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The Characters and situations in the story are ficticious and author cautions that the situations depicted may upset some readers.
Bomatsu Msingu waved happily as he saw my Land Rover sweep round to the check point.
"Very good to see you Bwana, welcome" he shouted.
"How are we doing," I enquired as I stopped and climbed from the ageing vehicle.
"Very well Bwana, on target, your friends will be very happy."
Oxbridge Greening, my charity, bringing a sustainable future for farming in an area of central Africa where despair had overcome the population.
Organic farming, my way, no more tractors just the efforts of the local population.
"My cart Bomatsu. I wish to see the compound." I ordered, and he shouted to repeat my orders.
I saw the cart gleaming yellow and black in the sun, as they manhandled it from the shed, and Michele quickly rounded up the fillies, a matching pair, he fixed the red white and blue imperial plumes to their head gear and stood back.
The fillies looked truly magnificent, each nearly five feet nine tall, matching green eyes, black manes, where their scalps had not been shaved, similar breasts, and matching perfect little moist pink slits, I knew Katanga had been at work doing his corrective surgery because they had the marks of Onigestzu neck bands yet Onigestzu tribe did ritual genital mutilation.
Their black breasts and darker nipples swung gently as they waited.
"They are ready Master,"
"Good then I shall mount them" I said, an unfortunate choice of phrase.
"Bwana, please, I am not a slaver." he looked scared but he relaxed when he saw me smiling.
"They are very fine, are they new?"
"Yes Bwana, Onigestzu tribe, we have only recently broken them, they are still frisky, but I can manage them now."
Onigestzu, the proud tribe who had spurned my overtures was it two years ago, now reduced to selling their finest, or were their women escaping death by starvation by escaping to our utopia?
"Is that the chiefs daughter?"
"Yes Bwana, she cost twenty five thousand million"
I did a quick sum, Twenty seven pounds, plus Katanga's time, but probably worth it.
Michele quickly harnessed the pair to the light two wheeled cart and the stood still waiting, brooding defiant.
"They look pretty well trained" I commended.
"She Kicks. that one, does not like being mounted"
"Shall we put her in a box, Michele, chop her legs right off," her look of hatred turned to fear. "Or will she bend now and let you practise?"
She stood shaking,
"This is wasting time lets get going." I announced impatiently.
She looked relieved as much as she could with a bit in her mouth and the harness over her head and as Bomatsu and I swung aboard the pair started and trotted towards the river.
The bridge was very lightly built, deliberately so, no Landrover or Toyota could get across, and the rainy season Crocodiles were a real deterrent to anyone risking it.
The pair trotted well, equal pace equal strides, we passed a skeleton, picked clean by buzzards, "Any one we know?"
"Inagnu tribe, very proud." he suggested, "refused our terms, taken by Hyena."
"Terrible waste." I agreed.
The Compound loomed in front of us, the three feeding stations prominent by the sleeping shed, and I spotted a ploughing team working dragging the heavy plough through the stony ground,
"Inagnu?" I queried.
"No Onigestzu, look at them, they stole my forefather's land, now look at them."
They looked magnificent, their great manly chests straining against the leather straps, as they strained under the hot sun with sweat pouring from them.
I thanked the fillies, not knowing if they understood English and went through the door to the inner courtyard and Katanga's workshop, or was it surgery.
Katanga, our little Japanese surgeon, had been struck off as a surgeon in the States for doing work for the "Family" who ran Miami, amputating sound limbs from people without anaesthetic was frowned upon there but he was the ideal guy for my operation
.He was hard at work on an Onigestzu male, malnourished, broken, beaten barely alive,he had agreed terms and was waiting his fate.
"This is Abraham, he was an educated man, but now," said Katanga, as he forced Abrahams mouth open to reveal the truncated stub of his tongue, and pointed to the stumps of his forearms where his hands had been amputated, "Now he can no longer read and write, at least not read out loud."
I chuckled, our collections to help the poor and mutilated and illiterate to introduce organic farming, the students collecting in the streets of the university towns, how would the react if they saw us taking educated people and ensuring they could no longer write, before allowing them to eat and take part in our great farming experiment.
The system was very simple, our feeder had its controls down narrow tubes, too small to take a human hand but large enough to take a trimmed down forearm ending at a amputated wrist, both controls needed to be pushed down so we offered an amputation service, and starvation is a potent form of persuasion, as are the marauding Hyenas.
