Their bodies, black on white, crashed together, thrilling the on looking people on the bed. They knew, especially Danielle, that her husband was going to fire his flaming seed into Penny within seconds.
And then it happened!
The King's full testicle sacs twitched, every ridge and vein on the angry black cock pulsing, the blood filling it to the point of bursting. Danielle and the others watched stupefied as the King drove fully into the young American bride, spreading her cunt lips thinly with the thick base of his inky penis, flexing it in her as his orgasm seemed to bring on her own.
Penny squeezed her tortured young pussy tightly in sexual ecstasy, shivering and whimpering her joy as she felt Jabavu's cum gushing wildly into her, loading her up just as Ojike had her asshole, but more, much more, until she was certain that soon the sticky white liquid would well up in her stomach and finally come flowing out of her open, panting mouth.
"AAAaaaUUUUrrrGGGhhh!" she shrieked when she could no longer contain herself, her beautiful limbs quivering as she felt the boiling outpouring of his cum lessening to a spurting thin stream and then finally dying altogether…The electric sensations of fulfillment rippled through every bone and muscle of her body, draining her as well.
It was all over now and they fell limp, the King's walrus-sized black body covering hers as they lay puffing and filling their lungs with much-needed air. Sweet Jesus, she thought as he rolled off her, what's to become of me now? As if in response to her silent query, the King drew a heavy breath of air and cleared his throat to speak. "Well, Penny," he began in a voice still choked with lust, "what have you decided…are you ready to become my wife?"
Penny's very soul went cold as she realized just how much she wanted to say, yes. She loved Doug, but she loved sex, too!
"Penny?" he persisted.
"I-I don't know," she confessed honestly.
The King's patience was exhausted. "All right, my pretty," he gasped coldly, "the choice is still yours…You have seen what marriage to me would be like…Now, perhaps, you should find out what life will be like if you make the only other choice available to you!"
Penny's pretty freckled face pinched in puzzlement. What choice? What does he mean by…oh, my God…THE ARAB SLAVER!
***The last red fingers of dusk brightened the tops of a stand of palm trees at the western edge of the village as the pitifully undermanned rescue party strangled the final breath of life from the dozing lookout on the hill that rose to the north. The last face the Djambulu warrior saw on earth was that of a crazy white man with bulging angry eyes. The last words he heard were, "Where's my wife, nigger!" He just had time to nod in the direction of the largest hut in the village when the steely fingers found his throat…
CHAPTER TEN
"No!" the Major insisted with a tone of authority that surprised even himself. "We will not go in now, monsieur Glasser!"
"But, Major, if we wait "
"If we wait for the hour past darkness, we will catch them at supper. We might, monsieur Glasser, even avoid the suicide that would be most surely our fate is we charged down there right now!"
Doug had to admit that the Major was making sense. Besides, he could already see wisps of smoke from several cooking fires filtering through the conical tops of the huts. "Okay, Major," he said. "We'll play it your way."
"Trees bien, monsieur Glasser! It will at least give us a fighting chance."
In truth, they had a very good chance of pulling it off. The Djambulu had never before been attacked in their own village, and it was that precedent which was responsible for the haphazard security around their camp. It was why they had caught the sentry off guard…and why, Doug hoped, the Djambulu hadn't placed any more than the four armed guards around whichever hut Penny happened to be in.
Doug borrowed the Major's field glasses just to make sure, focusing them on the entrance to the big hut.
"How does it look, monsieur Glasser?"
Doug managed a feeble smile. "I see only two guards…and they seem to be yukking it up pretty good with a couple of Djambulu girls."
"Good, they shall be easy enough to take out. What about the others?"
Doug made a quick, sweeping scan of the compound. "Not too many people on the street, Major…a few kids playing with a hula hoop and some old men drinking beer."
"You think maybe we should provide some, uh, diversion, monsieur "
"Yep, I think the flamethrower should do quite nicely; those front huts'll go up like matchsticks." M'Bonu's heart quieted somewhat. Maybe the crazy American's plan was just unlikely enough to work. "Are there any vehicles around, monsieur Glasser?"
Doug scanned the adjoining fields. "Just a couple of old rusty truck hulks out back in the peanut patch wait! There's something coming through the bush at the far end of the street!"
"What, monsieur Glasser?"
"I'm not sure. It looks like one of those French Land Rovers with the front end that looks like a Renault."
The worried Major swallowed dryly. This could mean trouble. Big trouble. "Who is driving it, monsieur Glasser?"
"I can't tell yet; it's too fuckin dark. No, wait. He fiddled with the control aperture on the binoculars. "Yes, there…now I can see them!"
"Who, monsieur Glasser?"
"It looks like a couple of Arabs!"
***"Hello, my friend, Mahguib," the fat King said. "It's good to see you again!" He studied the short swarthy Arab for a long moment before emitting a silent shudder. In truth, he really liked the young American girl, Penny Glasser, and hoped that she would make the right decision when the time came. Still, if it did happen that he had to sell her, he was certain she would command a good price.
Since the French had pulled out of North Africa, the demand for young white girls to fill the Arab harems and brothels was virtually unlimited. They were bringing up to twenty-five hundred dollars each particularly the young fresh ones like Penny. Mahguib like the innocent ones and was willing to pay well for them. He would get his personal pound of flesh in Nouakchott, then ship them off to the interior for the Arab market. The Arab's perverted sadism should be no concern of his.
Mahguib, his expressionless eyes, as always, buried behind a pair of mirror-finish sunglasses, allowed his perpetual frown to relax somewhat, in what for him, passed as a smile. "Hello, my dear King," he rasped. "Is my package ready for delivery?"
The King eyed the short squat Arab critically, then let his gaze shift to the man's lumbering bodyguard, Gamal, who stood in stony silence just inside the entrance of the "palace". Both men were wearing western-style white suits that were badly creased from their long, exhausting trip through the jungle. Gamal, unlike his employer, did not bother with sunglasses to conceal his emotions; the huge Arab bodyguard exuded power even in his deceptive parade rest stance. "I think I have something that might interest you, my friend Mahguib," the King sighed finally. Then, "Ojike, bring our friend, Mahguib, a chair to sit on while we discuss business."
Mahguib's eyes lit up behind his glasses at the mention that the King had something "special" for him. He knew Jabavu well enough by now to know that the Djambulu King, unlike most who had something to sell him, did not exaggerate; if he was enthusiastic about something, it was worth listening to. "Forget the chair," he protested. "Let us discuss this little bird of which you speak!"
The King smiled teasingly. "Such enthusiasm, my friend Mahguib. Did you not enjoy the little French package I provided you with last month?"
"Ah, yes! I liked her very much, but a month with the same girl is too long. You know they tire so quickly when left in my care. A pity, too, just when I have them trained well to appreciate my little playful sessions, they seem to lose their fire."