African Adventure

He handed the cup back to her.

"Take a sip. Only a sip, though."

She grimaced at the taste.

"Yeah, it's pretty bad. Thank God. I'd be a drunk by now if the alcohol wasn't so terrible." He played another tune on the whistle, a melancholy air.

"Take another sip and then pass it over."

When he had drunk again he looked at her closely.

"Where are you from, Sara?"

"Arkansas, sinjoro."

"And what do you do in Arkansas?"

"I was a student. At the School of St. Anne. It's sort of a high-school and college all rolled into one. I had just graduated."

He took another drink and passed the cup back to her.

"Why Africa?"

"Because everyone else was going to Europe," she blurted.

Robert laughed. "And you wanted to be different," he accused.

"I wanted to annoy my father."

"And look what that got you; an all expense paid nightmare in the beautiful Congo. Should have listened to your father," he admonished, waggling his finger at her.

"I'm still alive," she retorted and then froze.

Robert chuckled.

"I am apparently a thief, a murderer, and a rapist, but I haven't descended to wanton cruelty, yet. You tell me what you think just so long as you stay respectful. I may not like what you have to say, but I won't beat you for saying it."

She nodded her understanding.

"Drink up, Sara."

She took another sip and then asked him, "What does flavpeltalina mean? Sinjoro," she added.

Robert grimaced.

"Flavpeltulino," he corrected her, "Flav means yellow. Actually, flava would be the adjective yellow. Pelto is fur. Ul means a person who has the quality of being. In means a woman. O is the ending for a noun. So, put it all together and you get 'woman who has the quality of having yellow fur'. Or just 'yellow fur'."

"My hair?" she asked, holding the end of the ponytail up in one hand.

Robert shook his head.

"Your pubic hair," he told her.

She dropped the braid and put her hand to her mouth in shock. After a moment, Robert realized she was laughing.

"I will be dipped in elephant shit," he exclaimed, "You have been raped, beaten, dragged into one of the hells of Africa, and have perhaps a thirty percent chance of ever seeing civilization again and you can still laugh?"

He took the cup and raised it.

"A toast to you Miss Harman, you have courage."

He handed the cup back to her after taking a long sip.

"About hell, sinjoro ... That ... orgy at the stream ..." she trailed off.

"Not many of those at St. Anne's, hmm? Nuns or priests?"

"Nuns."

"Ah. That was the nightly bath. I'm proud to say that I managed to stop the sorry bastards from killing anyone as a matter of course. It's very rare for someone to die," he said bitterly, "Hooray."

"Will you ..." she stopped.

"Fuck you in front of all those people? Oh yes," he met her eyes, fixing her with his gaze, "Partly because I have to in order to keep up appearances, but mostly because I can. I can think of very few things I want more than to demonstrate to the world that I control Sara Harman. That you will crawl to me, spread your legs, and beg for my cock. And you will," he promised, "I'm not entirely sure how I feel about that. It's not something in myself that I've ever examined."

"I felt ... I was ... excited. This morning. At the stream," Sara whispered, "It felt ... You felt ..."

Robert nodded, "You're confused. Everything you've been taught tells you that what happened was wrong. But your body was telling you that it felt good."

Sara, biting her lip, nodded.

"Finish the drink, Sara, and come here."

Sara drained the cup and set it aside. She stood and Robert reached out, his hands pulling her hips until she was in the hammock astride him. His hand reached up to her head, drawing her lips down to his. For several minutes he kissed her, his lips playing across hers, teeth pulling softly, tongue teasing and deftly exploring her mouth. Her tongue met his, tasting hesitantly, then more boldly. Eventually, he released her head, but she continued to kiss him.

His hand slid down the side of her body, beneath her belly and between her legs. She whimpered once into his mouth as she felt him cupping her mons. His free hand pulled the ponytail, lifting her face from his.

"Priests," he informed her, "used to be relieved of their vow of chastity when they were sent to Africa. The church understands the power of sex. There is nothing wrong with this. You have done nothing wrong and it is okay to feel pleasure."

His fingers teased the folds of her sex as he spoke and she gasped, soft tremors coursing through her muscles. Robert smiled and his hands lifted her ass, drawing her up and then back. His cock found her wet opening and he slowly pushed her body down upon him, burying himself inside her. She moaned softly.

"It's not wrong to want this pleasure, Sara. It's not wrong for you to take it. Make it yours."

