Out of Africa

Sharpton laughed and, a few moments later, doused the lights, plunging the tent into complete darkness. Beyond the canvas walls, tribal drums beat a merry tattoo as the local celebration of the defeat of her husband continued. Helene dreaded the coming of the morning, Sharpton seemed to be invincible. Still, she clung to her undying faith in Ki-Gor. If Sharpton was successful in spiriting her out of Africa, Helene realized that the most wonderful and happiest phase of her life was inevitably over. Even if her husband escaped from the Gorilla Men and learned where Sharpton had carted her off to, how could he ever rescue her? Ki-Gor was a product of the African jungle. There was simply no way he could navigate the civilized jungles of either old world or new world cities. He would be as out of his element there as a songbird deep under the ocean. Although she was in no way spiritual, Helene offered up prayers for her own and her husband's deliverance. Then, the stresses and horrors of the longest day of her life caught up with her and she tumbled off into a deep yet troubled slumber.

Sharpton banging a wooden ladle against the bars of her cage brought Helene back to unpleasant consciousness. She looked at the big game hunter hotly and then surveyed the tent beyond. Nearly everything had already been packed away.

"It is a new day, and your loutish husband has yet to eviscerate me, beautiful one," he said mockingly. "A quick breakfast for the two of us and we will be or our way."

"You may take me from here, you, vile man but you shall NEVER bend me to your will!"

"Enjoy your last hours of insubordination, gorgeous. When we arrive at our destination, all that piss and vinegar shall be drained from you."

Helene simply stared at Sharpton.

"I'll free you now so you can attend to your toilet, then we share the first of many morning meals together before a new life for both of us begins."

"I will hate you to the end of my days!"

"Pish-posh, before you know it you will be slurping or my manhood for the pleasure of devouring my seed, and you shall spread your legs joyfully for me and offer me every part of your nubile body."

"Not in a million years, jerk!"

"Famous last words, honey."

"I'm not your "honey!"

Sharpton laughed merrily and announced, "Time is a wasting, princess," as he unlocked the cage.

Helene retained her sheet as she made her way to the chamber pot and basin. Colin Sharpton made no effort to reclaim the sheet as she settled herself at the table across from him. Breakfast was simple yet filling, nothing that would bother the stomach or a long trip. Helene ate under protest, deciding it wasn't worth the effort to be defiant at this point. She also felt that the longer she could prolong the meal, the more likely it was that Ki-Gor would come barging through the door flaps of the tent and proceed to pummel Colin Sharpton. "Come or Ki-Gor!" she mentally repeated to herself as she ate.

"We are finished now, beautiful one," stated the dashing hunter at last.

He picked up his damned bell again and the Gorilla Men from the night before returned with a large wooden shipping crate.

"Your magic carpet has arrived, Scheherazade."

"You would box me up like an animal?" returned Helene in horror.

"Not a mere animal, Helene. Big game!"

A gun was in the broad well-muscled man's hand. Time to surrender your linen sheet and accompany me to your chariot, sweet one.

Helene had no choice but to comply. "KI-GOR!" she screamed loudly. Only a jungle bird call came out of the vastness of the African veldt.

"There will be no last-minute heroics THIS time, I assure you, fair one. Now come see your travel accommodations.

Inside the sturdy box was a padded chair fastened to the floor. The chair owned a circular hole. Attached to the hole was a chamber pot. The chair bore a seatbelt and straps to restrain Helene's ankles and knees.

"Please. No!" cried Helene.

"I'm immune to your begging, woman. Take your seat."

Helene made a move to run away as fast as she could. Almost instantly she was in the grasp of one of the Gorilla Men. Immediately after she was secured in the chair, the seatbelt and straps closed with small but sturdy padlocks.

