African Adventure

Leaving the hut, he walked purposefully towards the parade ground. The army, less those soldiers guarding the perimeter of the camp, was assembled. The soldatego-major called the formation to attention as Robert approached. The two men exchanged salutes and he gave Robert the morning report. Robert directed him to conduct the training of the day and they again saluted. The soldatego-major turned and bellowed orders to the assembled men. In turn the soldatego in charge of each platoon turned and gave orders to their men. One by one the platoons ran off of the parade ground.

Robert chose to accompany number seven platoon. He fell in behind them as they started their morning run. The soldatego detached a group of men who sprinted down the trail ahead of the formation, now running in single file. When the group was almost out of sight, they stopped and took up firing positions a few feet into the jungle on either side of the trail. Another group of men sprinted out ahead of the formation and repeated the process. As the formation passed the first group, they fell into line at the back of the column. The run went on for three miles in this fashion, looping through the trails of the jungle, until the soldatego shouted a command and the group charged into the underbrush. Moving now in small teams by leaps and bounds the group crawled and sprinted through the foliage, simulating a hasty attack. Robert participated, but left the conduct of the training entirely in the hands of the soldatego.

A few hours of training satisfied the soldatego and he lead the formation back to the parade ground at the same careful jog. When they arrived, the soldiers broke up into pairs and engaged in hand to hand training. Robert circulated amongst them, taking the time to work with a few of the best. One of them snapped an elbow to the side of his face, grinning at having caught the boss. Robert threw the man face first to the ground, bloodying his nose, possibly breaking it, in the process and then smiled back in a feral fashion as the man picked himself up off the ground.

"Unua, venkos la malamiko kaj do festos." he told the man, who nodded his assent and reset himself.

When the soldatego was satisfied that everyone was sufficiently exhausted, he ran the group through the encampment to the rifle range. There, each soldier picked up an air rifle and the group spent the next hour running through the rifle range, assaulting targets using movement and fire. The soldatego and Robert reviewed the accuracy of the fire, both being satisfied that the men were doing well and identifying one of the newer men for further training.

Robert left the platoon and walked towards his hut, sweat-soaked and filthy clothing hanging against his body. He took an indirect route, inspecting various activities as he went. Snatches of conversation drifted through the trees. At the medical facility the 'doctor' joked about the nature of the bite to his hand, cleaned it up, and put in two stitches. He pointed to the bruise forming on Robert's face.

"Cxu via flavpeltulino faris tio?" he asked

"Flavpeltulino?" Robert repeated, and then laughed.

Shaking his head, he responded "Ne. Ne. Mia flavpeltulino ne faris tio. Una de laj soldatoj en sepa faris ĝi. Mia flavpeltulino estas seksardulina."

"Cxu kaj tio?" the medic said, pointing to the stitches on his hand.

Robert grinned.

"Ŝi estas tre seksardulina," he explained and walked out of the building towards his hut.

The medic laughed and waved as Robert walked away. "Vi estas tre ŝanca, sinjoro," he called.

Chuckling at the memory of the conversation, Robert walked directly back to his hut.

Robert stopped as he drew near to the hut, eyes searching for Sara. He found her a moment later, nestled next to the footlocker, sound asleep. He sat down on the raised floor of the hut to remove his boots. He examined his rifle, partially disassembling it, to make certain it did not need cleaning and then re-assembled it and lay it on the field table, laying Sara's bag beside it. He picked up a bundle of cloth lying on one corner of the floor and gently shook it out. The cotton dress had once been a bright red but had faded to a sort of dark pink, so thin that you could see through it with direct light behind it. He judged it would be long on Sara, reaching down almost to her ankles, perhaps even down to the top of her feet. He threw it over his shoulder and examined the sandals, cheap leather with a loop for the big toe and an ankle strap. He grunted a grudging satisfaction and went to the foot locker, opening it and rummaging until he found what he was looking for.

He set the dress, sandals, bandages, rags, and bottle down on the locker and squatted down in front of Sara. He reached out to brush her hair away from her face, hand cradling the side of her face, thumb stroking, gently brushing over her parted lips. She needed, he thought, time to hide and heal. He did not have that time to give her. He was going to have to push her along and hope that she didn't break.

"Sara," he whispered.