Katanga had done the hands and tongue earlier and was now finishing up the dehumanisation, with the lower body parts.
The man was strapped to a solid oak post with his arms by his sides and a heavy Iron work table had been brought up to touch his thighs, Katanga took the mans penis and as he looked on horrified Katanga stretched the loose skin out away down the table top towards a spike poking up from the table, he gently pushed the loose skin onto the spike before taking a hollow tube and pressing it down to force the spike through the soft skin of the Penis.
Katanga took a small hammer and tapped the hollow tube, it sank to the table top trapping the flaccid penis over the spike.
A great howling scream rent the air as the man realised what was happening but Katanga forced a rag into his mouth, silencing him.
Katanga gently fished the mans testicles on to the table top, pushing it back against his legs slightly and then he took a piece of wood and the hammer and after carefully lining everything up tapped the wood firmly, the firm egg shape of the testicle collapsed to a shapeless mass as he found the second testicle and proceeded to squash that into a useless lump of gristle.
"One more thing for now" Katanga grinned as he lifted the upper part of the Oak post and removed it allowing the man to flop forward. "You will like this."
He took a heavy spike and rested it against the mans anus, the tip just parting the black lips and then when he was sure it was lined up right he hit it firmly with a seven pound Lump hammer.
The shaft was at least four inches , that's 100 mm in diameter but he kept rhythmically hitting the end until nearly eight inches of it was inside the mans backside.
He had passed out, and as Katanga withdrew the spike blood and faeces dripped and plopped on the floor.
"He will be broken if he comes round, if not, then Mr Hyena has easy meal."
"Excellent Mr Katanga, but I prefer ladies." I told him.
"Yes sir we have some prime black ass for you, come."
He abandoned his "Patient" and led me to a room full of cages.
"Onigestzu women, all healed after I straightened their cunts, they mutilate them to stop them fucking for pleasure, perhaps I keep one for a prostitute."
"What is the difference between field and prostitute?
"I do surgery, cut away the bladder so they have to keep pissing and spike the ass so they shit when they need not when they want like animals, and of course I amputate the hands.
"And Prostitute?"
"Collars and chains, riveted on with hot rivets, bugger of a job to remove, oh and I take the teeth out so they suck nicer. and we sell some to the Nigerian traders and they like the hands and feet amputated stops them running away."
I looked down the row, a small brown girl peered at me in terror.
"I thought you would like her." he said.
"Yes, I told him,"what about milk?"
"Any can be milkers we let the Hyenas take the babies after we smash their brains, do you want to make her a milker."
I looked at her undersize tits.
"Get a rope, lets give her tits." I suggested.
He fetched the rope and wound it around and around each breast in turn, she did not dare struggle or protest, then the loose end went around her arms and waist and finally the loose ends were fed into a Butt plug and slid up her ass.
Her little black breasts strained and I saw a strange blue tinge.
"You're beautiful." I told her as I forced my index finger into her, knowing the signet ring must scrape and abrade her soft vaginal walls. "So nothing to say."
"You too are beautiful Bwana, it would be the proudest moment of my life if you were to use me Bwana."
"Let her out" I ordered and as she climbed from the cage I dropped my shorts, lifted her up and slid her down onto my prick.
"Thank you Bwana." she said prettily, as I bounced her and down. "Oh, you're so good Bwana fill me with your, Aaaggghh."
My prick was pumping, she was perfect, I knew we should keep her.
"Have her collared and set to work in the kitchens, then get some weights on those tits, I want then dragging the ground next time I come." I ordered .
I went to see the female quarters, their shed partly full they stood around, silently, some gagged with a harness and bit, some without tongues, but all with heads shaved except a small mane, all harnessed, and all their hands amputated. all hope gone. They stared at me, some paired off, thrusting their stumps up each other's vaginas, exciting each other to easy orgasm, but they were animals, shit dropping uncontrollably where ever they stood even piss flowing as they aroused each other, all altered, all mutilated by Mr Katanga.
I went to see the males and little Adam Minbotu proudly showed me their party piece.
The twenty male ploughing team, the lead men both castrated bent over as Adam gave the order "Bend", then as he shouted "One" the next male in line placed his rampant penis against the lead males anus and as Adam shouted "In" he forced his penis in side the males ass. Adam ordered Two and In, and the next pair entered the pair in front and then Three, and on until two rows of ten all shackled were engaged, then the mexican wave, the back one thrust in then the next then the next, then back out, "The record is ten," said Adam proudly, "Like Guantanamo Bay" he continued then "Oh number four has disengaged," he took his stick with like a shepherds crook on the end and and guided it into fives ass hole.