His hands idly stroked her flanks as she lay against him, body motionless but shaken by trembling. Tentatively she moved her hips slightly.

Robert nodded.

"Yes. You are allowed. No one is going to rise up and drag you before the world screaming 'Slut'. God is not going to strike you dead. Your father is not going to walk into this hut and be horrified."

Sara moved against him again, hips rubbing her belly against him. Again she moved, and again. Emboldened by her actions she moved more assuredly.

"Good girl, Sara. That feels good. Very good," Robert assured her.

She lifted her face from his neck and kissed him as her hips moved strongly, rhythmically against him. She moaned again and then gasped, eyes wide.

"Oh! Oh!" she cried and collapsed against him.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her through the orgasm, one hand stroking the base of her skull as he whispered into her ear.

"Good girl. Well done."

After several minutes her body calmed and she spoke.

"Thank you, sinjoro. Did you ... finish?" Her words were hesitant.

Robert shook his head.

"I'm happy with the way you behaved, Sara, but I didn't come. You were working for your pleasure, not mine."

"Did I do it wrong?" she asked.

Her voice quavered slightly, deeply afraid that she was about to be criticized for something that had suddenly become important to her.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Sara. I enjoyed that. When you come, you give me the gift of your pleasure. It's very gratifying to the male ego when a woman gets pleasure from us."

"So it was okay?" she pursued.

"It was okay," he replied, "Now I'll show you how to do it with my pleasure in mind. Sit up," he ordered.

Slowly, Sara obeyed. Robert ran his hands over the front of her body.

"Men are visually stimulated. Looking at a beautiful woman gives us pleasure. It excites us. You're a very beautiful woman, Sara. You shouldn't hide your body from me. You should display it. Use your hands to give me a tour of your body."

He took her hands in his and guided them, lifting to her breasts, tracing a finger over her lips, folding her arms and then dropping her hands to her crotch. Then he removed his hands and told her to do it again. He made her repeat the action twice more before he was satisfied. He reached up to fondle her breasts as he spoke.

"You rocked your pelvis against me. That stimulated your clitoris and gave you some vaginal stimulation as I moved inside you. Clitoral stimulation doesn't do a lot for men. The heavenly friction of your vagina against my cock is what I feel. Even better is the feel of your muscles gripping me. Squeeze," he said.

Sara concentrated and used the muscles of her vagina to squeeze him briefly. His fingers found her nipples and pinched firmly. She cried out in pain and shock.

"Again," he commanded.

She squeezed and he released the pressure on her nipples. When she relaxed he pinched.

"Again."

She repeated the process, squeezing tightly, the wet muscles tensing and relaxing, each time he squeezed her nipples. She began to breathe heavily from the exertion and from excitement.

"Men are also stimulated by sound, Sara. Gxemu. Moan."

She moaned softly and he twisted at her nipples causing her to wince and cry out in pain.

"Gxemu!" he commanded.

She moaned loudly and then again as he twisted again. In a moment he was no longer twisting but she was still moaning loudly and gripping at his cock.

"Jes," he murmured, "Bona virineto. Bona virineto."

His hands dropped to her hips and his body arched up, driving deeply into her as he came. Sara gasped as she felt him and came in a series of convulsions punctuated by loud, inarticulate exclamations of pleasure.

She collapsed on top of him, struggling for breath. After a moment she turned her face to his neck and softly kissed it; lips and tongue tasting his sweaty skin.

"Bona virineto," he repeated.

"Good girl. Sleep now," he told her and held her, pinned to his body in the gathering darkness.

Robert woke, Sara's body pressing down on him. During the night he had slipped out of her and his erection pressed against her belly. He reached over his head and grabbed his watch, grunting at the time. He slapped Sara on the ass.

"Up," he commanded in response to her startled awakening, "Things to be done. Go get breakfast."

He sat up and swung his legs out of the hammock, dumping the semi-conscious woman to the ground. He stepped out of the hammock and began to retrieve clothing from the footlocker.

"You're excited, sinjoro," Sara observed, "Perhaps we could eat in a little while?"

Robert looked over at her and smiled. She was kneeling, legs spread, with one hand resting high upon her thigh. Her chest was forward, breasts thrusting into his view, as her head tilted to one side, a finger touching her lips.

"Malcxastulino," he pronounced, "A very good effort, Sara. La mangxo. Jam nun," said firmly.

Sara smiled and picked up her dress, pulling it on as she walked down the steps and the path.