She stirred and he spoke again, "Time to wake up, Sara. There's work to do."

She started then, eyes flashing open, full of fear.

"It's okay, Sara. You're safe," he lied, "All you have to do is sit down. Extend your feet out in front of you."

She did as he directed, raising up to bring her legs out from beneath her and then sitting with them extended before her. He sat on the floor of the hut, her feet in his lap and reached for a rag and the glass bottle. He wet the rag and began to clean her feet. The alcohol stung and she tried to pull away, only to find that he was firmly grasping her ankle. Ignoring her actions Robert spoke as he cleaned her foot thoroughly.

"You've probably already got worms. Nothing for that. Half the camp has them, including me. You can have them taken care of when you get back to civilization, but I don't want you getting your feet infected. Wear the sandals whenever you leave the hut, even when you're in the stream," he pointed to the sandals sitting on the crate next to her, "The dress is for wearing outside the hut. Always wear it whenever you leave the hut. When you are in the hut, wear nothing. Nothing at all."

He fixed her eyes with a firm glance as he said this, and then continued, "I'll leave your bag here, for now. You may keep two pairs of panties and two bras from the bag. Put them in the footlocker. You may wear them when you are not in the hut. You can keep the perfume, but if you're smart you'll use it to trade with the other women."

He released her ankle and reached between her legs, roughly running a finger between the tender folds of her sex. He reached up and rubbed the finger behind her ear and then held it beneath her nose.

"That's the only scent you need to excite me, and you don't want to be exciting anyone else."

He took a grip of her other ankle and began to clean that foot.

"Stay away from the wildlife. Stay on the paths and don't go wandering around in the underbrush. Flying bugs might bite, probably not. Just brush them off. Same for spiders. If a snake comes at you, run. If army ants come into the camp, run to the stream. If you get bit by a snake or a spider, go to the medical point to get treated. It's really not all that dangerous and you probably won't even see a snake your entire time here, but if you do, you know how to react. What's going to happen now is that we are going to eat lunch. After lunch I will work and you will spend the afternoon in language training. It's important that you know how to communicate. You already know one phrase. Here's another. 'Jes, sinjoro.' That means, 'Yes, sir'. From now on, that's how you will address me: sinjoro."

He took a roll of bandage material and wrapped it around Sara's feet, first one, and then the other, careful to cover the worst of the blisters. He handed the dress and sandals to her and then pointed down one of the paths next to the hut.

"Go that way for forty meters. On the right you will see a building with a line of people. Get in line. When you get to the front of the line say, 'Mi petas, la mangxo por la kapitano.' Bring the food they give you back here. Iru. Go."

He rose and walked over to the footlocker putting away the alcohol and bandages. Pulling a bundle of papers out of the footlocker he closed it and sat on it, placing the papers on the desk in front of him.

Robert heard Sara shuffling back down the pathway long before he could see her. He finished checking the numbers on the ammunition usage projections before putting the papers back into order and gathering them into a bundle. He rose and placed the papers into the footlocker that served as his chair. Closing the lid he sat on it and looked outside. Sara was shuffling down the path in the oversize leather sandals, carefully balancing a metal bowl with a large round of flat bread, dried fruit, a metal mug and a small pile of salt atop it. The nets of artificial foliage that covered every path created a tunnel of shade pierced at irregular intervals by brilliant light, slanted columns in which the omnipresent dust twisted sinuously with the breezes born of human motion and nothing else. Where Sara's body passed through a column it turned the dress nearly transparent for a moment.

'I'm going to have to get her something other than that dress to wear,' he thought.

The key, of course, was to dress her in a manner that did not inflame the troops and lead to a rape attempt. But neither could he give anyone the slightest hint that he cared for her to any extent. They must believe him to be simply selfish and unwilling to share his new toy.

'And since that happens to be the truth, if not all of it, it shouldn't be too hard to convey. I'll have to manufacture an excuse to get her some decent cloth.'

Sara stopped at the steps to the platform and shrugged out of the sandals, stepping onto the thin logs that led up into the hut. She was midway up when she sensed his attention and lifted her eyes to look at him. The action unbalanced her and she teetered precariously.

"If you drop the food I'll beat you 'til you bleed," he informed her, his tone conversational and matter of fact.