Helene began weeping, she felt the world crashing in upon her like a rockslide. She cried her husband's name until she was hoarse. The front of the box was bolted shut, leaving Helene in almost complete darkness; the only light coming from small airholes drilled in the top and front of the crate. Helen felt herself being lifted in the air by the Gorilla Men. "No, it can't end like this!" she thought. "To be carried away from the only man I ever loved to be turned into an organic sex toy by a tyrant!" Her mind brought forth memories, she and Ki-Gor skinny dipping in the beautiful stream beneath their treehouse. Helen splashing her husband with water and running away, only for him to catch her on the streambank where they made passionately, wonderful love under the crystal blue African sky. Her first encounter with the self-raised son of a late Scottish missionary, when she had literally dropped into his life when her monoplane's engine failed over the Congo. Their many adventures battling slavers, madmen, scheming Egyptian princesses, even thwarting a forgotten colony from ancient Atlantis! It was all so remarkable and Ki-Gor had been at her side for every one of their incredible adventures. Even when forced apart, the jungle lord always rescued her and held her close. She recalled Ki-Gor's naked physique, muscles everywhere, dashing good looks above a strong chin and below his straw-yellow hair, the knots of his abdomen and below that, the finest penis any woman could ever hope for! She had taught her virginal rescuer so many things, the art of cunnilingus, how wonderful fellatio was for a man, and all the positions she had learned in her women's college sorority from the lads at the nearby Ivy League school. To think that she would never see him again. It was beyond overwhelming.

Her pitiful bellowing for her husband, at last, ceased when she wore out her voice entirely. The steady pace of the Gorilla Men continued relentless, and her crate swayed like a ship on the ocean. Somewhere along the journey, overcome with grief and physically spent, she nodded off.

The sound of airplane engines awakened her. A veteran of airfields, Helene recognized the sound as that of a large cargo plane. Such a plane, she knew, could fly for hundreds or even thousands of miles at one go. Wherever its final destination, it would not be in Africa. "Oh, Ki-Gor!" Helene whispered as she felt the aircraft rise in the air. "I will never forget you. If there is any way possible, I shall escape and return to you."

Helene grew chilly in her dark, frightening box. She knew that meant that the plane was at a great altitude. The smell of her own stink in the chamber pot assailed her nostrils. Her ravaged throat desperately wanted a drink of water. Helene ran her fingers through her hair. She had to plan for when the plane landed. She flexed her thighs and calves hoping that once the straps were removed, she could make a break to freedom. A naked woman screaming for help was bound to attract attention from passersby. With luck, in a few days at most, she would be back in Africa, going to her husband's rescue in the company of his best friends, Masai warrior Timbu George and pygmy chief, N'Gesso. Freedom was so close; she could taste it. Of course, she would have to return to civilization to see to it that Colin Sharpton was prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, but that was a problem for the future. In the meantime, she continued to flex her muscles and mentally prepare herself.

At last, she felt the unmistakable sensations and sounds of landing. As soon as the cargo plane finished taxiing down the runway, Helene began beating in a rhythmic pattern on the sides of the crate with both hands. Surely, she thought, someone would hear her and come to investigate. Instead, all light from the air holes vanished. Something had been placed over and around the crate. A thick blanket most likely, meaning that Helen's frantic tapping would be muffled. The redhead's heart fell. A short time later, her crate was in the air once more. Helene sensed that she was in some other vehicle, a car or truck most likely. "Oh, God! Let them hear me!" she cried in a barely articulate gasp. Sharpton had apparently thought of all the angles. What hope was there for her now?

Helene rode in the truck for a long time before her crate was unloaded and maneuvered somewhere. Down a ramp? She beat upon the sides of the crate even harder. The shipping box came to a rest, the light reappeared through the air holes and Helene heard the bolts being unfastened by a wrench. She closed her eyes tight so that she would not be blinded one the front was off. Helene heard the front of her box clatter to the floor. She opened her eyes...

Two large, very powerful men were standing there, naked to the waist, wearing tight leather pants and leather hoods over their heads! Helene let out a horrified gasp. One of the men leveled a primed crossbow at her while the other began opening the padlocks at her waist, thighs, and ankles. It was at that moment that Helene Vaughn, wife of Ki-Gor died. She was hastily dragged to her feet, hosed off with a blast of ice-cold water from a fire hose by a third hooded bruiser, and dragged to a cement cell with only opening being a slit, barred rectangle in the ceiling.

