d have any effect and they didn’t. The strap lashed my arse hard and I screamed with the pain and my mind flashed back to the early days of my arrival when I nursed a sore body from my whipping. Immediately the ten strokes finished and without further foreplay, Greni thrust into my openly displayed cunt and caused further pain each time his pelvis this my arse. I screamed and screamed until I became hoarse but he didn’t withdraw until he’d sent his seed into me. The security men had to half carry me back to the harem.

 

As you may imagine, N’gongo and several of the women were most upset over my treatment, especially the girl sent to replace me. She’d had a rough time too and only narrowly escaped disciplining. The girls treated my welts as best they could and were appalled by they severity but, by the morning, I could walk with short painful steps. I wondered what the prince would say when I took N’gongo to school and Kasra seemed fearful of his reaction too and I wondered if indeed she could have prevented it.

 

Immediately she saw the prince, my daughter remonstrated with him for allowing her mother to be beaten by the German man. He examined my welts. “They were laid on hard,” he commented angrily, “Much harder than normal chastisement for a client complaint. Didn’t Kasra investigate?” I explained, with many interruptions from my daughter, all that happened and he promised, “I’ll look into it. If you don’t feel up to going to the school, stay here and rest in my apartments.” I like visiting the school and the children and decided to go but walked at a slower pace than usual. Smiley stayed close by my side and I wondered if he would carry me if that became necessary but as we approached the school, some of the pain wore off and walking became easier

 

I couldn’t help letting out a little squeal when I sat in my usual place in front of the class and my plan not to mention my punishment to the children, didn’t figure on N’gongo’s big mouth and I had to show the class the after effects of my strapping. That evoked some sympathy from them and the teacher. “Life in the palace isn’t always nice,” I told them and I know they remembered seeing my initial whipping on TV and had seen the stripes that remained when I first went to the school.

 

Near the end of the day while I tried to teach maths (not my best subject) to my daughter and a small group of children, Princess Kalmin visited the school and spent a little while talking with the teacher. I found out later she’d enquired about my attitude during the day and how I’d treated the children. She could see that for herself because I sat on a cushion surrounded by black faces, some smiling others showing their concentration on the problems I’d set, but none looked unhappy.

 

Prince Rh’nee had indeed investigated what happened. “It seems that your frequently being in my apartments caused a certain amount of ill feeling amongst a few of the other pleasure ladies and they believe you are being given preferential treatment. Kasra is one of them. She needn’t have sent you to security at all, at least not before reporting the complaint and having it investigated. Instead she decided to take you down a peg or two and sent you for punishment. When you’d left, she again phoned Greni and ordered him to apply the strokes good and hard and to give you a good reaming afterwards. I sent her to Greni saying that she would receive the same as you but told Greni such a whipping would harm the old lady and to give her a light spanking and to fuck her afterwards. I made it clear though that if anything similar happened again, she would have the full treatment, age or not.”

 

“I know there’s been some comments on my being a favourite but thought that was largely because of my being white and ‘different’ to them in other ways.”

 

“The German man tried to book you again for tonight to see if the discipline had improved your performance but with father’s permission, I banned him from taking any woman from the harem. He’s only a junior in their delegation so it won’t hurt any of Prince Aleno’s negotiations.”

 

A proposal

 

I breathed a sigh of relief that no one else would suffer that brute. “Now I’m not sure how you will take my next suggestion.” He hesitated a long while before going on, “With my brother’s agreement, I propose to take you for my exclusive use and will do my utmost to inseminate you with my seed and for you to have my baby. You had a period not many days ago and have only had the German, Greni and me since and, at this time in your cycle, I doubt you’re ovulating even if from our weak sperm count, one made it to your womb.”

 

I’m sure my face registered the shock I felt. N’gongo enthusiastically showed her joy at having a little brother or sister even though at this stage the possibility remained pretty remote. Since the factors concerning conception were explained to me, I knew having a black baby would be on the cards even if the odds were against it. Now it seemed likely I would be deliberately inseminated at the critical time reducing the odds. When I took other factors into consideration, the fact that I liked the prince and would be in his care and not subject to the whims of any client, I quickly agreed, not that I had any real choice in the matter.