She stepped down, retreating a pace, to recover her balance and then slowly and meticulously ascended the steps. Once on the platform she hesitated, unsure what to do next.

"Iru cxi, Sara. Come here. Put the food on the table," he informed her.

She carefully placed the bowl on the table and took a step back.

"The dress, Sara. Take it off. Genu cxi," he gestured, "Kneel here."

He carefully took the round of bread off the bowl and placed it on the table. He examined the pile atop it, spears of dried mango, mug of the foul beer brewed in the camp, and a small pile of salt.

The salt he brushed into the bowl as he spoke the words, "Jam nun."

Sara ceased hesitating. 'Now' was one of the phrases she remembered, the soldiers had shouted it frequently. She lifted the dress over her head and hung it on one of the wooden pegs driven into the center pole. She knelt next to the table, legs tightly closed and arms crossed over breasts, in the spot Robert had indicated. The smell of the food made her stomach growl and she became aware that she had not eaten since the bananas the night before and precious little for the two days prior. She was famished.

Robert ripped off a piece of the bread and picked up the bowl in his other hand. Holding the bowl to his mouth he used the bread to shovel some of the stew into his mouth. He followed this with a bite of the bread, chewed, and swallowed the whole.

"Lovely," he commented dryly, "Monkey."

He saw the expression on Sara's face, eyes wide, and laughed.

"Not really monkey, Sara. In the Legion we called any dried meat monkey. It's a joke that goes back a long way. This is just stew. Probably dried duiker and vegetables. Duiker's like deer meat. Venison. Here, try some."

He scooped up a little bit with the bread and held it down to the level of her head. She reached out a hand to take the bread and he pulled it away.

"Ne, Sara. Ne manoj. No hands. Use your mouth."

He held the bread back down at her level and watched the emotions that flitted across her face: outrage, anger, and despair. He remained still, his eyes casually fixed upon her face as she struggled with her emotions. He could see the desire to strike out in some way, strongly tempered by fear of what retribution might follow. But hunger, however simply it argues, argues compellingly. She leaned forward and took the offered bite of food. Robert grunted and resumed feeding himself, willing himself to eat much more slowly than was his usual wont. He slowly finished the piece of bread he had ripped from the whole and glanced over at Sara.

"Do you want some more?" he asked.

She nodded, hopeful but hesitant.

"Good. An appetite is always a good indicator of general health. The thing to remember, in a hot climate, is that you eat before you drink. The heat suppresses your appetite and leads you to drink lots of water. So you end up starving yourself."

As he spoke he ripped another piece of bread loose and scooped up some stew.

"You're covering yourself, Sara. I don't like that. You are here to please me and your body is your second most valuable asset. You should display it for me to view, not hide it. You hide your body, as I permit, from everyone else. Iru a via dorso, Sara. Lie on your back."

She sighed in protest but, with a glance at the food, lay back. Robert chuckled and reached out with his foot to tap her ankles.

"Spread your legs, Sara," he said in a patient voice.

It took her a moment to find the willpower, but she did. He gazed down upon her, examining the soft down that covered the swell of her mons and the line of her flesh.

"Wider," he said softly.

She complied, a small trail of tears dampening her cheeks.

He smiled.

"You have a lovely cunt, Sara."

The deliberate crudity, so out of place with his soft tone and matter of fact compliment, shocked her. He saw the flush on her chest and face grow even as the tears continued to silently trace their way down her face.

"I enjoy seeing it. You will not hide it from me while we are within this hut. Now, show me your breasts."

She slowly uncrossed her arms. Uncertain of where to place them, she panicked for a moment before laying them on the floor beside her. Robert beamed at the small firm breasts that adorned her chest, tiny nipples barely aroused but pointing towards the ceiling.

"Your breasts are also lovely, Sara."

This time, braced for crudity, the softness of his words threw her off balance. She was, as he intended, unable to fit this experience into a category with anything she had ever experienced before. This was something completely new, a tabula rasa upon which he intended to create the words which would shape her perceptions.

"You will not hide them from me while we are within this hut. Genu."

Sara rolled to her belly and knelt before him, leaning her head towards the food.

"Unh, unh," he admonished.

She glanced down and spread her knees shoulder width and removed her hands from her lap, letting her arms hang down at her side. Robert brought the food towards her tear-streaked face and, once again, she took the food from his hand.