Helene was left shivering as the water dried from her body. The cell had a thin mat on the floor, a chamber pot, an aluminum bottle of water, and nothing else. An unknown amount of time later, a wooden tray of food was slid through the slot in the door, just above the floor. An anonymous deep voice announced in deliberate tones. "Your training begins in earnest in the morning, Number 38827." For the longest time after that, all Helene could do was cry bitter tears.

**

The young businessman from Boston was enjoying his sojourn through Europe enormously. His mentor, the company vice-president had shown him sights and given him experiences he never could have enjoyed in America. He was so grateful to be a confidant of the older man. He could see himself filling his mentor's chair one day. If that happened, trips like this would be regular events! There were the elite whorehouses in Paris, the beaches of the Riviera, and skiing in the alps. At every point more business contacts were made and beautiful obliging women were only too happy to see that he was well and fantastically laid. THIS was the life of an executive!

Today's adventure was, in some ways, the most incredible yet. A high-stakes poker tournament involving famous writers, actors, and sportsmen. He'd actually played a hand against the all-star Shortstop of the Saint Louis Cardinals! At the tournament's intermission, Colin Sharpton, world-famous African big game hunter, whose face the businessman had seen in the newspaper and newsreels, squired an absolutely gorgeous redhead into the large room. She was dressed in an expensive, low-cut black dress that flaunted her astounding chest, black nylons with perfectly straight seams in the back, and impressively high stilettoes. About her neck was a seamless burnished chromium collar. Her glorious, deep red almost scarlet har was swept up in an attractive hairdo which including some alluring dangling curls.

The young man could tell by the way the dress clung to her fine, trim body, that she was a phenomenally fit and nubile woman. She was easily the most attractive woman he had ever seen with his own eyes, putting even the showgirls at the Folies Bergère to shame. Yet, there was something eerily familiar about her, as if he had seen that radiant face somewhere before. The thought quickly left him as a group of men gathered around him and proceeded to begin playing another round with the stakes being an article of the beautiful woman's clothes. He could not believe his luck in being asked to shuffle the deck for the table. To his left was a Nobel Prize winner for literature. To his right, an Academy Award-winning actor. As the cards were dealt, the beautiful flame-haired woman left Sharpton's side and began circling the table, allowing herself to be felt up everywhere and distributing kisses, smiles, and breathy giggles with amazing equanimity.

Over the next hour, the lust-filled men took delight in paring down the beauty. First to her incredibly lacy French lingerie underthings and then to her bare skin. The businessman marveled at her amazingly flawless perfection. Her wonderful suntan went all over, indicating that the wonderous redhead sunbathed in the altogether on a regular basis! Her bush had been reduced to a narrow exclamation point that still revealed to the world that the woman in the collar came by her red locks naturally. The man's mind soared. Would fate ever place him in life where he called such a gorgeous creature his lover or even his wife? It was certainly something to aim for!

His hand revealed a royal flush, the best deal of his life. The prize was a blowjob from the spectacular naked redhead. She appeared from under the table, a beatific smile on her angelic face. The young man felt her cool, delicate hands expertly open his trousers and playfully tug them down, liberating his manhood. "Oooh" cooed the woman softly while the rest of the table watched enviously as she deftly went to work, licking him from balls to shaft to tip. It was utterly delightful, easily eclipsing the finest of Parisian whores. Still, there was something... the old memory came to mind with full intensity.

"You look just like Helene Vaughn, that famous aviatrix who vanished!"

The woman paused from her endeavors. A string of emotions, some troubled, seemed to dance across her beautiful countenance for a second or so before the woman was once again all smiles.

"I am afraid, sir," she said in a melodic voice, "that you have me confused with someone else."

Then without missing a beat, she finished the blowjob, swallowing the young man's spunk with obvious gusto.