When she returned with the bowl she set it down on the table in front of him and then stripped before kneeling in her place.

"What does malchastulino mean, sinjoro?" she asked.

"Break it down," he told her. "As much as you can."

"Ul is a person who has the quality of being. Ino means woman. Mal means ... bad?" she guessed.

Robert shook his head.

"Mal means the opposite of. Bona is good. Malbona is the opposite of good. Bad."

"So a woman who has the quality of being the opposite of chast? What does chast mean?"

"Think about it."

She gasped, "Chaste! You called me a slut? Sinjoro."

Robert could see the hurt in her eyes, deep and searing. She felt utterly betrayed. He shook his head from side to side in a gesture that was neither a negation or an affirmation.

"That's one way to look at it. Wrong, though. I called you a woman who has the quality of being the opposite of chaste. You were not acting chaste at the time, Sara."

He took another mouthful of food before continuing.

"Part of the problem is that you grew up in a place where being chaste is equated with good and being unchaste is equated with bad. It's different here. You are expected to be unchaste in my presence; you are expected to be chaste around other men. The other problem is that you don't understand the language yet. If I was going to insult you I would have called you malcxastulinacxo. The -acx- is a general derogatory. It makes any word contemptuous."

Sara thought about this for a minute.

"The woman with the switch in class yesterday, she called me picxulino."

Robert nodded.

"A cunt. Sufficiently insulting, don't you think? If she had added the -acx- it would have been too obvious that she had a personal grudge. She doesn't want the instructor to know she's gunning for you. Clever, in a way."

He set the bowl and the remainder of the bread on the table.

"And now, malcxastulino, it's time for a lesson of a different sort."

He unbuttoned his fly and withdrew his semi-rigid cock.

"Venu cxi," he said.

Sara shuffled closer.

"Kiss it, Sara."

"Sinjoro?" she asked.

"Kiss it," he repeated.

She slowly leaned forward and closed her eyes. Robert's slap sent her sprawling.

"Eyes open, Sara. Venu cxi," he ordered.

She knelt in front of him again, face burning where his hand had hit her, and leaned forward. She daintily kissed his glans and then pulled back, but only an inch.

"Bona virineto. Again," he said.

She repeated her action.

"Again," he commanded.

Once again she brushed her soft lips against his glans.

"Kiss the side."

Sara turned her head and placed her lips against the shaft.

"Now the other side."

She moved her head around his cock, mouth finding the other side of his rapidly hardening shaft. He was already starting to sweat in the morning heat and she could smell the particular odor of his body.

"Lick it, Sara. Taste the flesh."

Hesitantly her mouth opened barely enough to allow the tip of her tongue to protrude between her lips. She touched it to him.

"More," he said.

She touched him again with the forward portion of her tongue. He put a hand to her face, stroking her cheek.

"Bona virineto. Now the other side."

Robert directed her for several minutes until she had licked every portion of him.

"Take the head in your mouth, Sara."

She hesitated, a moment, and then opened her mouth and took the smooth glans into her mouth. Instinctively her lips closed around it.

"Aaahh ..." Robert breathed, "Bona virineto. Bonega virineto."

His hand caressed her cheek, soft against the flesh that it had struck shortly before.

"People refer to this as cock-sucking. In my experience very little sucking actually takes place," he explained to her, "A better description would be caressing. You are using your mouth to caress my cock. And it brings me a great deal of pleasure. Use your tongue, Sara. Stroke my flesh with your tongue."

She complied with his orders, inexpertly moving her mouth for his pleasure. She glanced up and found herself beneath his gaze, his eyes fixed upon her as she worked.

"Gxemu, Sara," he said.

Sara moaned, once, rather softly. His gasp frightened her and she looked up at him. Tentatively she moaned again and saw him stiffen. On the third moan she felt the way his cock vibrated against her palate and understood. She moaned again and tried taking a little bit more of him into her mouth. She continued until she felt uncomfortable and then stopped. His hand pushed her slowly up his length and she traced her tongue around his head. When she felt the slit at the top she ran the tip of her tongue along it before taking as much of him into her mouth as she could.

Robert's hand moved from her face to the base of her pony tail. As she tried to pull back he held her against him as his cock swelled and then erupted. Her tongue faltered and he shook her head by the ponytail, growling inarticulately. She resumed her ministrations, tongue stroking him until he was finished and released her hair. He bent down and kissed her forehead.