As she chewed the tough meat Robert continued, "It may seem strange that murderers have rules. But we do. You are a dependent. That means that no one else in the camp may use you. That also means that you are fed out of my rations. No one else will feed you. They aren't allowed to. Everything you get, food, water, clothing, anything; it all comes from me. So annoying me is a good way to end up sore, hungry, naked, and tied up on the floor of the hut. But, as with all things, there is always something worse. Serious infractions of the rules will see you beaten on the parade ground, turned over to the troops for recreation, or killed. Same rules apply to everyone."

He scooped up another bite of stew.

"Still hungry?"

Sara sniffled and nodded.

"Iru a via ventro, Sara. On your belly."

She moved quickly this time, turning to face away from him and dropping to the floor. She spread her legs and then, after a momentary hesitation, spread them still further.

"Bona virineto," he said.

Her body bristled for a moment at the comment, as if the tuning fork of her legs had picked up the sound of the 'good girl' and echoed it. He regarded her for a moment, drinking in the details.

"Bring your knees up, Sara. Keep them spread."

Now he saw true hesitation writ large in every line of her body.

"Jam nun," he breathed.

It was a command, no less imperative for its softness. She sobbed once, twice, and brought her knees up, lifting her ass into the air and displaying her sex. Robert simply stared, enthralled by the sight of her and the sheer sexual joy of the situation; of her obedience.

"Spread your lips, Sara. Use your fingers to open yourself to me."

Again her body shook with silent sobs as she passed a hand back between her legs. Trembling fingers uncertainly spread the soft folds of skin to reveal the deep pink flesh they concealed. Robert inhaled deeply seeking for the smell of her musk, delighting in the faint hint he found.

"Use your other hand, Sara. Rub yourself."

Her other hand, shaking, appeared beneath her and reached up to stroke herself; un-willing yet obedient.

"You can do better, Sara," he whispered, "You've done this before, at night, in your bed; with clean sheets and a terrible empty ache in your loins. Your body desperate for something you've been told is wrong."

Her hands steadied at the slow cadence of his low words, the motions of her fingers becoming sure and practiced. They drifted down to the hood of her clitoris, gently squeezing that pearl free of its covering and then releasing it. Her breathing became shallow and rapid. Robert leaned forward, one hand reaching out to seize hers. Slowly he inserted one of her fingers inside her, the tip to the first knuckle teasingly trapped by the muscles that protected her entrance. Her body shuddered as the muscles sought to pull her finger deeper. He pushed her finger slowly in, then out. He repeated the motion several times, each time with less force until her hand was doing all the work, moving without his direction; his hand merely resting upon her until he withdrew even that contact.

"Bona. Bona. Here and now this pleasure is permitted. It is required. Trust your body and it will help keep you alive. This pleasure is your birthright."

She had buried her finger inside her, thumb planted firmly against her clitoris as her ass writhed wantonly. She was lost in the moment, Robert knew. Stripped of all references to familiar reality she had no brakes she could apply, no controls at all. This moment, more than any that had come before, she was not in charge of her body or her emotions.

She came then, in a staccato squeal broken by gasps as her body sought to breathe between the waves that washed through her. Robert wanted her. Wanted her convulsing upon his cock, but he restrained himself. He had bigger plans.

"Bona virineto, Sara. I'm pleased. Genu."

Slowly she lifted herself back to her knees. Robert noted that her legs were spread, no correction needed, but her eyes were lowered.

"Look at me, Sara," he commanded.

He met her eyes, red and puffy within the tear-soaked cheeks.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of. You obeyed me. You pleased me. Because of that you will eat, you will not be beaten, and you will continue to survive. That alone justifies your actions."

He put the food to her mouth and she took it, chewing slowly.

"What happens now is that I go to work, and you go to school. You need to learn the language. You'll be in the class with the new recruits we brought in. Women sit on one side, men on the other. You're smart so it shouldn't be too hard. If you start to drift off one of the assistants will smack you with the cane. It hurts. If anyone starts to bother you, you tell them you're mine. I'm very pleased with you right now. But I need you to know, deep in your bones, that there is always something worse. Eating from my hand may feel humiliating to you. It isn't. It's a privilege. There are worse ways to eat."