Eva and the Black Amazons Pt. 04

The slave girl motioned for her to follow and they walked through high arched corridors; a door was pushed, and Eva found herself in the Princess room.

Samira was reclined on silk pillows, leafing through a magazine. A bare breasted girl was standing at her side like an ebony statue, with her torso erect and her legs slightly parted, holding a tray with what seemed a box of chocolates. The girl who had bought Eva went on fours, touched the floor with her forehead and said something in Arabic. Eva didn't know what to do, so she stayed still.

The Princess lifted her eyes from the magazine and said in English:

"Down, woman! Show proper respect, or I'll send you back to where you came from."

Eva felt her sinking to her belly, but knelt down. Samira walked to her and lifted her chin. Her voice was severe:

"You have done me a great service, choosing such perfect Nubians for me. We in Aden don't object to having slaves; it is our custom and our tradition, and we don't care what you Westerners think of that. But according to the law of your country, you committed a crime. It is only fair that you pay for it tasting from your own poison."

The photographer's eyes opened wide. What was that woman's right to judge her? She wanted to jump on her neck, but that would certainly mean the end of her life.

"Noble Princess, I think..."

"Quiet! You only speak when addressed to!"

Eva gulped. How could she serve that woman, sharing duties with the very girls she had branded with her sign? But the image of the dungeon popped up in her mind: darkness, silence, stench... she had felt so miserable in that cubicle... She would not be locked there again, for God's sake! She spoke lowly:

"I... I can do that..."

"You can, and you will. Kiss my feet."

Eva leaned down, touched the Princess' foot with her lips and stayed there for a long moment, waiting for the Princess to speak again.

She heard a bell ringing and heard steps coming from the door; she did not dare to look up – all she could see was a pair of bare black feet at each side of her head.. Samira spoke again in Arabic; two stout Negroes, with their heads shaven and their chests naked, lifted the photographer from ground and without a word took her to another room. Eva was terrified: what would happen now?

One of Africans knelt down and opened the cuffs on her ankles, while the other held her hands crossed behind her back. A tall Arab, carrying a bag, entered and said something to the other Negro; the man went to Eva's side and held her head with firmness. The Arab opened his bag and took from there a copper ring and a piercing instrument.

Eva understood: she was going to be banded! She screamed with all the force of her lungs, trying to free herself from the Negro's grip:

"No! No! Not that ... Please, no!"

The Arab slapped her face:

"Keep still, or it will cause you more pain than necessary."

Eva felt tears coming to her eyes when the Arab grabbed the tip of her nose and with a deft gesture pinched the soft flesh between her nostrils. She felt a burning sensation; the ring was quickly fitted and the men released her. The photographer touched the copper thing that marked her as a slave to the Princess: she could not believe that it was happening – she would find a way to escape from there – no, it was not possible ...

She was led again to Samira's room. The girl with the tray had disappeared. Valera was behind the Princess, combing her hair, and at her feet Matomba was squatting, separating busily colored beads into small boxes. They looked surprised at the sight of the woman they called Miss, but didn't utter a word; Eva understood that they had learned not to speak unless given permission to. She lowered her head, not wanting to confront the Amazons' gaze.

Samira looked at her and said:

"Come here." The photographer walked to her new mistress and knelt down. The Princess lifted the tunic she was wearing and exposed her naked pussy.

"Let's see how good you are at licking", she said curtly.

As Eva put her head between the olive-skinned thighs, a strong scent filled her nose. "So, this is what she wants", she thought. She stretched her tongue on the inner part of the left thigh; the Princess skin was smooth, and in spite of that most awkward situation, the photographer felt a wave of heat going though her body. The thick labia tasted good; she lapped the juice and moved up to the clit.

Samira closed her eyes; the new slave's tongue was perfect, darted quickly and to the right places - she clearly was skilled at that. She put her feet on the white woman's shoulders and enjoyed the sensation of her tongue eating eagerly her dripping pussy.

"Go slowly", she said. "We have time."

Eva controlled her tongue until she was just brushing the Arab woman's labia. Samira squirmed; she liked to let the excitement rise in her little by little. The photographer began to feel tired, but the Princess gave no sign of being near to release. With corner of her eye, she could see Matomba working with the beads; what was she thinking, Eva asked herself – but somehow, that didn't matter any more.

When Valera finished making her hair into a thick braid, Samira dismissed the two Amazons; they moved silently out of the room, their bare feet making no noise on the tiled floor. Eva's mouth was aching, but she dared not stop her licking.

Finally the Princess pushed her head away.

"You are good at this", she said. "Now remove your tunic and let me see you."

Eva did as she was told, remembering how some time ago – was it a month? Three? She could not tell – she had done exactly the same thing to Sheera, the first Amazon that she had coaxed into becoming her slave. Samira slid her hands over the firm body, feeling the cage rib and the round breasts, squeezing gently the nipples and parting her legs to touch the opening between them. Eva jerked as two fingers slithered into her cunt.