"A good start," he told her, "We'll work at that."

He scooped up some food and held it down to her. She ate, eyes watching as his cock slowly shrank, disbelieving what she had done. When she had finished what Robert left for her he gave her the last of the beer. She sipped it and looked up at him.

"Sinjoro?" she asked.

Robert looked at her.

"I'm ... very excited," she blushed, "Will you ... allow me some pleasure? Please?"

Robert smiled.

"No. Not right now. Perhaps at lunch if you behave."

He rose and tucked himself back into his pants, buttoning his fly.

"Suficxa. Enough. Do the laundry and clean this hut. Have lunch waiting for me when I return."

He sat on the edge of the hut and pulled his boots on, carefully lacing them up, and then walked away. Sara bit her lip and then went to work.

When Robert returned to the hut he found Sara kneeling next to the table where his food waited. He took off his boots and ascended the stairs and looked carefully around the room. Sara smiled tentatively at him and then gasped in surprise as he grabbed her ear and dragged her over to look at a section of the floor.

"What is that on the floor?" he demanded.

"D-dust, sinjoro," she stammered.

"Did you sweep the floor? Did you wash it?" he asked.

She whimpered in pain, face twisted into a grimace. "Ow, ow. Ne, sinjoro. I'm sorry..."

Robert sighed in exasperation and dragged her over to the footlocker. He pushed her down onto the footlocker, her head to the floor, her ass up in the air.

"Stay," he ordered and removed his belt. Folding it in half he swung it through the air with an audible whistle and a loud crack as it impacted upon the demi-globes of her ass. She cried out in pain.

"Ne, sinjoro! Ne! Mi petas! Please!"

He ignored her pleas and concentrated on his aim. His belt struck her again, and again, the wide cotton belt wasn't heavy, but the small metal loopholes for attaching equipment left marks where they struck. When he had given her ten strokes he stood up and began to thread the belt back into his pants.

"Clean my hut, now," he told her.

Sobbing, Sara crawled off the footlocker. She cast about with teary eyes for a broom or rag. Seeing none, she took her dress off the hook and began to use it to push the dust towards the edge of the hut. She was vaguely aware that Robert was eating and wondered if he would share any with her.

He didn't. When he was finished he rose and nudged her in the ribs with the toe of his boot.

"Enough. You'll have to finish later. Take the dishes back to the wash point and then go to class. I had better have a clean hut and food waiting when I get back this evening or you're going to find out what a real beating feels like," he declared. He walked out of the hut without a backward glance.

Sara rubbed the tears out of her eyes and wiped her nose on the hem of her dress. Then she pulled it on and took the bowl and mug to the wash point. No one had arrived at the classroom yet so she looked around to see if she could find a broom. She found a small broom outside the kitchens. When she got the attention of one of the cooks she pointed at the broom.

"Me petas?" she said, miming taking the broom. The cook shook her head.

"Ne, flavpeltulino. Estas nia," she replied.

Sara cringed, and then motioned with her hands for the cook to wait. Running back down the path, sandals flopping, she dug into the footlocker and found the bottle of perfume. She ran back to the kitchen and showed the perfume to the cook. The cook's eyes opened wide with delight and she picked up the broom and held it out for Sara to take.

"Ne, ne," Sara said. She held her fingers a centimeter apart to indicate how much of the perfume she was willing to trade. The cook looked doubtful, but then she went into the kitchen and re-emerged with a small glass phial. Sara poured some of the perfume into the phial and then took the remainder, and the broom, back to the hut.

She arrived at the classroom after most of the women, but before the men arrived. She sat down gingerly and stared at the blackboard on the stage. When the instructor arrived she leapt to her feet and repeated, "Saluton, instruisto" with the rest of the class. She was feeling satisfied with her trade and confident that she knew the rules of the class. So when the blow landed on her abused ass she screamed in pain and fell to her knees. Another blow, accompanied by a command to sit, struck her back. Then another blow as she struggled to crawl into her seat.

"Cxu kio estas?" she heard the instructor ask.

"La flavepeltulino ne estas en sxia seda," a woman replied.

"Cxu kial vi batis sxi?" he asked.

"Sxi estas malobemacxo!" the woman declared.

Sara heard a slap, and then another.

"Sxi estas obema. Nu batas sxi krom se sxi estas malobema. Mi spektas vi. Cxu komprenas?" he hissed.