 

“I have ordered an expensive potion made from rare herbs by a healer in a remote district of Entonya that helps ensure male fertility, like father did to sire me,” Prince Rashid went on and I suspected the odds on my becoming pregnant were getting shorter and that he now appeared very seriously determined to give me a baby. I wondered if that would keep me in Entonya for ever. When I voiced my apprehension he dismissed my fears but did stress, “The baby will be brought up here but you will have full visiting rights and he or she will be allowed to visit you, that is of course, if you decide to return to England after father grants you a pardon, which I suspect he will do if you produce a grandchild for him. Or you might agree to become my first wife so the child has two parents like you value so much in England. That will be a free choice on your part and I won’t hold it against you if you decide not to become my wife. I know I can order you to be my pleasure woman but not to be my bride. The decision is entirely yours, Tracy.”

 

“You’d be Queen Tracy! Queen Tracy my mother! Do it now, make a baby now,” N’gongo excitedly jumped up and down.

 

“Patience Little One, we need to wait until the doctors say she is in her fertile period and I must refrain from fucking anyone for a few days before then, including you.” My daughter knew enough about pregnancy to understand and I wondered if and when she might conceive. Certainly she took enough sperm inside her that it would surely occur sometime, maybe sooner rather than later especially with young Kirn poking her at every opportunity.

 

This alarming development gave me much to think and worry about. I knew that having his baby would not be negotiable; Prince Rh’nee could and would demand to fuck me as and when he pleased and if I became pregnant, then the baby would be his and, as a prisoner and pleasure lady, I would have no say in its upbringing unless the king granted me a pardon and I became a free person again. Even then I doubted I would have much control over the child’s life and certainly wouldn’t be allowed to take the child home to England permanently. Maybe being Princess Tracy, not Queen Tracy as N’gongo thought, would bring me more freedom, but that might entail more responsibilities. The prince didn’t press for an answer and none would be required until if or when I became pregnant with his baby. That night he didn’t demand my service and I decided to return to my bed in the harem to think and work out my options. As often the case N’gongo spent the night with Kirn and I wondered if they would finally get together on a permanent basis. The King would need to give her his permission for that too but I didn’t foresee a problem.

 

Kasra gave me a sour look but didn’t make any comment and my friends checked my arse and rubbed in a little more oil and eased the stiffness so that I could lie comfortably on my side. The prince’s offer, I kept to myself.

 

Assuming I became pregnant, and if I didn’t I would just remain here in the harem until the King said I could leave, I could have the baby and leave it here and go home. I would be here for at least another ten months. But could I leave my own child? It would be a wrench to leave N’gongo let alone my own baby. What would await me in England? A little notoriety for a while when some magazine printed my story and then back to working in a hotel if I could get a job after everyone knew I’d stolen money from a guest. No, I wouldn’t get another decent job. If I stayed here, I’d be well looked after and, as the wife of a wealthy prince, I’d have money and would not have to service clients and maybe I’d be free to come and go as I wished. Would I be allowed home for visits? Maybe I could negotiate on that. If I failed to conceive would he try again the following month?

 

After arguing with myself over practical considerations I began to ask, “Do you love him?” I didn’t really know. Despite his features, I liked him more than any of the others I’d met in Entonya, certainly more than his older brother but love? Maybe that would come when I became a free person and not a pleasure woman who couldn’t refuse. My pregnancy would decide the issue and until then, everything would remain in abeyance.

 

A fortnight later after the doctors declared my ovulating period to be over and it seemed likely I had conceived but they wished for further tests after another week or two to confirm it. Prince Rh’nee had done his best. He’d taken the strange potion and fucked me night and morning for nearly a week and each time he’d kept his prick inside me for a long while after he’d sent his sperm into my womb. At that stage only a few of the royalty and the doctors knew and I even kept it from my daughter because the news would be spread world-wide as soon as she learned. She soon noticed that I missed my period and the excitement grew in the harem when the other ladies found out. Rh’nee formally asked for my hand in marriage and I agreed. We had a number of conflicts to resolve, I wished to continue seeing the ladies in the harem and to visit the school and teach the children and to do things an ordinary person would do and which, by convention, royalty avoided and of course, I wanted to go home and see my family. Eventually with some restrictions, I got my way and intended to model myself on Princess Diana in my contacts with people of a lower class. N’gongo as usual, helped me tremendously and often with Princess Kalmin and always with Smiley as my personal bodyguard, we went to the market or visited a place of special interest.