"Wet, eh? I knew you would like my taste", the Princess said. "Now come on the bed."

They lay on the big bed and the Princess began to kiss Eva. She was aroused, her lips were full, and her tongue twirled on the white woman's mouth. Samira was on top; she was not heavy, and the touch of her breasts was soft. She kissed the white woman's neck, then went down to her tits, licking avidly and nibbling the nipples.

The photographer was surprised by how well the Arab woman could do that; she stayed still, not knowing what she was expected to do. Samira turned her back on her and offered her pussy again to be lapped. The sixty-nine lasted quite a while; Eva was feeling an urge to release, but she had taken good note that the Princess liked a slow pace. She tried to adjust to that new situation: usually, and above all with the Nubians, it was her who determined the rhythm of the act. Now she had to wait; her body was tense. Her tongue was in the Princess' pussy, lapping the juices that covered the folds and darting inside to reach the damp, soft walls. The Princess responded thrusting her hips rhythmically, enjoying the caresses of the woman under her and moaning softly. It was some time since she had tasted a white cunt; the somehow acrid taste was quite exciting, and the labia were rich, filling her mouth as she sucked them.

Samira changed position and put her cunt on Eva's breast. She ground herself there until she came to a huge orgasm, which sent her body shaking wildly. Eva felt her own pussy itching and put a finger to it, but the Princess slapped her hand away:

"You wait until you are given permission to cum. Have you forgotten who owns your pussy now?"

"I am sorry, Your Highness", Eva said.

"Good. Now I want a massage on my back."

Eva straddled the Princess and began to work. She wanted to grind her body on those shapely buttocks, but refrained from doing so; her hands worked deftly on the muscles, feeling where they were hard and pressing in round movements. The Princess relaxed; it was good to be massaged by those able hands, she thought. The white woman could take some time to get used to her new condition, but she was undoubtedly gifted, and tasted well, too. Samira closed her eyes and made a mental note to send to Ibn Kaphir's brother the money she had promised as a "commission".

She opened her eyes and asked Eva to bring her some tea from the jar on the table. The photographer brought the drink and poured some in the small crystal glass. The Princess sat on the bed and made a gesture for her to kneel on the floor between her legs; she took her magazine and shuddered – that wet tongue would bring her pleasure for a long time.

****

The harem was in a separate part of the palace, behind thick wooden doors always kept locked from outside. Samira owned some twenty girls, mostly black, but also some from Aden and other Arab countries. They had not much to do, except wait for their mistress' call, so they killed time playing games, taking long baths in the pool, shaving each other, combing their hair, eating or sleeping.

Matomba and Valera had found it strange to live in closed quarters, but after three weeks were more used to it. Their knowledge of the language was still very poor, so they spent most of the time together. Now they were talking by the pool, watching as some of the girls played in the clear, fresh water.

"What do you think Miss is doing here?" Matomba was asking.

"I don't know. This is her friend's place, isn't it? She must have come to visit her."

Matomba nodded.

"She was with a newbulawa, like the one she gave us."

"Yes, and the other Miss has a lot of them." Valera was referring to the silver bracelets on the Princess' wrists. "Where do you think Narumba is? I miss her.

"I don't know. We can ask Miss, perhaps she does."

One of the Arab girls was pulling Valera's foot to invite her into the pool. The girl let her body slide into the fresh, clear water, and Matomba followed her.

They had still to realize all that had happened: they would not go back to the village, Eva had not been given abulawa, but made a slave, and the other Amazons were not in any other part of the big hut with so many little huts in it. Their life had changed forever, but so had the life of the woman who had betrayed them. Eva would never more enjoy Samba's soft tongue, or Taranga's sweet milk; the twins would never more carry her around, showing their firm butts and the letterEsculpted with hair on the back of their heads. Tonga was cooking for the police chief and learning how to please a man; Katunda was making her bags to go to the nursing school, for Clara Becker had arranged for her scholarship.

The only winner in all that was the Princess. The two Nubians she had reserved for herself were hot and fully enjoyable; perhaps, when they had learned the language, she could make them into her personal guards – after all, they were from a warrior tribe. The other ten had been given to sheikhs, her cousins: having them busy between African legs was as good a means to keep them from conspiring against her as any other, and cheaper too.

Samira crossed her feet on Eva's back and pressed her thighs against her head. She felt no qualms about leaving the new slave horny, licking her for hours on end: she could find release later, with the harem girls. Her representative in the African country fully deserved the commission for having sent the white woman with the "black ivory" she had wanted to sell, she thought. If her scheme had failed, that meant that Allah wanted this to happen; she, Samira, had been but the instrument of His will. As the old saying went,Maktub– it was written!

T H E E N D