He showed me the stick."Not a barge pole," was burned into the shaft.
I laughed, I wouldn't touch one with a barge pole either.
I almost threw up at the thought.
They had a meal for me, roast meat, Giraffe perhaps, and vegetables and Yorkshire pudding, the cook was in a defiant mood, safe in the knowledge she was immune from the mutilation because she was Buzumuto tribe from the North.
I sat down to eat, the meat looked awful and the gravy was congealed into solid lumps, "Cook, you cooked it, you eat it, I ordered," Her ugly fat black face fell.
" I cannot eat foreign food it gives me the shits" she complained.
"Nor can I because you have cooked it like shit, get that girl I fucked," I yelled as I threw the plate on the floor and even the tame Hyena cub scuttled away, afraid to try it.
They fetched the girl from earlier, I saw she now wore a stout Iron collar riveted in place, with a heavy chain and her nipples were freshly pierced with copper rings neatly soldered in place, Katanga came with her "I wanted to to the clitoris as well, but you called her."
"Yes, you are the new cook, cook me something."
"What Bwana?"
"How about her?" I pointed at the old cook, she stood there in her filthy checkered shirt and brown skirt.
"She is not dead."
"I see that,"
"I cannot kill."
"Even for a better life, cooking, with your hands, is her life worth your hands."
"No Bwana."
"Then take this gun." I reached a Winchester Carbine down from the wall and handed it to her.
Her fingers trembled, "Between the eyes." I suggested.
Bang, the gun fired but she missed, the bullet smashing the left eye socket and taking part of the skull but the old one stayed alive, screaming.
I took the gun and pushed another slug into the chamber, then I sat the girl on my lap and held her tight as she took the gun again and this time there was no mistake.
I felt something damp on my leg, I touched it with my fingers and realised it had come from her, juice was leaking from her.
"I suggest you learn to cook, very quickly, do you read?"
"Yes Bwana"
"Then use the cookery book and learn to make Yorkshire pudding, I eat it with meat, practise until you perfect it."
The evening passed with the tedium of paperwork and later after she brought me a tasty meat pie and bowl of mixed fruits my little cook provided pleasant entertainment with her tight cunt and ass and her succulent little mouth.
I let her stay with me all night.
Next morning as the sun was rising and Minuto Umbali and Gregor Mslingu were on duty at the check point, when they saw a vehicle creeping along the eastern boundary, a Jeep Patriot, with satellite communication dishes, and the unmistakable Prime TV company logo of Suzie Craig's African Documentaries of prime time TV fame.
Susan Craig, bronzed champagne swilling fresh young thing, champion of equality, living with the tribes in their hovels, at least long enough to get some film in the can, before returning to her air conditioned luxury. I remembered when she booked the entire restaurant at Giselle so she could enjoy a quiet meal, and my booking was cancelled as a result, making me look real stupid, and now she was checking out my charity operation.
They radioed in and I suggested they go to ground and allow the truck to head for the compound,
We watched through binoculars from the water tower as the Jeep came through the check point and set off down the track, they never thought about the bridge, unaware that the centre struts and wheel troughs needed to be fitted before anything heavier than a light cart crossed and we watched as the decking collapsed sending the truck into the ravine.
We walked towards the wreck, there was no hurry, it was a mile or so and as we arrived they were sorting out equipment, their Jeep Patriot upright but a mass of white powder where the airbags had gone off.
Susan Craig stood at the edge of the ravine glaring at me.
"I suppose you think that's funny, I could have been killed." she taunted.
"Hello, I'm Steve Robertson of Oxbridge Greening, welcome to project zone three."
I replied politely.
"Project zone, more like a Concentration Camp or Zoo, you and your charity are evil Robertson, evil.
She stood defiant like a bronzed symbol of white supremacy yet at every opportunity she corroded and eroded the stature of her own people while ignoring the rampant corruption and inter tribal violence of the natives.
"Are you injured?" I enquired.
Bomatsu Msingu
Oxbridge Greening
Katanga
Onigestzu tribe. Onigestzu neck bands
Adam Minbotu.
Buzumuto tribe
Abraham.
"Inagnu tribe, very proud."
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