 

We arranged the wedding for six weeks after the confirmation of my pregnancy. Both of us wanted a quiet affair, Rh’nee hated being seen in the limelight because of his face, and I worried that my being a white criminal could cause further unrest and accusations that I’d used my colour to seduce him. A fortnight before the date Rh’nee suggested, “Tracy, Aleno is flying to London with a diplomatic delegation next week, how would you like to visit your family? I know it will be a big temptation for you to leave me there but I trust that you won’t. I’m sure your daughter will wish to come too and I know your parents want to see her after she’s figured so frequently in your correspondence home.” I readily promised, knowing my life in England would never be the same as before. He’d already promised to fly my parents and a couple of relations to Entonya for the ceremony and I suggested they could return with us.

 

An interrupted home visit

 

The next few days saw us in a whirl of activity. N’gongo and Smiley (Rh’nee insisted on one bodyguard accompanying us and I chose him) needed passports and for the first time I learned my daughter’s age. The date of birth on her passport made her just over fifteen but I wondered if anyone recorded her real birth date. It also gave me as her guardian. We all needed clothes. The temperature even early summer in England would be lower than in Entonya. Western clothes were available but I decided to wear native style colourful dresses with warm woollen wraps normally worn by those living in the high mountains. These were in more subdued hues and would be less conspicuous in England. I wrote to mother and told her of the arrangements and sent the letter via the diplomatic bag in case anyone monitored our emails.

 

All went to plan. We flew in the private jet to London and waited until Prince Aleno’s delegation had left the plane for fifteen minutes before we disembarked and entered England as normal tourists rather than VIP’s. During the flight, my daughter had excitedly looked out of the window and marvelled at the sights from and in the aircraft but I cautioned her to calm down when we went through immigration and fortunately we got through without too much hassle and no one connected me with the girl abducted a few months earlier.

 

Rain drizzled down as the hired car drove us through the crowded streets of the city and on to the M1 to a hotel near Luton where mum and dad were to meet me. We’d reserved a grand suite such as I’d only worked in before and never expected to afford to stay in, and phoned my parents who lived about half an hour away. I almost broke down when I heard mother’s voice for the first time for months and I her voice shake too.

 

The wait for them to arrive seemed interminable but N’gongo kept us amused as she explored everything and asked questions on the sights she saw from the window. The buzzer went and I automatically opened the door because reception had advised us of their arrival. However a third person pushed her way through the partially open door whilst I hugged mother and dad had his arms around both of us. The first I noticed was a scream from the woman as Smiley grabbed her in a tight bear hug that forced most of the air from her lungs and, on the second scream, placed his big hand over her mouth. She struggled and tried to kick but her efforts were puny against Smiley’s massive body. “Who are you?” I demanded, angry at the interruption to my family reunion.

 

“Sit her down Smiley, then we can find out,” Rh’nee went to his assistance. Smiley’s interpretation of the order wasn’t quite as we expected. He sat in an armless easy chair, pulled her on to his lap and crossed his legs over hers, forcing her thighs well apart. He silenced her again with his hand when she started yelling but she continued to wriggle in an effort to free herself. I grinned knowing that she’s soon have Smiley’s erection to contend with and soon after she realised it too.

 

“Before I ask reception to send for the local police, would you like to tell us who you are and why you’ve forced your way into our private room?” Rh’nee asked civilly and indicated to our bodyguard to let her speak.

 

“Joan Hammond, reporter for the Morning Tribune and you won’t send for the police because I know who you are and the girl is Tracy Bowen who you had abducted and whipped.”

 

Epilogue

 

Over the next few days I related the story to Joan who recorded it and my daughter’s comments. She remained with us for the three short days and from the noises we heard from Smiley’s room, we knew she experienced the sexual side of Entonyan men and more than once each night. We freed her at the airport as we promised and invited her to cover our wedding.

 

We’re now back in the palace making the final arrangements for the wedding. Mum and dad and two cousins are here too and I’ve introduced mum to the pleasure ladies and she even spent some time naked in the pool with them. Dad asked to join her but that definitely wasn’t allowed but I suggested he could invite one of the ladies to attend to his needs at night. Mother firmly quashed that idea.

 

I still worry a little about what lies ahead, what the baby will be like and how I will be treated when I officially become a member of the royal family. Whatever happens, I’m sure life will be far more exciting than being a maid in a London hotel.

 

Finis